snoopy
Guest
She'd given me two pills on my way out the door and I took one out of desperation when I reached the first service station. I made a really bad choice there as the lorries were coming and going and I was too close to it all. I kept going around the back of the service station for the business and a long line developed through the early hours.
I'm not sure what the pill did but I became delirious like in the hospital. I kept trying to focus, my mind seemed solid but it was unable to control the rest of my body. I remember seeing lots of Repsol signs rotating in the night sky. I must have slept an hour or two but I woke up in a layer of sweat to find some kids 200 metres away doing doughnuts in the yard. At 6AM I'd had enough and got going to find another service station (or was it a restaurant?) with decent toilet facilities. In this I stripped off, lathered with soap and washed using the sink not giving a **** who walked in. With the repulsive smell reduced I continued in the direction of Madrid. On the way I found a chemist stocking two of the antibiotics and began double the dosage. I still hadn't eaten a thing (3 days now) and didn't feel like eating either.
I passed Madrid and it became easier to drink fluids again. By the early evening I was getting well into Northern Spain and things were on the up, the puss had started to subside a little and I was drinking more. Then the bike got in on the action.
Just after Burgos the engine overheat came on and I felt the liquid dumping out the left side. I really didn't need this. At the side of the AP-1 I stripped the plastics off and found the cap on the reservor bottle was off. Well Hmm I thought. I carried the plastics to the next service station just around the corner and bought fluid ad refilled, sticking cable ties around the cap for good measure.
A little way down the road the liquid pissed out once more and I used a final spare t-shirt to clean up the mess as it had gone everywhere and was sticky. The fan was engaged but the left radiator felt cold. The radiator was full and the pipes were nice and hot. I suspected internal engine friction/damage to be the case as nothing else had changed. It was time to stop riding.
I came to a halt at the next service station where I persuaded the attendant to give cash back on a VISA card as I was now out of Euros. I called Carol Nash but it was late and I pitched the bivy at the side of the court. I slept well that night with the antibiotics having such a positive affect.
In the morning I paid £3 to use the service station shower which was just the most wonderful thing to have at that moment. I phoned Carol Nash and got the ball rolling. My mobile had now gone dead as the bike charger had failed. The bike was arranged to be taken to a Renald Garage as the Spanish bank holiday had closed everything else down. The recoverer dropped the bike while afixing it damaging a few more parts. The bike was left in a compound on the outskirts of Vitoria. They wanted to shut the fence and leave me.
I got the Spanish insurance woman to contact London and the London girl got the recoverer to drop me of at a bar "with a telephone". I was in a state - how does this sound: scruffy bike boots, dirty soiled grey trousers and a thermal vest! I had no other clothes remaining now but at least I didn't smell, I think. Despite the looks I ordered spaghetti, which arrived as noodles, and a coke. They wouldn't let me charge the mobile on their till PC but I stuck the lead in when they weren't looking. I couldn't use it while charging so went to find their telephone. They didn't have one said the lady. Right. I disconnected my mobile and used it's little charge to phone Carol Nash with the number printed on the restaurants menu. 10 minutes later Nash phoned one very surprised and pissed off restaurant operator. I tried smiling apologetically.
After two hours of txt's, calls, cancellations and whatnot it was decided I'd hold tonight then easy jet from Bilbao > Stansted > Newcastle the following morning. Carol Nash organised the lot and I stayed in a hotel in Bilbao that night.
I was a wreck but I was nearly home. A mate picked me up from Newcastle airport and said he could see the bones through my cheeks and wanted to take me to the hospital there and then. I knew my condition was improving and I had enough antibiotics to see it out. At home I found I'd lost 1.5-2 stone over the couple days.
I'm not sure what the pill did but I became delirious like in the hospital. I kept trying to focus, my mind seemed solid but it was unable to control the rest of my body. I remember seeing lots of Repsol signs rotating in the night sky. I must have slept an hour or two but I woke up in a layer of sweat to find some kids 200 metres away doing doughnuts in the yard. At 6AM I'd had enough and got going to find another service station (or was it a restaurant?) with decent toilet facilities. In this I stripped off, lathered with soap and washed using the sink not giving a **** who walked in. With the repulsive smell reduced I continued in the direction of Madrid. On the way I found a chemist stocking two of the antibiotics and began double the dosage. I still hadn't eaten a thing (3 days now) and didn't feel like eating either.
I passed Madrid and it became easier to drink fluids again. By the early evening I was getting well into Northern Spain and things were on the up, the puss had started to subside a little and I was drinking more. Then the bike got in on the action.
Just after Burgos the engine overheat came on and I felt the liquid dumping out the left side. I really didn't need this. At the side of the AP-1 I stripped the plastics off and found the cap on the reservor bottle was off. Well Hmm I thought. I carried the plastics to the next service station just around the corner and bought fluid ad refilled, sticking cable ties around the cap for good measure.
A little way down the road the liquid pissed out once more and I used a final spare t-shirt to clean up the mess as it had gone everywhere and was sticky. The fan was engaged but the left radiator felt cold. The radiator was full and the pipes were nice and hot. I suspected internal engine friction/damage to be the case as nothing else had changed. It was time to stop riding.
I came to a halt at the next service station where I persuaded the attendant to give cash back on a VISA card as I was now out of Euros. I called Carol Nash but it was late and I pitched the bivy at the side of the court. I slept well that night with the antibiotics having such a positive affect.
In the morning I paid £3 to use the service station shower which was just the most wonderful thing to have at that moment. I phoned Carol Nash and got the ball rolling. My mobile had now gone dead as the bike charger had failed. The bike was arranged to be taken to a Renald Garage as the Spanish bank holiday had closed everything else down. The recoverer dropped the bike while afixing it damaging a few more parts. The bike was left in a compound on the outskirts of Vitoria. They wanted to shut the fence and leave me.
I got the Spanish insurance woman to contact London and the London girl got the recoverer to drop me of at a bar "with a telephone". I was in a state - how does this sound: scruffy bike boots, dirty soiled grey trousers and a thermal vest! I had no other clothes remaining now but at least I didn't smell, I think. Despite the looks I ordered spaghetti, which arrived as noodles, and a coke. They wouldn't let me charge the mobile on their till PC but I stuck the lead in when they weren't looking. I couldn't use it while charging so went to find their telephone. They didn't have one said the lady. Right. I disconnected my mobile and used it's little charge to phone Carol Nash with the number printed on the restaurants menu. 10 minutes later Nash phoned one very surprised and pissed off restaurant operator. I tried smiling apologetically.
After two hours of txt's, calls, cancellations and whatnot it was decided I'd hold tonight then easy jet from Bilbao > Stansted > Newcastle the following morning. Carol Nash organised the lot and I stayed in a hotel in Bilbao that night.
I was a wreck but I was nearly home. A mate picked me up from Newcastle airport and said he could see the bones through my cheeks and wanted to take me to the hospital there and then. I knew my condition was improving and I had enough antibiotics to see it out. At home I found I'd lost 1.5-2 stone over the couple days.
:beer jug: 
