Thursday 29 September 2011

19. The Treasure Map

I jot down some names of towns and a few road names after a brief stint in an internet cafe. Naturally I am only wearing the shortest of shorts, and such shorts do never have pockets, so I fold up the A6 scrap and tuck it into my visor. A still and tepid German evening sets the scene for what proves to be a difficult task in navigation. Every time I arrive in a new town, I have to reach into my visor while riding and squint at the haphazardly scrawled note. The paper bares some arrows and a handful of almost illegible German words. At junctions I make a lot of improvised 50:50 decisions, before tucking the increasingly debauched piece of paper back into my visor. I'll always fondly remember this part of my trip as it definitely seemed the most adventurous. There was no map, it was also late, so there were no people to ask. All I had was this golden ticket strapped to my head and every time I reached for it, it felt like I was being guided by some ancient and cryptic treasure map. Of course every now and then I would remember there was no treasure at the end, though I would try to forget this part as I cycled on through the night.

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