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Published: September 19th 2009
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Scorpion
in the forest Close to Bielevelt, 312-07-2001.
Despite my pot and booze addictions, despite the chaotic mental state I'm in brought about by severakl weeks of living it rough, despite my cr*ppy old rusty bicycle, no maps or travel guides, my second-hand bicycle gear, hardly any spare parts and a leaking old tent...Despite all my old stuff and bad motivation...I am avaraging close to 200 kilometers a day now with the Dutch border getting tangibly close...
An intrepid and self-proficient long-distance cyclist cycling from forest to forest hoping for an undisturbed sleeping spot free of charge and hopefully free of irriating animal life, no predetermined route nor a fat creditcard to help me out of my bad financial situation...
I'm being driven by my own inpulses and Nong's voice inside my Western mind which by now has taken over the nature of this trip - instead of my free life on the bike and no plans to never return to my native Amsterdam, let my inpulses guide me and I might very well end up in Siberia...
My life is given over to the elements that plaque my cycling excistence, a glass of stale wine in glasses opaque with use
Spider
in the forest and bad dish washing in a small bars when the rain comes down in droves - untill Nong's voice drives me on desperate to get me back to Amsterdam before I get evicted from my house...
The real cycling is on an old and beaten-up German produced Giant with ten gears instead of the brand new Koga-Miyata World Traveller with 21 gears that will make the cycling easy and comfortable but less adventurous...The cycling of the White Collar Worker with a platinum credit card and heaps of money in the bank, great motivation after a good night's sleep in a five star hotel, avoid the rain and take the train untill the sun is back full force...
No such luck for me with the lining of my wallet clearly visible....but then maybe this is the Real Life of a long-distance cyclist whose wellfare is looked after by a melodious female voice inside my head telling me to take a turn to the left, go straight ahead despite the bad condition of the road...
I've come to trust this voice completely...It belongs to Nong, after all, who looked after me all last winter while I was living it up in Thailand. She would drag me upstairs after collapsing early morning at the foot of her stairs blind drunk on cheap Thai whisky, guiding me back to a hangover free state of mind as she has done countless times...
So it feels safe to let this mystrerious voice take over the trip and guide me back to Amsterdam, back to my life as a working stiff, rushing through the city on a mad rush for other people's projects, a bicyle messenger with lungs full of mariuana smoke mixed with dark grey clouds of smelly exhaust fumes...worries about my rent, my addictions and bad food intake.
Is this really the life you wanna guide me back to Nong?
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