Adventure: The Other Butt Cheek Part 2
Loretta Henderson’s story on her solo cycling adventure in Mongolia continues here…
A man standing in the center of the bus terminal courtyard notices what I’m doing and comes over. I show him the map, the bicycle and the money. He smiles and takes Pandemic over to the trunk (boot) of his car. Pandemic, even without her wheels, won’t fit into the trunk. His friend comes over and picks up Pandemic and her wheels and tries to fit them into his trunk. And then his friend and his friend and his friend repeat the same effort. But Pandemic the stubborn magic bicycle will not give an inch. Asking a whole bunch of men lingering at a bus terminal in China, to fit a bicycle into the trunk of car, could be a sitcom all of its own. China is a country where the ratio of bicycles to people is 10:1, and each of those people has a PhD in bicycle.
A caucus of dissertations and head scratching debates fills the courtyard as Pandemic the magic bicycle floats from one trunk to the next to the next, splattering her sandy Gobi remnants across the courtyard. Eventually, as a result of a lengthy seven way debate, someone points to Pandemic’s back rack and motions for me to remove it. I have the Allen key tool in my pocket, but I am enjoying the how many clowns can you fit into VW bug circus act far too much to do anything about the rack at the moment.
A woman shimmies through the testosterone filled circus and grabs hold of my arm; she is waving her cell phone. She presses the cell phone up to my ear. She had called her English speaking friend and wants to invite me in to her café for free Chinese dumplings and she wants me to have a nice visit to China. She motions for me to leave the courtyard circus and the bicycle which is in view of the café window. I sit like a geriatric patient on my left butt cheek and have a nice visit via cell phone translations over dumplings and tea.
I return to the courtyard of circus bicycle engineers and remove the carrying rack from Pandemic’s bicycle frame. A driver has finally won the prize at the circus and fit a square through a round hole and gotten Pandemic to fit into the trunk, a puzzling success. I squat in the back seat of the VW Jetta for 2 ½ hours as we rush towards Hohott, the regional capital. Half Ass Helen is about to erupt, hot pussy lava is gathering pressure and heat in explosive anticipation.
Half Ass Helen erupts for three long days burping out red puss and blood on a rhythmic hourly schedule while I lay around on top of a towel in a sterile hotel room. Helen doesn’t ground any planes or anything, but the volcanic shaped cone blows her top and exposes a deep canyon lake, an abyss large enough for antiseptics. The lake has since dried up, the abyss has healed and all that remains of Half Ass Helen the volcanic abscessed butt wound is a scar the size of coin and a story to tell.