The Other Way

This isn't really an exert from the journal as i didn't write it down at the time. It's just something that makes me smile when I think about it.
You may recall that a few months ago on the blog in february some photos in black and white appeared on the blog with some really nice text written Jessy and Thierry
The opening lines were,

The man with the green hand ....

"during a drive in Charentes Maritime around Doeuil sur le Mignon, we encountered this strange vehicle, silent and slow. Aboard this machine, there sat a man named nick. Smiling like a spring day despite the cold wind blowing that day".

There is a reason why i was smiling so heartily.
I had just left Hervey and Arnauld the blacksmiths place after spending a great couple of days with them.
They had amongst other things given me a little present for the road in the way of combustables and I was enjoying a leisurely ride in the french countryside. I was practically in the middle of nowhere. It was a little overcast and it felt like I was the moors of england , not that ive been there, it just how I imagine it would be after I saw the black and white film wuthering heights .
Anyway up ahead in the distance  a car had pulled over on the road and a figure got out of it.
He slowly and methodically proceeded to set up what looked like a tripod or some kind of stand in the middle of the road.
My eyes arent my most powerful feature and the light wasn't that great and so i started to worry a little  as he got something large and pointed and fixed it to the top of the tripod and started to kneel down and focus it in my direction.
He was still a little far off for me to see exactly what was happening and so my overactive imagination filled in the gaps of my vision for me.
He appeared to be dressed in dark colours and worked quickly and efficiently as I approached.
He then settled down behind his set up and was waiting. I looked behind me in my rear view mirror to see whether he was focusing beyond me but there was not another soul around.
A strange feeling came over me as if this was it . This was the end. All I could think of was ,"not the face, please not straight in the face", even though I knew that if he was as professional as he looked it would be over in an instant and i wouldn't know much about it.
But why, and by whom had I offended. Was it a powerful individual or had the powers that be who control the oil discreetly arranged the removal of me because I was raising to much awareness to the possibilities of  alternative energy and seemed to be doing as I damned well pleased.
Accepting my fate like a true warrior and not jumping out of the trike and running for cover I slowly approached with butterflies in my stomach.
About fifty metres away the form of a camera started to take definite shape and my breething got deeper as I started to sigh with relief.
As I approached I was grinning like an idiot.

This may come as a bit of a suprise, but I am sat here again in Anne Maries kitchen uploading clips.
Six days ago I was rudely awoken from a siesta by a Spanish guy. He  informed me that the piece of land I was resting on just outside of a small village about 60 km south of Zarragoza belonged to his company and his Boss wanted to know what i was doing on it. I told him I was trying to have a kip whilst charging my machine and was not to keen on the intrusion.
 As far as I was concerned I was on another dusty track practically in the rural desert, albeit a few hundred metres from the big industrial factory that  sat on the edge of the village, another dusty little place settled on the bank of the river Ebro,  which snakes itself down from the mountains of the north,  and flows south easterly down to Tortosa and the mediterranean coast.
He told me that i had been there for a couple of days and if i didnt move on or give him and then his boss a satisfactory explanation he would be forced to call the police.
I had arrived there in the night on the advice of the locals and after quite a peaceful nights sleep had woken, walked into town, bought food, a new writing pad and a couple of beers to occupy me whilst i waited for the sun to work its magic on my battery.
Being told indirectly by this guy to move on was almost the straw that broke the camel's back, but not quite. I told him I would go but was not happy with the intrusion, the threat of police, the fact that he had made up the ammount of time i was there and quite frankly that  i had had it up to here (gesturing at the top of my head), with this kind of nonsense.
He walked off to report back to his chief and I packed up the trike.
Now to the average person this sounds like a liitle bit of an overeaction , and i am inclined to agree , but throw into the scenario a permanently  malfunctioning machine, lots of heat and wind, over zealous and hungry mosquitos, an aching back, little money and not many prospects, busy roads, high speed lorries and cars, a cooking stove with blocked jets, an incurable squeak, a slight hangover,
the same questions asked day after day by curious onlookers and spectators who surround me wherever I go. smelly clothes, smelly body... i could go on but i won't, i was just having a bad day.
What actually tipped the balance for me and helped me finally make the decision that I had been wrestling with for a few weeks was when i rode away from that place.
  Already a bit more than annoyed, one of the gears slipped on a minor gradient which shot my left leg  off the pedals and onto the spindle which sticks out the side of the motor. The pain was similar to a dead leg in the thigh,onlyit was in the calf muscle, and whilst hopping around next to the trike cursing like a rapper, the decision as to what to do next became as clear as crystal.

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