Читать книгу No One Said It Would Be Easy - Des Molloy - Страница 23

16

Gestation

ride to come. Getting to the front and trying not to look guilty of anything, we presented our applications along with evidence of funds to support ourselves.

“Why do you want to go to the US?”

“Well, we don’t want to go to the US as such, we just need a transit visa to pass through!”

“Why should I believe that?”

“Because we have all these visas showing we are going to travel through these subsequent countries.”

“But since 1949 tens of millions of people have entered on transit visas, then stayed illegally. I see no reason to issue you one”

Struggling to keep my cool and not tell the woman I didn’t care about her dumb country, I tried again to explain about our motorbike adventure and how we were aiming to ride all the way to Rio. Fortunately, the official in the next booth overheard and pricked up his ears.

“Are you guys really going to try and ride all the way to Brazil from New York?”

Thankfully we had struck a fellow motorcyclist and in no time we were sharing stories and adventures, as is always the way with the two-wheeled brotherhood. The hefty thud of the US Visa being stamped into our passports was a welcoming end to a process that had been fraught and which had almost got us to our ‘last resort’. Word on the street was that the US Embassy in Edinburgh was an easier hurdle. Already we had been working on a back-story to cover the lack of local address … phew, not needed.

Bessie was ridden to Liverpool and on 6th Oct dispatched to New Orleans as deck cargo. Things were now moving along at a frantic pace. Roly and I, along with Penelope and Samantha were booked to sail from Tilbury Docks to New York on 17th Oct. Along with these exciting developments it was a wonderful time to be young and in love. Even with Steph working at her three jobs and Roly and I putting in the hours to get the two old Panthers ready, there was still time for the joys of the besotted. There was no need to fret about an exit strategy, I knew I was in for the long-haul. The clarity was wonderful. We ventured out when we could and even managed to take in Leonard Cohen’s last concert of a European tour. This was the one where after many encores, he came back out onto the stage and said “What the fuck … I’ve got nowhere to go! Let’s party!” And so he did, telling us stories and performing with his backing singers until 1.00am. Luckily we had our own transport