Gaston Dilmoore: Lost Jeep
Day fourteen.
Things have gone spare as far as the expedition goes. Indeed, all backers and well-wishers involved have been gunning for our successful completion. The goal of this undertaking is to drive the longitude of the Kamchatka Peninsula in a 1967 Land Rover, powered exclusively by biofuel which we will distill ourselves while in the field. Nunzig, my dear Sherpa and fellow adventurist, runs the distilleries--harvesting switchgrass for ethanol and pulverizing all manner of plant to extract oil which he mixes with lye to use as biodiesel. The Rover has two power plants, each running on a different fuel. Rather, the Rover had two power plants; it seems neither is of any use without a transfer case. Ours was turned to ribbon early on when we ran across an unexploded Soviet artillery piece, left over from the Stalin years.
Egad.
Now, with no means of auto mobility to convey our expedition, and with the backers demanding we complete the trek (they've employed lawyers. Lawyers no less, to declare that our goal is sustainable transport, and that to this end we should employ our bicycles.)
Bicycles? I say, our bicycles, of which the expedition caries sixteen, are meant purely for sport, and the occasional barter. In fact, Nunzig managed to relieve the expedition of four bicycles in exchange for a transfer case, which he found in a nearby sheeping village.
I had a dream about sheeping. It went like this:
In a field of rocks, one tin soldier stood erect and asked me repeatedly if the sheeping had been properly installed in the transfer case. I said I did not know how to install sheeping. Moving on. The sheepers traded to Nunzig a transfer case from a 1954 Sikorsky L119 transport helicopter. Bloody huge thing it was as well, but Nunzig managed to port it, only to shake his head when we failed to fit it to the Rover.
The backers were having none of it.
"Ride your damned bikes, you filthy sponsorship leeches!" they shouted over the commo gear. So, arduously, here we are, pedaling our way though vast coutryside. I am not at all proud of this development, and feel anyone attempting transport on a machine such as a bicycle in lieu of an auto is surely a sad git. And when I try to mention this to Nunzig during riding breaks, he grins while eating his rice and leek stew, saying "biofuel, hmmm!"
I love him so, but I have no level clue what he is trying to tell me. And damn these dreadful bikes. Nonetheless, the expedition must continue.
