Our little rental camionette wasn’t available for the Bordeaux run. Brent and Kevin dropped Lucy off for school and headed off to pick up our fridge car. I cleaned up and drank more coffee. They returned with a giant van.
Just before take-off, we hooked up “Aussie Ken,” the man who tells me where to go via Tomtom. When I get there, he says in his most suggestive husky Aussie voice, “you have REACHED your DESTination.” Which I follow up with my inside voice “in bed.” But Tomtom no worky. The little lighter of charge was busted. What ever shall we do? I think all the maps have been burned since Tomtom came around. How shall we get anywhere if it can’t be plugged in? Enter Kevin’s magic phone of navigation. A phone so smart it will step in to show me the way. “At the end of the road, turn right,” she says firmly. I turned left. I turned left because I’ve been to Bordeaux before and the best route is through Condom. I don’t know where the silly bitch was headed, but a left turn was surely the right start. A few moments after my left turn, I heard nothing. Another left turn and nothing again. She was sulking. She beeped once or twice to tell me about nearby camping sites, but other than that I was dead to her. She left only this message.
I was left with my memory of how to get there, which worked without batteries and a bit too much coffee.
Off I went, meat fridging nicely in the back chugging along in the big rig. I slowly accommodated my inflated sense of self as the roads widened and started to have painted lines. The “pay way” ticket station was my next challenge. I knew I was tall, but managed to shuffle in next to the little Euro cars without issue and a gentle brush of the plastic hanging tubes. That was, until the ticket was dispensed. I sat there for many minutes waiting for my ticket, yet there was no ticket on offer. I tried a button and a double clap, nothing. Then I looked up. I had not noticed the tall ticket spit-out from my usual Skoda point of view. Us tall vehicles, we take our tickets on top.
Of course on the way back I tried to do a top ticket snap and was bottomed out. I thought of reversing the rig in protest to demand top ticket status, but carried on to get home to my family.
The beast cruises nicely on the fast payway road. It beeps at you if you go over 130 kilos per hour. I never heard the tone, I only know because I read the manual. It beeps most often when you’re passing bigger rigs than you. Or so I’m told. It tells you that you are “dépassé” which means that you are horribly out of fashion and shouldn’t be going so fast.
Meat delivered and let me tell you, that was a tasty burger!
( Kevin took this photo. He made me write this. He needs you to know this. I’m guessing he also took the top van photo as well. K. whew. Got that done.)