Welcome back to the award winning Chasing Chickens round Ireland blog where you can follow the exploits of our Honda heroes. 
We left you hanging in obvious suspense as our loveable, cuddly and insanely handsome threesome were heading towards the Giants Causeway thru storms, rain, hail, sleet, organized homosexual demonstrations, house fires, beached whales, volcanoes, eurovision song contest winning skirtless queue jumpers and force 324 gales.
After cramming our huge backpacks and in Gollobskis case, front pack too, onto the bus (as we're too lazy to walk) to get to the stones, we made our way onto the world famous ignious rock formation. Carpboy was first to hit trouble, hassled by an obvious ladyboy, he hid himself away in a small cove, arms wrapped round his knees, rocking backwards and forewards shaking his head.
Halflife was next, after helping a small group of mexican schoolboys onto the rocks he then exposed himself to a group of american tourists, who tried to recruit him for the next series of American Cripple hosted by Ryan Seabreeze, they felt his walking movement could inspire a new dance craze, they got as far as naming it "The Thud"
As we queued for the bus to return to the visitors centre we noticed a celebrity queue jumper at play. Cheryl Baker had obvioulsy made her mind up (apologies ok?? but what did you expect when such an obvious pun presents itself) that she was taking our spaces. One for her and two for her massive ego.
As the fish boy routinely blew up the hand dryers trying to warm his gloves Gollobski went and knocked on the door of the queue jumpers limobus. “Is Cheryl Baker in here?” “No” the overly officious peak on the bridge of the nose, tosspot driver replied obviously oblivious to the fact she was sitting 4 inches from where I (Gollobski) stood. “Yes you have, she’s right there!” Anyway, shortly afterwards she was being photographed by the bikes with Halflife and Gollobski, she wanted some autographs and Halflifes home phone number but he denied her advances. She was dragged away by the ears and the local Garda needed to be called.
After locating a handy camp site, and Carpboy acquiring the pitches for free by a) failing by using charm, b) Threatening the owner with Gollobski’s 6ft 6 formidable frame and finally c) Succeeding by showing him Halflifes scarred arms, we set the tents and got ready for the ride to Joey Dunlops bar in Ballymoney.
After and during the Guinness, Gollobski met Danny, a life long friend of the brilliant but unfortunately late Robert Dunlop, well I thought that’s who he was, how do I put it??….I know, he was leathered and I only understood one word in 5. He showed me his zippo lighter and invited me to visit his family but I had other things on my mind, we all needed food.
After paying £476.27 for 3 steak Keebabs we were offered free cups of tea as the girls took pity on Halflife and Gollobski and took a shine to the ever increasingly handsome Carpboy. We think their love of the fish loving fiend came from the cctv footage of his “kiddie piss”, you know the ones where you have to have your pants round you ankles and you arch your back making patterns with you urine stream. The one girl, who resembled Gengis Khan with a redwine hangover really liked him, offering him her phone number and a picture of her taken at work in her other job as a lobster fisherman.
We drove back to the site thru the sleet and were soaked to the skin by the time we reached our tents. Gollobski was happy to find he couldn’t lie down in a position without touching the sides of the tent, Carpboy soaked his sleeping bag by catching his head on the tent and flicking the water inside and Halflife assumed the lotus position, lit his aromatherapy candles, pressed play on the cd player and fell into a deep meditative state with Kenny Gee echoing round the tent, Ohmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Day 3, Portrush to Donegal
On waking, Gollobski discovered he had slept the night in a puddle of dirty water and was kinda upset and wanted revenge on his ridiculous sleeping hovel. The team decided that it was time to kill the tent so after a short trial the “tent” was accused and successfully convicted of crimes against camping and sentenced to death by Manmaid ridden chicken chaser. Carpboy hopped with glee and fired up his C90 in anticipation. The ensuing ride thru was not pretty and the tent began a fight but Al made it thru and the tent was pronounced dead at 10.09 by a local shop owner. It was buried in a local dustbin by Gollobski after a short service where Gollobski made a moving speech “Now F**k off”
After a major Full Irish breakfast we set off for Londonderry………
The ride was eventful, the wind reached mammoth proportions and actually had the front wheels off the ground at certain times but we carried on ringing the necks of the bikes, buffeted to hell, blown all over the place but attacking the roads like Martin Finnegan used to.
Seriously this is the only way to ride this weather on these bikes, after a 2 hour ride to Letterkenny we felt like we’d raced 3 TT races back to back but it was the most exhilarating ride of the trip so far, then we met Eamonn.
Now Eamonn is a character, he sat in his white van, mumbling away about Honda c90’s, restaurants, The Euro, the Pie he was eating, the price of cheese in Lithuania, how to artificially inseminate a goat, the pie he was eating, Chickens, goats, pies, goats and pies.
The type of person you meet sitting in a white van can be judged solely on the state of the inside of the interior. If you meet a stable, normal run of the mill type person, its usually clean ish. If you meet someone who was potty trained at gun point their interior is spotless. Eamonn on the other hand sat beneath at least 4 inches of crumbs, the back of the van had an oil drum, a sheeps head, a strimmer and a saxophone in it. On the dash board lay 14 empty special brew cans and a copy of Hello magazine from 1998. I think we can deduce which group Eamonn resides in, he resides in the mental group, he was as mad as 3 trout.
With Letterkenny in the distance behind us we went on our merry way, riding them like ye stole them till once again, Gollobskis back wheel let go and another puncture was located.
A tantrum of monumental proportions was then embarked upon where Gollobski kicked, thought about it, kicked again twice, put on the stand and dragged 4 feet backwards, kicked again twice more and threw his helmet on the floor. Halflife and Carpboy helped by laughing their arses off.
Then came our angel, Sharon Lafferty, a local mother of 5 drove past and asked if we needed any help. Little did we know this help would consist of ham sandwiches, lifts, a farmyard barn for the night, Many cups of tea, showers, food, and a whole load of support.
We currently sit in the U drop in, in Ballybofey writing this blog update, the journey is continuing, the laughs are getting more, the love by the Irish is increasing and the Guinness is going down easier than ever.
See yous our friends
We left you hanging in obvious suspense as our loveable, cuddly and insanely handsome threesome were heading towards the Giants Causeway thru storms, rain, hail, sleet, organized homosexual demonstrations, house fires, beached whales, volcanoes, eurovision song contest winning skirtless queue jumpers and force 324 gales.
After cramming our huge backpacks and in Gollobskis case, front pack too, onto the bus (as we're too lazy to walk) to get to the stones, we made our way onto the world famous ignious rock formation. Carpboy was first to hit trouble, hassled by an obvious ladyboy, he hid himself away in a small cove, arms wrapped round his knees, rocking backwards and forewards shaking his head.
Halflife was next, after helping a small group of mexican schoolboys onto the rocks he then exposed himself to a group of american tourists, who tried to recruit him for the next series of American Cripple hosted by Ryan Seabreeze, they felt his walking movement could inspire a new dance craze, they got as far as naming it "The Thud"As we queued for the bus to return to the visitors centre we noticed a celebrity queue jumper at play. Cheryl Baker had obvioulsy made her mind up (apologies ok?? but what did you expect when such an obvious pun presents itself) that she was taking our spaces. One for her and two for her massive ego.
As the fish boy routinely blew up the hand dryers trying to warm his gloves Gollobski went and knocked on the door of the queue jumpers limobus. “Is Cheryl Baker in here?” “No” the overly officious peak on the bridge of the nose, tosspot driver replied obviously oblivious to the fact she was sitting 4 inches from where I (Gollobski) stood. “Yes you have, she’s right there!” Anyway, shortly afterwards she was being photographed by the bikes with Halflife and Gollobski, she wanted some autographs and Halflifes home phone number but he denied her advances. She was dragged away by the ears and the local Garda needed to be called.
After locating a handy camp site, and Carpboy acquiring the pitches for free by a) failing by using charm, b) Threatening the owner with Gollobski’s 6ft 6 formidable frame and finally c) Succeeding by showing him Halflifes scarred arms, we set the tents and got ready for the ride to Joey Dunlops bar in Ballymoney.
After and during the Guinness, Gollobski met Danny, a life long friend of the brilliant but unfortunately late Robert Dunlop, well I thought that’s who he was, how do I put it??….I know, he was leathered and I only understood one word in 5. He showed me his zippo lighter and invited me to visit his family but I had other things on my mind, we all needed food.
After paying £476.27 for 3 steak Keebabs we were offered free cups of tea as the girls took pity on Halflife and Gollobski and took a shine to the ever increasingly handsome Carpboy. We think their love of the fish loving fiend came from the cctv footage of his “kiddie piss”, you know the ones where you have to have your pants round you ankles and you arch your back making patterns with you urine stream. The one girl, who resembled Gengis Khan with a redwine hangover really liked him, offering him her phone number and a picture of her taken at work in her other job as a lobster fisherman.
We drove back to the site thru the sleet and were soaked to the skin by the time we reached our tents. Gollobski was happy to find he couldn’t lie down in a position without touching the sides of the tent, Carpboy soaked his sleeping bag by catching his head on the tent and flicking the water inside and Halflife assumed the lotus position, lit his aromatherapy candles, pressed play on the cd player and fell into a deep meditative state with Kenny Gee echoing round the tent, Ohmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Day 3, Portrush to Donegal
On waking, Gollobski discovered he had slept the night in a puddle of dirty water and was kinda upset and wanted revenge on his ridiculous sleeping hovel. The team decided that it was time to kill the tent so after a short trial the “tent” was accused and successfully convicted of crimes against camping and sentenced to death by Manmaid ridden chicken chaser. Carpboy hopped with glee and fired up his C90 in anticipation. The ensuing ride thru was not pretty and the tent began a fight but Al made it thru and the tent was pronounced dead at 10.09 by a local shop owner. It was buried in a local dustbin by Gollobski after a short service where Gollobski made a moving speech “Now F**k off”
After a major Full Irish breakfast we set off for Londonderry………
The ride was eventful, the wind reached mammoth proportions and actually had the front wheels off the ground at certain times but we carried on ringing the necks of the bikes, buffeted to hell, blown all over the place but attacking the roads like Martin Finnegan used to.
Seriously this is the only way to ride this weather on these bikes, after a 2 hour ride to Letterkenny we felt like we’d raced 3 TT races back to back but it was the most exhilarating ride of the trip so far, then we met Eamonn.
Now Eamonn is a character, he sat in his white van, mumbling away about Honda c90’s, restaurants, The Euro, the Pie he was eating, the price of cheese in Lithuania, how to artificially inseminate a goat, the pie he was eating, Chickens, goats, pies, goats and pies.
The type of person you meet sitting in a white van can be judged solely on the state of the inside of the interior. If you meet a stable, normal run of the mill type person, its usually clean ish. If you meet someone who was potty trained at gun point their interior is spotless. Eamonn on the other hand sat beneath at least 4 inches of crumbs, the back of the van had an oil drum, a sheeps head, a strimmer and a saxophone in it. On the dash board lay 14 empty special brew cans and a copy of Hello magazine from 1998. I think we can deduce which group Eamonn resides in, he resides in the mental group, he was as mad as 3 trout.
With Letterkenny in the distance behind us we went on our merry way, riding them like ye stole them till once again, Gollobskis back wheel let go and another puncture was located.
A tantrum of monumental proportions was then embarked upon where Gollobski kicked, thought about it, kicked again twice, put on the stand and dragged 4 feet backwards, kicked again twice more and threw his helmet on the floor. Halflife and Carpboy helped by laughing their arses off.
Then came our angel, Sharon Lafferty, a local mother of 5 drove past and asked if we needed any help. Little did we know this help would consist of ham sandwiches, lifts, a farmyard barn for the night, Many cups of tea, showers, food, and a whole load of support.
We currently sit in the U drop in, in Ballybofey writing this blog update, the journey is continuing, the laughs are getting more, the love by the Irish is increasing and the Guinness is going down easier than ever.
See yous our friends
No comments:
Post a Comment