Thangaiku Theriyaamal Amma Magalai Oothen
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In Places On The Run Ch. 02 free porn video
In Places on the Run
II
We left Munich on the E45 towards Rosenheim, bound for Salzburg – and though Austria wasn’t all that far away this short ride would give Sam and I time to get used to European roadways – not to mention the riding habits of the fifteen other riders in our group. Most were Brits as it turned out, though there were a handful of Americans along, as well. Two women were making the trip, both riding their own Beemers, one from Cambridge and the other from the Copenhagen. Sam had already scoped out the Dane and had a serious case of lust growing before we left the hotel.
Which was appropriate, really. After being with him the better part of a week, he’d nailed at least seven different women that I knew of, four of them probably hookers. Sam was a weird one, I guess I think I’m trying to say. Not simply because he couldn’t keep his zipper up, either. He and women had a peculiar relationship, and a simple understanding developed between he and his ‘female friends’ almost immediately. He was alpha, if you know what I mean, as in alpha male. Almost a decade in the NFL had given him a sort of name recognition too, at least in the states, but that alone didn’t account for his single-minded interactions with the opposite sex. I always thought it was some sort of weird animal magnetism, because Sam usually exuded a type of wolfish confidence that seemed to drive the women he met either right up the wall or right into his arms. Whatever it was, I didn’t question it, really. That peculiar attraction was always on hand, whether it was convenient or not. And while it was rarely convenient, it was always entertaining, and had been since we were teenagers.
Riding on German autobahns after having not ridden at all for twenty years was an eye opener, too. Usually three lanes wide, the outside lane for trucks and cautious drivers only, the inside lane was a land unto itself, the prowling ground of hypersonic Porsches and S-Klass MBs. That left the middle lane for our group, and though we were rolling along at a constant 120 KPH we were being passed regularly by missiles to our left. The border crossing was a non-event and we were into Austria before our coffee had time to make it through the system. As we approached Salzburg, Gunther signaled and our group tightened formation, then we were on surface streets headed into a little village called Grödig. The village was on the outskirts of Salzburg and we’d be there for one night only, and after Sam and I got to our room and changed we headed out to ride the cablecar up the Untersberg. The Dane was on that cablecar, and Sam made his first attempt to scale that summit. Crash and burn time. She wasn’t his type, obviously, or so he said, but I wasn’t so sure.
Great view up on the mountain, no doubt about it, but it was windy as hell and cold too, not so good for people stupid enough to make the trip wearing shorts and a polo shirt, I guess. Anyway, we had dinner as a group that night, and it turned out to be another one of those interesting intersections we come upon every now and then. La forza del destino, and all that.
All this was going on, mind you, in the years before iPhones and the ubiquitous texting and emailing we take for granted these days. That said, I called Rhea and she was not doing very well. Very depressed. Almost flat broke. And she’d gained a couple of pounds after our blowout in Munich and had to get them off before she applied with either Delta or United.
‘What about heading out to LA?’ I asked, and that seemed to set her off – big time.
‘John, I just can’t move in to your house, you know, and I sure can’t afford to take time off and go back to school right now. And who knows where I’ll end up being based, assuming I can even get on with either of them.’
‘You know, to me it almost sounds like the perfect time to cut the cord.’
‘And how would I afford that, John?’
‘You can pay me back someday.’
Silence.
‘Rhea?’
‘I heard you.’
‘Are you broke? Is that about the size of it?’
‘Close. I’ll get a few months severance, but I’ll have to make my insurance payments, COBRA I guess they’re called.’
‘How much?’
‘Insurance is about 200. My car payment is close to 300. With rent and student loans, my overhead is close to 1200 a month.’
‘So, without rent and all that other BS, your liabilities are under a grand?’
‘Yup. Maybe six or so.’
‘Did you do your homework on the med school stuff?’
‘Not yet. First thing tomorrow.’
‘Is that something you still think you’d like to do?’
‘If it was affordable, yes. I guess I think I’ve had all the fun I can handle.’
‘Okay, let’s see what it looks like. We’ll be in Athens a week from tomorrow, assuming no road rash or other fun stuff. Another week to Istanbul, maybe less, then I’m heading back to LA. Why don’t you plan on meeting me there two weeks from Monday, you can help me get through this GI stuff and then we can work out all your options. That sound good to you?
It almost sounded like she was crying, then she asked me why I was doing this, taking all this on.
‘Look, Rhea’ I said, ‘I never married, never had kids, and I’m actually pretty frugal, for a guy, anyway. The worst thing that can happen here is that I help bring another doctor into the world, you know? That’s good for everybody…you, me, well – everyone. It’s a win-win situation. And I end up married to a doc. See, I’m being selfish, when you get right down to it!’
She laughed at that, and I told her I’d call before we crossed into Croatia, probably tomorrow night if things stayed on schedule – from the city of Villach. We rang off and I went to dinner.
The Dane was next to Sam at our long communal table when I got back to the dining room, and there was a huge bowl of goulash soup waiting for me. Some sort of schnitzel followed, and of course – lots of beer. I spent the evening getting to know the other group members, and it looked like Sam was making headway with the Danish gal. Unfortunately, Sam and I were sharing a room which of course meant if he got lucky I’d be in the lobby sleeping on a couch.
And I met the Brit, the other lady in our group. Deborah Green was from Cambridge, taught biochemistry in one of the colleges there and also at a med school in London. She was about my age, that is to say she was quite adventurous to be riding a motorcycle in the first place, and she was obviously smart enough to know better, so I was – curious. She was about my height, too, over six feet, anyway, thin as a rail, and bless her, she looked as though she’d just bitten into a rock hard lemon. Her pale lips seemed to be locked in some sort of weird pucker, her eyes watered constantly, and I had never, ever seen anyone with bonier hands. I swear the skin on the tops of her hands was almost completely transparent, and the veins on the top stood out like nothing I’d ever seen before.
I dwell on her appearance now to offer some idea of the contrast between her appearance and her personality, for as these things so often turn out, she was without a doubt the nicest, warmest person I’d run across in years. And yes, I was immediately taken with her. Not romantically, of course, and not just because it felt like I’d known her for years – after just a few minutes, or because after about fifteen minutes together I knew she was beginning to feel the same towards me. We had a certain chemistry, and after dinner we slipped into the small bar and ordered Irish coffees – that is as soon as it became apparent Sam and the Dane were headed upstairs together. Well, yes, it turned out the two women had been assigned the same room, and were in effect roommates now. Stranger things have happened, I guess, and like random stones tossed in a still pond, ripples have a way of spreading in unpredictable patterns.
So we sat and watched ripples form and disipate, and we discussed the problem
s of the world until Sam came down for a nightcap. Sam was very happy indeed, and a while later we were all off to bed for an early departure the next morning.
There were two routes mapped out mapped out for us, one down a serene autobahn directly to Villach, while the second provided a more, ahem, twisty option: the Grossglockner Highway. Of course everyone decided to do the latter, as it’s one of the premier alpine roads in all the world, as well as the highest in Austria. We were off before 0800, headed for the entrance.
As these things usually do, the Dane paired off with Sam, while Dr Green tucked in behind me at my four o’clock, and the four of us made great time on the straights. I was beginning to have my doubts about the Dane as we hit the curviest bits of the highway, but as we began the serious part of the ascent near the summit she consistently picked the wrong line through the curves and ran wide a couple of time, luckily there was no oncoming traffic. We stopped off at the Kaiser Franz Joseph visitor center near the summit for coffee and a pit stop, took in views of the surrounding glaciers, then mounted up for the ride down. I have never been on a road quite like the next stretch we encountered, and I had done the Beartooth in Montana and Alberta’s Columbia Icefield Parkway with Sam while in college, so I feel qualified to say that the Grossglockner put both of those premier alpine roads to shame. However, and this is a biggie, this first pitch was not a road for the inexperienced or the faint-hearted, as ‘serpentine’ doesn’t do this stretch justice. No, this road was a roller coaster, and in the course of arcing through one of the most bizarre, undulating curves I’d ever traversed, the Dane missed the line and went down. Hard.
Deborah, being a doctor of some sort, called it: the Dane’s left humerus and clavicle were toast. An ambulance was summoned, and Gunther set about organizing her evacuation, as well as her motorcycle’s, and that was that. One down, sixteen to go. That’s the thing about motorcycles: they’re actually really dangerous in the hands of people with little real world experience. Or people who pretend they have a lot of real world experience, which we surmised was the case with our Dane. We followed our chase vehicle down the pass then made for Villach, getting there much later than expected. Our little group was quiet that night, but after dinner Sam set off in search of company. Deborah rolled her eyes, she had him figured out already.
I called Rhea, and she was in a real funk. She was going to need to retake five courses, as well as sit for the MCAT again. Probably a year involved, academically at least, and assuming she pulled down high enough grades she’d need time to study for the exam, so maybe 12-14 months, then the balance of the second year to wait for admissions interviews and then, hopefully, for classes to start. So, call it two years. We talked about the logistics and I tried to be as upbeat as I could, and maybe I left her feeling a little better about life, but she had her work cut out for her.
Deborah was waiting for me when I got off the phone and I told her about Rhea, and her dilemma. She had a few ideas, as it turned out, about trying to get into a school in the UK. As we talked, I noticed she was looking at me a little differently. A little more, I don’t know, analytically, like she was wondering what the Dickens I was doing with a thirty year old girlfriend, and trying to help get her into med school.
+++++
Our third day on the road promised to be our most ‘interesting’ yet, we were leaving the EU so we were in-effect leaving NATOs ‘protective umbrella’, and though active hostilities had ceased between Serbia and Croatia, we were headed into what had been – not so long ago – a war zone. Lingering resentments in the region were simmering, and even if we were ‘just tourists’ passing through, there was supposed to be real risk riding through the area.
We made Trieste by mid-morning and crossed into Slovenia, then cut south for the Croatian coast, bound for port town of Sibenik. Once we hit the Dalmatian coast in Croatia the world around us changed dramatically: forests, lakes, waterfalls everywhere, hundreds of islands just offshore, and very light traffic…so we made very good time, if you know what I mean.
Sibenik was something altogether new in my experience. The feeling about the town was simply medieval: narrow cobbled streets, an ancient cathedral at the center of the town, a waterfront that seemed purpose built to accommodate renaissance-era Venetian merchant ships (which was true, I learned), but the people there were struggling to rebuild their city after a war-time siege just a few years earlier. Tourism was ‘new’ here, too, at least as far as westerners were concerned. After decades under communist rule, ‘free enterprise’ was still something new to these people, and facilities were modest, though seriously lovely. This mystery, this unpredictability, seems to me to be part of the magic this kind of travel affords.
Sam was off the bike and on the prowl almost immediately, it had been two days since he’d been laid and he was getting grumpy. I unpacked and grabbed my Nikon and was about to head off towards the waterfront when Deborah caught up with me and asked if she could walk along with me.
Riding with a group brings people together in a hurry, whether they want to or not. I guess it has something to do with shared experience, combined with the ever present risks of riding a motorcycle. Whatever the reason, as Deborah had pretty much attached herself to me while riding, we were as a result spending more and more time together…at gas stations, at scenic overlooks, when eating meals, and now, when off sight-seeing – as she was with me just then – and she was always talking. Not annoying really, but it was apparent to me she was lonely, and beginning to take certain things for granted. Like me wanting her company.
Yet she was bright. More than that, really, she was educated – in the classical sense of the word, and in a way, she was a real change from the women I’d been with over the years. Being single has it’s advantages, I guess, and being in places on the run all my life I’d rarely formed lasting attachments, and I assumed as we walked along Deborah would fall neatly into this way of being. After all, within a week we’d be parting ways and that would be that, but she seemed to know everything about the area, and she didn’t mind me stopping to photograph the little things we ran across. In short, she seemed to me a classic Brit, insatiably curious, impossibly well educated, and a born walker.
Me? I didn’t know, at the time anyway, much about the classics, and what I’d seen of the world I’d seen from from six miles up while passing over at five hundred knots. I was conversant in FMS programming and how to navigate using inertial navigations systems, I could talk endlessly about redundant electrical buses and ruptured hydraulic systems, but if you put me in a conversation about gothic architecture or Italian opera all of sudden I became a listener, not a participant. Deborah was a bridge to that world, I soon learned, and I began to enjoy listening to her. I began to see that world out the window.
So it hit me as we walked along…how much of the world I’d ‘seen’, and how little I’d learned along the way. Now here I was in the thick of things, and with a particularly good teacher leading the way. She talked, I began asking questions, and she led me deeper. We went to the Cathedral of St James and I had my first lesson in sacred architecture, I’d gone through life completely oblivious to the geometry and symbolism of these structures, but then, under Professor Green’s tutelage, I grew more than a little interested. What amazed me most was her understanding of seemingly everything around us.
We made our way from the cathedral to an open air market, walked through the stalls looking at all the various flowers and foods, then found a
sidewalk café and sat in the sunshine and had coffee, and Deborah never really stopped teaching.
Something odd happens between first impressions and getting to know someone a little better: you get used to all the imperfections and flaws you thought you saw on first glance, and things you hardly noticed begin to take on new, more interesting aspects. Deborah had kind eyes, compassionate eyes, eyes like Rhea’s, though the constant watering troubled her. And another thing: she wasn’t skinny. She was lean, fit, and had a serious walker’s legs. She was a biochemist, and also a physician, though she spent most of her time working in the laboratory or teaching, and rarely saw patients.
She’d been married once, back in the eighties she told me, but it hadn’t lasted long and she’d retreated into the solace of all encompassing work after the dust settled. Time worked it’s magic and now here she was, just turned fifty and taking a six-week holiday for the first time in years. She’d taken up motorcycles at college and had always loved riding, it was her one vice, she said, ‘the thing she did’ to get away from all the cares of her world, and she told me she planned to take a ferry from Athens to Izmir after the tour, then work her way back through eastern Europe to Calais, then home.
We walked back to the hotel and up to our rooms, when I unlocked the door to my room the first thing I saw was Sam’s hairy ass pile-driving up and down into some gal, her legs over his shoulders. Deborah was behind me and saw the spectacle, she rolled her eyes and opened the door to her room and started to go inside, then asked if I wanted to come inside with her. I declined, told her I needed to call Rhea, and that I’d see her at dinner.
And of course, I didn’t. She didn’t handle rejection well, I guess.
+++++
We had a short ride to Dubrovnik scheduled the next day so got a ‘late start’, Deborah paired off with another couple from the UK and ignored me all morning, and I wasn’t surprised. Maybe I’d ignored the signs, or maybe single men and women can’t pair up and not have sexual tensions develop. Or maybe I’d given off signs? If I had, well, I was clueless if I had, or maybe I was too caught up in the scenery…
If you’ve not been to this part of the world, you’ve missed out seeing one of the most scenic coastlines in the world. Medieval villages line the coastal road, each more gorgeous than the one before, and we stopped on the outskirts of Split for coffee – which must have been one of the most scenic places on earth – until modern development hit, anyway. Gorgeous medieval neighborhoods had been consumed by high rise hotels and apartments, and the waterfront area was being industrialized. Change breeds change, as the saying goes, but still…it was hard to see such beauty pushed aside.
Deborah must’ve worked it out of her system because she rejoined me for coffee. We talked as if nothing had happened, for indeed, nothing had, and her running commentary seemed to take over where she’d left off. Sam, on the other hand, seemed to be taking an active dislike of the woman and ignored her, but I couldn’t, not really. I actually enjoyed listening to her, and I guess that’s what she’d picked up on the day before. As we left town, she was once again tucked in close on my four o’clock – like that’s where she belonged, or where she really wanted to be. When Sam saw that, he passed me and sped off to the head of our little convoy, and I could see him shaking his head as he roared by.
We pulled into Dubrovnik late that afternoon, after one of the most exhilarating rides of my life. Surreal roads, sharp twisties and long sweepers in a roller coaster succession, all dotted with more villages, more forest waterfalls, and one absolutely brutal thunderstorm that ranged up the coast and just missed us, leaving gusty conditions that made for an ‘interesting’ ride…really wild, as a matter of fact.
We entered Dubrovnik as the wind and rain cleared, leaving a wild, storm tossed sky to frame the medieval wall that surrounded the old town on the waterfront. To say I fell in love with the town would be an understatement, and the tour company had us in a small seaside hotel right outside the wall. They’d also scheduled a day off for the next day, giving those who wanted a full day in that magical setting time to explore.
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