Dane Banner Ad
A password will be e-mailed to you.
Author: Alun Davies

If I said it started as a dark and stormy night, and then the weather took a turn for the worse, I’d be demonstrating a level of denial that only the sad, deluded fools who form our current Government are capable of. It was Armageddon. Period. It was like thunder, lightening and the way it moved us was frightening. (Three points if you can guess the song, and a bonus point for the singer).

With the bikes parked up outside, we were busy quaffing beer from porcelain steins in a small mom and pop restaurant in rural Germany as the four horsemen of the apocalypse took charge of the weather outside.

Imagine, if you will, a rural German bar and restaurant homestead designed to host an episode of The Waltons (that’s a big imagine alright), and that’s where we were holed up. It was warm and cosy and our welcoming, aged hosts were all but adopting us from the moment we sat on their beautiful chinz laden furniture in our sodden, filthy motorcycling gear.

The Man From Atlantis

We ate and we drank and it was fab until it was time to leave. Outside, the four horsemen had been busy breeding and we looked on as trees and small villages were swept away down the engorged stream out back. No bloody way was I going back to the tent, not without full PADI training and an air station in the porch. Spence agreed and he’s a fully qualified dive master and had been banging on about air stations all night. Jason, on the other hand, had come over all Man From Atlantis and could not be tempted by a warm bed and hot shower, not that we had one to go too.

Seeing the fear in our eye’s mom and pop were soon to the rescue and broke the news that they’d found a neighbour with a spare room. Spence and myself rejoiced as Jason looked on in scorn. But little did we know of what was in store or what really goes on in the empty bedrooms of rural Germany when the lightening cracks and the thunder roars. Only Stephen King could have dreamt up what awaited us.

But you’ll have to wait for the second instalment to find out what went down as I’m riding to South Wales shortly and I’m far too mentally scarred from the events to take it all on in one go. Believe me what happens next was not right. Woooooo.


ABR Issue 42 Banner advert