The Captain: Side Story 2 - 4/9/10
- Thread starter Daniel
- 77 comments
- 9,976 views
- 5,481
- Seattle, WA
- RykonZero
Man, you keep referencing me. I'll return the favor in chapter 23. 
Good chapter. I like the Mine's Evo.
Good chapter. I like the Mine's Evo.
- 8,392
- Auckland
- Lazer0pz
Well, there's this chapter, one next chapter.. then finally some racing (with pics 
)! I'm going to try and post one a week. But as I've written up the next one on paper, I'll post that up tomorrow...
The night before I was leaving, everyone came over. It was practically a party there. My mates from work, my mates from the track, David’s mates, Dad’s mates. And some more mates. The whole night ended up as a full-blown party. Everyone was at least a little bit tipsy. Dad drank a bit and ended up hitting on a Fifty-something Texan woman. David got drunk and started making out with the couch, and one of my workmates got off his rocker and started making out with his boyfriend. We’re alright with his sexuality, but it never gets too far. It wasn’t a pleasing sight.
I woke up to the sound of David snoring. I had a bit of a headache, and was half-asleep. I don’t know why… but I went up to him and sack-tapped him. Thing is, though... sack-tapping someone with a bad hangover is like a kick in the groin. But for me, it was the funniest sight I’ve seen lately.
He moaned, rolled over and vomited. He fell onto the floor. And vomited. I giggled like a 10 year old girl Justin Bieber. Oh God, that was funny! David passed out again. And I got up, grabbed some aspirin and Coco Pops and sat down. I wonder if they have Coco Pops in Switzerland. Dad called, saying that I should wake David up so he can drive me down with the Evo and the trailer. I woke him up (just by nudging him, I’m not that sad). He luckily had no memory of me killing his future children. So that meant great start to the morning for me.
I was taking the 6.43pm flight to Geneva with a two hour stopover in Paris, Dad had told me, so I should leave at about 1pm, due to traffic and Customs. David was awake, and his hangover was gone already (it’s this gene thing; he drinks a ton, but gets short hangovers).
“Tom, we should start to leave now. I’ll grab a late, late breakfast in Oakland. I’m not hungry,” He reminded me.
“Sweet,” I replied. “Hey, can you get that bag for me?”
He was confused about me putting emphasis on bag. I just hope you aren’t. He passed me the clothes bag.
I just came up with another one…
“David, I’ve got some miscellaneous stuff in the garage, can you get a black rubbish sack please?”
Again, he was puzzled. But guess who’s not. He said ‘sure’ and got it.
“Well, I think that’s all of it.” I stood, after shoving the last item into the trailer.
“Mate, you’re going to Switzerland.”
I got excited, “I know!”
David helped me in the car, and he went around the back to quadruple-check the trailer connection, and climbed in. I offered him some peanuts, he refused and we set off.
)! I'm going to try and post one a week. But as I've written up the next one on paper, I'll post that up tomorrow...VIII
[KTHXBAI]
Dad drove me back home to Foresta in Le capitaine (tried finding something more original in French, but couldn't. Oh, well). I’ve been catching up on my French, so I should be able to manage in Switzerland. But I’m really excited – the government recently lifted a ban on all motorsports so once I get back up to speed (‘scuse the pun), I could compete, but might need a license to do so (they’re still a bit weary). I hear there’s a bunch of back roads around the Swiss Alps, a small race track outside Geneva. And Paris, Le Mans, and the Nürburgring are all under seven hours’ drive out.[KTHXBAI]
The night before I was leaving, everyone came over. It was practically a party there. My mates from work, my mates from the track, David’s mates, Dad’s mates. And some more mates. The whole night ended up as a full-blown party. Everyone was at least a little bit tipsy. Dad drank a bit and ended up hitting on a Fifty-something Texan woman. David got drunk and started making out with the couch, and one of my workmates got off his rocker and started making out with his boyfriend. We’re alright with his sexuality, but it never gets too far. It wasn’t a pleasing sight.
I woke up to the sound of David snoring. I had a bit of a headache, and was half-asleep. I don’t know why… but I went up to him and sack-tapped him. Thing is, though... sack-tapping someone with a bad hangover is like a kick in the groin. But for me, it was the funniest sight I’ve seen lately.
He moaned, rolled over and vomited. He fell onto the floor. And vomited. I giggled like
I was taking the 6.43pm flight to Geneva with a two hour stopover in Paris, Dad had told me, so I should leave at about 1pm, due to traffic and Customs. David was awake, and his hangover was gone already (it’s this gene thing; he drinks a ton, but gets short hangovers).
“Tom, we should start to leave now. I’ll grab a late, late breakfast in Oakland. I’m not hungry,” He reminded me.
“Sweet,” I replied. “Hey, can you get that bag for me?”
He was confused about me putting emphasis on bag. I just hope you aren’t. He passed me the clothes bag.
I just came up with another one…
“David, I’ve got some miscellaneous stuff in the garage, can you get a black rubbish sack please?”
Again, he was puzzled. But guess who’s not. He said ‘sure’ and got it.
“Well, I think that’s all of it.” I stood, after shoving the last item into the trailer.
“Mate, you’re going to Switzerland.”
I got excited, “I know!”
David helped me in the car, and he went around the back to quadruple-check the trailer connection, and climbed in. I offered him some peanuts, he refused and we set off.
- 5,481
- Seattle, WA
- RykonZero
Plot! I liek plot!
So, they'll be showing up in Geneva, eh?
So, they'll be showing up in Geneva, eh?
- 5,481
- Seattle, WA
- RykonZero
It's a bit late for a cameo now, but maybe you'll be able to show off what happens in my finale.
- 3,902
- St.Pete, FL
- NotThePrez
- NotThePrez
That's...Interesting 
I like this story, though I should probably read some of the other chapters.
I like this story, though I should probably read some of the other chapters.
- 8,392
- Auckland
- Lazer0pz
IX
A yummy Foot-Long (Sub)
A yummy Foot-Long (Sub)
Dad met up with David and me at a Subway near the departures area. I ordered a foot-long chicken fillet (my personal favourite), a small coke and a cookie. The cashier swiped my SubCard and I ended up winning a skiing trip to none other than Geneva, Switzerland. Of course I was excited, free skiing!
I walked over to David, with a strong coffee and bacon sandwich. And dad with some McDonalds. He went on and on to David about how the Mickey Dees were much healthier in New Zealand than in America. And that a good reason to go there is because its one of the healthiest McDonalds chains in the world.
But Israels got the healthiest McDs in the world.
I let them go on for a while then shoved the winning receipt in front of Dads face.
Hey, what the hell wa-. He exclaimed. He peered down at the bottom of the thin paper. He laughed loudly and showed it to David.
Mate, your cousin just won a ski trip for two Geneva and the Alps.
David looked astonished, Can I come?
I thought about it quickly. Im already going to Switzerland, so why not?
Sure, Im already going there. And I wont be able to ski anyway because of my leg.
I sat down with my sub and started inhaling it what? I really like Subway. Its friggin expensive though. David was asking me about what life may be like and such when I blurted out loud, I wonder what a Bacon and Egg smoothie would taste like. Dad was in the middle of taking a sip of his coffee and at my line it got sucked up through his nose and he started hacking it into a napkin.
Where the hell did that remark come from, son? He stared at me.
Hey, I like smoothies, I like bacon. One plus one is two.
If you find any type of bacon smoothie on the website, I promise that I will make it and drink it in front of my webcam to you. David betted.
Sure, I replied, Youre on.
I heard over the intercom about the 703 flight to Geneva through Paris is departing in half an hour. I grabbed the stuff I had with me. Dad walked up and hugged me.
Son, Ill miss you. Cant wait to see you when we come over. When is the skiing thing?
Um, around January. So you could come for my birthday!
I checked the time. Woah Ive gotta get going!
Dad and David, Im going to Switzerland now.
I grabbed my backpack and paced down to the boarding section and gave my pass to the woman. She scanned it and sent me through with a wave and a Happy Flying.
Ok, I am praying that this chapter is good. Because apart from being a new chapter. This marks my 1000th Post here on GTP!
- 2,436
- Eastern PA
- Weather_Systems
This chapter was a little quick for my tastes... But it's still a good story.
Try below for a bacon smoothie recipe. I think it's in there...http://http://www.google.com/url?sa=t&source=web&cd=1&ved=0CBgQFjAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.videojug.com%2Ffilm%2Fhow-to-make-a-breakfast-special-smoothie&ei=XWxlTOHlGcT48Ab0obzOCA&usg=AFQjCNFekT1ObNNGe-g8z1vsOhqH4oa1jQ
Try below for a bacon smoothie recipe. I think it's in there...http://http://www.google.com/url?sa=t&source=web&cd=1&ved=0CBgQFjAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.videojug.com%2Ffilm%2Fhow-to-make-a-breakfast-special-smoothie&ei=XWxlTOHlGcT48Ab0obzOCA&usg=AFQjCNFekT1ObNNGe-g8z1vsOhqH4oa1jQ
. That's the link I'm gonna use
- 2,436
- Eastern PA
- Weather_Systems
You know, earlier today when I read this thread (the new chapter) I got a sudden urge to go to Wal-Mart and buy bacon, eggs,, sausage and some milk to make a smoothie like that?
Well, I actually did it. Tasted just like bacon & eggs & sausage all combined in one, like how the gum in the Willy Wonka movies (the three-course dinner gum.)
I do think there is a market for these things, and I'll be producing them at our yearly block party in our main square (which is in a week, by the way.)
I'll post pics of when it happens, and I'll tell you guys how much cash I made (hopefully enough to finance a new wheel, sice I'm having problems with my G25 with overheating. I want the new Fanatec Porsche GT3 Rs wheel v.2)
Well, I actually did it. Tasted just like bacon & eggs & sausage all combined in one, like how the gum in the Willy Wonka movies (the three-course dinner gum.)
I do think there is a market for these things, and I'll be producing them at our yearly block party in our main square (which is in a week, by the way.)
I'll post pics of when it happens, and I'll tell you guys how much cash I made (hopefully enough to finance a new wheel, sice I'm having problems with my G25 with overheating. I want the new Fanatec Porsche GT3 Rs wheel v.2)
- 8,392
- Auckland
- Lazer0pz
Ok, here it is
“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your co-pilot speaking.” The speakers sounded. “We are now entering European airspace. And some unpronounceable volcano in Iceland hasn’t erupted, so we are expecting clear skies and quick flying. It will be about 9pm Paris time when we stop over in Paris to refuel and drop off and pick up passengers. To you who are moving on to Geneva, the plane will leave from Charles du Gaulle at approximately 3am, which is 6pm Oakland Time.”
To be honest, I quite like being Jet-lagged. The fact that it’s in the middle of the day and you’re falling asleep. Or that it’s in the early hours of the morning and you’re energetic.
I laid back to listen to the next song. And someone must’ve pushed the button to change the radio station, because the next thing I was listening to was: Let’s have some fun, this beat it sick. I wanna take a ride on your disco stick.
Let’s ha-
No, it can’t be. I’m listening to.. to… her.
“Noooooo!!!!” I ripped off the godforsaken headphones and threw them on the floor like they’d just burnt me. Everyone was looking at me like I’d awaken from a nightmare. Which it was – trust me.
I was sitting there in shock when a stewardess ran frantically up to me with “Sir, are you alright? Sir, what happened?”
It took me a while to regain my meaning of still living. And my senses. “Sorry. Lady Gaga was playing on the radio.”
Everyone around me started murmuring about how we’re all going to die. I even heard one guy talking about jumping out of the plane instead of listening to that crap.
“Oh my God,” The hostess said. “Would you like anything: A hot towel? A drink? A psychiatrist?”
I replied – shaken up, “No thanks. Some earplugs might be nice though.”
I stood up, woozy. And started to walk to the bathroom, the line of people immediately let me through to the front of the queue. I went into the tiny cubicle and splashed my face with some cold water. This isn’t a good start to Euroupe, I thought as I pulled down my fly.
I flushed the toilet and let the high-pressure motor do the rest. I washed my hands of Lady Gaga’s imaginary blood and stepped out. A steward walked up with a small bag and handed them to me.
“We’re terribly sorry about your – incident. If you need anyth-“
I shook my head, “I should be fine now.” I started staggering back to my seat – and someone caught my eye: The young woman behind me. She looked up and said, “that must have been a frightening experie- hey, would I know you from somewhere?”
I studied her more carefully: Tall. Brown Hair. A slightly German accent. “What’s your name? I must’ve forgotten, or I don’t actually know you.” I laughed.
She stood up and greeted me, “Guten Tag, Mr. Bosch – again. My name is Viktoria.”
This wasn’t as bad as the shock the song gave me, but it was still a bit of shock. The seatbelt light went on and I sat down to fumble with my seatbelt.
As it was going on into the early hours of the morning, Viktoria and I decided to stick together just around Charles du Gaulle Airport. Even though I wanted to go sightseeing.
“It’s three in the morning, Tom! Why do you want to go sightseeing?” she’d said.
Dad had asked me to send him an e-mail the minute I am able to. So I went to the first cybercafé I could find.
“Bonjour, Dix minutes coûts quoi?” I asked when I got inside the cafè.
The elderly woman at the counter laughed. “You’re saying it wrong – it’s ‘Combien ça coûte pour 10 minutes?’” she said with a New Zealand accent – surprising.
I chuckled, “Ok, thanks. So what’s a Kiwi doing in Paris running an internet cafè?”
“Just about to ask that to you. Minus the cafè bit. Helping supply my pension. Don’t worry, I’m the Cyber part of this marriage. My husband’s the cafè bit.”
“I’m moving to Switzerland – I’m in the I.T. area as well – getting ready to teach at a school in Geneva,” I said. “So, can I have 10 minutes and a bacon, cheese and onion omelette? With some cholcolat chaud, s'il vous plaît .” I like the chocolate.
“De rien.” she smiled, “You’re on computer Seven. It’s got Counter-Strike, but that costs more, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t worry, I hate CS.”
I walked over to computer seven and popped in the code while Viktoria ordered a tart de la viande.
First things first – Bacon Smoothie. I quickly searched it up and got what I wanted. Sent the link to David and cackled quietly to myself. I then sent the e-mail to Dad, Saying I’m safe at Paris Airport at the moment and am leaving at 3am (local time).
“Here’s your eggs, mate.” The cook came out with the eggs and coffee.
I looked at him. No, it couldn’t be…
“Bert MacMillan?”
The man looked puzzled, “How do you know my name?”
I replied – awestruck, “The Mighty MacMillan: New Zealand’s greatest rally driver of the late 20th Century. Won the Rally of Otago twice.”
MacMillan looked quite surprised, for someone my age knowing about him. “How’s a twenty-something recognize me? I retired in the Eighties. And it’s three times, by the way.” He laughed
“My Mum had a whole shrine in her bedroom – but she’s an alcoholic so my dad and I left her for America.”
“When did you leave?” he asked.
I tried to remember, “About… 2000, 2001.”
He laughed, “I moved to Paris, with Marion about then… Christmas ’00.”
“Where’d you live in New Zealand?” I asked.
“The land of the wise – South Auckland,” MacMillan answered.
I chuckled, “Probably so you were close to Deep Forest and Pukekohe?”
“Yeah mate. I heard Pukekohe’s been replaced by a street course for the V8s.”
“Yeah, Bert. Bloody Hamilton’s got a street circuit now. And there’s a racetrack somewhere in the Bombay Hills, too.”
“By God, I can’t keep up with it all.”
This seemed like a pretty productive. I almost had a heart attack after listening to Lady Gaga on a crowded airplane. I’m gonna make my cousin drink a Bacon smoothie, and I re-met a German-Swiss woman whom I’d last seen half-a-year ago.
Vive la Suisse!
Just hang on, getting so close to actual action (other than the Gaga Situation
)!
X
Fatal Gaga
Fatal Gaga
“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your co-pilot speaking.” The speakers sounded. “We are now entering European airspace. And some unpronounceable volcano in Iceland hasn’t erupted, so we are expecting clear skies and quick flying. It will be about 9pm Paris time when we stop over in Paris to refuel and drop off and pick up passengers. To you who are moving on to Geneva, the plane will leave from Charles du Gaulle at approximately 3am, which is 6pm Oakland Time.”
To be honest, I quite like being Jet-lagged. The fact that it’s in the middle of the day and you’re falling asleep. Or that it’s in the early hours of the morning and you’re energetic.
I laid back to listen to the next song. And someone must’ve pushed the button to change the radio station, because the next thing I was listening to was: Let’s have some fun, this beat it sick. I wanna take a ride on your disco stick.
Let’s ha-
No, it can’t be. I’m listening to.. to… her.
“Noooooo!!!!” I ripped off the godforsaken headphones and threw them on the floor like they’d just burnt me. Everyone was looking at me like I’d awaken from a nightmare. Which it was – trust me.
I was sitting there in shock when a stewardess ran frantically up to me with “Sir, are you alright? Sir, what happened?”
It took me a while to regain my meaning of still living. And my senses. “Sorry. Lady Gaga was playing on the radio.”
Everyone around me started murmuring about how we’re all going to die. I even heard one guy talking about jumping out of the plane instead of listening to that crap.
“Oh my God,” The hostess said. “Would you like anything: A hot towel? A drink? A psychiatrist?”
I replied – shaken up, “No thanks. Some earplugs might be nice though.”
I stood up, woozy. And started to walk to the bathroom, the line of people immediately let me through to the front of the queue. I went into the tiny cubicle and splashed my face with some cold water. This isn’t a good start to Euroupe, I thought as I pulled down my fly.
I flushed the toilet and let the high-pressure motor do the rest. I washed my hands of Lady Gaga’s imaginary blood and stepped out. A steward walked up with a small bag and handed them to me.
“We’re terribly sorry about your – incident. If you need anyth-“
I shook my head, “I should be fine now.” I started staggering back to my seat – and someone caught my eye: The young woman behind me. She looked up and said, “that must have been a frightening experie- hey, would I know you from somewhere?”
I studied her more carefully: Tall. Brown Hair. A slightly German accent. “What’s your name? I must’ve forgotten, or I don’t actually know you.” I laughed.
She stood up and greeted me, “Guten Tag, Mr. Bosch – again. My name is Viktoria.”
This wasn’t as bad as the shock the song gave me, but it was still a bit of shock. The seatbelt light went on and I sat down to fumble with my seatbelt.
As it was going on into the early hours of the morning, Viktoria and I decided to stick together just around Charles du Gaulle Airport. Even though I wanted to go sightseeing.
“It’s three in the morning, Tom! Why do you want to go sightseeing?” she’d said.
Dad had asked me to send him an e-mail the minute I am able to. So I went to the first cybercafé I could find.
“Bonjour, Dix minutes coûts quoi?” I asked when I got inside the cafè.
The elderly woman at the counter laughed. “You’re saying it wrong – it’s ‘Combien ça coûte pour 10 minutes?’” she said with a New Zealand accent – surprising.
I chuckled, “Ok, thanks. So what’s a Kiwi doing in Paris running an internet cafè?”
“Just about to ask that to you. Minus the cafè bit. Helping supply my pension. Don’t worry, I’m the Cyber part of this marriage. My husband’s the cafè bit.”
“I’m moving to Switzerland – I’m in the I.T. area as well – getting ready to teach at a school in Geneva,” I said. “So, can I have 10 minutes and a bacon, cheese and onion omelette? With some cholcolat chaud, s'il vous plaît .” I like the chocolate.
“De rien.” she smiled, “You’re on computer Seven. It’s got Counter-Strike, but that costs more, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t worry, I hate CS.”
I walked over to computer seven and popped in the code while Viktoria ordered a tart de la viande.
First things first – Bacon Smoothie. I quickly searched it up and got what I wanted. Sent the link to David and cackled quietly to myself. I then sent the e-mail to Dad, Saying I’m safe at Paris Airport at the moment and am leaving at 3am (local time).
“Here’s your eggs, mate.” The cook came out with the eggs and coffee.
I looked at him. No, it couldn’t be…
“Bert MacMillan?”
The man looked puzzled, “How do you know my name?”
I replied – awestruck, “The Mighty MacMillan: New Zealand’s greatest rally driver of the late 20th Century. Won the Rally of Otago twice.”
MacMillan looked quite surprised, for someone my age knowing about him. “How’s a twenty-something recognize me? I retired in the Eighties. And it’s three times, by the way.” He laughed
“My Mum had a whole shrine in her bedroom – but she’s an alcoholic so my dad and I left her for America.”
“When did you leave?” he asked.
I tried to remember, “About… 2000, 2001.”
He laughed, “I moved to Paris, with Marion about then… Christmas ’00.”
“Where’d you live in New Zealand?” I asked.
“The land of the wise – South Auckland,” MacMillan answered.
I chuckled, “Probably so you were close to Deep Forest and Pukekohe?”
“Yeah mate. I heard Pukekohe’s been replaced by a street course for the V8s.”
“Yeah, Bert. Bloody Hamilton’s got a street circuit now. And there’s a racetrack somewhere in the Bombay Hills, too.”
“By God, I can’t keep up with it all.”
This seemed like a pretty productive. I almost had a heart attack after listening to Lady Gaga on a crowded airplane. I’m gonna make my cousin drink a Bacon smoothie, and I re-met a German-Swiss woman whom I’d last seen half-a-year ago.
Vive la Suisse!
Just hang on, getting so close to actual action (other than the Gaga Situation
)!
Last edited:
- 3,902
- St.Pete, FL
- NotThePrez
- NotThePrez
Wow, I didn't know Lady Gaga's voice could have such power on an airplane! 
Good Chapter.
Good Chapter.
- 8,392
- Auckland
- Lazer0pz
Gah! I need more comments
As always, Customs is a drag. First, I had to surrender a nice sandwich I was eating, and they had to confiscate my shaving kit and put it in my main luggage! Stupid rod-up-arse Customs. After what seemed like years, I finally got through. What’s more, Viktoria got through with one wave of the metal-detector. The short flight from Paris to Geneva was delayed because of strong, unpredictable winds up there. This of course rendered the whole ‘Winter Wonderland’ moniker useless. When we finally got on the plane, I was almost out like a light – and some earplugs on me in case some terrifying music was playing.
“Mesdames et Messieurs, bienvenue à Genève, en Suisse!”
I fumbled with my seatbelt for a few minutes until a stewardess came up to help me. I don’t get it – why not use car seatbelts? Viktoria told me to meet at a mobile phone shop just outside arrivals. I agreed and bought a new SIM card there and she got a cellphone holder. My boss called me and gave me the number of the guy who will be my new boss.
“Allo?” a deep voice answered.
“Bonjour, Je m’appelle Tom Bosch,” I replied.
“Monseiur Thomas? Hello! Welcome to Switzerland!” he said with a happy tone.
“Merci,” I replied. “Can you get a driver and a moving truck to come down to-“
“Do not worry, Monseiur Thomas. We have already arranged a truck and a driver to take you to Le Complexe – your new home.”
“Merci encore. And may I ask – what is your name?”
My future boss laughed loudly and replied, “Ahh, Oui. My name is Dominique Poulain. I will see you tomorrow at L’ecole de Daniel Bernoulli.” He hung up.
“What school are you going to teach at?” Viktoria asked.
“Bernoulli,” I replied.
“Really? I went there when I was 13,” she said. A navy, fugly Prius came pulled in behind me and Viktoria.
Inside was a couple, both in their early 60s, looking ecstatic.
“That your parents?” I asked. “’Cause they’ve got a bad car.”
“Maman! Papa!” she left her luggage trolley and ran over to hug them as they got out.
A small moving truck pulled in behind the Prius – mine. “Bonjour Monsieur. Où sont vos bagages, s'il vous plait? ” the driver said.
I pointed over to the area where the luggage was, “It’ll be in the ‘from France’ area,” I said in French. “Do you mind giving me a lift? I’ve got a bad leg.”
“D’accord. De rien.”
I walked over to Viktoria and we agreed that we’d meet up during the weekends, as we both had to go, and then I walked back. The driver opened up the door for me and I squeezed in between the driver of the truck and the dude who will drive me home. It was a short drive to the luggage area and the driver backed the truck right up to my belongings. The two guys hopped out and started to load up the truck with some of my stuff. I told them to just chuck some stuff in, and some to be careful with. But, being movers, they didn’t. Luckily nothing broke – probably because I had my lucky charm with me: a 1973 Honda Life Van Matchbox car. Remember me and Gaga on the plane? It was in my overnight bag at the time. Remember my crash at the start of the story? It was left back in Foresta at David’s house.
I believe it’s gotten me out of lots of sticky situations other than those two. It was given to me by Mum before she went all alcoholic on me and Dad. So it’s like memories of the good old times (expect a flashback chapter soon
)…
The driver tapped my shoulder to get me out of flashback zone, “Allo, My am called Xavier. Your car is where?” he said in broken English.
I told him to follow me, and just talk French. I’m better at French than he is at English.
“D’accord” he said.
I walked to a small car park behind the luggage area and showed him ‘Le Capitaine’. He stared at it like a car lover would.
“Excuse me,” he asked in French, “Is that.. a Mine’s Lancer?”
I laughed and smiled, “sure is. Is the truck driver gonna be jealous?”
Xavier nodded excessively, “He’s a car lover too – likes motorbikes more though.”
I told him, “Just remember – It’s my car, so don’t go too crazy around the corners.” I winked and threw him the keys.
He got in, walkie-talkied the truck driver to say that we’re leaving. And we set off.
Quickly.
Xavier seemed pretty good. We ripped down through the Geneva streets like a Tsunami was chasing us. He was driving so well - and I saw on his face that he was barely trying.
The G-forces mucked my body up but I was in a car – going fast again. In a few days, I’ll be driving instead. I love this car...
Ok, I wanna do a flashback chapter in a next post. Might have a bit of racing (spectating only). And it'll probably be one of Tom's Birthday Parties back in New Zealand.
XI
It’s complex(e)
It’s complex(e)
As always, Customs is a drag. First, I had to surrender a nice sandwich I was eating, and they had to confiscate my shaving kit and put it in my main luggage! Stupid rod-up-arse Customs. After what seemed like years, I finally got through. What’s more, Viktoria got through with one wave of the metal-detector. The short flight from Paris to Geneva was delayed because of strong, unpredictable winds up there. This of course rendered the whole ‘Winter Wonderland’ moniker useless. When we finally got on the plane, I was almost out like a light – and some earplugs on me in case some terrifying music was playing.
“Mesdames et Messieurs, bienvenue à Genève, en Suisse!”
I fumbled with my seatbelt for a few minutes until a stewardess came up to help me. I don’t get it – why not use car seatbelts? Viktoria told me to meet at a mobile phone shop just outside arrivals. I agreed and bought a new SIM card there and she got a cellphone holder. My boss called me and gave me the number of the guy who will be my new boss.
“Allo?” a deep voice answered.
“Bonjour, Je m’appelle Tom Bosch,” I replied.
“Monseiur Thomas? Hello! Welcome to Switzerland!” he said with a happy tone.
“Merci,” I replied. “Can you get a driver and a moving truck to come down to-“
“Do not worry, Monseiur Thomas. We have already arranged a truck and a driver to take you to Le Complexe – your new home.”
“Merci encore. And may I ask – what is your name?”
My future boss laughed loudly and replied, “Ahh, Oui. My name is Dominique Poulain. I will see you tomorrow at L’ecole de Daniel Bernoulli.” He hung up.
“What school are you going to teach at?” Viktoria asked.
“Bernoulli,” I replied.
“Really? I went there when I was 13,” she said. A navy, fugly Prius came pulled in behind me and Viktoria.
Inside was a couple, both in their early 60s, looking ecstatic.
“That your parents?” I asked. “’Cause they’ve got a bad car.”
“Maman! Papa!” she left her luggage trolley and ran over to hug them as they got out.
A small moving truck pulled in behind the Prius – mine. “Bonjour Monsieur. Où sont vos bagages, s'il vous plait? ” the driver said.
I pointed over to the area where the luggage was, “It’ll be in the ‘from France’ area,” I said in French. “Do you mind giving me a lift? I’ve got a bad leg.”
“D’accord. De rien.”
I walked over to Viktoria and we agreed that we’d meet up during the weekends, as we both had to go, and then I walked back. The driver opened up the door for me and I squeezed in between the driver of the truck and the dude who will drive me home. It was a short drive to the luggage area and the driver backed the truck right up to my belongings. The two guys hopped out and started to load up the truck with some of my stuff. I told them to just chuck some stuff in, and some to be careful with. But, being movers, they didn’t. Luckily nothing broke – probably because I had my lucky charm with me: a 1973 Honda Life Van Matchbox car. Remember me and Gaga on the plane? It was in my overnight bag at the time. Remember my crash at the start of the story? It was left back in Foresta at David’s house.
I believe it’s gotten me out of lots of sticky situations other than those two. It was given to me by Mum before she went all alcoholic on me and Dad. So it’s like memories of the good old times (expect a flashback chapter soon
)…The driver tapped my shoulder to get me out of flashback zone, “Allo, My am called Xavier. Your car is where?” he said in broken English.
I told him to follow me, and just talk French. I’m better at French than he is at English.
“D’accord” he said.
I walked to a small car park behind the luggage area and showed him ‘Le Capitaine’. He stared at it like a car lover would.
“Excuse me,” he asked in French, “Is that.. a Mine’s Lancer?”
I laughed and smiled, “sure is. Is the truck driver gonna be jealous?”
Xavier nodded excessively, “He’s a car lover too – likes motorbikes more though.”
I told him, “Just remember – It’s my car, so don’t go too crazy around the corners.” I winked and threw him the keys.
He got in, walkie-talkied the truck driver to say that we’re leaving. And we set off.
Quickly.
Xavier seemed pretty good. We ripped down through the Geneva streets like a Tsunami was chasing us. He was driving so well - and I saw on his face that he was barely trying.
The G-forces mucked my body up but I was in a car – going fast again. In a few days, I’ll be driving instead. I love this car...
Ok, I wanna do a flashback chapter in a next post. Might have a bit of racing (spectating only). And it'll probably be one of Tom's Birthday Parties back in New Zealand.
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- 5,481
- Seattle, WA
- RykonZero
Well, Life Step vans are both a good luck charm, and a very, very bad luck charm. Good to know!
- 8,392
- Auckland
- Lazer0pz
It was actually based on a good luck charm for someone from the movie '[wikipedia]12 Rounds[/wikipedia]' - It was a 'Stang IIRC, then I just swapped it for a Honda
And Dominique Poulain came from the movie '[wikipedia]Amélie[/wikipedia]'.
Dominique Bretodeau was a character in it. And Amélie Poulain was the main character.
And Dominique Poulain came from the movie '[wikipedia]Amélie[/wikipedia]'.
Dominique Bretodeau was a character in it. And Amélie Poulain was the main character.
- 5,481
- Seattle, WA
- RykonZero
What sort of fool would buy a Hot Wheels *obscure Japanese van with less horsepower than the person driving it*?
- 8,392
- Auckland
- Lazer0pz
Well, a quick side-story/prologue/prequel/chapter for ya. Set during his birthday party. This is short. And no images. But there's another short-side-story/prologue/prequel/chapter straight after this. And it's full of action (well, as much as someone can without actually driving the car
“No fair!” Chase yelled at me,” You cheated!”
“Nuh-uh – you took too long.” I replied, smugly.
“Come on Chase,” Simon interrupted. “He is the birthday boy today anyway.”
“Fine,” he said, crossing his arms, “I guess you win.”
“Do you guys wanna play some Nintendo? It’s better the stupid board games.”
I got a round of agreement. One of my friends – Zack asked, “Do you even know how to do multiplayer?”
“Sure, we just need to read the instructions.”
“Tom, I love your parties – even when we were like 5 years old, your Mum and Dad never made us wear those stupid party hats.”
I laughed to that line, stood up and everyone then followed me to the TV. I turned it on and Yoshi’s Safari was already up and running. The jingly tune started and I went into multiplayer listening to Zack’s commands from the instruction booklet. Mum came in with all the other adults after talking about the Olympics in Norway and who might win. I was thinking about who would lose against me.
“Tom, it’s time for the cake and the other presents!” Mum smiled.
Everyone started whooping and cheering, and we all went outside to the giant table where all the adults were sitting with their beer. We kids all sat down in the little spaces left and Mum and Dad went back into the kitchen to get the camera and cake. I was sitting beside Auntie Robyn, who was coming in eight months pregnant.
“Auntie Robyn, what’s your baby going to be called?”
She replied softly, “It’s going to be a secret. Only me and Uncle Matt know. And no one else will until he or she is born.” I knew the whole thing about babies being born. And quite frankly, I’m disgusted by it, so I didn’t wanna go any further than ‘is born’. Good thing Mum came out with the cake, and everyone broke into ‘Happy Birthday’. I giggled because my friends were singing the song about me being 102. Mum put the cake right in front of me and I blew out the candles as everyone finished the last ‘Yooooouuuuu’. I heard 11 claps – one for luck. And mum bent down to me and gave me a small matchbox car.
“Honey. This is my good luck charm. My grandfather had one similar to it. Your granddad had one similar to it. And I’ve had one similar to it. They’ve all each given us good luck. This one is yours.”
“Thanks Mum,” I hugged her. I actually like this car. It’s a car. Not a super cool fantasy HotWheels one, but a nice old car to add to my collection of normal cars. Then again, it’s my charm, not a little car collection addition. Now, the cake… Cake, cake wonderful cake! It was Double-Quadruple Saucy Rich-Mississippi Mud-Sextuple Chocolate Cake with Vanilla Ice Cream. So good!
Once the cake was gone, we all went in to open the presents. I got a few books, some other video games (Daytona and Sega Rally!) And, get this. I am going for a spin in a Nissan Calsonic Skyline! Mum won a radio competition and gave it to me for my birthday. I’ll be driven by some bloke that she worships called Bart MacMillan. Or is it Bert? Gotta ask Mum on that….
“Duuude, you’re get to ride in a Racing Skyline?” Jarred asked.
I bet I had a smile on my face I couldn’t wipe off, “Yup, by a rally driver who won the Rally of Otago about 10 years ago.”
“Where it it?” Zack asked.
I looked back down at the sheet of paper declaring my glory, “Deep Forest. About an hour and a half – two hour drive from here.”
“Man, I’m so jealous right now.”
“I know,” I replied. “You guys wanna play Sega Rally now?”
“Sure.”
“Yup.”
“Bags starting*.”
You guys kinda notice how I'm not doing the coloured text? I'm just wondering - as I'm trying to make this as book like as possible, is it still a bit confusing for you?
*'Bags' is another for 'Dibs' or 'shotgun' (just incase you didn't know that)
Side Story I
“No fair!” Chase yelled at me,” You cheated!”
“Nuh-uh – you took too long.” I replied, smugly.
“Come on Chase,” Simon interrupted. “He is the birthday boy today anyway.”
“Fine,” he said, crossing his arms, “I guess you win.”
“Do you guys wanna play some Nintendo? It’s better the stupid board games.”
I got a round of agreement. One of my friends – Zack asked, “Do you even know how to do multiplayer?”
“Sure, we just need to read the instructions.”
“Tom, I love your parties – even when we were like 5 years old, your Mum and Dad never made us wear those stupid party hats.”
I laughed to that line, stood up and everyone then followed me to the TV. I turned it on and Yoshi’s Safari was already up and running. The jingly tune started and I went into multiplayer listening to Zack’s commands from the instruction booklet. Mum came in with all the other adults after talking about the Olympics in Norway and who might win. I was thinking about who would lose against me.
“Tom, it’s time for the cake and the other presents!” Mum smiled.
Everyone started whooping and cheering, and we all went outside to the giant table where all the adults were sitting with their beer. We kids all sat down in the little spaces left and Mum and Dad went back into the kitchen to get the camera and cake. I was sitting beside Auntie Robyn, who was coming in eight months pregnant.
“Auntie Robyn, what’s your baby going to be called?”
She replied softly, “It’s going to be a secret. Only me and Uncle Matt know. And no one else will until he or she is born.” I knew the whole thing about babies being born. And quite frankly, I’m disgusted by it, so I didn’t wanna go any further than ‘is born’. Good thing Mum came out with the cake, and everyone broke into ‘Happy Birthday’. I giggled because my friends were singing the song about me being 102. Mum put the cake right in front of me and I blew out the candles as everyone finished the last ‘Yooooouuuuu’. I heard 11 claps – one for luck. And mum bent down to me and gave me a small matchbox car.
“Honey. This is my good luck charm. My grandfather had one similar to it. Your granddad had one similar to it. And I’ve had one similar to it. They’ve all each given us good luck. This one is yours.”
“Thanks Mum,” I hugged her. I actually like this car. It’s a car. Not a super cool fantasy HotWheels one, but a nice old car to add to my collection of normal cars. Then again, it’s my charm, not a little car collection addition. Now, the cake… Cake, cake wonderful cake! It was Double-Quadruple Saucy Rich-Mississippi Mud-Sextuple Chocolate Cake with Vanilla Ice Cream. So good!
Once the cake was gone, we all went in to open the presents. I got a few books, some other video games (Daytona and Sega Rally!) And, get this. I am going for a spin in a Nissan Calsonic Skyline! Mum won a radio competition and gave it to me for my birthday. I’ll be driven by some bloke that she worships called Bart MacMillan. Or is it Bert? Gotta ask Mum on that….
“Duuude, you’re get to ride in a Racing Skyline?” Jarred asked.
I bet I had a smile on my face I couldn’t wipe off, “Yup, by a rally driver who won the Rally of Otago about 10 years ago.”
“Where it it?” Zack asked.
I looked back down at the sheet of paper declaring my glory, “Deep Forest. About an hour and a half – two hour drive from here.”
“Man, I’m so jealous right now.”
“I know,” I replied. “You guys wanna play Sega Rally now?”
“Sure.”
“Yup.”
“Bags starting*.”
You guys kinda notice how I'm not doing the coloured text? I'm just wondering - as I'm trying to make this as book like as possible, is it still a bit confusing for you?
*'Bags' is another for 'Dibs' or 'shotgun' (just incase you didn't know that)
- 5,481
- Seattle, WA
- RykonZero
It is kind of difficult, which is why I switched in my story. If you make little "-said So and So" remarks here and there, and make it clear, it'll work, but that's a huge hassle to make sure it's all understandable, especially with a lot of characters speaking, like what I have to deal with.
In short, go right ahead, but be warned you have to be careful to make it clear who's talking.
In short, go right ahead, but be warned you have to be careful to make it clear who's talking.
- 8,392
- Auckland
- Lazer0pz
I don't always put 'says Mr. X' at the end of a sentence because if it's a massive conversation between two people, one line of text usually is one guy, and the next line is the other guy. But if it's a small exchange of text, or with a bunch of people, I guess I could leave some people out and say who exactly says what.
Thank's for the tips, and GJ on the premo 👍....
Now give me some...
jk
Thank's for the tips, and GJ on the premo 👍....
Now give me some...
jk
- 5,481
- Seattle, WA
- RykonZero
Thank you! All you really have to is concentrate on writing it like a novel.
- 8,392
- Auckland
- Lazer0pz
Well, here's just half of the next chapter, it's so massively long that I have to do it.
I waited and waited for the annual Deep Forest Track Week to come around. The first Wednesday of the term holidays to be exact. It was two hour down to Deep Forest, as it’s about 20kms south-east of Te Puke. Dad pulled up to the Parking lot in our nice and quite new Evo II.
We got out and walked together to the main entrance. Dad got his wallet and gave the clerk $30, while I proudly showed my special pass.
“Sir, as you’re accompanying my friend…” he looked at my pass,” Tom here, you don’t need to pay.” And he gave back the money.
“So now we can buy food!” I joked. “Excuse me, Mr. Clerk?” I passed him my camera, “Can you take a picture of me and Dad?”
He nodded. “Sure.” I gave the clerk my camera – a Kodak that printed the picture straight afterwards.
The clerk got ready to shoot us and said, “Say ‘Racing Car!’”
The flash flashed and the camera dispenced a black photograph. The clerk waved it around a bit and a picture of a beaming boy and his proud Dad faded into view. Dad shook the clerk’s hand and commented, “That’s a bloody good picture, mate. You should do that for a living.”
The clerk laughed, “Thanks. When you go in, walk over the pit bridge, take a left and talk to the guys in the information building. It’s got a blue and red ‘I’ on it.”
“Cheers,” Dad replied. And we set off.
We passed an eatery on the way to the Pit Bridge. “Tom, you wanna get something to eat before you race?”
“No!” I said. “I don’t want to vomit in the car!”
“Hey, just asking.” I do believe there was a time trial going on when Dad and I got to the pit bridge. So we decided to watch the cars coming along the home straight.
There was a Porsche, a Lancia, and even a Mitsubishi 4X4. I only managed to get the Porsche.
Dad and I watched for about 10 minutes until the last car (A tuned Skyline, not too sure which model) pulled into the pits. The commentator called out the times and the winner (an old yellow Starion), before announcing that “A certain competition winner will be driven by none other than Bert MacMillan!”
Dad bent down a whispered in my ear, “Mum won the competition.”
“Aww, I wanted her to be here then. Stupid weekend work,” I moaned.
The commentator spoke again, “Can Tom Bosch come up to the main pits, please?”
A huge round of applause went up as I started walking towards the pits. A few blokes (who must’ve been drinking a bit) lifted me up and cheered as they escorted me to the pit lane, with Dad holding me up at the front. They let me down after my slight reign as happiest kid in the world right next to the Calsonic Skyline that I would be driven in. A man in an open-face helmet got out, walked over to me and offered his hand.
“Bert MacMillan,” he said. “So, you’re the son of Suzanne Bosch?”
I nodded, “My mum loves you and your racing, so it’s pretty big that she’s giving the experience to me.”
“Well, you’ve got a nice mum then,” MacMillan laughed. Some of the pit crew came over to suit me up in a navy blue fire suit, a blue stripy full face helmet, and a pillow.
“It gets a bit bumpy on the track,” one of the pit crew told me.
MacMillan opened up the passenger door. “Good day, Sir,” he put on a bad British Accent. “Would you care for a ride on this sunny day?”
I gave a thumbs-up and continued the impersonation, “Yes, ‘tis a wonderful day to go driving, ol’ chap.” I bowed comically and hopped into the passenger seat. The Pit Crew raced over and helped me get belted in with the 5-point harness. I was on an adrenaline high right then. It felt like I’d drunk seven litres of concentrated Cola (not the diet kind). Another crewman said that I’ve got a radio inside the helmet so I can talk to Dad and MacMillan.
“Tom, can you hear me?” Dad’s voice appeared in my head.
“Loud and slightly un-clear, Dad,” I chuckled.
“Have fun while doing this (like you can’t). Mum really tried to get out of work and see her two favourite men in the universe.”
“Dad, aren’t you Mum’s favourite?”
“That’s what I thought, too!” Dad joked.
“Tom?” Bert asked. “What time was it when you last ate?”
I replied, content, “I didn’t have breakfast – so I say just gun it.”
“Ok. Steven, all clear?” he talked into his radio.
“Yup, track’s clear,” the man called Steven replied over the headset.
“Can I do the countdown?” I pleaded.
“Sure thing Tom,” MacMillan replied.
“3.””
MacMillan started up the car. The powerful engine roared to life
“2.”
He lightly touched the throttle, but enough to make my ears hurt.
“1...”
The car was like lion. Lions sit on rocks and sun themselves all day. No care about the world. They move effortlessly. No need to go anywhere but a rock, and a watering hole. Then – the lionesses come out to hunt…
“Go!”
I felt a sneeze coming on when MacMillan jolted into 1st gear. Probably because of the quick movement. By the time I sneezed, however, we were already half-way around the first corner.
I then realised that this isn’t your typical Skyline. This is the V8 Supercar of Japan… This thing’ll probably get to over 300kp/h on State Highway 1 if you gunned it. MacMillan accelerated out of Turn One so quickly that I thought I’d need to get my eyes from the back of the car. He started racing up the hill, causing me to shrink back into the racing seat. I heard MacMillan asking me if I was okay – and I replied with a hoarse ‘yes’. I couldn’t speak. My mouth was dry, my vocal chords wouldn’t operate. As did the rest of my body.
I got thrown about in the seat as MacMillan passed through the chicanes.
Left-Right-Left-Left-Right... And into the tunnel.
“Mr. Bosch, how long did it take for you to get from home to Deep Forest?” MacMillan asked my dad.
I heard Dad reply over the headset, “About two hours. Why?”
MacMillan laughed, “Well, going at the speed I am at now, it would take half-an-hour.”
Whoa, half an hour?! Takes me half an hour to walk to school! I looked to my right - a huge cliff going vertically up.
“So, you like that ravine?” MacMillan asked.
I looked to my left, only to have my sight blocked by a large tunnel. Then we sped out, and I caught a glimpse of the huge ravine. The only thing that was protecting us from there was a long guard rail. I hope it was reinforced. I tried to focus on anything but it was all too fast. So I let the foliage rush past me, then we zoomed into another tunnel.
“Home straight coming up; want me to do a trick?” MacMillan asked.
I replied, “Sure, what type?”
He smiled, “You’ll see.”
MacMillan raced onto the home straight. I guess he was aiming for the 250 mark – that’s about as fast as you can get at Deep Forest. He concentrated on the road and the speedo at the same time. 240….. 245… 247… 248…. 249..
250!
He slammed on the hand brake and rotated the steering wheel all the way to the left. He corrected himself and shifted into reverse at lightning quick speeds. Before I knew what happened, MacMillan stopped in a cloud of tire smoke and me flabbergasted.
“Son, you alright?” Dad asked over the radio.
A squeak of a “wow” escaped from my mouth. Once I gathered my senses, I tried unbuckling my seatbelt and got out, feeling a bit dizzy. I stepped out into the bright, brilliant light. I turned a full circle and everyone went into a huge round of applause. I threw my hands up in the air. I felt great!
Again, I greatly apologise for the long length - remember, I'm writing a "Machinima" Novel, not a Race Story!
XIII
Side Story pt 2
Side Story pt 2
I waited and waited for the annual Deep Forest Track Week to come around. The first Wednesday of the term holidays to be exact. It was two hour down to Deep Forest, as it’s about 20kms south-east of Te Puke. Dad pulled up to the Parking lot in our nice and quite new Evo II.
We got out and walked together to the main entrance. Dad got his wallet and gave the clerk $30, while I proudly showed my special pass.
“Sir, as you’re accompanying my friend…” he looked at my pass,” Tom here, you don’t need to pay.” And he gave back the money.
“So now we can buy food!” I joked. “Excuse me, Mr. Clerk?” I passed him my camera, “Can you take a picture of me and Dad?”
He nodded. “Sure.” I gave the clerk my camera – a Kodak that printed the picture straight afterwards.
The clerk got ready to shoot us and said, “Say ‘Racing Car!’”
The flash flashed and the camera dispenced a black photograph. The clerk waved it around a bit and a picture of a beaming boy and his proud Dad faded into view. Dad shook the clerk’s hand and commented, “That’s a bloody good picture, mate. You should do that for a living.”
The clerk laughed, “Thanks. When you go in, walk over the pit bridge, take a left and talk to the guys in the information building. It’s got a blue and red ‘I’ on it.”
“Cheers,” Dad replied. And we set off.
We passed an eatery on the way to the Pit Bridge. “Tom, you wanna get something to eat before you race?”
“No!” I said. “I don’t want to vomit in the car!”
“Hey, just asking.” I do believe there was a time trial going on when Dad and I got to the pit bridge. So we decided to watch the cars coming along the home straight.
There was a Porsche, a Lancia, and even a Mitsubishi 4X4. I only managed to get the Porsche.
Dad and I watched for about 10 minutes until the last car (A tuned Skyline, not too sure which model) pulled into the pits. The commentator called out the times and the winner (an old yellow Starion), before announcing that “A certain competition winner will be driven by none other than Bert MacMillan!”
Dad bent down a whispered in my ear, “Mum won the competition.”
“Aww, I wanted her to be here then. Stupid weekend work,” I moaned.
The commentator spoke again, “Can Tom Bosch come up to the main pits, please?”
A huge round of applause went up as I started walking towards the pits. A few blokes (who must’ve been drinking a bit) lifted me up and cheered as they escorted me to the pit lane, with Dad holding me up at the front. They let me down after my slight reign as happiest kid in the world right next to the Calsonic Skyline that I would be driven in. A man in an open-face helmet got out, walked over to me and offered his hand.
“Bert MacMillan,” he said. “So, you’re the son of Suzanne Bosch?”
I nodded, “My mum loves you and your racing, so it’s pretty big that she’s giving the experience to me.”
“Well, you’ve got a nice mum then,” MacMillan laughed. Some of the pit crew came over to suit me up in a navy blue fire suit, a blue stripy full face helmet, and a pillow.
“It gets a bit bumpy on the track,” one of the pit crew told me.
MacMillan opened up the passenger door. “Good day, Sir,” he put on a bad British Accent. “Would you care for a ride on this sunny day?”
I gave a thumbs-up and continued the impersonation, “Yes, ‘tis a wonderful day to go driving, ol’ chap.” I bowed comically and hopped into the passenger seat. The Pit Crew raced over and helped me get belted in with the 5-point harness. I was on an adrenaline high right then. It felt like I’d drunk seven litres of concentrated Cola (not the diet kind). Another crewman said that I’ve got a radio inside the helmet so I can talk to Dad and MacMillan.
“Tom, can you hear me?” Dad’s voice appeared in my head.
“Loud and slightly un-clear, Dad,” I chuckled.
“Have fun while doing this (like you can’t). Mum really tried to get out of work and see her two favourite men in the universe.”
“Dad, aren’t you Mum’s favourite?”
“That’s what I thought, too!” Dad joked.
“Tom?” Bert asked. “What time was it when you last ate?”
I replied, content, “I didn’t have breakfast – so I say just gun it.”
“Ok. Steven, all clear?” he talked into his radio.
“Yup, track’s clear,” the man called Steven replied over the headset.
“Can I do the countdown?” I pleaded.
“Sure thing Tom,” MacMillan replied.
“3.””
MacMillan started up the car. The powerful engine roared to life
“2.”
He lightly touched the throttle, but enough to make my ears hurt.
“1...”
The car was like lion. Lions sit on rocks and sun themselves all day. No care about the world. They move effortlessly. No need to go anywhere but a rock, and a watering hole. Then – the lionesses come out to hunt…
“Go!”
I felt a sneeze coming on when MacMillan jolted into 1st gear. Probably because of the quick movement. By the time I sneezed, however, we were already half-way around the first corner.
I then realised that this isn’t your typical Skyline. This is the V8 Supercar of Japan… This thing’ll probably get to over 300kp/h on State Highway 1 if you gunned it. MacMillan accelerated out of Turn One so quickly that I thought I’d need to get my eyes from the back of the car. He started racing up the hill, causing me to shrink back into the racing seat. I heard MacMillan asking me if I was okay – and I replied with a hoarse ‘yes’. I couldn’t speak. My mouth was dry, my vocal chords wouldn’t operate. As did the rest of my body.
I got thrown about in the seat as MacMillan passed through the chicanes.
Left-Right-Left-Left-Right... And into the tunnel.
“Mr. Bosch, how long did it take for you to get from home to Deep Forest?” MacMillan asked my dad.
I heard Dad reply over the headset, “About two hours. Why?”
MacMillan laughed, “Well, going at the speed I am at now, it would take half-an-hour.”
Whoa, half an hour?! Takes me half an hour to walk to school! I looked to my right - a huge cliff going vertically up.
“So, you like that ravine?” MacMillan asked.
I looked to my left, only to have my sight blocked by a large tunnel. Then we sped out, and I caught a glimpse of the huge ravine. The only thing that was protecting us from there was a long guard rail. I hope it was reinforced. I tried to focus on anything but it was all too fast. So I let the foliage rush past me, then we zoomed into another tunnel.
“Home straight coming up; want me to do a trick?” MacMillan asked.
I replied, “Sure, what type?”
He smiled, “You’ll see.”
MacMillan raced onto the home straight. I guess he was aiming for the 250 mark – that’s about as fast as you can get at Deep Forest. He concentrated on the road and the speedo at the same time. 240….. 245… 247… 248…. 249..
250!
He slammed on the hand brake and rotated the steering wheel all the way to the left. He corrected himself and shifted into reverse at lightning quick speeds. Before I knew what happened, MacMillan stopped in a cloud of tire smoke and me flabbergasted.
“Son, you alright?” Dad asked over the radio.
A squeak of a “wow” escaped from my mouth. Once I gathered my senses, I tried unbuckling my seatbelt and got out, feeling a bit dizzy. I stepped out into the bright, brilliant light. I turned a full circle and everyone went into a huge round of applause. I threw my hands up in the air. I felt great!
Again, I greatly apologise for the long length - remember, I'm writing a "Machinima" Novel, not a Race Story!
Last edited:
