Karls last stand
Trip Start
Jun 04, 2008
1
17
Trip End
Ongoing
Mialhac,
France
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Once a word that would overpower me with a sense of joy, rapture and lust pure lust.
Now the simple thought of our beloved Karl sends me into a state of uncontrolable sadness and a sense of loss, pure loss.
Hvar was the bees kneez. After spending a couple of amazing days (that seem so much more amazing now in hindsight 5 weeks after Ive arrived home), we caught the ferry back over to Split. We spent an hour strolling the main street glazing in the sun and in a total dreamlike state that only a fellow Hvar visitor could understand.
We walked up to the hill where the mighty Karl was looking out over the city. Noticing that we were surrounded by cars Max and I decided to help guide Matty off the grass and onto the road. As Matty backed up about 2m Max and I yelled out as Karl grazed the car behind us, in a quick decisive change of gear Matt stepped on it only to get the back wheel vcaught whilst trying to get up the gutter. Max and I stood there in horror as the back wheel spun faster and faster against the gutter; not once gaining enough grip to look like making it over. With Matt hanging about half a metre out the window and Karl rocking back and forward (nudging the car behind us a number of times) it was quite a sight and after 5 minutes of painful bouncing Karl was freed. We checked the back tyre and noticed she was a little naked but knew we were not going to do anything about. We left Split and headed North on the highway, destination: Narbonne France, Mission: rendez-vous with the master of pasta....... Mitchell Proudfoot.
We racked up a hell of a lot of mileage that afternoon and well into the evening. We passed all the way up the coast of Croatia and then took a 50km detour to ensure that we didnt have to cross the same Croatian border again. We passed into Italy and drove to the outskirts of Venice before pulling up the anchor on the side of the road. Matt awoke (he was kipping in the back) to question my choice of park, it was on the side of a Freeway and after about 5 semis passed in quick succession I acknowledged my error and pushed on another 20k's until we got off the road.
The next morning we were back into again, whilst Italy is well and truly on our to do list we were quite low on cash and we believed a few days simply wouldn't do it justice. As we passed over Italy the Euro road tolls kept mounting along with the tissues as we realised we would be saying goodbye to Maxi that afternoon.
After crossing the French border we passed along the mediteranean coast. It was breathtaking, from the warm orange glow on the water as the sun set to the cool dark shadows of the creen hills overlooking the swells, this was a drive to savour.
We directed Karl off the freeway into the rather upscale town of Antibes, maritime playground of the rich and famous. Maxi showed us around the beaches and the port where we could see the 150 foot cruisers and yachts moving up and down with the ocean. Maxi intended to find some work cleaning the boats between charters and whilst there was a good possibility we could find work, we wanted to meet the King of Ming Mitchell Proudfoot pronto (I guess there was a good chance we would return before .... youll see).
We said bye to Maxi, it was a surreal feeling saying bye to a mate who'd been part of this great journey. We were all a little speechless and I think the only notion that stopped us from getting a lil depressed was that we promised we'd meet and share some awesome experiences like this again in the future (that and the fact that we would encounter the Boss of Toss Mitchell Proudfoot the next day).
On the way out of beautiful Antibes we stopped at a supermarket to get some rolls and ham. Matty insisted on wearing no shirt and shoes which got him across the carpark and to the door before the security guard sent him on his way. As I payed for the rolls and ham I pulled out some rusty French and noted how friendly and sincere the lady behind the register was (one of many Frenchman who happened to be the complete opposite of the arrogant stereotype).
We pushed on that night with one mission, find Jup scrot, we were willing to pay the ultimate price to be reunited with our old chum, and the ultimate price was waiting for us.
Late into that evening we pulled over into a reststop near Marseille. On taking a leak outside the car I noticed a big sign warning of thieves. Taking this into consideration I made sure that Karl was securely locked before I jumped into the back. When we awoke the net day something wasnt quite right, I didnt remember leaving the guitar on a park bench, nor did I remember losing all of my stuff, We'd been robbed. The front door was ajar and the bastards had taken 200 Euros, a canon camera, a $300 backpack and my lucky shoes. Matt was a bit luckier and only lost a DVD player that didn't work. After a few customary punches into the side of the van (sorry Karl) from yours truly I made the appropriate calls to cancel my credit card.
Shaken (but not stirred) we continued driving West. Mat drove while I stewed in the front. I was ready to kill and Matt knew the look so as you can imagine it was a quiet journey to Narbonne.
When we arrived I had gotten over the debaucle and focused on the mission at hand, find the Pierce Brosnan lookalike and get a Big Mac along the way. Within half an hour, mission accomplished. (As I think back 6 months to when this actually happened I am reminded of my astonishment at how long and greasy MP's hair was).
We had a little walk around the historic town and then met Phil and Proudy's hosts.
The youngest of the hosts, Derek, was an awesome fella who put his hand up to help us report our robbery from the night before. With his superb French we were pushed away from 2 different police stations in two towns, both having told us to go to the other one. When we told the second station officer that we were told to come there by the Narbonne station he gave us a third station to visit. Undeterred we jumped in the van and headed off for the Ginestas police station.
As we came over a country road crest we were met by a broken down car with an elderly couple looking quite confused on what to do. Derek and I jumped out of the van and ran towards the car so we could push it further down the road and away from the blind crest. After succeeding we sprin ted back to the car and I jumped second after Derek (an interesting change from the configuration before the event). Derek didn't think the middle seat had a belt and knowing that Ginestas was only a km away he didn't think anything of it. Matty accelerated slowly down the crest, (Karls only way) and continued driving along the 90km/h country highway.
Derek pointed out the turn for Ginestas (a left turn) and Matty began to slow down. With my arm out the window I was thinking how airy, peaceful and lovely the French countryside was when Matt started turning left. Seeing that there was a car about 50m away coming at full speed I was speechless. As we started to cross the median line I let out a Maaaaaty, to which Matty replied Ohh ##@$. He stepped on the gas which put us from 4km/h to 4.5km/h which eroded all hope of a lucky escape. I watched the car get closer and my mind took a double take, everything slowed down to snail pace as I flinched and braced myself for whatever the hell this was going to be.
With an almighty smash the car ran into the side of Karl, right behind the driver side. Glass was falling everywhere as we slid sideways across the road. My last thought before impact was that I was going to die, I had accepted it without too much reisistance yet as we were sliding across the road my mind remarked "I'm alivee, its ok". Just as I became a little too cocky, Karl hit a culvert and started to topple over. Once I realised this I thought "Round 2".
My self preservation instinct was quite overjoyed when I realised that the van was actually tipping onto the opposite side to where I was sitting. As the Van tumbled and finally crashed on its driver side in the ditch, Karl came to a stop and I was looking down at the boys.
Matty was wide-eyed and Derek had blood all over his face but within seconds we had established that we were all right. I was out like a jack-rabbit and helped the boys to get out of the passenger side window. After I hit the ground I surveyed the damage, I was ok.
The boys took a seat as the bystanders began to gather and I went and checked on the other driver. Miraculously he was fine, shaken (and stirred) but he was doing considerably well. As the shock wore off the boys started to hurt and I noticed some bruising on my back.
To be honest the area looked like a war zone. There was scrap metal everywhere, we had the other driver in hysterics, Derek with blood all over his face, Matt lying on the ground like a wounded soldier and me running around in circles screaming. This was the site that confronted Mitchel and Phil Proudfoot as they drove past wide-mouthed. They later told us how that were in denial until they saw two afros in front of the chaos.
The paramedics gave the diagnosis and put us into some ambos. We were taken to the Narbonne hospital where the boys were fixed up. Matty was badly bruised whilst Derek had some nasty glass cuts to the face, tragically the innocent bystander had sustained the worst of it (Matt and I will forever bee in debt to Derek for helping us out that day). At about 9pm we were released from the hospital and drove back to Dereks parents house. As we passed the bright lights along the same country roadI rememeber looking at every car and imagining the impact if it were to stray onto our side of the road, it was a little to real and made me feel sick.
We spent the next few days licking our wounds at Ross and Veronicas beautiful cottage in the town of Mailhac.
A few days were spent giving Ross a hand to clean some of his rental apartments and each night involved amazing food, bottomless glasse of Rose and spectacular views over the quanit, old village in the South of France.
I think a credit to Matthew and I, we regathered and put the madness behind us. We explored a few of the towns nearby and met up with the poor driver who ran into us. He was a great sport and really took it on the chin, he showed us the large bruises he sustained along his chest due to the seatbelt but was a real gentleman about the whole thing. After 5 days in Mailhac (and a short unfruitful trip to Marseille) we decided not to overstay our welcome and get back on the horse. Our original horse, Karl, was dead. Sent to the old glue factory I'm afraid, the truth hit us when we inspected the wreck at the wreckers. It was a dreadful mess and I think had Matt had not accelerated at the last minute that car would have went straight through him, it was an emotional site and an as we drove away I looked back one last time at the hero of our trip, Karl, had we have not been blessed with such a sturdy, robust van, things could have turned much uglier. Karl had unselfishly given his life for Matty and I and as we began the next leg of our journey we swore to retain the spirit of Karl. Lest we forget.
