BEST OF THE WORST ROAD TRIPS EVER! (PART 2)
BEST OF THE WORST ROAD TRIPS EVER! (PART 2)
BEST OF THE WORST ROAD TRIPS EVER! (PART 2)
If you enjoyed Part 1 of Best of the Worst Road Trips Ever, fear not…this second instalment delivers just as many juicy disaster stories. We asked a fresh batch of pro windsurfers to dig deep and relive the moments when their road trips went spectacularly wrong. These are the tales where optimism was tested, planes were missed, vans broke down and sailors were even deported, leaving behind a lot more than just bruised egos.
Buckle up… Windsurf brings you Best of the Worst Road Trips Ever! Part 2.
MATTEO IACHINO: CHECK IN MADNESS
“I have so many airport stories I could write a book, but this one is definitely a fun one to share…from more than a decade ago.
At that time, I was traveling a lot with Andrea Cucchi, Rosati, Malte, and Alberto. But for some reason, this time it was just me and Albi. I believe we were about to fly to South Korea for the first PWA World Cup event of the season. I think it was 2013; the year I finally broke into the top 10, and Alberto actually won the event there. But at that moment, I was still fighting to make it into the top 30, and money was my biggest concern.
The airport experience was interesting right from the start. We drove to Milan and parked in the “Kiss and Fly” area outside the airport. At that time, there were no cameras checking how long you stayed there or anything like that. We emptied all our bags about 100 meters away from the check-in desk we were planning to use, so the bags wouldn’t weigh double what they were supposed to. We laid everything out on the floor. Honestly, there was more gear lying on the floor in that airport corner than what we actually had inside the bags going on the scale.
We went to check in and started weighing everything while the lady at the desk was genuinely impressed by how light our bags were. We were aiming to have three bags each, which we told them was just one set of windsurfing gear. That way, we’d pay far less than we should have. Basically, we were trying to pay for one bag each, while actually having three that weighed as much as six.
Our plan was to refill the bags after we got the tags and on our way to the oversized baggage entrance. But then came the bad news: the check-in agent informed us someone from the airline would personally escort us to the oversized baggage drop. That meant there was no chance to stop midway and refill the bags. Terrible news, considering that at that point our bags were basically empty, and all the gear was still lying 100 meters away around the corner. We also didn’t have any extra empty bags in case they asked us to separate gear.
We had no idea what to do, so we started texting each other from a few meters apart, trying to come up with a strategy. Then we faked a couple of phone calls from a “colleague” in Korea who supposedly saw a change in the wind forecast. We told the check-in agents that we urgently needed to switch our big boards for smaller ones, and swap out some sails, in order to be ready for the expected conditions. We promised the total weight would stay the same, we just needed to bring in a different board from the van parked outside.
So, sweating like horses, we started making sneaky exchanges: leaving with two masts, returning with four; leaving with one boom, coming back with the same boom plus a fin bag… until we managed to bring everything that was lying on the floor back into our bags. Meanwhile, two airline staff were watching us but, thankfully, not following us around the corner.
Eventually, they started realizing we were bringing back more gear than we were leaving with. We played it off, saying that the smaller gear had more pieces and it just looked like more, but the weight was the same. We had to argue a bit, but somehow we convinced them, and finally, we were told to bring our bags to the oversized baggage drop.
We had no trolleys, and being “big boys,” we had to act like it was easy to carry these bags; each supposed to be max 32kg, but in reality, we were dragging two bags that easily weighed over 50kg each for hundreds of meters through the airport, trying to look casual. We were drenched in sweat, like we’d just come out of a CrossFit class, when we finally made it back to the van to move it and park it.
Obviously, time had flown by and now we were incredibly late. We drove the van to the parking lot of a commercial centre near the airport, where we used to leave it for weeks to avoid the cost of regular airport parking. (We had to stop doing that later that summer when we got towed, but that’s another story.)
With the van parked, we had maybe 50 minutes left to get back to the airport and through security. The commercial centre was on the other side of the highway. It was still dark, around 6 AM, and there wasn’t much traffic. We could literally see the airport doors on the other side. So instead of walking 800 meters north to the tunnel under the highway, we thought it would be a good idea to jump the fences and cross the highway.
So there we were, with our backpacks and small trolleys, walking along the emergency lane in the dark, waiting for a good moment to cross the first two lanes. Suddenly, the emergency lane behind us lit up…a car was slowly approaching. It was a police car.
We froze.
Two officers got out and stared at us like we were completely insane. They asked what we were doing walking on the emergency lane in the dark with luggage. We said we’d left our van in the SOS area behind us and were just trying to find an exit. In hindsight, I realize how sketchy that story sounded. But we were desperate, running out of time and panicking about missing our flight.
The cops were clearly confused and didn’t know how to respond. That’s when Albi and I had the same idea…run.
We sprinted back toward the fence, threw our trolleys over it, and jumped. Only this time, we landed in ankle-deep water and mud, with the cops chasing behind us and yelling. Praying they wouldn’t jump after us, we ran through the dark toward the normal road and into the tunnel under the highway, all the way back to the airport entrance.
We didn’t stop running until we reached the doors of the plane
dirty, wet, and completely out of breath. We looked like we’d just crawled out of a cave. People stared as we passed through security, barely making it in time. We hit the bathroom, changed our T-shirts and socks, and finally felt ready for what was supposed to be a nice, relaxing trip to South Korea.
NAYRA ALONSO…Fuerteventura blues!
“Well, my worst road trip was with John Carter back in 2009. He even called the story Disastertrip.com. It was a trip to Fuerteventura. We had just arrived home after being away for two months. The last thing I wanted in the world was to leave home straight away, but we saw a good forecast to Fuerte and we thought it could be a good short and productive trip. We told the photographer that by the weekend looked sick conditions for Fuerte. We meant the “following weekend” and he understood tomorrow.
So next call from the photographer: “I am on my way!” what!!!!!!????? By then there was a massive storm over the Canaries, with huge and pretty un-ridable swell, dark ugly clouds and rain. But we had to go as he was already on the plane. We took the ferry across, when we arrived, the van broke down and we got a lift with the oldest and shitiest tow-truck ever, and it took us over three hours to get from the South to the North of Fuerte. I didn’t even get on the water that trip as the swell was huge and gnarly and the winds were marginal. Poor John got the worst part, because as the days passed, I became waspier and waspier, and obviously, I paid it on him! I felt pretty bad after, but I could have killed someone that weekend!!”
PHIL HORROCKS…Portugal Mayhem!
“We had a plan for a summer road trip to Guincho, driving from UK. It was supposed to be myself, my brother and Ben Proffitt. It was all arranged so that we would drive down in Ben’s van leaving on the1stof August. Anyway, at the last-minute, Ben blew us off saying he couldn’t go for another week or something so suddenly we were without transport. I really wanted to go so I went and bought a £1000 quid transit van. To cut a long story short, we ended up buying an old tyre and garage supply delivery vehicle.
We bought it in the morning, loaded it up and left in the afternoon, we didn’t even have time to clean it! On the surface it looked not too bad but as you head through the sweltering summer heat and across the continent it became clear this was going to be a dirty journey! All the oil, dust, grease and everything was blowing through the van with the windows open, as you sweat the oil and grime stuck to you. Everything you touched turned black in your hands, you’d touch your face or clothes and everything became black! Our plan was to drive solidly and do change over shifts sleep and drive, sleep and drive and so on. After a puncture and 17 hours solid driving we emerged from the van in 40-degree heat, covered head to toe in black dirt and oil, it was grim! Never has the cold Atlantic of Guincho been so welcomed!!!
Driving back was a similar disaster, we’d given it all a good clean, we even made it as far as Paris without a hitch, and suddenly the van cockpit developed a little water pool? Turned out our heater box sprung a leak! We made it all the way back to Calais, across the boat and all the way back to North Wales stopping every 20 minutes to fill the radiator with water!! That’s one way to make a long journey really long!! The whole trip was a mission start to finish! It’s those little missions and disasters that when you come out the other side make the trip so memorable.
LUCAS MELDRUM: Deported
We all have a few nightmare travel stories we bring out at the pub from time to time…but this one from Lucas Meldrum must be one of the worst we have heard! Check out his video, which tells how he was deported from Australia and sent straight back home!
CHRIS MURRAY…Cape Town burglary!
“I had been in Cape Town three weeks when one night I woke up and my bedroom door was open my lap top was not next to my head where I left it. I went downstairs. I had a strange feeling. I looked around. things where not where they should have been. I woke up Ben Proffitt to ask him if he had my laptop. He instantly jumped up said SHIT! All his camera equipment was gone. When the police came, they found footprints in our garden where the burglars had taken a Poop. We followed the footprints of the buglers for over two miles to a big dense bush.
The police man and I where there crouching down he said shhhhh shhh as he upholsters his gun. At this point I’m absolutely bricking it what the F**k am I going to do. My god this was insane, are they there? Luckily it was all clear. Everyone was telling me it was lucky I didn’t wake up as they could have been waking up to more than a burglary. There were crazy thoughts going round in my head as I am sailing out the next day after terrible night’s sleep. I hit a wave on my second run of the day and my left foot got stuck in my foot strap and I felt massive rip. I ended up in casualty for X-rays after being carried up the beach. I had a bad ligament tear and it meant I was off the water for two months. I was the cameraman for next three weeks. Well, I could have been if the camera was not stolen the day before. Good and bad times all makes great memories!”
THOMAS TRAVERSA…Road trippin’ blues!
My latest bad experience I had was last year in May… Antony Ruenes and I decided to drive to Galicia to catch three days of good conditions. It was a huge 1600 km drive to get there from Marseille, and after fifteen hours driving nonstop, we arrived in the middle of the night and could sleep a few hours, on the spot of San Xurxo. The next day, the wind was really light and kind of tricky to get out, with logo high sets closing the bay. After hesitating a lot, we decide to give it a quick try and then maybe move to another spot, Cabo Vilan, which is usually gets more wind. The conditions are actually not too bad, but still really difficult to move around and catch the sets…after 45 minutes in the water, we were about to move on, but I want to catch one last wave. One stupid late hit in the inside and I get washed and feel something hitting my ankle. I look down and see a wide and deep cut exactly on the joint between the foot and the leg. I cannot believe it!! We pack everything on a hurry and drive to the closest hospital. I am so pissed off. All this driving, only a few waves and now I’m almost sure I will have to watch Antony for the rest of the trip.. aghhh!!!
Five stitches later, we leave the hospital and finally drive to Cabo Vilan. The spot is working perfectly! Logo high in the sets, 25 knots cross off, I’m even more pissed!! I finally decide to go to the water, no matter about the stitches. I have fun, but I can’t really do what I want, I’m not sure the stitches will hold. Back home the wound still does not look good. A few days later I take off those stupid stitches, and fly to Morocco for five days. One hour of sailing there and the wounds gets completely messed up and deeply open again!!! That was the end of my sailing for the trip…Disaster.
A few weeks later a clean 15 to 20 feet swell is about to hit the Basque country, and the wind forecast looks good. We hit the road with Julien Taboulet, John Caste, his girlfriend and photographer Jean Souville, to try to sail a big wave called Avalanche. The wind blows all night long but suddenly dies in the morning. All we can do is watch the huge waves peeling one after the other. Around four in the afternoon, we make decision to drive back home…we are all totally gutted. Six hours later, we are in Marseille, and I only have to drive 15 more kilometres to get to my place. It’s late, I am tired. I suddenly wake up after hitting the side rail of the road…I can’t control the van anymore, and I crash hard. The van is lying on the side, in the middle of the highway, I’m bleeding from the ribs. After a night in the hospital and a dozen of inside and outside stitches, I’m fine, but my dad explains me that the van is a write off… and the insurance does not cover this. “Utter disaster”!!!”
The post BEST OF THE WORST ROAD TRIPS EVER! (PART 2) appeared first on Windsurf Magazine.