We all arrived in London but were told that due to the Easter Weekend neither of the two containers had been inspected by “His Majesties Customs” and we had to wait. As a result a Ford Van was rented and we drove to see the Isle of Mann via Snowdonia (Wales) and the Lake District.
On return to London a few days later the container from South Africa was cleared and un-packed. It was then that we discovered that the Shipping Agents used inferior tie-downs when securing old Brutus, the nick-name for the Toyota Land Cruiser, which in rough seas had broken lose from the bindings and was smashing into the motorbikes every time the ship rolled. I remember them tellingus to not put on the hand-brake and not leave it in gear as they were the professional and would do so after securing the Toyota with straps, famous last words. Poor “Peens” was the un-lucky one who parked directly in front of Brutus and his Blue KTM was smashed and dented and was actually hanging up-side down from its tie-downs and looked like it would not be able to make the trip. But Peens is known to not give-up and after working through the night in the parking area of our hotel, to the delight of the other hotel guests, the Blue KTM was ready to ride the next day, (minus some cosmetic plastic covers and a few dents and deep scratches,) but definitely not roadworthy, but it could ride.
We had learnt that the container from America was still at sea and as a result two Motorbikes were rented and we set off via the town of Rugby and the cliffs of Dover to the Channel-tunnel, in very hard rain, in the wettest Spring on record we were told. Our friend Pieter drove the back-up on this Leg and he was the only one who had dry clothes after day 2.
Once we hit France we turned our bikes South and meandered down towards Spain, spending a memorable evening in the Bordeaux wine area in a village called Burgh . But this is where Mr. Peens’s luck changed, and he is famous for his good luck after surviving 21 serious near-death experiences in his life, (and serious here means SERIOUS, and include deflecting a AK47 bullet with his Army Helmet, jumping out of a truckin the Angola war and landing on the side of a Land Mine which popped out, falling two floors down a lift shaft, several collapses from his Parra-glider smashing him into the side of mountains and “landing” on roofs which cushioned the falls, having a boat propeller cut his dive-cylinder’s webbing of his back, several incidents of fishing boats capsizing in Shark invested waters, long swims in the sea after jet-ski and boats sinking and a few explosions, just too many to mention.
His luck turned very bad when he discovered the next morning that he had lost his bike keys, but also forgot to bring his spare keys. As a result he told us he would “make a plan” and meet us in Pamplona Spain. The plan he made after un-packing his entire bike and looking in every possible hiding place (except the restaurant where we had dinner and several good bottles of red wine the night before) was to “Jimmy” the ignition’s lock which did force the ignition to move to the “on” position but did not over-ride the Immobiliser, so when he eventually went back to the restaurant and found his keys, he was able to hang the key into the rather large cavity he had made and was then able to start the bike and ride over the frozen Piranesi Mountain pass (which we did in the day while it was only snowing slightly) in a blizzard, with a Headlight which was now shining at a 30 degree angle after Brutus smashed it sideways in the container. (I think this should actually count as his 22nd near-death experience.)
Once re-united we meandered around Spain for a few days before traveling back through France into Switzerland, Germany, (where we gained a little culture by visiting a few Castles (Linderhof) and having to drink a few beers and eat a few Pork-knuckles in the Hoffbrau House and a visit to the concentration Camp Dachau. We then race each other on the autobahn before hitting the winding back-roads (we avoid any big roads and highways like the Plague.)
Then we toured through Slovakia, Hungary and Romania before the pressure from the wives and children at home, and the pleas from our staff who were left to fend for themselves became too much. But a few days from Bucharest Mr. Peens Luck finally ran out when the bike key vibrated out of the huge hole he made in the ignition when we were riding on the old Cobble-Stone roads, (built by the Romans) and when he arrived at our Lunch Stop this calamity was discovered. After a few hours search riding up and down the road past the same villages with the same gypsies looking at us as if we were mad, we gave up the search and started thinking of another plan.
Peens’s plan was to not switch-off the bike with the kill-switch but letting the bike idle throughout the last remaining nights until we reached Bucharest. Pie thought we could switch the bike off as the key was still in the on-position and it might start, but then we learnt that this would not be the case as the bike refused to start. We then proceeded, to thunderous applause from the local village gypsies to tow the bike behind Brutus to see if it could be started in this manner, which I can now inform you, that it did not. The next few hours were spent to hitch the KTM behind the Toyota by removing the front wheel and using straps to fasten it to the tow-bar. The Blue KTM was towed for the remainder of this leg and Peens could be seen sitting devastated in the passenger side every time we overtook them. We eventually made it and found storage in Bucharest in the basement of an office block and locked our bikes and old Brutis there and returned home.
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