The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

Girlymann's eyes fluttered. He felt light from a window that made his eyes hurt. It made the headache throb and he covered his eyes with the blanket to sleep off the wine. But as the fog began to lift, and he felt his head throb where there was now a bandage, feeling the gauze, he began to wake.

"Monsieur Campy, it is me, Pierre." 

Campy squinted a bit before he could focus on the face of his friend Pierre. "What the fuck happened?"

"A man hit you, I was saying goodbye to someone at the cafe when I heard a crash down the street. I saw someone dragging a body. It was you he was dragging and I yelled. He dropped you and ran."

Campy tried to lift himself but the pain crushed him back down. "Which way did he go?" 

"That was three days ago, Campy. I told the gendarme what I saw. You rest, we'll talk later."

Girlymann looked around the small, comfortable room. The smell of fresh linen, the song of a bird outside in the garden, lulled him back to sleep and back to his dreams. The next time he woke it was late afternoon and he was hungry. With wobbly legs he got up from bed and went in search of something to eat. Someone had dressed him in a night shirt, his head still bandaged, but the throbbing pain was gone. He opened the door and looked out to a hall that led to a sitting room where he found a comfortable chair. Girlymann could hear laughter and smell Pierre's cooking that came from the kitchen of the cafe. He decided to wait in the comfort of the reading chair until Pierre might look in on him.

Girlymann must have nodded off. He felt someone nudge him and looked up to see Pierre and another man.

"Monsieur  Campy, I'm so glad to see you get up."

"So am I Pierre. Can't thank you enough for saving my ass."

"I want to introduce you to a friend. He is the man who doctored you, Monsieur Anton."

"You took a nasty thump on your head. I wanted you in hospital but Pierre said that was not wise right now, so, we made hospital here. How do you feel?"

"Like I fell off the bike and over a cliff."

The doctor took Campy's wrist and looked at his watch while taking Campy's pulse. "You are a tough, eh how they say, son of gun, Monsieur. Another man might not have waked up from a concussion such as yours."

Pierre peered over the side of the doctor, "Do you remember anything?"

Campy thought for a while, back to the plaza, the Germans and then the sight of cobblestones before his lights went out. "Not much, did I get hit by a car?"

"A club, monsieur Campy. A very big club." Pierre's eyes were wide opened when he said this in a profound manner.

"Fuck." Girlymann looked a bit dazed, not understanding exactly what happened to him and why.

"Pierre? Do you have my bike?"

The doctor and Pierre looked at one another for a moment before Pierre said, "We don't know who took it. It could be almost anyone in town."

"I never had trouble here before?"

"Campy, my friend, what you did, angered almost everyone but those of us who know you. You see, this is Jean Claude's home. His fiancee was on the stage waiting to award him. The whole town came to see him, not the Belgian domestic with his arms thrown in the air signaling victory.  You are in danger and that is why I felt it unsafe for you to go to the local hospital. You're safe here, for a while at least, but you must leave soon."

Campy's face knotted up. "I'm going to look for my bike. Me and that De Rosa go back a long way."

The doctor patted Campy  on the shoulder, monsieur, get another bike and save yourself the grief."

"You might as well ask me to cut my arm off doc. I'm finding the De Rosa or I'll die doing it."

The doctor looked at Pierre and then back at Campy, "Then you just very well might die doing it, monsieur.

To be continued.  

 








  

The Adventures Of Campy Girlymann Continues

The cobblestone street that Campy walked echoed the clatter his bike shoes made. The  shadows were strong on the small street and crept up one side of the shops and apartments along the way.  With the debris that blew about from the frantic fans of the Tour, it gave the rue an emptied appearance.
Girlymann was still in a daze over the disappearance of his bike, as if he was missing his right hand when suddenly he entered the court yard of the of the town's plaza. Almost everyone had left the staging area except for the cleanup crew. Campy looked for a familiar face in what was left of the crowd but instead, once he was recognized, the stares back were of anger.

For the first time, Campy felt unwelcome, and he didn't understand why. His confusion worsened, not sure as to go back to the cafe and see what Pierre came up with, or to ask people if they saw anyone with a blue and yellow De Rosa. He walked to a group nearby who seemed ambivalent toward Campy.

"Bonjour, gentelmen, did you enjoy the race?"

A man with a German accent, dressed, as the others, conservatively with tie and coat answered, "Yes, very much, especially to see the Belgian win. And you, were in the race, yes?"

"No, I'm not with any team."

"I see. You must be Campy Girlymann. We asked, when everyone talked of the upset and how it happened."

Girlymann felt his face go red, in the excitement of the challenge, he had caused an upset in the race dear to the French.  "I guess I owe an apology,"

"Well, not to us, we were quite pleased to see the Belgian domestic win the stage. Jean Claude lost a few seconds and the Yellow Jersey. But he will get it back, I'm sure."

"I should apologize to Jean Claude then."

"Well, Herr, Girlymann, this was his home town. I'm surprised you are still here, you were not talked about in, how should I say this, a friendly way."

Campy now realized just how fucked he made things. He smiled at the German and said,  "I'd get out of Dodge but my bike is missing."

"Ah, well my friend, you are in some trouble. Good luck, in finding your bike and you might, how do the cowboy say--lay low for a while."

The Germans began to speak to each other in German and ignored Campy who was now, persona-non-grata. Girlymann turned to go back to the street that he came from and noticed that a crowd was forming near the plaza's fountain, they were looking back at him and none too pleased.

Campy walked to the cobblestone street as quick as he could and as discreet as  possible, if that could be possible when clad in bike shorts, bright jersey and flowing locks of hair. When he rounded the corner, the sun had set and clothed Campy in darkness. He quickened his pace just as the last rays of the  sun left.

The clatter of his shoes seemed louder than before, the wind had died and Campy kept an eye out for the lights of the Noir Chat Cafe when, from a doorway, a large man appeared and beamed Campy with a club. He felt at first stunned and then the cobblestones came into view next to his face before he lost consciousness.

To be continued.....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

Campy looked around, a bit dazed from waking to find his bike gone. He stretched before he walked back inside the cafe. Pierre had just served dinner to a couple in a booth. When he finished with his customers, Pierre walked back towward the kitchen.  Campy stopped him.

"Pierre? Where did you put my bike?"

"Campy, I never moved your bike,"  he said a bit startled. "Since you've been here, the cafe has been busy. I saw your bike next to you when I cleaned the last table outside."

"When was that?"

Pierre thought for a moment, "It was maybe a half hour ago. Maybe less. Campy, do you want me to call the gendarme?"

Campy looked out the window, as if he wanted to make sure his bike still wasn't there, "No, not yet. Maybe someone is playing a prank or went for a ride." Many times, Girlymann was asked by a fan if they could ride his bike, just so they could boast, 'I rode Campy Girlymann's, De La Rosa.' Some wanted to touch it,  or offered money to buy the bike. That's what  now worried Campy, for a very generous amount.

"Pierre, if someone returns my bike, would you put it in back. I"m going to look around."

"Of course Campy, and I will ask around too. Some people here today were friends and people I have known for a long time. I'll see what they have to say."

Campy walked to the front door, took a look at the crowd, things looked normal enough, no shifty eyes, or smirks to give a practical joke away. And then he walked out to the street and did the same, looked to see if anybody looked suspicious for some reason. It was late afternoon, not much light left for a rider, unless they knew there was a bike torch in the kit tied to his saddle. Campy was always prepared.

Girlymann took the street that would lead to the main square, where the Tour de France stage race finished. He didn't know where else to start the search and that seemed as good as any. It seemed strange to him to be on foot. The Lycra hugged tight and brought a few stares. Not having his bike was new for Campy. And to walk somewhere, how novel.

To be continued....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

Someone tapped Campy on the shoulder, "I'd like a kiss."

Campy turned and smiled, "Bernard, you always want a kiss."

"Ricky and I saw you when you went past our place on the slope. You were fantastic."

"Well, I was running late. "

Bernard had a mischievous grin, "And the Belgian rider that was on your tail?"

"I picked him up along the way," Campy tussled Bernard's hair.  "He needed to get to the finish in a hurry."

Campy looked around and it seemed the crowd had settled down. A few people came up and said hello, wanting to buy Campy a drink or talk about the race as Campy finished his late lunch.  Then he asked Pierre if he could finish his wine at a table outside. The owner smiled, knowing that with Campy there would always be a crowd around and sat up a few more tables in front. Campy took the one closest to his bike, stretched out with his feet resting on an opposite chair and enjoyed the bottle of wine while people watching. The sun warmed him on the outside and the wine warmed him on the inside. Campy's eyes fluttered, and then  closed as he fell asleep.

When he woke, the sun had just left the little courtyard with the tables, and Girlymann realized he would have to find a place to sleep for the night or ride back in the dark. He stretched and turned to grab his bike when he noticed it wasn't there.

To be continued.....

The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continues

Campy pulled out a stool at the bar and sat down. He took his helmet off and let his golden locks of hair fall over his shoulders. Pierre poured a glass of red wine and sat it in front of Campy. The Little Sparrow was playing softly in the background and a couple were having coffee at a table near the window.

 While Girlymann raised the glass of wine, Pierre went to a case, opened it and pulled out a roast chicken. He cut the chicken in half and put it on a plate. Then took a loaf of French bread and put that on another plate with cheese. He placed both plates in front of Campy.

The hungry cyclist ate, drink and when he finished the cold chicken, Pierre gave him the other half, filled the wine glass again and placed olives in a bowl in front of Campy with more bread and cheese.

"Ah, it is good to see such a strong man eat," Pierre said with a big smile on his face.

"It's been a long ride, had some trouble in Italy with a sports car. Guess the guy didn't like being passed on a down hill curve. I had to rescue his ass when he went over the side trying to pass me. That's why I'm a little late."

"Campy, you bad boy, challenging sports cars." Pierre pinched Campy's cheek then replaced the carcass of chicken bones for a plate of  roast duck with pommes and Spring peas.

"Oh, I have a special wine for you to try," Pierre went quickly to the wine rack and pulled out a bottle, opened it and poured Campy another glass, setting the bottle on the counter as well.

"I have a soup in the back, I'll bring you a bowl with some fresh bread," Pierre said before he disappeared behind a curtain that led to the kitchen.

The cafe was beginning to fill, now that the stage was over and people noticed Campy's bike and heard of how he took the stage from the French team and gave it to a Belgian domestic. When they saw Campy sitting on the stool, his hard butt clamp to the stool like a vice in his Lycra shorts, the mammoth trunks of legs corded with muscle, the chest that stretched his jersey's seams to the breaking point, they gathered around and watched him devour plate after plate of food and then three bowls of soup with bread.

 "He eats like a pig, not a Frenchman," said someone standing nearby, but Campy ignored him.

"What is he, some kind of girly man?" said another lifting one of Campy's golden locks and giving it a tug.

Campy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and downed the rest of the glass of wine before he turned to the guy that pulled his hair.

"I'm more man than you'll ever be and more girl than you'll ever have," Then Campy grabbed the man by his head and forced his tongue down the guys throat as the hair puller squirmed to get away.

When Campy was through with him, he tossed him like a sack to the floor. "Anyone else want to kiss Campy Girlymann?"

To be continued.....

The Adventures Of Campy Girlymann Continues

Campy and the Belgian could see the town ahead where in the town square, in the midst of a crowd, was the finish line.  Campy let the Belgian ride beside him, but with his wheel just ahead of the Belgian.

"Well, Domestic, it's yours for the taking."

"Oh no Campy, I couldn't, you were the one who pulled me here, it is yours."

"But I'm not in the race and you are. Go on, take the glory, you deserve it with all the water bottles and food you supplied to the main riders, it is your turn for some glory."

"Campy, I will be your domestic. I will ride with you and bring you anything."

Campy looked at the slight man. Strong and sinewy and thought about it for a moment. His own domestic but then Campy Girlymann  was a free wheeling man who prided himself on being his own man.

"No son, you go on and take the glory. Campy is goin' to find himself a nice little bistro where the wine is cheap and the men even cheaper."

The domestic didn't want to leave Campy's side but when they entered the town and the roar of the crowd came at them with a rush, Girlymann backed off and took a side street to blend in. He kept an eye on the Belgian until the domestic was swallowed by the crowd and the sound of the winner coming to the finish line could be heard.

Campy was thirsty and hungry, he needed substance and perhaps a good bed after a good meal. He rode down the side street into a seedier side of the village.  There, off to one side, near an alley on a narrow cobblestone street was the Noir Chat Cafe. A rather curious and queerly odd hangout for a crowd of artists and writers that needed a place of their own, for their own. 

Girlymann placed his bike in front where he could see it from inside. The small leaded panes of glass that made up the window looked out to a planter of geraniums. Their bright red explosion of flowers waved in the slight breeze just above Campy's bike. Campy opened the door and walked in with the tinkle of a silver bell attached to the door announcing his arrival.  The bartender, wiping a wine glass looked up to see who it was.

"Bon Jour, Monsieur Campy!"

"Long time no see, Pierre."

"Ah, but it so good to see you again. Come sit, have a glass of wine and tell me where you have been."

to be continued. ....

The Adventures Of Campy Girlymann Continues

Campy picked up speed fast. Tucked into something resembling a cannon ball mounted on a bike, he shot down the mountain side with the Belgian tucked right behind him. The vortex was so strong that the Belgian had to brake slightly to keep from hitting Campy's rear wheel. The sound of the wind was a roar in their ears with Girlymann's golden locks of hair streaming in their mad decent.

They quickly passed the riders in back but now they were needling through the main pack. Riders could hear the rush of wind, feel the rumble of Campy's bike as he approached, and when the pack riders were passed it sounded as if a runaway train just roared by.

Girlymann leaned into a sharp curve, the wheels of his bike clung to the thin line he set to make the curve, with just an ass hair left before his bike would have plunged over the side, Campy pulled them out and on to the next curve. Right and left,  riders were being passed, and when Campy didn't have room he created it by grabbing the back of the rider's jersey, lifting them and the bike and placing the astonished rider a safe distance away so the Girlymann Express could speed on.

The Belgain sweated bullets, shit in his shorts but he stayed tucked in the draft of Campy Girlymann's mad descent down the mountain side. Their speed was over eighty miles an hour, at times reaching near a hundred yet Campy would not touch the brakes. They were a whirl of bike and men in their quest to get to the front rider.

And soon it happened, Campy had passed them all except one. That one had the yellow jersey and Girlymann and the Belgian were gaining fast. Campy raised up to catch wind on his massive chest, like a parachute on a space shuttle, Campy began to slow as he approached the smug Frenchman.

As Campy and the Belgian pulled  up,  Jean Claude's jaw dropped.

"Bonjour, dick-wad!"  said Campy and gave Jean Claude the finger.

Once the Frenchman got over the shock of seeing Campy with the Belgian on his  wheel, he gave a weak smile and tried to get behind the two of them to draft as well but Campy was having none of that. With the motion of a snake whipping its tail, Campy swerved right and left to prevent Jean Claude from catching his draft. The Frenchman was fierce and kept tagging them like a mosquito after dinner.

Up ahead, Girlymann could see a small climb approaching, he yelled to the Belgian that when he got out of saddle, to give it everything he had to stay on. The Belgian's eyes popped when he saw Girlymann's ass raise from the saddle and his Titian legs mash the cranks. Like a launching Cruise missile,  Campy took off up the hill and left the Frenchman in his wake, broken and shattered by the side of the road. Jean Claude had given his all and with nothing left in his legs, wobbled on the bike running himself into a ditch along the road.

to be continued.,,