15
The next day Isaac called the prospective buyer for the bike and they agreed to meet in the evening. In the meantime he set his eye on a roomy American-made van. It was a hell of a machine, working on the archaic fuel combustion principle, guzzling gas like a crazed horse. But then, the only windows were in the two front doors, on the driver’s and the passenger’s sides so you could carry whatever you liked in the back and no one would see it from outside.
Before setting out to close the deal he dropped in to see Peter and outlined the situation.
Wolanski was upset for Bikie, he couldn’t buy the bike, it would have been a violation of his father’s will, and they couldn’t put off the journey until he received his money.
“There’s an operational Volkswagen in the garage. If you guys can find a way to destroy it – burn it or smash it up – I could receive the insurance reimbursement and buy the van to replace it. But that’s a couple of weeks’ hassle, or maybe ten days, and extra risk for you. You decide.”
“I feel sorry for Bikie. As soon as I get my first payment, I’ll buy him a new Harley.”
“Don’t be in a hurry to sell the rights to your V-Rain, Isaac, I’ll soon be in the money and the situation will have changed: you’re no longer a crazy stranger to me. Let’s see, maybe we can agree on a partnership. I had time to think a bit about your invention and take a closer look at you. I am ready to do business with you. As for Bikie’s Harley, let’s do this…you agree with the buyer that you have the right to buy it back within two or three months to be on the safe side with a mark-up of twenty or thirty per cent. Bluff him and say you won’t sell otherwise. I think he’ll agree.”
“All right, I’ll try it. Thanks, Peter! Bikie will be insane with happiness. He’s desperately miserable right now and gloomy as night.”
When Bikie heard about Peter’s idea and his willingness to buy back the motorbike he went gaga with joy. He went back to his room and asked Wolanski to come over. Bikie didn’t know how to express thanks, but it was a very long conversation, and Isaac could only guess what he said. When he came back to the living room, Bikie had a serious air and declared that Peter was like a brother to him now!
With that burden off the shoulders of the partners, things started moving to a different rhythm. Bikie changed his mind and went with Isaac to close the deal. At first the buyer was upset, but he agreed to the buy-back condition and promised to be very careful with the bike.
The van they bought turned out to be pretty good. Bikie bought a fuel combustion enhancer at a car dump and attached it to the engine. The gas was heated by air oxygen and entered the engine at an increased pressure that cut the fuel consumption by a third. An essential, albeit short-term gain: in this way the motor wore out sooner and various rubber gaskets and old spark plugs burned out more quickly.
Isaac provided for their everyday needs and with the rest of the money from the Harley he bought a couple of sleeping bags, some blankets, a little stove and other bits and pieces that might come in handy. They were intending to work, cook and sleep in the van and they had no idea how long the trip would last.
The two friends packed their things in silence. Bikie was still sulking about losing his Harley, even though temporarily, and he didn’t talk much. They just exchanged occasional remarks about important things… that was all.
Bikie was worried that the bike would end up in an accident or break down, he imagined someone blithely racing it too fast with the engine roaring, so every now and then he started grumbling like an old man with gout venting his bad feelings on his friend.
“Don’t forget to take your ski boots, Isaac!” “Don’t forget your pink bathrobe, Isaac!”
“Will you survive a week without any porn sites, Isaac?” Isaac tried to ignore the gibes and focus on essential things.
He realized that for Bikie traveling to Sardinia was a blow, especially taking the ferry, and going for a long time and not on a motorbike. It was like a senior VP of Boeing flying on business in an Airbus.
“Isaac, take the umbrellas,” Bikie gibed yet again.
It seemed he just couldn’t calm down. Finally said he was going to write a song about a proud Kenyan marathon runner — an Olympic champion — serving in the army in big, clumsy boots.
“That’s it, Bikie. Stop it right now. I tell you what you love everything American, don’t you? So look, we are traveling in a classic American van, we are going to live in it, and I agree to listen to nothing but rock’n’roll the whole way. How about that?”
“Okay, damn you, on those terms it’s a different matter!” said Bikie, suddenly breaking into a smile. “You surrendered easily after holding out for no more than an hour!”
They hooted with laughter and never mentioned the subject of vans, motorbikes or marathon runners