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.