Saturday, 19 January, was a really successful day. David and I managed to do a lot around the truck and I was truly happy, even though we didn’t go diving. I even received a friendly SMS-message from one of the sponsors. When everything was completed, we left the coast and went to an Iveco servicing shop to get a speedometer cable that broke just under the meter the night before. David put on his seatbelt for the first time since he started riding with me. It was exactly 3.30 p.m.
Five minutes later, I turned to a clover-leaf intersection under the high-speed road. There was no arrogance or daring in the driving; David was reading a guide, and an incorrectly inclined bend in the road did not allow braking when I found that, just before the turnoff, the bend kinked a bit more. I was probably doing around 50 km/h, but surely less than 60.
The right-side wheels suddenly lifted from the ground, I turned full-left and gave it some more gas, but to no avail. For about 5 metres, the asphalt was going by just 20 cm from my head. Neither of us sustained even a scratch, and the fire extinguisher broke the windshield and the passenger door window. In the sleeping compartment, the table flew into a wall, while Aluboma’s windows all survived. A tin can of the disgusting Indian mango with mustard that ruined my dinner one night spilled generously around the cockpit. The motorcycle remained firmly fastened even with the back wheel on the ground. Gasoline was gushing out of it and engine oil spilled out of the truck engine.
The police arrived soon after I dismissed the toe truck intended for personal vehicles and they called for some real help. No one came to us, however, they did see us merrily emptying our dwelling and thought that we were most probably OK. The things not destroyed by the rolling were finished off by the men towing the truck (everything was happening under the watchful eyes of the police), who were in a hurry to get to another accident site. They broke the large window with a hook and, before we were able to explain that the wheels needed to be secured, they dragged the entire thing on the ground for about four metres. As they were initially unable to lift the chassis, they pulled on the drive shaft, stretching the front right spring and bending the chassis. They only stopped when I told them they would not be able to tow me from there if they cut the break line.
During all of this, a bearded gentlemen steps up to me and says: ”Hi, are you two OK?” Igor from Osijek has been flying since he was 16 years old. He began his career in civil aviation at Adria, continued it at Croatia and then came to Oman Air where he has been working for 9 years. He was returning from a fishing trip and stopped in the traffic line behind us. He almost could not believe his eyes seeing a Maribor licence plate in the middle of Oman. Immediately after rolling the truck, I called Issa, the local agent working with the Pisanec agency, for which I will be starting a tour of Oman tomorrow. The action was thus triggered.
The house was already turned around and on its wheels, but in a rather poor state because of the stretched spring. But the ordeal was not over yet! The “apt” towers brought a tow truck next to my truck and started messing with the tow bar and the tube for the wheel in order to be able to tow the truck. I retreated from the noise as Issa was calling me. I finished the telephone call, turned around and saw the truck started to go down the hill. The blundering towers didn’t attach the tow bar first, but instead started by inflating the tyre. The breaks released and the truck started on its f… way to hell (excuse the language, but it is in line with my mood at the time), and all they did was watch the sorry affair blankly. I ran to the right side door, climbed in the truck and pressed on the break. Those fools then got their share of the lovely Balkans cursing. They didn’t understand the words, but my tone of voice and look said it all.
As they were in a hurry, they just towed me. Not to the side of the road. But to the other side of the crash site. A bunch of my stuff was left by the roadside, but fortunately David was there. And Igor. And Issa also came. He organised another Toyota that brought the stuff to me later on. After passing the crash site, the towers unhooked me and left me in the dust in the middle of nowhere. Soon after that, Ronald, the mechanic who once fixed a Lexus for Igor, came by. The Indian Ronald of British-Portuguese descent, customizes Land Rovers, and his workshop is one big mess. Robi from Oman. Issa later told me that he had already heard about him. And that he was known in Masqat. The point is that his primary work involves manufacturing airport carts, and he does “car-tuning” for fun. Another point is that Igor had told him several times to take good care of me. It was dark already and we poured oil into the engine and drove off to Ronald. We can sleep in the truck. Yippy! The next evening, David complained there were mosquitoes in the house. I later laughed hard. I had told him to put up a mosquito net that would do the job even though the window was broken. But I forgot about the two-meter hole in the ceiling and wall. A day later we moved into the room that they gave us at the workshop.
Diving, yes or no? David was surprised. I insisted on the plan. But most of all I knew it would do us no good to cry over the truck the whole morning. The mind needs to be kept busy. Nothing on the Iveco truck would change that morning anyway.
What’s the plan? How would the route change? When would I be home? It’s like this: when the truck was upside down, we didn’t know the extent of the damage. My only problem was how to get it on its wheels as soon as possible. When I then stood in front of the truck, I had an idea of what we could do: load the truck on a ship and then park it next to a junkyard in Slovenia for an indefinite period. Going home, giving up my dream, shutting myself in the room (hmmm, a room that I don’t actually have) and keep living with the bitterness of what I haven’t achieved. Surrender. These thoughts raced through my mind for about ten seconds.
The house will be repaired, I will continue on my way. The decision was final. In the days that followed, we uncovered one defect after another, and Ronald unselfishly searched for parts and material for days. He finds a solution for any challenge in seconds. Not only is his perfect English not Indian, but his brain is European oriented too, which is worth a fortune in these parts. And he will also be charging me the net price for all the materials. But obstacles appear despite all this. There is no windshield to be found neither in Oman nor in the Emirates. At this moment, the transport from Germany is already organised. Aigner, where the truck was purchased, is truly proving itself to be of great support. Alu profiles, from which the windows of the body are made, can also not be found in Oman or the United Arab Emirates. AluBoMa proved itself by acting fast (and I mean really fast). The window frame for the sleeping compartment will be in Masqat on Friday morning. Borut, thank you, thank you, thank you! The next problem is that nothing is in the metric system here. All the units of measurement are English, so the profiles with dimensions 30x40mm, which we used for construction, are not available. 25x25, 40x20, 50x25. Nothing we can use then. But Ronald’s excellent boys will improvise. There are also problems with insulation, the plywood, the mirror, the termopan sekurit glass which the stupid towers ruined. Many things will come from Dubai.
And the bright side: David doesn’t need to pay for the hotel. Me neither. The boys at the workshop in al-Wadi al-Kabir (Wadi al-Kabir = Guadalquivir, great river, great valley) are golden, and I’ve always wanted to learn Indian English. As the entire valley is Indian (well there are a few Pakistanis here too), I am also learning the charming Indian shaking of the head, from the workshop to the stores, restaurants to the Internet. And we have a dog called Puppy here. If it had to have happened anywhere, it did in an almost perfect place. The Emirates would have been a bit more ideal, but I certainly would not have met Igor, Robi, sorry, Ronald. And labour costs more there. Watching the truck when he tried to put the house up, I became dizzy at the idea of the truck taking a tumble 50km deep in the dunes. Walking around the truck in short sleeves, I again feel dizzy thinking about turning around somewhere in icy Turkey. When pondering on the different solutions, I am dizzy from the idea of this happening in Iran or Sudan. Seeing how precise and careful the Indians are at work, I am dizzy just thinking about Egypt. And seeing how speedily the 6-man crew has been running around the car from dawn till dusk, how they straightened the profiles that would have been thrown away long ago in Slovenia, how progress can be seen every hour, I feel dizzy thinking about this happening to me in Slovenia. We met Igor, were invited to a seafood feast today, and poured the first drops of alcohol on our trip at Igor’s place (David had his first drink in nine months). Ribera del Duero has opened, and then we enjoyed a Mediterranean evening with music. Even my townsman Zoran was there singing “I want to put my arms around you”. We found that it was all excellent in the Mediterranean after all. None of us got hurt, and the truck is in driving condition.
The negative aspects: in addition to the trivial sighs such as “you see, Tilen, we could now be in the desert watching the full moon”, the unforeseen costs are proving problematic, as they have already exceeded EUR 3000. Instead of the work we did along the way sufficing for continuing the journey, it will only be enough for a part of the repairs. With the debts I have at home because of not being paid for the work I did last year, I am slowly losing space to manoeuvre (I lost the space to manoeuvre long ago actually). The clouds began gathering over me this afternoon and so I started thinking about adjusting the route. I don’t have any more information for you at the moment, even though I have been putting off reporting this so that I could provide a solution and not only the challenge. There are several options; travelling through Egypt to Libya and then home or taking a slightly longer route through the Sahara, and there is still also the original plan that will have to be extended over a longer period, as I will have to go home and do some work to earn money. Unless, of course, another sponsor appears.
Let me just sum things up here. It is not the end of the world. I know that for some of you it will be difficult to read this, but it’s not that difficult for me. It’s true that my only dwelling, into which I invested several years worth of savings and a year and a half of free time, is in a pretty bad condition 12,000km away from home. There is simply no time for crying, feeling sorry for myself or for regrets. My days (until the relaxation during the Mediterranean evening) were filled with the search for solutions, and looking forward and not back. May the thoughts of those of you (I know that there are a few people feeling like that), who would now prefer just breaking down, be positive and full of faith that the things will get sorted out. Mine are, so there is no reason for you to feel gloomy.
And to conclude. Al-Qaida is lately to blame for everything bad in this part of the world. It is then probably also to blame for what Igor colourfully described: “The curve was designed by the Brits and constructed by the Indians. Could you expect it to be good?!” And to my relief: in my case, I, the architect, am a Slovenian. David, who never left me in times of distress, is learning mechanics. But what is most important is that he has been of great help to me even before the accident.
Tomorrow, I will take on a tourist group and I won’t be reporting back to you until 31 January. I will then get drunk and, if I am able, you will get the photos of my new abode. And good luck!
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