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.