To Shagaluf and back (in 24 hours)
I thought I'd share my best night out ever with you, culminating with a bit of a stressful road trip. It's a long story (apologies for length already) with a lot of scene-setting so bear with me. By the way I'm a long time lurker but a B3TA virgin poster... Be gentle with me!

Anyway, way back in '98, I was a horny, party-mad young lad on a shoestring budget and I desperately wanted to get away for my 1st summer holiday without the folks. After a very brief check of the finances, two of my closest (and equally dirty) hombres Adam, Ali and I booked a cheap and cheerful holiday via Ceefax (without reading the T+Cs) to Magaluf. Big mistake.

We arrived excited and a bit lagered up in Majorca and met our tour rep who happily informed us that though we flew into Palma (where we wanted to be), our actual hotel was based in a tiny German resort called Sa Coma, 40km away from the party/shagathon capital that was Magaluf. Fucksocks.

We turned up in this quaint village with two pubs and a beach, and what seemed like the entire population of Dusseldorf in our hotel. Never to be held back by adversity, we did our best to have a laugh (skinny dipping - a bit gay without girls), drink our own bodyweight in drinks and try to meet the local lasses (there were NONE). Despondant after a dull week, we begged our tour rep for guidance and help. God bless her, she was off to Magaluf for our last night (as she was picking up her sister from the airport) and was going out for a night on the tiles. Would we like to grab a lift? We very nearly bit her arm clean off. Away we went and holiday saved! Hooray!

Magaluf for those that don't know, is a dive. However, it is packed with bars, clubs and hot, nee easy women. It's known as shagaluf for a reason. Needless to say, I ran around like a kid in a toy shop trying to play with everything at once, whilst pumping myself full of about 20 vodka redbulls. Absolutely battered, I was having a ball but I was still desperately horny and it was about 4am. Our lift back to the hotel with the rep was at 6, so I told my mates 'I'll be right back' and I literally went up to ever girl in the club with a one word ice breaker/inappropriate proposition - 'Shag?' After several slaps, I struck gold with a cute Scottish lass - lets call her Bonny.

Bonny and I nip off to the beach and proceeded to get our jiggy on in the sea. Now this is no easy task. With me on top and desperately trying to get decent footing in the wet sand, it was like sprinting in well, wet sand and I started sweating like a glass blower's arse. Panting, I suggested that we move to a sunlounger to finish off which we duly did, and a good time was had by all. At this point I check my watch - 5:50am. FUCK. I don't know where I am, it's pitch black and my ride to Germanville leaves in 10 minutes.

So I start sprinting. My vodka addled brain doesn't have a clue where it is taking me, but the red bull powered legs have given me Linford Christie's speed and stamina. Sadly, I run in completely the wrong direction, straight away from the town centre and along a dual carriageway for a couple of miles until I think I'm going to pass out through exhaustion. It's about half six by now and my lift/mates had definitely gone back to our hotel, and we had to be out of our room by ten or we got charged for another night, plus our bus transfer to the airport leaves at 12. That's when I start hitching (and this is where the road trip comes in - keep up!)

I get utterly ignored by lots of scared looking Spaniards who wizzed past (I was covered in luminous face paint, my shirt was hanging in tatters etc) and I started to panic. I had no cash for a taxi, I had run into the middle of nowhere and I was slowly dying of thirst. I walked for about an hour (reasoning that I could cover the 40km to the airport in a couple of hours) and the bastard sun had come up too so I started to burn. That was when I caught a break and another Scot - lets call him Hamish - decided to save my life. He pulled over in his shitty little Fiat Panda, offered me an ice cold lucozade and gave me a lift to a taxi rank where he explained to Pedro that I would pay for the ride when I got back to the hotel where my cash was kept. After I thanked him to within an inch of his life (hmm.. sounds weird) he then drove off into the sunrise. An utter, utter hero. Hamish I owe you massively mate!

I finally got to the hotel room by half nine (I got utterly fleeced on the taxi but I didn't care)where I was greeted by two irate and very worried mates who thought I had been kidnapped/murdered. They saw the funny side eventually though when I told them of my antics, and pissed themselves when I had a shower to wash the sand off from under my bellend, and screamed like a banshee when the hot water hit my red raw cock.

Totally worth it.

Length? Not much when the water hit it.

Ps - for those of you who care, we checked out on time, and got the bus straight back into Magaluf and to the airport not 6 hours after I had left it. Pointless roadtrip but I still think back on such larks fondly.
(Mr Fudge It shouldn't be illegal to have sex with an eagle, Thu 21 Jul 2011, 12:52, Reply)

i was in cumbria
on an island that lies just over half a mile (1 km) south of the village of Rampside at the southernmost point of the Furness Peninsula.

I had been drinking so heavily the night before my hands were shaking. In fact they shook so much I tore the paper I was reading

that was my Roa DT rip

Ithankyaw
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Thu 21 Jul 2011, 12:29, Reply)

There I was, minding my own business
When the road stuck its foot out and caused me to trip over.

I wasn't best pleased.
(ParaSitius is an Optimistic Pessimist, Thu 21 Jul 2011, 12:05, 3 replies)

Oo - am I too late?
*something about Maddie*
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 21 Jul 2011, 11:57, Reply)

From Epsom to Aberdeen with 2CV
This saga started when I bought a 2CV on eBay from a policeman's wife in Epsom. Part of the deal was that the car had to be moved from this guy's driveway in a hurry. The problem was that it was not in a road-legal or drivable state. I didn't have a trailer to put it on, so I borrowed one from a friend in Kent. I collected the trailer/transporter on the Thursday afternoon and took it immediately to Epsom and managed to winch the 2CV onto it. I set off in triumph, northbound to Aberdeen. I got as far as Watford when Geoff (owner of trailer) called me and asked what time I could get the trailer back to him on Friday because he needed it for the weekend. I explained that Scotland was quite a long drive and the chances of an overnight round-trip was rather unlikely. So now I needed plan B... I pit-stopped at a friend's flat in St Albans and got online to put the backup plan into operation. I'd also been bidding on a car transporter on eBay but the auction didn't end soon enough to collect it and do the 2CV pickup. It turned out that I had actually won the auction but the trailer was in Guildford.

So... time to regroup. I took Geoff's trailer and 2CV to a local car park. I unloaded 2CV and took empty trailer 120mile round-trip back to Maidstone. Drove trailerless to Gulidford to pick up the trailer I'd bought on eBay. The directions I'd been given to the farm where the trailer was located included the words "the road gets a bit narrow, steep and rutted here but keep going". They were not kidding... I finally arrived having done what seemed like a 4x4 test track. Money exchanged hands and trailer was hooked-up. First problem was that the former owner had wired the trailer lighting circuit on both his Landrover and the trailer, but had not bothered to respect the convention on what wire does what light. After an hour or rewiring in the fading daylight, I was on my way again. Negotiating the 4x4 course was now even more fun in the dark with a car transporter in tow. After an hour or so of dropping mud around the M25 I arrived back in the car park at St Albans about midnight and prepared to load the 2CV. So far I'd done about 350 miles on the road and only moved the 2CV about 50 miles from where it started. Half way through winching the 2CV onto the trailer, the winch jammed. Thirty minutes of swearing and barked knuckles later I had made a temporary repair to the winch and got the 2CV safely on board. Finally back on the road towards Bonny Scotland...

Just short of Northampton on the M1 at about 2am, a truck behind me started flashing and blowing it's horn. I pulled off into Northampton services and checked the trailer. One of the (four) tyres was flat and was in the process of shredding itself. I had no spare so I was going nowhere until morning. The morning of the second day dawned and I unhooked the trailer and took my shredded wheel into Northampton to get a new tyre. The 3rd tyre place I tried had a tyre that was near enough the right size and by about 10:30am I was back heading north on the M1. On reaching the Scottish border in the afternoon, I had the notion that I was on the final furlong. That was until passing Cumbernauld just the other side of Glasgow, when a second tyre shredded itself spectacularly. It was 5pm and almost in time to find a tyre place open to get it fixed... almost but not quite. The only one open was Kwik Fit and they didn't have a tyre the right size but "Och, we kood git woon fer Toosdee". Yes I'd love to spend a long weekend in Cumbernauld, thanks... but no thanks.

I abandoned the 2CV plus trailer in the KwikFit car park and took ALL the trailer's wheels off and put them in the back of my car. I took them to Aberdeen where I arrived late that night. The following morning I took the trailer wheels to be properly re-shod at the local and trusted purveyor of automotive rubber to the good folks of Aberdeenshire, Charlie Chalmers. I then set off back on a mission to rescue the 2CV from Cumbernauld, where I arrived in the early afternoon. The trailer was where I had left it, but at some point someone must have 'nudged' it and knocked it off its axle stands. Getting the wheels back on took two hours instead of ten minutes. Finally I was back on the road with 4 new tyres plus a spare (thank you Charlie). I arrived in Aberdeen on Saturday evening having covered nearly 1600 miles in three days in order to move a 2CV a mere 565.
( notoolsovernight you're all luvvly an' 'orrible, Thu 21 Jul 2011, 9:55, 4 replies)

got the bus to work today. sat at the front. fucked some honkeys off. lolz.

laterz
rosa
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Thu 21 Jul 2011, 9:47, 1 reply)

Australian Road Trip.
After Uni I fucked off round the world on my own for 9 months, pitching up in Perth, Australia 6 months in, I hooked up with three guys in a hostel amd we decided to hire a camper and head off to Brisbane. Biggest mistake of my life. You think that you get to know people, sharing a dorm, but it is nothing compared to the things you learn when stuck in a camper for the best part of 2,500 miles. I should have known things weren't going to go well when we got in the van and found a CD stuck in the CD player so literally all we had to listen to was that bloody 'I bless the rains down in Africa' song. The name of the band escapes me, sorry. After the first 200 miles ofr that I was already fit to kill. It wasn't helped by the scruffy bloke we'd nicknamed 'Wurzel' taking his turn at map reading. Christ we got lost, but what do you expect when you're being told to "turn left ahead and head west" when left would take us east. What sort of brainless moron tries to tell you to go two directions at once? Still, at least he was an OK guy and I probably miss him more than I do the other two pieces of work.

One guy I realised I was never going to get on with when I got news halfway across the country that my Aunt Emeline had died. I was pretty upset, but all he said was 'at least you haven't got to go to a dull funeral'. Heartless fucker. Although even he was preferable to Leo, the last of our group. The night we stopped in some dusty mining town and got set upon by some locals, the other two at least stood by me as we took our beatings. Leo was hiding under the pool table in tears, fucking coward.

So, yeah, that's my road trip.

Edit: I looked up that 'Africa' song. Apparently our trip across Oz was accompanied by Toto.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 21 Jul 2011, 8:22, 11 replies)

Wolfe Creek Crater
It was an epic adventure across the Kimberley in a Toyota Landcruiser in North West Australia. Having razzed past grey nomads in a cloud of red dust along the Gibb river road, we grew bored of the vibration free bitumen and headed for the Tanami track to Wolfe Creek Crater. Rattling like loose false teeth in a vibrator-using pensioner we pulled up as sun set at the campsite at Wolfe Creek crater. At this point, the error of watching the film "Wolf creek" prior to leaving Sydney struck home. Perhaps something sunny with Toni Collete would have been better than watching the savage torturing of backpackers in said crater. Trying to remain rational as bobbing torchlights headed to the outback dunny and back, we tucked into the wine.....
Wavy lines...
4am. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. We awoke to the sound of footsteps around the van on the gravel. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Silence
Heavy breathing.
4:01 Decision made to ignore pant-wetting terror and stay in psychopath proof landcruiser until light when all serial killers go home to watch Oprah or some such
4:05 Bladder decides combination of bottle of wine and absolute fear means it will need attention sooner than the dawn
4:10 Unsuccessful search in van for ladypee suitable container. Continuing crunching footsteps and heavy breathing outside
4:15 Fashion defence weapon out of fire extinguisher and make A-team stylie leap out of van shouting in bid to startle assasin therefore buying vital seconds before torture commences
4:16 Cow standing beside van eating grass, crunching and breathing heavily looks a little surprised but maintains steady grass in methane out production
4:17 Pee on shoes in relief at lack of serial killer and lack of directable flow

Length - about 4cm you'll find
(willydoc, Thu 21 Jul 2011, 8:02, 4 replies)

My dumbass journey to South Africa
I spent part of my gap yah in SA. To get there I had to fly to Johannesburg (at the time I thought you'll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villany) and then a small connecting flight to a military airbase (hoedspruit) that took a daily civilian flight.

I turned up to Heathrow as an optimistic 18yo with a daysack full of books - all the better to avoid interacting with anybody - and my hold luggage. Unfortunately the check-in girl took one look at my 10kg 'hand luggage' and with minutes to go until check-in close told me that I'd have to check it too, pick up both in Jo'berg and recheck them both back for the 2nd flight. More hassle.

I took everything bar one book, my passport and wallet out then said goodbye to both hand luggage and main luggage for the next 9 hours. IMMEDIATELY on the plane the chap in front of me (a kaffir as I would later learn to describe them Boer-style) put his seat 110% back so my view of the headtop tv was monochrome unless I slouched into a boomerang shape no chiropractor would recommend (actually I guess they would for the trade). A couple of seats over from me a guy complained of something dripping from the overhead compartment (this turned out to be raw meat someone had brought as hand luggage) but was hushed by the cabin staff and a baby gently (massively) wailed.

I arrived in Jo'burg to find neither my daysack or main luggage appeared on the carousel (as I was later to find they had safely made their transfer to the next flight to Hoedspruit). bummer. given my daysack had my ticket for the second leg of the journey I was not a little fucked.
As a scared lanky teenager I found the south african airways desk and they could not have been more helpful (for 'helpful' write 'FUCK YOU' twenty times instead).

Eventually I (my mother back in England) persuaded SA airway that it was their fault I was a dumbass and sent my ticket onwards without me, and to put me up for the night and provided a ticket for the next daily flight to the military airbase.

I spent the next 24hrs in a 4* hotel watching infomercials (this was 2001 - I'd never seen 30mins dedicated to an inversion table) then travelled back to the airport (which was rough as Venusville from Total Recall but without the 3-titted hookers), got through security and sat in departures scouring the board for my flight. And scouring. And searching. By 10mins past the departure time I was worried and found someone who told me that as it was a tiny flight one had to go and wait by the exact gate and in any case I had missed it.

I then went backwards through security (hopefully for the last time in my life) to find friendly Mrs SA airways who ('FUCK YOU') eventually sorted the next day's flight to Hoedspruit though this time I had to pay. And pay for the downmarket hotel in which I sat literally under the sheets for the next 24hrs terrified of being carjacked (that's what happened in SA wasn't it? in car or out?) not eating until I then went back to Venusville.

Got through security, welded myself to the correct gate and finally got on the right plane. Landed in Hoedspruit and the poor guy who'd driven 45mins to the airport the last 2 days said "Where you been? you're luggage got here 2 days ago."
(dyllon nice beaver., Thu 21 Jul 2011, 0:17, 17 replies)

Euro 2004
During Euro 2004 a friend, Nick, and I fancied going to Portugal to watch England fail to win. Then, we had this great, drunken, idea - instead of going to the country that the tournament was in, we would go to each country that England were playing in the tournament and watch the games there.
We flew to Nice to watch England take the lead against France with 5 minutes to go, only to lose 2-1, in a French bar with the French. We then flew to Geneva to watch England beat Switzerland at a big screen at the Stade De Geneve. We then got a train through italy, stopping off in Milan to watch Italy draw against Sweden in a pub full of Italians who all went home on the final whistle. We then continued the train journey to Ancona and a ferry to Split to watch England hump Croatia.
We then had a wait to see who we would play in the quarter finals. we could have got Spain, Greece or Russia and we had our routes planned out, We ended up with Portugal and we decided to hire a car and drive from Croatia, through Slovenia, Italy, France and Spain - 3000km in 48 hours - arriving in Oporto 45 minutes before kick off.

We were delighted with the result.

Jamie.
(Expiry, Wed 20 Jul 2011, 23:37, Reply)

Pearoast
Light and sound combine
Late one cold winter's night, I'd been up in London for a gig and had a few bevvies. Still feeling the effects of the cider when I got to Faversham, I decided to leave the bike at the station and pick it up the following day when sober.

Unfortunately due to it being around half past 1 in the morning the buses had long since stopped and the taxis were monopolised by the troglodytes who inhabit the local area. Not wanting to sleep in the station car park and possibly catch something, I pulled my jacket tighter around me, set my mp3 player on shuffle and started the long, lonely 5 mile walk back home.

Walking through the outskirts of Faversham was alright as it was lit, but after that before the motorway junction there's a long stretch of about a mile alongside a two lane A road which is completely unlit. No houses either side, it's just fields. Approaching this bit, wearing my thick bike gloves to stop my fingers going numb, the shuffle starts to play me Echoes by Pink Floyd. For those who don't know the song it's rather epic in it's scope. The middle section drops out all music and you're left with various whistles, cries, haunting wind sounds and sonar - all very unnerving on a dark country lane. After the sonar comes in it gradually picks up and builds, each instrument layering itself on the last until it explodes into life (at around 3:57 in the linked video - listen to it all to get the full understanding).

It was at that point a police car burst over the brow of the hill ahead of me, full spotlights, lighting up the road like it was daytime. The sheer timing of the whole thing - the burst of song coinciding with the array of lights - left me stunned, and all I could whisper was "that was awesome, do it again sometime."
(jamesthegill opens new tabs with his scroll wheel, Wed 20 Jul 2011, 21:34, 9 replies)

Story containing a road trip ...
I reguarly visit Japan from the UK as part of my job, and have a base in Sendai city, which is on the north-east coast of the main island - about 200 miles north of Tokyo. Long way to go, but interesting place.

Earlier this year, I'm sitting in my office contemplating where to go for a late lunch, when the room starts to shake. Heart rate quickens a bit, but I've felt this before - earthquakes are very common in this part of Japan and usualy don't cause any damage. I realise very quickly though that this is different: the shaking becomes very violent and seems to just get stronger and stronger. Windows break, furniture topples and slides from wall to wall, the building is groaning, cracking and creaking: its feels its about to collapse. I take cover under the desk for what feels an eternity, waiting for the floor to give way - but eventually it dies down and I run from the building into the street. Outside is not a pretty sight - cracked roads, lumps of concrete falling onto the pavement, some people obviously seriously hurt. The highrise buildings sway disconcertingly with the regular aftershocks and millitary hellecopters appear in the sky above. With no phone of power, my colleagues quickly disappear to find their families, and I am left on my own.

I wonder about for a few hours in a daze, lookinging for a working phone and something to eat and drink. Nothing is working. Everyone in a panic. I should add at this point that I don't speak any Japanese, and few people here speak english. I try to get to my apartment, but the building is damaged and I can't get in. It starts to get dark, but eventually I find myself at a school which has been converted to an evacuation centre. I spend the worst night of my life lying on the floor of a freezing school gym, rocked by violent aftershocks.

The next day army arive with food (boiled rice) and blankets. I spend the day aimlessly wandering and trying to find out whats going on. I manage to get in contact with my wife and familay back in the UK - its the first I hear that much worse things have happened closer to the coast. And that there are worrying problems at a nuclear power station 40 miles to the south of me.

I spend the next two nights at the evacuation centre. I really need to get out of here: the situation is getting worse. No running water, food and bottled water is getting more difficult to come by. But there is no way. There is no public transport at all. The airport has pretty much been swept out to sea, the railways will be closed indefinitely and all the main roads are closed becasue of damage. In any case the main expressway to tokyo goes through the exclusion zone around the nuclear power station.

I start to get really depressed and lose the plot a little bit. But then at 4am the next night I get a call (mobiles working now) from a colleague who knew I was in Sendai: he is leaving with his family and has a space in his car. He wants to leave right now - so I get my shit togther and go and meet him. He wants to get to Tokyo and has 3/4 tank of petrol. It should be just enough - filling up would be near impossible: I'd heard of people waiting in queues for a rationed 10 litres for 12 hours in the last few days.

We set off and headed north - the only open (although in some places still heavily damaged) roads, then over the mountains to Yamagatta and the west coast. The sun came up as we were crossing the mountains, snow 8 feet deep on ether side of the twisting roads - I was slipping in and out of sleep, but it was one of the most stunningly beautiful journeys I've ever had. Eventually me made it to the coast and then onto the expressway to Tokyo. We arrived in a suburb of Tokyo, 13 hours after setting off, with a nearly empty tank - a journey that should normally take a few hours. In spite of the media reports in the UK, Tokyo seemed relatively fine. I found a hotel and filled my belly with big macs and lager.

I managed to get back to London three days later. I've been back since then, and the place is getting back to normal. Don't want to do that ever again though.

Length: having been to a few hot springs, there is a significant difference.
(Rimmer, Wed 20 Jul 2011, 16:08, 15 replies)

Jacob and the Vervonauts
A few weeks ago, the topic was amusement parks, and I mentioned how I've visited several in an abandoned state. Naturally, this often involves road trips, some more legendary than others. This was our most legendary.

My closest and longest-running friend in Korea, Verv, was leaving the US army. I believe he's come up in QOTW stories before, but I don't expect you to remember. He was a linguist, but he'd been demoted to the most demeaning job possible: watching people's dicks while they did urine tests to screen for cheaters. So he was out at the soonest opportunity.

To celebrate this momentous occasion, I organised a road trip out into darkest Gyungbook, the most remote place in South Korea. It's a 5.5-hour bus ride, and I'd been meaning to go, but didn't want to go alone only for it to turn out to be nothing. So, I invited my friends along.

On the morning of, we met up at Dong Seoul Bus Terminal (are you paying attention, whoever's in charge of Funny Name Corner?). We were ten strong after a few cancellations, and we caught our bus.

A bit about our group: most of us were foreigners, and we knew each other through the local punk scene. The Vervonauts hailed from Canada, the US, Australia, England, and only one from Korea. Most of us were white, with one black guy, which was kind of awkward because Verv has a tendency to run his mouth about black people. That was Will, who was mentioned in my previous story. He's a bit hyper, to say the least. And Verv I think I described his political tendencies in a previous QOTW. We're all atheists, but Verv's also a Christian, of that special American brand that worships Republican Jesus and wants to forcefully convert Islamic countries. As an aside, despite the fact that he runs one of the top 100 anti-Muslim blogs in the world, he's now dating an Iranian.

So, the bus. I settled down to do a crossword, as in make, not solve. Verv hit the soju, which is Korea's answer to cheap vodka. He spent the entire 5.5 hours pounding soju and trying to imitate the numerous accents we had and declaring his love for cunnilingus. You know, the usual stereotypical foreigner stuff.

After a little less than five hours we reached the coastal city of Uljin, where the bus began its final leg toward Onjeong, a small resort area in the mountains. After an hour of trundling along winding mountain roads, we saw an abandoned school coming up. "We have to find this and come back," I told everyone. Then, the bus pulled into a bus terminal right next door.

It was 2:30pm on Saturday, and everyone wanted to eat before we set off for our desination. We went out to look for a motel to spend the night, eventually settling on the Hilton Motel (no relation). Just as we were going inside, I saw two Korean guys dressed up in fursuits, one a chipmunk and the other I can't remember.

For lunch, I ordered something quick, but everyone was taking too much time. Will said something that insulted Verv's army sensibilities, and Verv started berating him. I left and went to get a look at the abandoned school. Pictured here:
a1.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2614/24/19/539910321/n539910321_6361153_534383.jpg
If you want to see more of what it looked like, watch this Youtube Video:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=MQo9jviMis0

Finally we grouped, and Verv did not end up murdering Will. We found the road for the amusement park, and began walking. It was supposed to be either a quick busride on a bus that comes every few hours, or a 30-minute walk. Halfway there, we came across another abandoned building, which seemed to be some kind of temple, except they had boxes and boxes of far-right-wing literature, showing some of Korea's less merciful dictators schmoozing with the likes of Queen Elizabeth and George Bush Sr. Here's Verv with a bottle of soju and a scythe he found:
a7.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2614/24/19/539910321/n539910321_6361152_847432.jpg

We got through that, and I began walking faster, hoping to reach the purported location of the abandoned amusement park. Soon I passed a sign announcing it was one more kilometer. Finally I rounded a bend, and there it was: Baekamsan (100 Rocky Peaks is the closest translation) Land. I could see all the rides down in the valley below me, behind an old, scary looking abandoned motel complex. This is what I saw:
www.flickr.com/photos/racetraitor/3380444629/

I headed down and went in the front entrance. Immediately, I saw a young boy appear up the path, who paused to watch me. This...doesn't feel like a horror movie, I tried to convince myself.

There were more Koreans up by the rides, and I figured I came this far, so I shouldn't just turn back now. I headed up into the abandoned amusement park and made my presence known. Turns out they were Evangelical Christians who had recently bought the park, and they were planning on replacing it with a religious school or camp or something. One of them was a KATUSA, which is a Korean who served out his mandatory military sentence as a liaison of sorts with the US military, so he spoke English. He said we could look around at the rides.

At this point, I was the first one, and I realised that behind me was a group of eight perfectly responsible atheists, with just one Christian who was characteristically out of control. I figured I had only minutes left before they all showed up and we were all kicked out. I underestimated the tolerance of Korean countryside Christians.

Anyway, my friends arrived in waves. Here are two of the children cowering at the sight of their first black guy.
a2.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2614/24/19/539910321/n539910321_6361148_78199.jpg

Verv finally showed up, and I led him to the viking ship to stage the main photo I'd had in mind the whole time, setting up the whole "Jacob and the Vervonauts" motif.
www.flickr.com/photos/racetraitor/3381264490/

He began humping it, which was enough force to get the thing swinging, as seen in this Youtube video:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=QVUAh_x2vZA
This bothered the Evangelicals, so we moved him along, noting the irony that the only person in our group insulting this group of Christians was the only Christian in our group.

Next, it was time to get aboard the Skinhead Train.
www.flickr.com/photos/racetraitor/3380445235/

So far, the Evangelicals were tolerating us quite well. We headed uphill a bit more, out of their view, where we found this rope bridge:
a1.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2614/24/19/539910321/n539910321_6361147_3240044.jpg
I won't force you to watch this Youtube video (don't worry, no music this time), but to make a long story short, I barely crossed over, then Verv fell halfway across.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=2gfZOK4eM_U
"I'm dirty as fuck! And my arms hurt!" Even other Americans tease him about his pronunciation.

After we were finished looking around, the Evangelicals offered to drive us back to the resort area, saving us over a half-hour's hike in bug-infested twilight. I locked Verv in an empty monkey cage, but everyone else convinced me to free him.
a8.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2614/24/19/539910321/n539910321_6361210_6173506.jpg

We got back to the Hilton Motel, and Verv convinced the old woman running it to do his laundry, since he was, as he put it, "dirty as fuck!"

We separated to do our own thing, and I took care of some people who were tiring of Verv's antics. We went to a chicken hof, where Verv appeared in his underwear and did his Street Fighter impression.
a8.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2614/24/19/539910321/n539910321_6361521_6668688.jpg

Anyway, we had two motel rooms, both with no beds, just blankets so we could sleep on the floor. In one room one of the guys was snoring really heavily, and in the other room I was snoring really heavily, so that night only two of us got a good sleep. Next morning, everyone but the two of us was exhausted, fed up, and eager to get home. Oh, and then there was Will, who was on a sugar high or something.

We had a few stops on the way home, one at the beach, and another in this very interesting cave system where a village of Koreans escaped to during one of their wars with Japan, only for the Japanese to cover the entrance and starve them all to death. The caves had a souvenir shop, and Will found a toy gun that made a really annoying sound when you pulled the trigger. He bought it and spent the rest of the trip running around shooting at people. It really brought out something in his personality. We passed a Korean soldier who had a laugh at getting shot up by this random black guy in the backwaters of Korea. Will even jumped into the front gate of a Korean police station and proceeded to fire at them; meanwhile I noticed how I was standing directly behind him, so if they shot back I'd surely catch a few bullets.

Verv was sitting on a bench next to me looking like death as Will kept shooting off this thing. I thought we were surely in the early stages of Rahowa, when suddenly Verv announced "Will, you're magnificent!" and spent the next few hours back on his feet.

Anyway, we caught the bus back to Seoul, smuggled beers on, and everyone fell asleep except me and my best friend Nik, who stayed awake one seat behind me watching the mountainous countryside roll by.

Apologies for length, and amount of linked content, but there's no short way to tell this story. This was not the final voyage of the Vervonauts, but the rest will wait for another time, as it was not a far enough distance to truly be road-trip-worthy.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Wed 20 Jul 2011, 15:59, 5 replies)

Luck of the drunks
When I was a young lad I lived in a suburb of Bristol. One beautiful summers day me and my mates decided to not go for a drink in the local pubs but to walk to a pub some way away because it had a huge and lovely garden. The walk to this garden of beerden was made a lot shorter by crossing a field of cows. We picked our way carefully through the million and one cow-pats that covered this field.

We arrived at the pub We drank a great deal in the sunshine. We stayed until closing time. We got very very drunk. We then took the same shortcut to get home. Only this time we staggered. We fell and we ran and fought through the field of shit yet when we got home not one of our group (there was about 10 of us) had even the tiniest bit of cow-flop on our shoes or clothes.
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Wed 20 Jul 2011, 13:10, 68 replies)

Not mine, but my Grandmother's
Back in the 1950's, when my Dad was just a nipper, his Mum came off a wet corner in the foothills of the mountains and rolled her Austin 7 through a hedge. Her sister and brother-in-law came around the corner moments later and, despite the driving rain, leaped out and rushed over to the mangled car, terrified of what they might find. My great-aunt can't tell the story without shuddering; for years afterwards, whenever it rained her skin came up in welts.

By some miracle, neither my Gran nor the two kids were harmed but it did leave something of a conundrum as the other car was already full to capacity with various kids, luggage etc as they were all en route to the coast for a holiday. The decision was taken that the brother-in-law would ferry all the kids and bags the last hundred or so miles to the coast and the girls would hitch together - a much more sensible plan sixty years ago than it perhaps seems now.

Anyway, shaken but relieved to be alive, they sheltered under a tree until a kindly gent stopped by in his sporty saloon and offered them a ride. It was only after they got in that they noticed that, on top of his somewhat spirited attitude to driving, he only had one arm. My Gran, not being as prone to drama as her sister, still has a glint of genuine admiration in her eye when she tells you, "he drove clean through the twisty mountain roads with one arm out the window, one arm on the wheel, one on the gearstick and the other smoking a cigarette... all the same one arm..."
( pineapplecharm D d M Y, H:i, Wed 20 Jul 2011, 12:58, Reply)

Another "not me, but my mate" -- but I think it's worth it
Some time in the late 1950s, my mate's dad was working in North Africa. He was asleep in the back of the truck as they made an overnight crossing through a high mountain pass - roads that hugged the mountainside and had the obligatory unfenced 1000 ft drop to one side.

And it came to pass that the driver also fell asleep. This is not considered to be Best Practice when navigating such roads. The first that the sleeping passengers knew of this was when they were woken by an almighty bang.

They had driven into a signpost. A metal post that was the only thing that had prevented them from plunging down the side of the mountain. And the only object that would have fulfilled that role for as far as the eye could see in either direction.

And before you cry shennannigans, I've seen the photos.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Wed 20 Jul 2011, 12:28, 4 replies)

So I was in a little dingy, and the sail line broke, meaning I had to power it myself.
Taking up the oars, I heaved mightily, and in doing so tore my trousers.

That was my rowed rip.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 20 Jul 2011, 12:19, 4 replies)

Transnational
I'll admit from the off that this isn't a rehearsal of my own experience, but it does contain the best punchline to a drinking story that I've ever heard, and I've no reason to think it false. It concerns a roadtrip that the narrator took without knowing it.

The narrator and protagonist, whom I shall call Kenny, was a keen traveller. On one occasion, he found himself in Georgia. On the final day of his trip, he was invited to a kind of farewell banquet. The table groaned with food, and the booze flowed liberally. Every time a plate was emptied it was replaced; every time a glass was drained, it was refilled.
Kenny, not being a big drinker normally, was beginning to lose track of events.
"I'm not sure exactly what happened," he admitted, "but I woke up 12 hours later. In Armenia."
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Wed 20 Jul 2011, 11:35, 11 replies)

The USA is really REALLY big
Apologies for length, hopefully there's a bit of humour to make up for it.

Hoaxy's tale reminded me of my own experiences on the greyhound travelling around America my own epic trip was from Seattle to Boston which google tells me is approximately 2484 miles. 2484 miles, on a bus, on my own, yeah...

I'd decided (as a result of a drunken bet) to quit my job and spend 3 months travelling around the USA on a tourist visa, I booked my return flight to New York and my first night in a youth hostel and that was quite literally the extent of my planning, I got there and started to explore. My first hint that going across the entire f***ing country on a bus was going to be a bad idea was going across 3/4 of it (Chicago to San Fran) and after 3 days travel arriving stinking, exhausted and with a random throat infection caught from a redneck's child, but no, I was an intrepid explorer (and to skint for a plane) what could possibly go wrong?
My first hint that something might be amiss was when my first seat partner told me she was on her way home after being discharged from the army for being mentally unfit to see combat and the rest of her group confirmed that as they had been as well, yes mentally unstable trained killers, on a bus surrounding me, it sounds like the start of a really bad horror film. The army, along with prisons send people they've finished with home on the greyhound rather than pay for flights. However she seemed nice enough, although dumb as a rock, she was shocked at how well I spoke English despite me telling her I was from England and seemed more happy to believe that we spoke Birtish (a strange amalgamation of French, German and English I created when she wouldn't believe we spoke English). She also couldn't work her debit card at all until I pointed out the fact the card had debit written across it meant she should probably press that not credit in the ATM.
My next seat partner was some sort of wannabe gangsta who within 5 minutes of sitting next to me asked if I had any pot and would I be interested in smoking with him. Now I have nothing against marijuana at all but it did seem a little risky to basically use that as an introduction to a stranger on a bus. As the journey progressed he got weirder and weirder not like happy baked but creepy on something that's not weed, he would alternate between propositioning me and berating me, getting quite verbally abusive and aggressive, when I moved seats he followed me and started telling me how I should give him a chance and he was on his way to rehab to get clean. He eventually got kicked of the bus for being obnoxiously intoxicated and left at a random bus station, I was pretty relieved to be honest.
The rest of my journey was uneventful but pretty depressing people moving house on the bus or who seemed to be basically homeless, random 5 hour layovers in little towns that made me feel slightly homeless and so much junk food (literally the only option for eating) that by the time I got to Boston all I wanted to eat was salad forever.
I eventually arrived at my hostel in Boston, tired, really stinky and with the worst back ache I've ever known (the seats are not designed for comfort), although fortunately still alive unlike the poor guy who got beheaded in Canada.
I guess the moral of the story is don't go on a really long bus trip, get a plane, it's quicker and the passengers might be saner.
(anotherdoublewhiskey, Wed 20 Jul 2011, 10:57, 2 replies)

sorry flake
but i spose i should chuck this in to look cool and hard...

Many times i would walk home after a night out. I lived in the lakes and my walk home was 14 miles. This usually happened due to whomever i was meant to staying with pulling some totty and/or banning me from the house for the night. Experiences include:

The coldest day on record (at the time) in a tshirt and unzippable leather jacket (zip bust). I got very tired and sat down leaning against a dry stone wall. I got nicely warm and sleepy before i realised these were the signs of hypothermia. Dragging myself to my feet i did the last 6 miles in delerium and fell in through my parents door and slept where i fell. this did not go down well.

Becoming aware of the time (no mobiles then for folk who were not wealthy yuppie scum) i had to run 10 miles across the fells to make it in time for work. people do it for fun. i did not think it any fun at all.

taking a detour to climb the Old Man to see the dawn. Added about 4 hours to my trip time. trust me when i say as brilliant as it is to drink scotch and smoke a joint on the top of a mountain it is not a great idea when severely tired and have to greet one's grandmothers friends with something near intelligence two hours later.

Walking down the dual carrigeway feeling like i was mad max. no cars and i even stopped for a dance on occasion. mad max does not dance.
(DreddPirateBob has watched every scifi film ever on, Wed 20 Jul 2011, 10:20, 5 replies)

I walked 11 miles home from the pub.
I played timetable chicken with the last train, and lost. I didn't have enough money for a taxi, no cards on me, and none of the taxi drivers would take the word of a drunken train-missing idiot promishing to pay them at the deshtination, honesht.

So I walked home, 11 miles away. It took me somewhere between two-and-a-half and three hours to do it. I was sober by the time I reached home, my feet were in agony, but I was astonishingly relaxed and calm. And very, very tired. I slept until noon.
( flake has nothing against your right leg, Wed 20 Jul 2011, 9:51, 6 replies)

The Self-Preservation Society
Whilst in Italy we took the public bus along the Amalfi coast for a day at the beach.

The driver obviously makes this journey every day and so is rather blase about the GIGANTIC DROP DOWN A CLIFF at the side of the road. A road which has no barrier.

He took every corner at speed with very little care, hoping, I presume, to get to his espresso, ice cream and (add additional Italian cliche here)as soon as possible.

The wife was loving it, pointing stuff out in the sea. I was not. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to get the theme tune to the Italian Job out of my head.

After a day of sunbathing, I suggested that a trip back up the coast on a catamaran would be a romantic end to our trip. I elected not to mention that I was too scared to back on the bus. I think she knew full well that this was my real motive.
(jesseventura, Wed 20 Jul 2011, 9:23, 4 replies)

The Day They Took The Eggs Benny Away
(That there is a proper submissions title for my first QOTW . . . be gentle now)

We spent a week in November one year celebrating a little early Christmas with some family who lived 6 hours away. Carpooling for efficiency and savings, I ended up in a car with my sister, my nephew, my niece and our favourite uncle. As a lovely send off the day we left our hostess prepared eggs benedict for all and we got on the road a little later than expected. Less than an hour in my niece began to complain she wasn't feeling too well. Being that we all had to work in the morning and needed to get home and settled we pushed on. Wasn't a long drive after all.

Needless to say about 30 mins later on the 401 she puked up the entirety of her eggs benny all over the rear seat of the car. (Thankfully being my sister's car as mine had stayed home) We pulled over and cleaned it as best we could but for the remainder of the trip we had to keep the windows down as the smell would not dissipate. It began to snow quite hard and by the time we finally arrived home we were all feeling fairly horrible. . . .and to this day I cannot bear the thought of eating eggs benny ever again :(
(SomeGirl needs more sleep, Wed 20 Jul 2011, 5:32, 22 replies)

This one time, my friends and I decided to drive to Atlanta.
We did some acid, as you do for long trips. As I started to peak, some asshole nearly ran us off the road. Then the glovebox started making fun of my mom. It was raining and the windshield wipers were leaving streaks on the window that weren't friendly.

Yes, it was a rude trip.
No, I will not apologize.
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Wed 20 Jul 2011, 2:53, 1 reply)

So I sent the wrong video to my gf several states away.
and we got Tom Green to watch our friend's pet snake while we tried to outrun the mail to her. Some funny shit happened, like Stifler got fingerbanged and we broke our friend's car.

I liked Road Trip.
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Wed 20 Jul 2011, 2:49, 3 replies)

I'm driving on a road trip right now. I know they say you shouldn't use a mobile while you're driving but I'm a really good dri
(mousehats, Wed 20 Jul 2011, 1:57, 3 replies)

Literally got back from an Alpine road trip yesterday...
Just finished an excellent road trip from Munich, down through the Alps and Dolomites and back. Stopped off in Cortina d'Ampezzo. Mate said you know you are in northern Italy coz all the ladies are stunners. We then proceeded to pass minger after minger after minger...
(ihavechangedmyusernamesoicannotbeidentified, Wed 20 Jul 2011, 0:07, 9 replies)

Music is important
*cough* Hello, long-time lurker, first-time poster. Please be gentle.

Anyway, living as I do in the vast northern wastes of Canada, road trips are an important part of life. I have a group of friends that I go on a lot of trips with, travelling in a beige Toyota Camry lovingly known as the Kegmobile. And over time, the car has collected a fair collection of CDs for in-flight entertainment, music that has led to some entertaining traditions.

We have a lot of movie scores, which can be fun on their own (there's nothing quite like passing a big group of trucks while the Jurassic Park theme blares), but there are certain tracks we reserve for certain situations. For instance, there's a particular place we tend to pull off for coffee and gas, as it's a few hours from home and on the way to places we want to go. As we pull in to this fairly dull chain coffee shop in a suburban strip mall (here it is on Street View, so you can revel in it's dullness), we always play Blunt Instrument" from the Casino Royale soundtrack. Preferably timed so that the last minute of it is going just as we're parking.

But the best of our traditions, I think, is when we return home, with another successful trip behind us. As we're getting off the highway, we put on the Ewok Celebration and End Credits from Return of the Jedi. Personally, I strongly recommend it at the end of a long trip, as it always makes me feel very triumphant, especially if we encountered hardship on the journey (flat tires when it's -15 C are not fun).

We have other traditions, of course, but these two are the best, in my mind.
(Canadave, Tue 19 Jul 2011, 23:30, 29 replies)

The Sting
I once planned a journey between the first two letters of the alphabet, but I got confused due to it being the 29th April and ingested a honey-producing insect and my throat went all swelled.
(grippa93, Tue 19 Jul 2011, 21:57, Reply)

a heart of darkness...
I was in Ethiopia with a few others from uni looking at rocks with the local survey. The survey had given us a Landcruiser that had no brakes, collapsed suspension and a driver who was necking co-dydramol as his spine had also collapsed. Me being helpful offered to drive. Then it began to rain...

First thing was I approached a village at speed and noticed a soldier relaxing by the side of the road in a chair. Suddenly I realised he had a string attached to his finger that went across the road. This was his road barrier. Suddenly HE realised we were'nt slowing down and he frantically tried to undo the string before the jeep reached it. Luckily he got the string off and I smiled sweetly as I sailed over it and kept going. Further down the road overconfidence made me spin the jeep off into a ditch. Local children ran up to ask me why I had parked in their well? Scratch one landcruiser.

I decided we could walk to the next village only to be told by a farmer bringing his cattle in that we shouldn't go that way due to 'lions'. So we walked back to a local hut where we were invited to stay the night. Then we heard the lorry go past...

We ran out and got a lift. As i got onto the back of the lorry I spotted the five men with AK47's and a boy with a bag full of ammunition sitting on top. What do you do? Easy. Make friends quickly. 'Do you want to keep my water bottle?' Sure. Then the lorry slid off the road...

We all jumped off and the men started digging the truck out. As i watched one of them swinging his shovel, the barrel of the machine gun on his shoulder kept pointing in my direction. He looked over and began to pass me the AK47. Luckily the boy with the bag of ammunition realised this would be a VERY bad idea and, like a waiter, casually took it away from me with a knowing look. Then a small jeep pulled up..

We jumped in the back and sped off. There was seven people in this tiny jeep including a woman giving birth. The jeep didn't stop until we reached the village where we were staying. That evening, my journey over. I sat covered in crap, drinking beer and waited for someone to appear and tell me 'Mister Kurtz, he dead' to end a perfect day.
(porefluid, Tue 19 Jul 2011, 19:38, 1 reply)