The Adventures of Campy Girlymann in the Land of Trolls

Girlymann and Vic took a quick look at one another.  Who doesn't like caves? Campy thought. The troll finished his wine and then poured another hearty round, finishing the bottle in his guest's glasses before he sat back down.

"I started with a natural cave actually, and then expanded it deeper into the mountain. You can find all kinds of things in mountains you know. They're a treasure trove at the picking." The troll fished in his pockets, which were many on the bib overhauls he wore until he pulled out a few gems.

Boogabob held out both hands to Campy and Vic. In them were the most beautiful gems Campy had ever seen.  One looked like a diamond but it sparkled as if light from inside came from  a rainbow. Each movement of the gem caused a spectrum of color. Another one was the clean ice-blue of glaciers. Another, not only looked like a rose bud, with the deepest red imaginable, but smelt like a sweet bouquet of roses on a warm summer day.

"They are absolutely the most beautiful gems I've ever seen." Campy broke his stare at the crystals and looked at the troll. "What are they called?"

The troll lifted the ice-blue crystal and announced, "Tinsel." Then he held up the gem of rainbows, "Lark's laugh." And then the crystal rose, "Sharon."  The troll smiled as his two guests held the gems and passed them around.

"There's more than that inside the cave. I'll show you."

"That would be wonderful,"  Campy said and he looked  at Vic who nodded in agreement.

Boogabob put the stones back in his pocket and  went to a shelf where candles were placed inside glass lanterns that had a handle fastened to them. He took two down and handed them to the other two. Then he lit them with a wooden match. "You'll need these, I don't, use to the dark ya know."

The troll then led them to an sturdy oak door and with a great iron key, unlocked the door and opened it. It did with squeals and screeches before the troll stopped and bid them to enter. Campy and Vic took their candle lanterns and walked inside, while they marveled at entering a cave right in Boogabob's house they heard a lound slam as the door closed behind them.

To be continued.....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann In The Land of Trolls

Boogabob led Girlymann and Vic to his cottage. They passed over the stream on a wood and stone bridge. Lily pads were in bloom in a small pond made by the expanse of the bridge. Beneath in the water swimming around the lily pads were trout. It was as pretty as a postcard cottage except for the ugly troll.

They walked up the wood steps and into the shelter at the front door hewn from old oak timbers, thick and aged. The troll opened the door and bid his guests to enter. Inside, sunlight filtered through a paned window where a canary hopped in his wire cage singing his heart out. It was furnished with overstuffed chairs and small sofa that sat in front of a stone fireplace that crackled with a wood fire.

On the walls were pictures, mostly of beautiful women. One woman in particular was on more than a few pictures. Boogabob asked his guests to sit, he would bring back some drink, cheese and fruit. Campy and Vic had left there bikes leaning on the cottage near the front porch and were glad to sit after carrying them for so long.

When boogabob returned, he carried a wood tray with a carafe of wine a fresh cheese, apples and pears. "A little snack to go with the conversation." He said and placed the tray on the table to the side of the sofa where Campy sat, and Vic in the overstuffed chair on the other side of the table. Boogabob sat opposite of Vic but before he did, he poured each a glass of wine and picked up an apple with a slice of cheese.

"I could get use to this," Campy said as he picked out a pear and cut a slice of cheese to go with it.

The Belgian also helped himself and settled deep into the soft  velvet upholstery. "Good cheese, Boogabob. Is it from you?"

"Oh, no there is a whole underground trade system we forest dwellers use. I traded crystals dug from the caves I have into the mountains."

Campy asked, "Are those crystals that shown so on the stepping stones."

"They are, I put them there myself. Bet you didn't even notice it was a path."

"I didn't, they looked just like stones at first in a random order."

"Well, you have to know which ones to step on. It's a trigger thing, when you step on the right one, the next will light up enough just to let you know and then when your foot steps it shines so you can see. They work best in the dark."


Vic pointed to one of the pictures that was across from him in back of Boogabob. "She is beautiful, do you know her?"

"Yes, and no. She is beautiful and I plan to marry her. She is Antoinette."

"Campy studied the picture and then asked. "When are you two getting married?"



"Oh, she doesn't know I'm alive. I mean, look at me. But she is the one I love none the less."

"Well she sure is beautiful." Campy said.

The troll drink from his cup before he poured more wine. "She is as beautiful as I am ugly. There's no getting around it but not even the plain women are interested in me, so why not go for the most beautiful? I have just as much chance. Yes?"

"More so," Vic said, and grabbed an apple. "I think beautiful women appreciate the soul better than the body of a man. From what I've seen you have a good heart."

"It wasn't always so. I was a very mean troll from the abuse I had as a child. Not my mother, but bullied relentlessly. It wasn't until I wandered into the forest and made friends with wood folk. They're a simple lot but they didn't care what I looked like. And it changed my life." Boogabob got off his chair and put a few sticks of wood in the hearth. "My mom named me Bob, but--Boo! gad-Bob stuck. Now I like it."

"Well, Campy Girlymann came with a few sneers but the name fit and I'm proud of it."

"Want to see the caves?" Boogabob asked his new found friends.

To be continued...underground.

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

Where ever Campy looked, all he saw was a forest of oak, pine and bay. The brook cascaded over a small waterfall nearby and there were squirrels and birds he could make out but there was still something else. He could feel it.

The Belgian found a patch of wild strawberries nearby and had picked a handful. He held out his open palm for Campy to take some of the berries. The two ate the sweet, red fruit fast and went looking for more. Another patch was soon found and devoured. They had ate that patch and looked for still another when they heard someone clear their throat.

"Umph. You two going to eat every last berry I have?"

Out stepped one of the ugliest men Campy ever saw. He was small, with huge pointed ears. His skin hung in folds making his face look like lava was poured over his head. His hands were large and bony as well as his feet but his arms and legs were short. It made Campy and the Belgian jump back and take in a breath.

The ugly man's eyes were a piercing green, they seem to almost shine as if a small green light were behind them. His pointy nose hung almost over his lips that were open and exposed sharp yellow teeth. He wore what look like a monks habit tied around his hips with a cord.

"Sorry," Campy said, still a bit taken aback by the sight. "We thought they were wild berries."

"Well, they are wild berries, everything here is wild, but that doesn't mean that somebody doesn't care for them. Who do you think tends them? The squirrels?"

"We apologize, not having any idea you lived here."

He bent down and took a remaining berry from the nearby patch. "That's the problem nowadays, Trolls don't get the respect that we use to. Names, Boogabob. You?"

"Huh, Campy, Campy Girlymann and this is my partner...you know I don't know his name."

The Belgian interceded and said, "Vic. or Victor but my friends just call me Vic."

"You're quite a ways from the road, how did you get here?" Boogabob asked.

"Just luck I guess, we went off the road back there and followed this trail to here."

"Someone after you?"

Campy looked at Vic and then at the troll. "You could say that."

"I just did. What you do? Something bad?"


"We're trying to escape the Du Claudes."

"On bicycles?"

"It's all we got."

"Anyone see you come here?" The troll sniffed at the air a bit  and looked back along the path.

"I don't think so, you can't see the path from the road. We only found it trying to hide from the helicopter." Campy looked at the troll more carefully and then said, "I didn't know trolls existed?"

"I'm here ain't I?"

"That's a fact. You are here."

"It's okay. Troll-schmool,  I'm one ugly son-a-bitch no matter what you call me. Actually human but different. My mom use to say I was pretty damn cute for a troll and I guess it stuck. All the teasing and kidding growing up sent me here. My own little haven away from you normal types." Boogabob sniffed the air and then held out his hand with strawberries. "Have some more. Actually I have more than this patch. Want to have lunch?

Girlymann and Vic looked at one another and said, "Sure."

"Follow me and be careful with those bikes, if you misstep, you'll slide right off the stones."

Boogabob led them into the forest where there was no path, yet in a way there was for the troll seemed to know exactly where to step and if you looked at the strange pattern of rocks there was always one to step on. Small, large, misshapen and old, they went along the ridge and then steeply down. It made carrying the bikes risky and the troll was deft at finding the right rock to step on, Campy and Vic had to keep their eyes opened, making sure they had the right rock to step on after Campy decided to fuck the stones and walk where he wanted. Lucky for him, his bodacious ass saved him from a hard fall, with his bike held above him.

It became darker as they descended yet the stones had a slight sparkle to them, as if they were mined from a vein of quartz that had rock and crystals embedded in the stone.  Just as Campy thought following trolls wasn't a good idea, something his mother warned him about,  the stones led them to the bottom of a grotto and there, where ferns dripped dew, a water wheel slowly turned from a small waterfall above it and built into and around was a cottage made of wood and thatch. An Apple tree nearby hung with fruit and in a birdbath, two bluebirds interrupted their bath to stare at the newcomers.


To be continued.....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann

Campy looked up to see a helicopter hovering overhead. Behind was a car trying to get out of the mud they just crossed. They needed to get in the cover of the trees and hopefully, leave the helicopter. So when they entered the forest of oak, Campy took his time, skirting any opening that may reveal them to the eye in the sky. He even went off road anytime it looked promising and so far the car or cars that had followed them hadn't shown up.

But the helicopter hadn't left them alone. It went to the right and left of the road and up ahead but stayed somewhere nearby. Perhaps the pilot could see ahead and figured they would show themselves, Campy wasn't sure, but he did know that they were vulnerable if in the open.

Once he went off road and found a small trail. Packed earth that led deeper into the forest.  It wasn't attached to the road, but rather, began about ten feet into a carpet of grasses  beneath the oaks. He decided to take a chance and slowed down with the Belgian on his tail. Before they left sight of the dirt road, Campy stopped and listened. He looked up and it would be near impossible for anyone to see them from the sky. Not just the canopy of leaves but sturdy limbs of an ancient oak were fanned out as well. Outside of the whirl of helicopter blades, Campy could not hear a car engine. He looked at the Belgian to see if he could either but he shrugged his shoulders as well.

Girlymann and the Belgian walked alongside their bikes, deeper into the woods following the footpath.  They went into a gorge where a stream ran along its seam. The path following the stream at a safe distance from the water's edge. Now the whirl of the helicopter was but a whisper and at times, not even heard. But the songs of birds were and they filled the air.

Once over a ridge the path went down and then, just as suddenly as it started near the road, it ended. Campy looked about, trying to see where the path picked up but there was no indication of one. And as Campy scanned the area he had a feeling someone was watching close by.

To be continued.....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann

The two men tucked in, making their bodies form along the lines of the bike. It kept there profile small and wind resistance at a minimum. Campy swerved from one side to the other of the road with the Belgian tight on his wheel. They were on a slight climb but when they reached the top and began the downhill, the bullets stopped.  Girlymann knew it wouldn't be long before they got in vehicles to chase them down with guns blazing.

Girlymann looked ahead, the road descended into a forest but soon ahead he could see the pavement end and become dirt. Campy took a quick look at his directions, memorizing when to turn left and right, which fork to take and once he was sure, put the paper back and gripped his bars just in time to feel the De Rosa shake under him when the tires left the pavement.

Soon they were in the forest. It felt better to have  the company of trees and their broad limbs shading the road. It gave them security in their flight, and they sped on their bikes as fast as fast could on a bumpy dirt road that shook the bikes so bad their teeth rattled. Campy knew the next turn was soon and from what he could tell they would need to gear up for a climb.

He took the turn and yelled, "Standing."

The Belgian knew what to do and got out of saddle with Campy. Good thing too, because it was an eighteen percent climb, short but a real kicker.  The two men reached the summit to find it only went down a short while before another steep climb came up.

How many more were there? Could the Belgian hold on  and keep climbing after all they've been through?  Campy knew their foe would be coming along soon. If they caught them here, in these rollers, they were sitting ducks.

"Kick it Belgian. We gotta make some time between them and us."

"It's too late Campy. Look."

Campy took a quick look behind them and could see one of the cars at the top of the first hill before it sank out of sight.

"Shit."

Just then, in front of them at the bottom of the gully was running water, Campy hit it and bounced off a rock, he managed to keep the bike up and power up the the other side. His bike slipped in the dirt and he lost some momentum but made it up and over. The Belgian hanging tight behind him. After another climb they came to a glen and the road smoothed out but they also lost the cover of the trees.

The two hightailed it as fast as they could toward the tree cover on the other side of the glen when a dip in the road brought them to a patch of mud where a small pond must have formed from recent rains. Campy veered quickly to the side and forced his legs to pump out the energy he needed to keep the wheels from sinking. He quickly mapped what looked like the driest section and went for it.

With sweat beading on his brow, he grunted and charged until his back wheel hit traction and they were on the other side. Within seconds they were back in the woods feeling safe until they heard a noise from above.

To be continued.....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann

It was the thugs from the guard house. Being fooled by Campy must have really pissed them off. They came running from their post full speed. Girlymann glanced at the gate, not too far from them but they were not only closed but a thick chain made the final clasp.

"Campy! Look in your jersey!"

It was Pepe, the wash maid's boyfriend and Campy felt his pockets in the back of the jersey and found a route slip leading from the estate into the hunting woods in back. "Belgian!"

"Yes,"

"I'll take the De Rosa. Follow me."

The Belgian mounted the Pogliaghi Campy had rode in on as Girlymann took hold of his bike.

It was as if an electric current went through him. An energy of man melding with machine and Campy savored it like hot sex on a warm summer night. They both took off just quick enough to miss the working end of a shovel destined for their heads. 

Ah, Campy thought, to be riding the De Rosa once again, life was good and now he was out to right a wrong on an unknown road. What could be better? He made sure in his exuberance that the Belgian was safely tucked in his draft.

"Don't loose the draft Belgian." Campy roared behind him.

"You carried me to victory Campy, I know your ass well."

They both smiled, griped their bars with one hand and took a quick check of what they had. Energy bars, small water but when they checked the bottles fastened to the bikes they discovered them full. Someone had taken care of them. They felt good. Felt like they had a fighting chance until a bullet whizzed by.

To be continued....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann

It was a long sleep. The wash maiden was too timid to wake them and let them sleep well hidden in the bundles of warm linen. Campy and the Belgian were snug and tight to each other. The Belgian rested his head on Girlymann's chest, his arms wrapped around his hero. Though Campy was awake, and ravenous, he didn't want to wake the faithful domestic.

When he felt the Belgian stir Campy woke him with a kiss and the two emerged from the sacks of laundry looking for their clothes.

"Psst," Campy got the attention of the maid and she blushed rushing to get their clothes that were clean, warm and dry.

When they dressed the maid presented them with a tray that held hot coffee, cream, warm croissants and elderberry jam. They attacked it, using bits of their fresh rolls to clean the plate. The sun was coming in through the small window. It looked like a good day, blue sky and what seemed to be a tranquil situation from the shouting and yelling of the day before.

Both men knew they would have to soon leave. The maid seemed nervous and kept an eye on the door that led to the interior of the estate. Both bikes were ready and Campy wondered how they could leave without too much notice. He decided the best thing to do was for them to take their bikes and chances. He opened the door and peered out, not much going on, perhaps they could ride off without any notice, so he motioned for the Belgian to follow.

They were both in the courtyard in back ready to mount their bikes when they heard a man yell.

"Stop."

To be continued....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann

Girlymann and the Belgian waited and listened. What they heard was the conversation of the couple just inches from them. Campy thought they were perhaps lovers. His French was limited but the Belgian began to get excited about what the two outside were saying.

"Monsieur Campy," he whispered.

"Yeah?"

"They are talking of us. They are looking for us before the guards and Jean Claude's roughs do."

"You mean they're on our side?"

"Yes. And I recognize the young woman, she brought me my food sometimes and always made sure to sneak a little more to me. She gave me hope."

"What do you think? Should we spring on them?"

"We can't stay here forever."

Campy took the hint and the tone of their conversation did seem concerned. He raised the trap door just a bit and lifted his hand.

The woman saw his hand first and gave a start. "Pepe," she said pointing to Campy's hand.

The man saw it and immediately grabbed Campy's hand pulling him out of the coal shoot. He was surprised to see the Belgian and the bike come up as well.

"Monsieurs. Please hurry before you're seen," The man and woman led the two with the bike to the laundry room just a few feet away. When Campy cleared the coal dust from his eyes he could see it was the same girl that he met earlier and who let him into the estate.

Once inside, the door was shut and they were taken to the back of the room. The bike was hidden among the bundles of laundry and the two men, thick with smeared coal were shown a large wash tub where they could scrub the soot from their bodies. The young woman took their clothes and immediately began to wash them once Campy and the Belgian stripped and climbed into the tub.

Her male friend kept a lookout at the small window that faced the back courtyard of the estate. Every once in while he would tell them to quiet when someone came close by. Campy and the Belgian gladly  turned on the hot water to wash the grime from their bodies with large bars of lavender soap to scrub each other clean.

With their bodies soaking in the hot sudsy water and their clothes being washed clean, they began to feel their strength return. Once they were both clean, they snuggled naked into the warm comfort of bundled laundry and fell asleep hidden well and safe.

To Be Continued....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

Girlymann slowly lifted the trap door. Lucky for him, the coal dust had lubricated the hinges for there in front of him were a pair of feet. Actually two pairs of feet. One of a man with work boots and another of a woman with very small feet. Shit, Campy thought to himself, of all the rotten luck.

Campy looked at the Belgian who was hanging on to Campy's waist with one arm and and his bike with the other. He looked tired and strained from the climb up the shoot.  His head rested on Girlymann's thigh. Campy wanted to comfort him, somehow reach out to the man that had endured and suffered so much for Grilymann that it brought tears to his eyes.

With each passing minute that strained the two's tendons and sore muscles Campy could feel the fight drain from the poor Belgian, the giant man who now weighed a little more than a hundred pounds. It made Campy mad. Made him want to fight and he wasn't going to be defeated. He wasn't going to let the domestic down.

Girlymann steeled his legs to each side of the shoot. He carefully took his bike from the grip of the Belgian and hoisted it carefully up to his side. Then he leaned against the bike to hold it in place. When the bike was secured, Campy reached down and pulled the domestic up wrapping his arms around the man and holding him fast in the tight space of their spider hole. Girlymann felt the body of the Belgian relax and  his bony frame rest on Campy. He made a vow then, to protect the Belgian no matter what it took. He wouldn't let him down no matter how tired his own body became.

Campy could feel the heartbeat of the man, feel the limbs, cold from the time in the dungeon begin to warm against his body and he willed himself to burn more energy and comfort the Belgian as much as he could. He hoped that the two would soon leave their position by the gate so that they could get out, where he could fight at least rather than feel like trap rats buried in a hole. 

To be continued....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann

As they pushed against the wall, their bodies slick with coal dust, Campy held his breath. One sneeze would give them away. The Belgian gently reached to Girlymann's nose and pinched the nostrils. Even in the dim light, Campy could see the look of concern on the domestic's face, inches from his as they held on and waited out  each second for the sound of men searching below to become more distant. With a quick look at each other, a smile of victory on their faces and they decided to continue up the shoot.

It was hard, the shoot was almost vertical and it seemed like climbing up the side of a building. The bike didn't help either, each effort to raise themselves meant jostling with the bike. It was bruising but in time, after they had stopped thinking the top was near, the shoot  angled somewhat and they could see the outline of light where the opening must be.

As they neared the trap door their ears listened for voices but heard little. Campy was sure that the whole estate would be looking for them. He had no idea where the trap door for the coal bin was located but sure it was on the outside and in back of the building. But where and how close to someone waiting to find them?

To be continued.....

The Adventures Of Campy Girlymann Continues

Once Campy had his bike fit to ride, he followed the Belgian to a room nearby, it was the boiler room where a large cold furnace, fueled by coal, sat in the middle of the room, to one side was a bin of coal and above it a large trap door. Just as the Belgian explained his plan to shimmy up the coal shoot, they could hear voices and yells getting closer by the second.

"We will have to pass the bike up as we go, it will be dangerous. If we slip, the bike and us will fall into the lap of Jean Claude and his men." The Belgian looked around, the voices were now loud and clear.  "We must hurry Campy they will search here soon."


The two men grabbed the bike and walked on top of the raw coal in its bin. Campy held the trap open for the Belgian to climb up first. He did so by pushing his back on one side of the shoot and his feet on the other. When he raised up as far as he could, Girlymann lifted the bike up to him. Then Campy crawled in. The quarters were tight, especially as the domestic held on to Campy's bike with one hand on one side of the shoot while Campy squeezed passed him on the other. Their bodies sliding, slick with sweat and coal dust pass one another. By the time they passed the bike once more they could hear voices in the boiler room and decided to holed as still as possible.

With all the disturbed coal dust, Girlymann felt his nose being tickled by a sneeze. 

To be continued......

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

It was strangely quiet once the iron door stopped.  Girlymann stepped into a hall and as he held his breath, waiting for the sound of alarm, he thought he heard rats.  It looked like a great place for vermin, dank somewhat, with little light to see by. He was in a hall connected to a series of what looked like barred jail cells. Each curved as if they were the foundation of the estate. Campy walked down the aisle of cells, some looked used recently, others not at all but near the end he heard something.

"S'il vous plaît?"  The voice said in a voice weak and in pain.

Campy stepped in front of the cell and saw the wretched body of the Belgian domestic.  His eyes and cheeks sallow. He was filthy with sweat and smears that defied identity. The Belgian's mouth dropped then his eyes brightened, he began to weep and rushed to the iron bars that held him.

"Where's the key to unlock you? Do you know?"

The captive looked at the old iron key in Campy's hand and pointed to it.

Girlymann smiled and immediately used the key to open the cell. He grabbed the Belgian and lifted him easily. "What the fuck did they do to you?"

"Quick. Your bike Campy. The De Rosa is in the main room. Leave me."

"I ain't leaving you or the bike. Can you ride mate?"

"I've done nothing but. I rode the De Rosa to supply Jean Claude and his friends power for their play room."

While the Belgian talked, Campy had carried him into the the main room. There was the De Rosa to the side of a large main room that held electronic games and televisions, looking much of a perverted game room for the ultra wealthy. The De Rosa was near a side wall with the rear wheel sitting on a drum to run a generator. Campy gritted his teeth, put the Belgian down and went to his bike.

"Monsieur Campy, we must hurry. They must know you're here."

"I had to knock one the bastards out, but will make it buddy. Just hang on."

Campy looked for the front wheel and when he saw it against the wall he placed the quick release of the wheel in the forks and snapped the handle in place.

"Mate, can you ride?"

"I can Campy."

Girlymann pulled out an energy bar from his jersey and gave it to the Belgian. "Take it."

The Belgian fell on it, ripping the wrapper off with his teeth. When he finished, which wasn't long, Girlymann gave him another and asked if he knew another way out that wasn't the secret passage.

The Belgian said there were two other ways out other than the secret passage that Campy came by.  But he had a better idea, one that he had been thinking of if he ever had a chance to escape.

Campy asked what it was....

To be continued....

The Adventures Of Campy Girlymann Continues

Quick, Campy slipped behind the opening door. It was a man dressed well, evidently from the party and with a very large key fastened to a steel ring in his hand.  Girlymann held his breath, waited for just the right moment, when the stranger would begin his decent or close the hidden door.

He left it opened and when he moved forward, Campy put a choke hold on him, as he pulled him down and back.  Once the man went limp, Campy let go, went to the linen and grabbed some covers used for the furniture. With a few rips to the cotton fabric, Campy had binding and tied both the feet and hands, as well as the mouth of what turned out, a very handsome, well dressed man.

Campy closed the door and placed the man so that his body leaned against it before he descended the stairs with the key in his hand. He knew he had a few minutes at best before his victim woke up with a very bad headache. It wouldn't take long though for the cob webs to clear and present a problem. Campy took the steps two at a time at a gallop until the iron door appeared.

Girlymann steadied his breath and used the key to open the door. It screamed with lack of oil. If anyone was there, they now knew someone just entered.

To be continued... 

The Adventures Of Campy Girlymann Continues

Campy heard a party in the one of the main rooms nearby. There was laughter and music at what seemed to be a dinner party. He quickly walked the short way to a hall where a door was near a mirror reflecting a vase of flowers on an ornate side table. He opened the door and stepped into a linen closet. Once he shut the door and turned on the light he pressed the side of the closet and it opened, shelves and all. He entered and stepped onto a platform before he shut the hidden door and  carefully made his way down a series of steps and landings.

He went deeper into the estate, down where now, there was no noise of the party going on above. Down to a level of old granite when the estate was a fortress. The walls were dark with soot from torches of long ago, now lit by a dim series of small naked light bulbs that cast the bare minimum of light. The floor and ceiling were dank and musty yet still the stairs descended until an iron barred door held Girlymann back.

Campy studied the door, looking to see how to open it when he realized it would need a very old key. Something that he should have looked for when he opened the hidden closet door. He would have to go back. He turned around and started his climb up the steep granite stairs, back into the estate where the granite ended and wood planks made up the stair case. The music could be heard, and then the laughter until at last he was where he started on the platform in back of the linen closet. He was just about to open the hidden closet door when he noticed the door began to move on its own.

To be continued.....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

Campy studied the map, trying to place the turns, rooms and hallways in his mind but it was difficult, he had never been inside before. Taking a peek of the servants hallway, there wasn't much to signal which way other than what the map gave. He turned right and looked for the stairs not to far away. Small, and dimly lit, Girlymann took them to the landing above. This opened to a hallway rich in color, drapes and art work.  He had to make up his mind soon. The turn for the short cut was just up ahead.

When he got to the turn, and looked for a faux side table that would open the wood panel to reveal a passage, he hesitated. It seemed he could hear voices, as if a party was going on somewhere inside. It didn't seem to come nearby but echo throughout as he walked. He pulled at the table's side and watched it open silently until he could slip in sideways. Now the noise was louder, still muffled that he couldn't hear exact words but enough to know there was talk and laughter going on somewhere in the building.

He decided to continue. After he closed the passage with a cord that hung on the back, he carefully crept forward to a landing and then another turn, this took him to a door he had to walk through to continue his way to the where the dungeon was located. The door was another faux fixture, when he opened it  there was a heavy velvet curtain on the other side.  Now the laughter and talk were much more discernible. Not in the room behind the curtain but quite close. He would have to be very careful to continue because he needed to go to the next passage that lead directly to the dungeon but first would have to cross a short distance to where a full length mirror was located.

He held his breath, and as he closed the door behind him, he parted the curtain and stepped out.

To be continued....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

Once Campy saw the gates for the Estate du Cluade, he pulled out a wireless device that Ricky gave him with the black box. He pressed the button and waited for the green light to confirm the box received the message. Then he turned off the street and onto the road that led to the estate. He was sure that the cameras picked up who entered, whether or not the two men looked until whoever it was came to the Estate's parking entrance or not was another matter. But once Campy was at the gate it flew open without him stopping. He rode in noticing that no one was in the courtyard, not even one of the two men at the security cameras. And because they were out of sight from the laundry room, Campy rode there and noticed a small light on in a little  barred window near the door.

He rode up to the door and dismounted, knocked three times and the door opened. A small girl was there with a smile. 'Monsieur, quickly, bring your bicycle in."

Campy complied and she pointed to a mound of laundry nearby, "Hide your bike there, behind the bundles. It will be waiting for you when you leave."

Girlymann did as she asked and then said, "Thank you Rose."

She blushed and then curtsied. "Your welcome Monsieur."  She then pulled out a sheet of paper that looked like a blueprint of the Estate. There was an X where they were and drawn lines to a location under the Estate. "You will find what you are looking for with this map." She said and pointed along the line from the laundry room to a point marked, Dungeon.

Campy studied the blueprint turned into a map and he could see why he needed it, there were so many passages and it seemed to him that he was being directed to a hidden  passage that went directly to the dungeon from a location near the library. It was also marked, 'USE WITH CAUTION!' another line went further on and around to a series of staircases and hallways, a longer way but without the caution warning.

Campy had to make a decision. 


To be continued....

The Adventures Of Campy Girlymann

The sun shining, Girlymann washed the dye from his hair. He had been letting it grow back, not as long as it once was but long enough to give a full body of golden curls. He put on his Campagnolo jersey, his lucky Lycra bib shorts, showing off his ass to its best and popping those thunder thighs to the max. Campy looked in the mirror and smiled.

"I'm back, I'm bad and I'm mad." He said with a snarl.

In his kit he put everything he thought he might need for his greatest adventure, the return of the famous De Rosa, the release of an innocent captive and hopefully the redemption of a country village. Any one would be a tall order to take but Campy knew the stakes and was willing to risk it all.

His red Pogliaghi, beautiful and gleaming, stood near the garden gate. It seemed to be waiting for him. An old war horse ready for battle. Pierre had new tires for it that Girlymann requested. A bit heavier than most race tires but dependable and that's what Campy needed most.

It was a fine day, the serious riders had left that morning and at about this time, mid afternoon, most will have been back, resting sore muscles. Campy was just starting. He said goodbye to Pierre and opened the garden gate to mount his bike and ride away.

With the wind once again in his face, Campy had a grin from ear to ear, only now he felt himself. No more servile worker, or  Aussie tourist, just  Campy Girlymann: bubble butt, bad, buff and beautiful.

Once on the outskirts of town he picked up speed to relax his legs and get his mojo. He passed cars, flew by cyclists and flirted with the boys. He was heading to the Estate du Claude the long way.

To be continued....

The Adventures Of Campy Girlymann

On the way back to town the two men laughed and mimicked the guards. How they gave Michel hell for hiring such an idiot and hoped that he wasn't getting paid for what he did. They made Michel check the work to see if it was done right while hurling insults at Campy as he played along making himself look like a fool, dropping tools and bowing forgiveness.

"Quite an act you gave those two turd machines back there." Michel said as they entered the town's gate.

"I thought of joining a circus once, but this is way more fun." Campy remarked and smiled before he said, " How about joining Pierre and me in the backyard. He said he has a special wine to share with us."

Michel said as he pointed to himself, "A Frenchman turning down such an offer?"

"It's been great to know you, Michel, you're not only a great cyclist but a great man for helping me."

"My friend, I wait for you to set the trap, I want to be there."

"And you will."

The two pulled into Michel's little bike shop and after putting the tools of the trade away and secured they left for, Le Noir Chat. Once there, they talked with friends and gradually wound up in the little garden in back with Pierre and a dusty bottle of red wine.

"I stole this myself from under the Contesta's nose." He said as he pulled the cork on the bottle, "Getting one up on that bitch was one of the most pleasurable thrills I've had." Then Pierre poured the rich red wine into three glasses before he sat the bottle down on a little table where they had gathered.

The air was full of Jasmine, it competed with the nose of the wine and made the men feel tipsy without a sip yet of the grape. Michel rose though before they could taste the wine and said, " A toast."

Campy and Pierre rose from their patio chairs and raised their glasses with Michel.

"To success and revenge." Michel said and then they all clinked glasses and took a swallow.

"A very good wine," Michel said, "How did you obtain it from the clutches of the Contesta?"

"Ah, well, The wine merchant, Andre, my very good friend, called on me that he had obtained  ten crates of a very good wine from Burgundy. He wanted to let me know, before putting them out for sale." Pierre swirled the wine in his glass a bit before going on. "I went the next day to his shop and Andre gave me a taste. I couldn't believe the price for the quality and Andre added that with some age, the wine would be even better. I wanted one crate for myself, to enjoy."

Pierre stopped a moment as if he needed time to reflect on the events that occurred on that day.  "The Contesta came in, with her entourage of course, and saw us enjoying and talking of the new wine. 'What have you there Andre?' she said."

"' A new wine Contesta. Would you like a taste?' Andre said to her."  Pierre stopped the story to pour a bit more of the wine into each of the three glasses. "'Pierre seems to like it. How much do you have?' Ten crates' Andre said, and the bitch said she would take all ten. Andre told her that one was already taken by Pierre here, but she could have the other nine. But the Contesta told him if he wanted her business he would sell her all ten."

Pour Andre." Pierre said and shook his head. "She was, of course, his biggest customer and it would cost him dearly to cross her, especially since she drinks like a pig." A round of laughter ensued along with memories of famous stories told by her staff of the Contesta's  drunken binges.

"Well, my friend looked at me and I shrugged my shoulders, what could he do, so I asked Andre for a case of of Charles Shaw, that famous American wine and then talked with the Contesta. Of course you don't talk with the Contesta, she holds court but I asked her if she was happy with the duck that I recommended when one her cooking staff had asked about a good poultry farm. Of course she had no idea what I was talking about and on the way out, I offered to help place her order in her Rolls Royce. As Andre and lifted her cases, I quickly slipped the case of two buck Chuck in with the her order and took the last case left of the burgundy home with me. Even Andre did not know about it and guess what happened?"

"What?" the other two asked.

"A week later she asked for more of the American two buck Chuck and why was Andre hiding it from her."

The three men spent the night swapping tales until they finished the excellent bottle of burgundy.  Before they left, Michel reminded Campy, "Remember, Rose will be in the laundry room, there will be a small light on, knock three times and trust no one."

"I will." Campy said before they made their goodbyes and retired for the evening.

To be continued....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann

Michel and Campy rode the tricycles laden with tools toward the Estate du Claude. There were other stops they needed to make but first the Du Claude. Once past the gate the old man again greeted them and took them to the work shop on the side of the garage. There was another bike there, no sign though of the De Rosa and, as expected, the two men playing cards.

"I'm going to put the belt on the washer. I'll let you work on the bike. It needs new tires and a new chain. Can you do that?" Michel asked Campy.

"Sure boss."

"Okay, I'm counting on you, this is your first time without my supervision."

"I can do it boss."

With that Michel left with the old man and some tools along with the belt needed to repair the washer leaving Campy to himself and the two men. Campy left to retrieve the things he needed, some in sacks and others hauled by hand.

He placed the bike to be repaired near the table with the two men at cards. They looked at him a bit annoyed but went back to their game.  Campy then began to assemble the bike stand but when he slipped the base of the bike stand to the frame, tilting it to put the base on, the frame hit against the bike to be repaired and fell into the table knocking everything on the floor.

"You idiot. Get away!" exclaimed one of the men.

"Sorry your lordship. Sorry," Campy said bending down to retrieve the cards and bottles scattered about. But as he did, his foot caught the bent bike stand sending it down on himself and one of the men.

"What a fool.  You imbecile!" The man screamed shoving Campy off him.

Girlymann got up quickly and moved the stand back, grabbing a box inside a sack nearby as he did so. While the one man helped his friend up and they both began to right the table and cards, Campy pulled the cables on an identical black box hooked to the screens and exchanged it with the one from the sack. It took only a few seconds. Before the men had their affairs back Campy was trying again to put the stand together.

One man grabbed his arm, "Look you idiot, go over to the wood bin and work there. If you can that is." He pulled on Campy's arm until they were at the wood bin before the man went back to his cards.



While Campy worked, the two men made rude comments as to Campy's ancestry, his mother and even his dog if had had one. 

Campy played along with dropping a tool or trying to figure which side to take the tires off. 'Let them laugh,' he thought, 'I'll laugh too.'

To be continued.....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann

Monsieur Campy, Ricky is the right man. It would be easy for him." Pierre said, trying to assure Campy.

"I hate to admit it but you're right." Campy said and then dialed the phone.

"Bernard? Campy here," Campy listened to Bernard rattle on for five minutes before he could ask a question.

"I need some help with a video and electronics, Pierre said Ricky was the best. Can I talk to him?"

There was  another five minutes of Bernard agreeing before Ricky answered the phone. "Yes, what can I do for our old friend."  Ricky said.

"I need a video made that can be turned on with a wireless device."

"That's it?"

"Well, there's more, can you come to the Black Cat?"

"Le Noir Chat?"

"Sorry, yes, Le Noir Chat. I need it by Monday morning."

"I'm not sure what it is you need but I will come now, Yes?"

"Great thanks! See you in an hour?"

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes.  Ciao."

Campy was pleased, Ricky was a perfectionist but that's what he needed.  But could a perfectionist do the job on time? Campy hoped for the better while the minutes clicked by. 

Not long after, Ricky came in and went to the bar where Campy was before he sat next to him. "Can we talk?"

Campy looked around, not many people and it would draw attention, he thought, if the two left for the back room.

"I think, if we give a chuckle now and then."

"This is a joke you want to play, is that it?" Ricky asked.

"Yes, a little prank, I need something that I can easily attach to observation cameras to show that a sports car is at the gate."

"Are the cameras attached to a device now?"

"Yes, they are, it can see the road leading to the house and the three sides of the vehicle at the gate. I thought it would be clever to have someone... Maybe someone like Jean Claude behind one of his sports car, so that they thought it was him at the gate."

"A clever mischief to play on the mayor  hey?" Said Ricky in a loud voice.

"Exactly. Can you do it?"

"I'll have such a thing for you on Sunday. Bernard and I will give it to Pierre on our way to the river bike ride."

"Looking forward to Sunday, thanks Ricky for helping me with this little joke."

The two men smiled and then Ricky slapped Campy's back and ordered a bottle of wine from Pierre.

To be continued....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann

Campy took his time with the De Rosa, Michel had already fixed the other bike and had left to look at the wash machine as Campy finished wiping the De Rosa's tires. The men playing cards chided him for being so slow and that only someone like Michel would hire such an oaf. But Campy ignored the louts and instead watched how delivery vans entered the estate. There were three small screens near where the men sat and when a horned honked or the gate's buzzer sounded, the men would look at the screens and either stand to press a button on a panel nearby, or inquire their name and business through the intercom. No matter what, Campy observed, at least one of the men were near the screens and the panel.

It didn't take long to finish the carbon bike. There were no intricate welds or chrome joints to carefully clean, no decals or fine detail to gently wipe. He had finished just as Michel returned with the old man.

"The pump needs a new belt is all. If you want, on my next time here, I will bring one. "

"Most grateful, Michel. The Contesta is always accusing them of stealing, she would blame them and take the repair bill from their meager wages."

"How are they doing the wash now?"

The old man shrugged, "How else? By hand of course.  They go to the river and wash there, it is back breaking for them." 

"I will be out Monday, tell them it will be repaired by noon on Monday."

"They will be so thankful. I think there is enough towels and linen in this place to sustain the Contesta for the weekend." The old man said with a wink.

Michel placed his hand on Campy's shoulder, "Place the tools back, we'll return Monday."

Campy touched his cap and began to break down the bike stand. He took another look at the wiring of the screens and the panel on his trips back and forth from the shed and the tricycles. The men paid him no heed at all.

To be continued....

The Adventures of Campy Girlyman...

It was all Campy could do to keep from grabbing his bike and taking off. Damn be these French and their queer ways. Damn to the village and its idiots for not standing on their own and confront the De Claudes.  All he wanted was to ride the famous De Rosa that stood now in front of him as he held a cleaning rag clutched in his hand. He wasn't even allowed to repair his De Rosa, only to wipe the filth from its weary frame.

With a loving hand, he began to gently ease the dirt off the bright gleam of the finish. It seemed to Campy that the De Rosa knew he was there, that the bike held still for him as his hand brushed away cakes of grime. He wanted to comfort this famous steed in its hour of great need.  To pay homage to the once renowned flash of blue that whisked by towns and country.

Campy gently moved the bike to lay against him as he reached over to clean the tubing's other side. He felt the metal rest on him to take its burden of labor into safe harbor. And as Campy softly brushed the dirt and then, with a gentle hand, wipe the grime away with warm water and soap, a tear fell to the floor. The only tear Campy vowed to shed until Jean de Claude was vanquished and his reign of terror finished.

"I will have my day." Campy snorted.

"What was that you said? You're tired? Well, what kind of bike mechanic would you make if you couldn't handle a little dirt?" Michel quipped and with it a wink and bit of stiff upper lip to say not to give us away.

Campy  coughed to rid his throat and clear his mind. Now is not the time for sentiment, he thought. It was a time to think and form a new plan, now that he was inside the estate of the De Claudes. Campy took a look around, at the men playing cards, the comings and goings at the estate's entrance and looked for a sign of weakness in this fortress of evil. He would find it, if just a mouse hole, he would find it.

To be continued....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

Once the clang of the gate  stopped ringing in their ears, Michel peddled toward the carriage building.  Separate from the estate, yet made of the same stone and architectural style that had five large garage wood doors that faced a paved parking area. It appeared there were quarters above the garage for the chauffeur and staff. On the side of the building was a door with a bell. Michel rang and waited. Within a minute someone answered the door.

"Ah, Michel, you're here, let me open the back for you." With that, the old man walked back and Michel motioned for Campy to follow him. they went behind the building where a  large door creaked opened and there stood the man who had greeted them. Inside were all types of bikes and sports gear. On one side were two men playing cards at a small wood table. They looked to see who was there, smiled at Michel and continued with their cards.

"He wants you to check two bikes out and also the washing machine. The maids said it's not draining right."

"I repair bikes, not washing machines." Michel said with a strained look.

"I know, I know but please, you're good with machines. It's not the master that asked, it was the maids. They fear he will garnish their wages and blame them for it breaking."

Michel was silent for a while and then nodded his head, "I'll do it. But I don't have parts for washing machines. If it needs a part, I'll tell you what you need to buy to fix it."

"Fair enough, and I'll tell the girls, they'll be so pleased."

The old man looked over to Michel's assistant, "Someone new?"

"His learning, asked if he could hang around and learn the trade but for why I don't know, probably too stupid to do be a cobbler."

Campy kept his head down and his eyes on the ground. He could tell the old man look him over before he sighed and let the both into the workshop. 

It was a comfortable place. On the table where the two played cards was an old radio playing cabaret songs. Near the table, that sat in front of the window, was a bird cage with a bright yellow canary inside singing its heart out to the music. On all the other sides were tools of every description, all very old looking but in good condition and each on its own peg in the wall. Cables and ropes hung from hooks from the ceiling and large shelves held wood of various types and sizes. The two bikes were leaning against the shelves of wood.

When Campy's eyes focused on the two bikes, he could hardly believe what he saw, the first one was a carbon fiber, black and white and behind it was his beloved De Rosa. It looked as if it was left outside from the dirt and grime that caked the tubing. There was no luster of the brilliant metallic blue paint, or the glimmer of chrome that had, at one time, sent mirrored flashes of light back to the beholder. The tires were worn and flat, the chain rusty and the bars bent in an awkward manner. 

He had to catch himself, had to keep breathing and not rush over to the De Rosa's side to lovingly clean and mend all that was wrong. It was with every fiber of his being that he stilled himself and waited for Michel to say something.

His boss, said nothing but told him to retrieve the bike stand, tools, and cleaning rags. That, at least allowed Campy to regain his composure while he unpacked the two tricycles of their tools.

To be continued.......but first.. I've been out with a damn kidney stone. It's a third of an inch, a half of centimeter. When my pearl finally worms its way out of my kidney and into the pipe, I'll have me a new ear stud. But until then, I'm having the pangs of birth to bring forth the Pearl of Great Price. Bear with me as I try and flush the pearl out and get back to writing about Campy.

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

Campy needed to change drag somewhat. Instead of the touring shorts he had on bib overhauls, loose with a long sleeve Tee shirt. A hat, sensible shoes and a bit lower profile. Michel, the crippled cyclist,  told Campy it was his legs, and that, out there in your face attitude, that gave him away. Campy took the hint and dressed like his new boss. And he liked it, with thunder thighs and beach ball buns he had plenty of room for his junk.  And it hid him like a chameleon,  just another blue-collar, working stiff, like a hundred million other tough luck men.

The two men rode working bikes, three wheelers that had a trunk. The cargo space held all the tools including a collapsible bike stand. Then there were the bicycle components, probably sixty kilos in spare parts, tubes, tires and tape.  The bikes rode well enough once Campy got use to turning a tricycle. The weight slowed them on the hills, and fortunately there were few between town and the Chateau De Claudes. 

It was a magnificent stone edifice. The drive from the main highway was over a mile, all with trimmed shrubbery, green lawns, water fountains and statues. On the way Michel talked with Campy.

"Remember, you keep your head low, let me do the talking and act like you can't tie your shoes."

"Got it." Campy rode next to Michel now that they were off the highway, "They must have a fortune to have all this."

Michel laughed, "There fortune lies in terrorizing the town. Everything you see," Michel said as he waved his arm in a circle, "Came from the backs of those the de Claudes have enslaved, like me, where could I get work as a crippled cyclist? You don't do what you're asked at the price they want? Accidents happen. Bad accidents. They are hated within a hundred miles of this spider's web."

"Why was I hunted so?"

"Oh, you don't know? Why to turn you in would bring a high price. A very high price. In fact, how do you know I'm not doing it now?" Michel stopped his bike, we were inside the walls of the Chatau and had just turned into the servants area. The iron gate closed behind with a hard clunk.

To be continued....

The Adventures Of Campy Girlymann

Campy pressed Gaston for a chance to ride with the famous Jean Claude who won the yellow jersey. But Gaston, at last, told Campy that he detested the cyclist, for obvious reasons though left unmentioned, it was a black spot on The Tour de France that Gaston had no interest in pursuing.  The distaste of Jean Claude was shared among the riders and Campy realized that getting to the Estate of Jean Claude wouldn't happen with this group of dedicated cyclists.

On the way back from their ride through the mountains, Campy wondered what avenue he could pursue to free the Belgian and regain his beloved De Rosa. He fell to the back of the pack and another rider pulled up next to him. He looked fit, yet Campy could see he was struggling to keep up though the pack had slowed on the level ground going back to the town.

Campy had remembered seeing someone, always at the back and never quite up with the group, though he was respected among the cyclists and sat next to Gaston on the Sunday ride at the cafe, he didn't seem able to endure the stress of the ride. 

"I know who you are." The rider said.

"And who are you?"Campy asked.

"A friend, and I will help you with your quest."

"What quest is that?" Campy asked, not sure where this was going.

"I was once one of the best until Jean Claude saw me as a threat, he couldn't buy me to throw the race, so...he had an accident planned just for me. My leg." The rider pointed down.

Campy looked down and saw that the calf of the cyclist and thigh had horrible scars and missing tissue, leaving what looked like a shark that tore the flesh out.

"I was pushed into a car going the opposite way, and my leg was almost torn off. The driver of the car worked for Jean Claude and it was Jean Claude's men that cornered me and forced me into the lane. Of course they all said it was an accident, even the magistrate. All so very convenient."

Campy now realized how hated the De Claudes were, and why this man's friend, Gaston, didn't wish to talk about the winner of the Yellow Jersey.

"So you think you can get me in?"

"Yes, and it will be easy for you."

Campy wondered how this man could get him easily. "How?"

"You will come with me as my assistant when I do maintenance on Jean Claude's bicycles He was kind enough to give me the job of mechanic for all his little toys." The man spat out the words as if each were a bitter pill.

Campy reached over and shook the man's hand while they rode and then the two slowed further back and talked in the late afternoon night while they rode back to town.

To be continued....

Campy will return

I have been working on a mystery of mine, Lollipop.  My story, Jawbone, a thriller/mystery has a good chance of being published. They asked for the full manuscript after reading the submission I sent them. But Campy will ride again, and soon!

The Adventures Of Campy Girlymann Continues

Everyday that the racers showed up to ride, Campy was there too. On Sunday Girlymann rode with the old men and made friends among them. He made sure Gaston saw him though and would give him a hand salute and smile that at first wasn't returned. But as the weeks went on, Gaston warmed and asked Campy to ride with them to the cafe by the river on the Sunday ride. Campy was feeling good about the developments and was looking forward to Sunday and the ride as he sat at the bar in the Chat Noir Cafe.

The rain started its pitter-pat on the cobblestones outside. A warm summer afternoon, the front door was open for a breath of fresh cool air moistened by an afternoon shower.  Campy felt an arm fall on his shoulder and when he turn to see who's arm it was, Bernard winked.

"You are a bad boy, Girlymann," he said and sat down next to Campy.

"I was wondering how long I could keep it from you," Campy said a bit embarrassed and with a quick look to see who else was in the cafe. 

"I knew it was you the first time you rode Sunday. No one has legs like yours. But I will keep your secret."

"That's what I'm counting on, Thanks Bernard."

"Oh, it is Ricky, hot headed Cuban that he is would strangle me if I told anyone." 

"Then tell Ricky thanks." Campy said and in a louder voice, "Thanks mate for the tip on what to see in Paris first. Always wanted to go there."

Ricky winked and said, "Anytime Aussie, anytime."

Girlymann turned back to his coffee and guide book. With Bernard knowing, he wondered who else knew and how much talk there was about him. He decided that later that night, after closing, he would talk to Pierre if he has heard anything of his secret.  

When the last customer left and Campy had helped with the cleanup, the two retired to the small garden in back. To sit and talk over a glass of port. The moon was shining bright above with the shadow of clouds passing below it. The night jasmine full in bloom made the night air heady with its Asian perfume.

"There is talk." Pierre played with his port, swirling the warm colored wine in the bowl of his glass. "There is always talk in a town of this size but, monsieur Campy, it is not about you."

"That's a relief." Campy didn't swirl his, but shot the whole glass of port down before he poured  another.

Pierre waited until his friend had settled down. When the night became silent and clouds blocked the moon's silver glow, he said, "There is something evil at the Estate Du Claude." Pierre looked around as if someone might be listening before he leaned toward Campy and said, "They fired the head gardener who had worked there as a boy when his own father cared for the estate. His wife pregnant with a child." Pierre voice raised a bit, showing his disgust.

"Terrible, " Campy said.

"He has work now, at another estate in the next village but he talked of what he heard from the estates servants. All, to the last, hate the Contesta du Claude and her son Jean."

"I have tried to talk with Gaston, hoping I might get in with him and be introduce to Jean Claude but he's a bit leery of me, I think."

Pierre laughed and said, "Leery? He is terrified that you will beat him in front of all his friends." Another laugh from Pierre and then he said, "He wishes you will disappear like the Belgian domestic."

"What do you suppose happened to that guy?"

Pierre looked at Campy in a dumbfounded way. "That's what the villagers are talking about my friend. They say he is locked up in the old dungeons of the Estate du Claude. That Jean Claude has made him his slave."

Campy looked astonished at what Pierre had said, "They can't do that can they?"

"I'm afraid the Contesta has money and connections. They can do whatever they want. If they send the police, it would be easy to pay to have them not look everywhere. After all if you can pay for your son to win the Yellow Jersey then you can pay for anything. " Pierre grabbed Campy's shoulder and pulled him a bit. "Do you know why you don't see Jean Claude with the team?'

"I was wondering why he hasn't ridden."

"He doesn't need to. He won the jersey and that is all that mattered to him, now he is onto something else."

"This changes things, Pierre, I have to get into the Estate du Claude."

"Good luck my friend, for you will need all the luck you can get. It would be easier, how you say, to break into Fort Knox."

"I got that Belgian into this and I'm going to get him out."

Pierre held up his glass to the night sky and said, "To your success!"

Campy smiled and tip his glass toward Pierre before both men took a sip of their port.
They looked at the night sky, sipped their port  and wondered of the future as the night clouds rolled above them.   

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

The next morning, bright and early, Campy was up and waiting at the fountain for the racers to arrive. They came in twos and threes until a small peloton had formed. Campy received a few smiles, some giggled at his touring clothes and bike. All of the racers wore and rode the latest and the greatest in the cycling industry. But Campy just smiled back and waited.

When the time arrived, the peloton took off toward the mountains. The pace was easy, and Campy stayed in the back,  no one bothered him and, in fact, they ignored him as the road narrowed and the climbing began. The pace was fast and in time, the peloton began to lengthen into a long snake type formation. Campy, still in back, was close to the last riders. He watched though, seeing how far ahead the lead riders were and when gaps began to develop, Campy eased around the slower riders.  Some of the riders he passed, were visibly shaken, and frustrated, they pushed themselves to stay with Campy until they could no longer keep on his wheel and fell off.

As they neared the summit of the climb, the leader looked backed to see where the others were and seemed surprised to see Campy in back of his pod of riders. The lead group went over the summit and raced down the other side of the mountain with Campy hanging on to his position in the back. When the lead rider again turned to see who was left, there was the new rider, still with them.

Gaston turned to the rider next to him and spoke, his buddy turned to see who he was talking about and turned back to Gaston with a smile, they seem to be agreeing on something is what Campy thought. Gaston then took the pod of riders to a road on the left, it was very old and in bad shape. Not all of the riders went with them but Campy did and stayed right in the back. The road went from rutted dirt, to cobblestone, in some very small villages, to packed earth in others. The bikes were dirty, streams had to be crossed and no matter how bad or how rough it became, Campy was still there. At last Gaston took another road that led quicly back to the main highway and back toward town. He pulled up next to Campy and smiled. "I give you credit, Aussie, you're tough, " he said.

Campy smiled and extended his hand but Gaston didn't shake it, instead he rode back up to the front of his group. It didn't bother Campy because right then, he knew he won.

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

The old men were fascinating with their tales of bike racing back when cobblestone streets and dirt roads were the norm. Of placing a stick of wood in the top tube to give warning should the fork break and throw them over the bars. Of men that drank wine for power drinks and wore wool shorts and jerseys that soaked up rain and kept them cool in the sun. They were a happy crew with their memories and stories, and the time passed quickly with each wanting to add or remind someone of another story in their quest to entertain Campy with tales of yore.

"Mick! We are here." Said Alain

Campy looked ahead to a picturesque river scene. Small row boats saddled with couples lazily paddling up and down the quiet waters of the river. The river banks held green grass with stout trees along the the water's edge, their shade made the dappled light flicker on the wet surface.  

The young couples were there, along the banks with blankets being spread and food laid out to enjoy. Bernard and Ricky in the midst of them all, with an umbrella, pillows and a spread laden with tasty treats.

Campy took a quick look at the couple, nothing seemed to give an indication that they knew who he was, Girlymann felt a bit more confident, so he went with Alain to the cafe and bar where the racers sat at tables that overlooked the river. Their lean bodies, and legs like an antelope, on display where they sat and leaned back in deck chairs to enjoy a day of rest from training and races.

Alain walked to the group and as he neared, the older of the racers called out his name and smiled at him. He in return nodding his head and smiling back. He went to a group located at a table that had the best view, "Bonjour Gaston," he said and held out his hand.

Gaston took Alain's hand in a warm handshake and the two talked in French. Campy stood there, looking, discreetly for Jean Claude but didn't see him as he waited for the two men to finish speaking. When they did, Alain turned to Campy.

"Mick, they are going on a training ride tomorrow, you can follow them as long as you don't interfere with their ride. Gaston is afraid they might have to babysit you."

"Won't be a problem. I've taken care of myself up to now and plan to continue."

Campy turned to Gaston, gave him a salute and said, "Thanks Mate."

Alain then told Campy that he could meet them at the town's fountain at seven in the morning. They won't wait for him. Campy agreed and Alain thanked Gaston and took Campy's arm to guide him over to the side of the cafe where the old men sat with their bikes. Once at the table and seated, Alain told Campy what transpired.

"Mick, I was surprised they would let you ride with them. When I mentioned you were from Australia they seemed to warm up to the proposal. I think they are curious about you."

"I appreciate what you did for me Alain. Can I buy you a cuppa?"

Campy joined in with the old men and their bikes. He listened and tried some of his French on them and they in returned helped him. Girlymann felt relaxed and content, the conversation was as pleasant as the weather and with the scenery it made for a memorable day.

To be continued.....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

The old men gathered around Campy and his bike. Talking among themselves, pointing to some component or piece of the frame, they admired the bike. One in the group who spoke the best English, asked the bike's owner a question. "Beautifully restored, you did this?"

"No mate, but a friend of mine in Italy did. I'm on holiday and stayed with him a bit before going to France. He loaned me this bike when I told him I wanted to race."

"What's your name?" The old man asked.

"Mick." Campy answered.

"I'm Alain. I raced myself many years ago on a local team here."

"Ah, the man I came to see. Can you get me on a local team?"

"Oh, it is not that easy. But in the small river village ahead will be a group of racers there at an outdoor cafe. I will introduce you if you like."

"Thanks.  I raced down under and was pretty good too. My mates said I should come here and see about racing in the Tour de France."

The old man chuckled, well Jean Claude, the winner of this year's race lives in our town."

"It must be my lucky day!"

"Don't get your hopes up, but I will introduce you." Alain looked Campy over, the touring shorts, the old style shoes that needed to be strapped into the pedal and said, "You know Mick, this style of racing is from long ago, today the bikes are much lighter with more gears and the clothing is different too. Why not enjoy yourself in our beautiful country. I... "

"Oh, I know mate, I'm a bit different, queer you might say but I would still like to meet the blokes."

"Yes, yes, ride with us and when we get there, I will introduce you and your Pogliaghi. But I can't say they will ride with you."

"I understand. Not everybody takes to us Aussies."

"Yes, well, come lets ride together and talk."

Campy shook the old man's hand before they mounted their bikes and rode toward the riverfront.  

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

At first the views were stark but once past the small industrial section, the road opened to a gradual increase in country side. After the shoe and industrial factories, there were a few homes, mostly rundown or empty, waiting for re-development which made the road very bike friendly because the usual traffic of workers and trucks did not use the road on Sunday. And people rode alongside of one another, laughing, talking, sharing the day. It was quite a beautiful day, plenty of sun, the air still crisp and cool and the buzz of bees and birds going about their day. Campy rode at a leisurely pace, gradually catching up to a group of cyclists who looked like, from the baskets mounted on the handlebars covered in bright cloth, to be on their way to a picnic. 

As Campy neared the closest couple, he began to whistle an easy melody. He could see they were in love and in no hurry. "Gud-day.' Campy said just before pulling up next to the man. "On holiday?" he asked when the young man turned his attention to Campy.

"Yes, I suppose. Are you English?"The man asked.

"Aussie mate. You know, down under," Campy said as he pointed to the ground.

"Under?...Oh, yes Australia. The land down under as you say." He looked back to his girlfriend and said, "Australie." He was in no hurry to get back to Campy.

"Say mate, sorry to bother you and the lucky lady but where's everyone headed?"

"Headed? oh, yes, we are going to the river, it's about twenty-five kilometers down this road." The cyclist pointed up ahead and went right back admiring his girlfriend.

"There a village there?"

With some obvious agitation the young man turned, "Yes, small, not-important, no statues for camera just a river front and some shops. You want to go back to the town, that's where the museum is."

"Thanks mate, think I'll check it out." Campy winked at sped off leaving the two cyclists alone with each other.

He passed a group of old men, right behind a large group of mixed riders, all with baskets on their bikes, and in the group he spotted Bernard and Ricky loaded down with what looked like the mother lode of picnic pizazz. Flowers sprouted up from Bernard's handlebar basket, pillows and umbrella tucked into baskets on the rear wheel and what-not jutting out here and there. Ricky seemed to have all the food items, and it looked like enough food for a platoon. Campy gulped and hoped to not attract attention. Bernard had gay-dar built in that was astonishing clever in locating anyone who even thought they might be gay from fifty meters away. He hung back with the old man, who, of course were delighted with seeing such a beautiful Pogliaghi. And in such excellent condition.

They smiled at Campy with worn faces full of hope that this cyclist riding a beautiful vintage bike, completely restored, might chat with them. "Bella! Bella!" One said pointing  his hand toward Campy's bicycle. "Monsieur Italiano?"

Campy smiled, "Sorry mate, Aussie...Australian."

The old cyclist turned to his friends and told them what Campy said. Suddenly, Campy became the center of all their attention and their pace slowed, each trying to talk to the Australian and ask him about the Pogliaghi he rode. Campy took a quick glance up ahead to see if Bernard spotted him, worried he might see through his short hair, beard and all of it dyed black. Campy pulled over to the side of the road to let the old men look at his bike and talk.

to be continued....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

Campy took a deep breath before he steered the red Pogliaghi through the Garden's gate and into the alley. There he mounted and rode toward the main square of the town. He was looking for a familiar sight, a group of cyclists grouping for their Sunday ride, an after church tradition among Europe's cyclists.

There was also an unspoken law of which group you fell into: the old men's ride, the mix social riders and the proud racer--ex or otherwise. One soon learned what group they fitted with best. Especially if it came to the race group. They, of all the others, had the latest jersey, the newest in bikes and, the one true mark, shaved legs.

Even though each met at a different site at the square and rode at a different pace, they usually met at the same place at the turning point in the ride, a town or cafe not too far away and yet far enough to make for a pleasant bike ride. The race group sped through the countryside, while the old men and lovers took a more leisurely pace. The racers, of course got to the destination first, unless one of them broke down and the other groups came upon them as they replaced a tire, or mended a chain. It was expected to stop and offer help to the race group but not to expect the same in return, usually due to the racers being out front. He watched them gather into their groups, riding to the square in every direction. To the right side of the town's fountain were the racers, proud, lean and powerful. Over toward a small coffee shop along the square gathered the old men. And near a statue of Venus surrounded by a flower bed met the couples.

Campy waited, taking out his camera, like any tourist, and shooting photos of the area, the fountain with the racers, Venus and her lovers, and the old men, some paunch and skinny legged, wearing proudly, jersey's from their past and riding vintage bikes, lovingly cared for. He watched them as they grouped, waiting to see who left and where they went. First the racers took off, toward the road that led west from town. Soon after the lovers left, riding in small groups and then the old men, after their group finally gathered together. They all took the same road.

Once they left, Campy took a few more photos, placed his camera in his knapsack slung on his back and left town using the Western Gate.

To be continued.....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

Pierre sat in the quiet of his little garden. A fountain spilled cool water over ancient, mossy bowls of limestone. It was the best of the week, on Sunday, the church was filled with sinners while saints drank espresso to wash down bites of fresh fruit and assorted small pastries. Campy stretched his legs, and listened to song birds among the garden's flowers and grasses.

"Your hair, so beautiful with golden locks falling on your shoulders, monsieur Campy. All gone and now black and stubby. I cry for you."

"It'll grow back, and no one seemed to know who I was, so far so good."

"It is very dangerous, your plan, but if anyone could pull if off, it would be you." 

Campy grabbed the arm of Pierre, "Thanks, I hope you're right."

The two friends sat for a while enjoying the garden, the coffee, Pierre's pastries and their good friendship before the church bells tolled letting them know the hour of feigned holiness was over.  

"Well my friend, I must ready the cafe, the streets will be full and money to be made."

"Tonight, we will toast to adventure." Campy said and raised his espresso.

"With relish." Pierre said with a bow before he turned and opened the backdoor to his apartments in the back of the Noir Chat Cafe.

The Adventures Of Campy Girlymann Continues

Even though Campy knew every inch of the road from town, he still kept vigil for road debris. The only light came from the stars, for Girlymann needed stealth as well as courage to do what he had to do. Taking side roads, farm roads and a bit of off road hiking with his bike over his shoulder, Campy entered France and crept down to the highway far from the border or nearby village.

The air was clean and crisp, it had snap from the cold and kept Girlymann wide awake even though it was near four in the morning. He was sure no one saw him for the entire route.  And as he rode to the Noir Chat Cafe, he decided to wait outside of the town, near a brook hidden from the road, until the town awoke and people went about their business.

It was quiet for a while before delivery trucks, laden with fresh produce, rumbled toward town. And once the sun came over the horizon, Campy stretched out next to the creek. Once finished with his morning exercises, he stripped and entered the creek feeling the delicious cold chill of the creek.  Once dry, he put on his bike clothes and helmet, waited for a break in the traffic before he left the side of the creek and mounted his bike at road side.

He entered the city along with other cyclists, most wearing street clothes to work in the shops of the city. He smiled at a few that had smiled at him and took his time getting to the Cafe. When he did, he popped his head in, saw Pierre and asked, "Say mate,  know where I can stash me bike?"  

Pierre looked up from serving coffee and said he could place it near the door, his bike would be safe.

"Thanks mate." Campy said and saw Pierre give him a once over and then another.

When Girlymann entered, he didn't sit at the table next to the front window, but at a stool at the bar.

Once Pierre finished an order, he walked behind the bar and asked Campy what he'd like.

"I'd like a good cuppa tea mate. Got any?"

"We do, monsieur. Would you like a breakfast tea?"

"I would and a nice pasty to go with it."

Pierre answered,"Oui monsieur,"  but he didn't move while he stared at Campy for a few moments. Once Girlymann saw the ends of Pierre's lips break into a smile, Campy winked and held his finger up to his own lips. Pierre understood immediately and went back to the kitchen with his orders. 

Campy looked around, the touring shorts he wore felt pretty good compared to the Lycra he was use to and the comfortable, loose fitting sports shirt was a nice change from the jerseys he was use to. When his order came, he sipped at the tea and looked around, nobody paid much attention to him, they either gave him the look of 'Just Another Tourist,' and went on with their conversations. Some though, gave him a lingering look, with a demure glance at his ass and crotch. But Campy looked away, seeming uninterested in their interest.

Girlymann ate at a leisurely pace, waiting until the cafe thinned to a few before he called Pierre over.

"Oui?" Pierre asked.

"Say mate, I'm looking for a Penzance."

"If you like Monsieur, I have a very nice room in  back with a view of the garden. Very private and little money."

"Sounds good mate, I'll take it."

Pierre smiled, "Oui monsieur. Please, when you're finished, take your bike around the back and I will open the garden gate."

"Thanks mate." Girlymann winked and plopped the rest of his pastry into his mouth before he washed it down with the last of his cuppa. When finished, he walked outside and to his bike taking it around the side of the cafe to a very small alley where a wooden garden gate had just creaked opened.

Update

Wally and I are going through hard times right now.  I can't go into it all right now. Just to let you know we're still around. At least I think.  What ever you do, don't get old and fall into the care of someone who is a doctor and maybe thirty years old dealing with people who are old, gay and married.

Wally passed the syphilis  test , the prick doctor wants us tested for HIV status because it too can cause dementia. If your gay and you don't have a venereal disease, than how come your suffering from the same diseases straight folk get like Alzheimer's? Does  being seventy-eight have anything to do with it?


Fuck no , it's syphilis or AIDS. You're a fag, how could you be like hets and just have age related problems. Kaiser is great, if you don't mind being treated by people who didn't make the grade at a Veterinary college.

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

The Contesta de Claude raised her hand to stop the estate's gardener from further talk. She wanted to finish reading the paragraph in her book. The poor gardener held still and waited to further his plea. When she was finished, she turned her attention to the hapless man. With her lips fastened into a slit for a smile, her left eyebrow raised slightly, she stared back at him until he looked at the rich carpet beneath his feet.


"The fact remains that you are incompetent. I said dark then light for color arraignment and you have planted light then dark."

"Please Contesta, I will pay for the mistake from what little I have but do not fire me. My wife will be having our first child soon."  

The Contesta chortled, "Monsieur, it is I who pay you. You want to pay me with my own money? Is that it? No, I will not have my garden path further defiled by your incompetent work."

"Please, I beg you.  We have no place to go."

The Contesta looked at the butler near the door and signaled with a snap of her finger to rid her of the gardener. The butler immediately went to the poor man and took his arm to raise him from his knees. As the gardener sobbed, he gently guided him to the door. Once there, the butler reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a hundred franc note placing it in the shaking hand of the fired man before he shut the door on the gardener.

When the butler turned to the Contesta to see if she wanted anything else she said, "Make sure they are  off the estate by sundown."

His eyes held back the glare of hate he had when he snapped his shoes together, bowed and left the room.

Deep in the estate's castle, there was shouting when the French goalie blocked the soccer ball. It was followed by a shriek of pain from a man pedaling a bike fastened to a generator. The man was thin and weary, his body covered with sweat and ugly red marks on his back. His hands were chained to the handlebars of the stationary bike and his feet fastened with straps to the pedal. Jean Claude had just delivered  another blow to domestic's back with a willow branch. Hung around the tortured man's neck was a sign, 'Girlymann's Whore'. His eyes were sunk and the top tube of the DeRosa he was fastened to dripped with the beaten man's sweat and the spit of Jean Claude and his friends.

"Pedal you Belgian bitch." Jean Claude screamed at him before he sat back down in the comfort of the sofa along with his friends. The glare from the fifty inch screen of the television showed the soccer match with the French team winning. One of Jean Claude's friends when finished with his beer, threw the empty bottle at the domestic strapped to the DeRosa. A low groan was all he got from the tortured soul.

The Belgian, again, mustered his strength to continue to pedal with little food or water to sustain him. His head drooped, unable to hold itself erect from the hours and hours he was forced to pedal fastened to Campy's DeRosa. A human dynamo  to make electricity for Jean Claude's play room. The DeRosa was smeared with dirt, the bright blue paint and the lovely rose decal barely showed through the grime heaped upon it.


To be continued....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

Above the bike shop glowed the soft light of candles and just outside the front window, where Campy and Donatello were dining, fireflies danced in the blue-black night. There was piano music softly playing a Chopin nocturne while the two men ate at a carved wood table. The table sat next to the window where the small vase of wild flowers and candles matched the dance of the fireflies outside.  A red wine was opened and  poured into sparkling glasses. They were eating roast duck.

Donatello had listened to Campy's plan to find his DeRosa. But while listening, he had ate most of his duck and had another fork of  yam gnocchi with a butter sage sauce balanced on the tongs when he put it down, took his wine glass and thoughtfully drank.  Campy had at last stopped talking and took his first taste of roast duck in a raspberry sauce. "It is a brave plan," Donatello said.

"That's it? You surprise me Donatello. So you think I have a chance?"

"I didn't say that my friend. It is a brave plan to go into the  lion's den but only a fool would do so to begin with and you are no fool."

 "Peter didn't think so, he didn't like it but he's willing to help."

"And so will I, what do you want me to do?"

"You did. The bike."

Donatello took his wine glass and emptied it in two gulps before he filled it again from the bottle, he said, "It's a beautiful bike, and in its day, it was the best. But Campy, that bike is not young, you ask a lot from the old girl."

"And like the great dame she is, she will give me that and more."

The warmth of the wine went to Donatello's head, a smile slowly came from the handsome Italian. "If you should actually pull this off, what a victory for Italy and our beautiful biciclettas."

"The only thing this Yankee wants is his DeRosa." Campy raised his glass and they toasted to success.

The two men enjoyed the wine and the meal and near the end, when wild strawberries and champagne made its way to the table, the two turned their talk from cycling to each other. After the last toast, the last strawberry hand fed to Donatello followed by a kiss from Campy did they retire to Donatello's bedroom, the down comforter, thick as a cloud, pulled back on the bed.

As Donatello removed his clothes, the candle light next to the bed showed  a strong and sturdy body, still tight and lean but with jagged scars that ran across his legs and chest, like a Greek statue that was broken and then pieced together. And when Campy undressed and sat down next to his lover on the bed, who had laid so as to hide the scars from sight, pulled Donatello to view him fully, scars and all.  He ran his hand slowly over the old wounds, tracing them with the tips of his fingers. "Don't hide your bravery, they are badges of courage."

Donatello took Campy's hand that traced the lines of his scars and held it looking into Campy's eyes, "Please be careful with what you plan," he said before he kissed the fingers that had traced his wounds from a tragic accident in the Giro.

Campy smiled and kissed Donatello long and soft on the lips, then blew the candle out next to the bed.

To be continued....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

Donatello's bike shop, like many shops on the main street of the village, was wood framed with a steep slanting roof.  The mechanic lived above his shop where a window was open and red geraniums bloomed at the windowsill.  Hanging near the door was the bicycle shop sign made from carved wood of a bicycle painted in bright colors and, if a breeze blew, the wheels turned. An aria could be heard from a radio near the the green front door.

Girlymann walked in and saw Donateelo putting bar tape on a bike, " Is that the beast?"

Donatello smiled and watched Campy walk toward him to the middle of his shop, " Don't call her a beast, she is a most beautiful bicicletta--but strong willed."

Campy looked at the detail of the fork, and joints. He admired the craftsmanship in the chrome filigree where the metal tubes joined. He ran his hand over the cherry red paint applied to the metal. His hand spun the rear wheel to hear the delicate clatter of the  rear hub spinning the cogs.

"You're right, she is most beautiful. A Pogliaghi that I heard you lovingly restored, Donatello. " 

"She rides well, Campy." The mechanic finished masking the tape, loosened the grip on the stand and lifted the bike down to the floor, "Here, take her out for a spin, tell me what you think."

Campy took hold of the bike and admired the vintage Campagnolo components. Down-tube friction shifting and brakes designed more for slowing the bike than coming to a quick stop. The bike glimmered in the noon day sun when he brought it out of the little shop and on to the street.  As soon as Campy mounted the bike he knew that Donatello  had adjusted the seat and bars to Campy's style. Girlymann reached down and pulled the strapped to tighten his shoe to the pedal and felt how easy the bike stayed true with his right hand off the bars.

Soon he left the little village to follow a country road he knew where the trees whispered and a brook glimmered patches of wet light along its path that followed the road. Campy felt the bike's easy handling, its swift flight over the asphalt. It wasn't his beloved De Rosa but the bike did handle as if it knew ahead of time of where Campy wanted to go and that's what Girlymann needed if he was to succeed in finding his De Rosa.

To be continued....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

Campy woke to  familiar sounds of the village he lived in. It was a small cottage on the edge of town where the pines nestled up to the back of the property. Song birds sang of a beautiful day ahead with plenty of sunshine. He stretched at the open window of his bedroom and gazed out, thinking, at first, of a bike ride but then remembering his bike was in another country.  He dressed instead to  breakfast at a local bakery in the town.

"Signore Campy,  how are you today?" Bruno asked at the counter of his bakery, Poco Regalo.

"I'm feeling better my friend," Campy said before he sat down at a table near the window.

Bruno came over with an espresso and pastry, placing them in front of Girlymann. "I saw Signore Donatello  earlier, he will have a bike ready for you before noon."

"Thanks for telling me, I'll go over to his shop after breakfast."

The news made Campy feel even better. Donatello was one of the best bike mechanics in all of Italy. He still wore his Campagnolo shop coat that he proudly displayed when he worked on Italy's race team in the Giro. Donatello shared Girlymann's love for Campagnolo's bike components. So much so that while Girlymann took the company's shortened name used by many for Campagnolo, Donatello had a Record Campy derailleur  tattooed on his left calf.

Two cyclists pulled up and waved at Campy through the front window. After they leaned their bikes against the building they walked in, greeted Bruno, ordered and sat down on each side of Girlymann.

Girlymann smiled and shook their hands. "Where are you two off today?"

The cyclist on Campy's right said, "Adamo wants to go to Milan."

"Does he ever want to go anywhere else?"

"No, it's always Milan. It drives me crazy. I ask him, 'Where else?' but no, Milan comes out."

Adamo smiled and said, "Then why does he ask me? He wants to go up mountains. ask Beppie where he wants to go. It's the mountains."

Campy put his espresso down. Brutus had just placed cups and pastry in front of Campy's two friends, "Well, when you go to Milan, you get to climb back up, that gives you both what you want.

Beppie placed a hand on Campy's shoulder, "Any news on your De Rosa?"

"Nothing yet, but I have a plan. Donatello has a bike about ready for me."

"You're going back to France?" They asked.

"Not yet, but I need a bike and there's some people I want to talk to."

Beppie said, "That French pig, Jean Claude is behind this. His family is very rich and what he can't buy, he takes. He made up the time and won the tour."

"Good for him," Campy said. "I shouldn't have interfered in the first place."

Adamo spoke up then, "Campy? You think he didn't buy his yellow jersey? He is not that good and the talk is that he paid off people to get the win."

"I'd hate to think someone could do that in the greatest bicycle race of all time."

Beppe punched Campy in the arm. "He did not race in the Giro, that is the greatest."

Campy smiled, "You're right, no pro road race is as hard as the Giro, but the Tour de France takes the world press."

The three of them finished their espressos and pastries and then said goodbye. Campy had another espresso and watched his friends head toward the road that would take them to Milan. Girlymann paid his bill and then walked to the bike shop down the street.

To be continued....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

It was late in the night, an hour or two before dawn and the streets were barren except for a vintage Italian roadster that made its way slowly through the mist. the car stopped in front of the Le Noir Chat Cafe. Girlymann quickly said goodbye to Pierre and walked to the passenger door to get in. As soon as the door was shut, the good doctor drove toward the border of France and Italy . Girlymann had to leave France for his safety and leave his beloved De Rosa to an unknown fate. It was a quiet ride out of town and well into the countryside. Only when the roadster began to climb to the border of the two nations that the men felt safe enough to relax.

Campy watched two early-morning cyclists as the roadster passed them on the road that led up the alps. It pained him to leave the De Rosa behind and he turned to the doctor. "I'm coming back for my bike."

"Campy, wait. Let Pierre and myself find out what we can. It might be a dear price for your beloved De Rosa but better to pay a ransom than lose your life."

"Anton, I'm not paying to get back my own bike. I'm sorry for what I did, I screwed up but you don't take a man's bike because he messed up. If whoever is behind this, thinks that makes us even, they stepped over the line, not me."

"Careful, Campy, you don't know Jean Claude is behind this."

"You're right, I don't, but it's the only hunch I've got to go on. Who else would take it? I have left it in front of the cafe many times without worry. Now, though it was taken right in front of me."

The climb was long on the winding road up past small villages that Campy, not all that long ago, would have waved a friendly hello to from his bike. Now though, he kept his golden curly hair tucked in his hat and no wave to the onlookers. And all Campy could think of, mile after mile, was his beloved, De Rosa.  The bike was part of him and he part of the bike. When he mounted, the bike sprung to life, his mind and body molded to the frame, they were one, inseparable, married and at times, Campy didn't know if it was him or the bike that made them soar along so many roads and countries.

No, he could not leave part of him behind.  When the roadster came up to the border, Campy showed his passport as did Dr. Anton and once they were waved through, Campy's first thought on Italian soil was how to get his bike back.

To be continued...