Load Of Bull

Can is start this article by congratulating Peugeot for manufacturing what must be one of securest motorcycle storage spaces (under the seat) in the world. I’ll explain in a bit.

Firstly of course festive greetings to all our readers who, if I know anything about All Abroad readers, will be warming up for Christmas and New Year rather nicely by now. I must also thank Elena Pei Shi Chen from BSA school Alicante who won our competition to design this month’s front cover – I’ll be seeing her at the school this month with her prize.

Right, the motorbike seat then. I’d gone to Elche to meet someone and after buying a few bits from a local supermarket I headed back to the bike. As I fumbled in each pocket (gradually getting more anxious and doing it faster and faster) it dawned on me –with a hail of swear words – that I’d locked the keys under the seat with my helmet when I’d slammed it shut.

After appraising the situation to find a methodical way of solving the problem for about two seconds I tried shoving my hand through the tiny gap I saw beneath the seat in the hope of forcing it upwards. Have you ever shut your hand in a car door? That is what it felt like as the seat didn’t budge an inch (and I could have sworn it actually ‘bit back’). So there I was in the middle of Elche on my knees with my hand stuck under the seat and making a kind of whimpering noise. Time to get the bus.

I headed t0owards the bus stops but as I approached and saw one that would be heading in my direction, my sense of adventure kicked in (or common sense was kicked out?) and I decided that it was such a nice evening (it was about 6pm by now) I would walk the 18 kilometres home.

It’s not easy carrying groceries in a plastic bag while trying to keep up and brisk pace so I decided that I’d have to sacrifice the edam cheese and Magdalena cakes that I’d bought to lighten my load (by ‘sacrifice’ I mean I was going to transfer the load from outside of my body to the inside as I was hungry by now). That just left me the fruit juice and the red wine…

Glass is heavier than plastic, so I began on the wine. This was at the 12 kilometre marker and my pace was still good – two hours in and about one to go – but then (thanks to the Swiss Army supplies store) I opened the wine. That helped and soon after I was chatting away with wildlife, and trees, as I strolled along.

I reached the bottom of Gran Alacant (that’s where I live so that was handy…) a little over two hours later – looking for a recycle bin. By now I was in very good spirits following all that walking and had even managed to make up several songs about ‘the lights of Gran Alacant are a shinin’ (that’s it) as I’d approached and seen my home on the hill.

My son came down and picked me up to save me walking up the long hill but for some reason wasn’t too happy with me shouting to all the lampposts, ‘I’m home!’

 

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