Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
John wasn't going for it in the mode so popular a few years later but applying a spirit to a
task, coming into manhood on practical necessity. John crossed the border with no passport.
Hans 'n Franz and I rode up another half-mile to the next clearing, because John was not
turning toward the shore. I waved his shirt in the air, and without waving back, he turned in.
He took another half hour to swim to shore and amble out, staggering and dripping. Hans 'n
Franz hung around because they loved the action, pulling a goof on a major country in the
spirit of the Revolution—and on motorcycles to boot. It was the action that defined us, that
bonded us as brothers, which served as a magnet to any gathering of kindred spirits in that
magical time. We'd won another skirmish, and John's celebration was brief but solid. Climb-
ing back into his funky duds, it was black power handshakes all around and back on the road,
double clutching for Florence.
Finding a red VW van in one of Italy's biggest cities would have felt nearly impossible, but
Europe on $5 a Day
listed three campgrounds in town, narrowing the search considerably. The
first was small and easily scanned. “They're not here,” John announced, dropping into gear
before I could speak. The second campground was vast, a few acres on a hillside with scenic
views and a creek. I scanned, wondering if it would clog on toilet paper. John tore through
and in a few minutes came back. “They're not here.”
“Whoa!”
“What?”
“They're here.” I pointed down and to the left, just yonder. In another few minutes it was
sheepish blushing all around. It looked like Jane had indeed horsefucked Billy, and there was
John boy again—but wait a minute.
No, she hadn't. Maybe Billy wanted to—hell, yes, Billy wanted to—but she couldn't get old
John out of her mind, and there he was.
John was worse, love sick and no two ways about it. He said she'd ripped off his passport.
She said she didn't fucking rip off any such fucking thing.
He dove into the red van and under one of the fold-down berths, and there it was. “Oh
yeah?” What a relief, kind of.
“I didn't rip it off. You left it there.”
“Yeah, well. You didn't have to leave so fast like that.”
“I was mad.”
John grinned. “You mean you're not mad anymore?”
She didn't grin back, but everyone saw a crack in the wall. “Not as much.” It was like she'd
never be completely satisfied, but a hardy round of groin pounding right then and there might
help rectify the situation. John nodded like he'd seen John Wayne do a few times and headed
back into the van. Jane wagged her head and followed, mumbling about boys and their fucked
up needs.
