The first big one

As I mentioned about the Czech visa, it was normal to get one in London or Brussels. I had to do this on a later trip, the first time I had ever been on a red London bus and in a black London taxi. I had loaded up in Birmingham and drove down to London Victoria and parked near the coach station. I took a taxi to the Czech embassy and joined a queue, eventually I was seen and given some more forms. These went through a small window and I waited, I waited and waited and was told to come back tomorrow. The alternative was to drive to Brussels and get one there. London only opened for about 2 hours per day apparently. So I took the decision to drive to Brussels and take my chance there. It was the easiest way and I am pleased I did it that way. I caught a red bus back to Victoria because those bloody taxis know how to charge

So we are the White House with Dave Chamberlain and several other drivers who knew him, we sat back and listened to the stories, mentioned people we knew and heard names that most people had heard of. I hadn’t read cola Cowboys to that day and didn’t read it for about another 8 years. I had learned that Hungarian Goulash is bloody lovely and the name for the local brew was Dreher, Pecs or Borsod, but Pivo Grand worked equally as well. Across the road was a small market or convenience shop and we bought some bread and meat to eat later. Meanwhile work was calling and we headed off, now I dont think dave wanted to really hang about for us so we said we would manage, after all a 280hp Saviem was no match for a 141, besides someone said we couldn’t get lost as he would leave a trail of beer bottles and tins behind him :stuck_out_tongue: I ddnt do much more that day as we drove through Budapest and must have taken a few wrong turnings and it was late by the time we reached Gyor. I remember a small garage with a restaurant with Castrol signs outside where we parked for the night. Andy was convinced he had pulled because these ladies kept knocking on the cab.

After more Goulash and beer we had an interrupted sleep until the girls gave up, they probably presumed we were gay anyway. So the next day we had to drive to the Czech border and do the manifest thing again. I knew the reasons but it took some explaining as the customs officials just wanted “TIR Carnet” as they kept shouting. As i previously mentioned they must have given us tourist visas or something because we did get through and hit Bratislave. Another steep learning curve as none had mentioned the TIR route and we drove straight through this beautiful city. I didn’t know about any diversion so this cost me about 4 shillings a couple of Marlboro and a can of coke. For the 4 shillings I was handed some confetti with some small denomination of CZ Kr printed on them. We drove on, Brno, Prague Plzen and saw signs for Nuremberg I think, well schoolboy geography and history was enough to tell me that was in Germany. Whilst in Hungary and Yugoslavia we had heard these tales of border crossings, Cheb Hotel, Hof, Furth im Wald and listened enough to work out that Waidhaus would be the best bet.

Rozvadov was the Czechoslovakian border town and no more signs for Nuremberg or Waidhaus were seen or were simply missed. we just sort of fell upon this huge queue of lorries from every country you can imagine. I stopped and moved up when the truck in front did, very slowly, very erratic, but noticed that some trucks were just flying past on the wrong side of the road. After a couple of hours i let Andy jump in and i went off to walk up the queue. I turned back after about 1/2 mile and discovered that there were huge gaps in the queue. I jumped back in the driving seat and went for another gap up the queue, trucks turned out in front of me trying to block the road, me using my bottle and them bottling it, but one thing I had noticed was that there were no UK registered trucks in this queue, but many going for these gaps. Eventually I had jumped about 2 miles of standing traffic and found myself pulling in behind a Falcongate DAF. The gap behind didn’t seem to be closing up much so I walked up to see the driver. He explained the system that many of these drivers just followed each other, as they couldn’t afford any fines and there wouldn’t be any trouble. Some drivers abandoned their trucks and walked with briefcases to the spedition which may have saved them an hour in the office, but lost them 5 hours in the queue :confused:

It was this first trip that I became familiar with Josef Bolk as after getting into the Czech border , things went quite well and after a ■■■■■■■■■■■ control and cigarette check, for them not me. They only wanted to read it but used there guns to persuade you to lend them it. These young soldiers were as scared as me, they were 18 year old and seemed as though they had nothing to live for, except ■■■■ and marlboro :stuck_out_tongue: I had heard stories about drivers removing the CB and sealing it inside a bag, none of those mod cons for us, we didn’t even have a working radio. We were free to go after closing my manifest at CSAD office. Charlie Sad was a huge state owned transport company like Somat, Hungarocamion or PeKaEs They had offices on every border crossing of their respective countries. Romtrans was the Romanian equivalent also known as F Troop.

So after my first trip through the Eastern bloc I was back to civilisation, except the German guards reminded me of the old war films I had seen, intimidating and stern. I bumped into the Falcongate driver again and he showed us the ropes, the different windows and how to fill in a zahlkarte. I had used Schenkers to make me a T form to Dover and after passport control and customs I was directed towards the lorry to be met by a BAG officer with a piece of chalk, he was chalking tyres, looking under trailers and at documents. He passed me but there was quite an argument going off with another British driver about 2 split tyres. I offered him Kens wheel which I had got repaired in Greece but the BAG wouldn’t allow him to change them there. He had to use the garage just up the road. Josef Bolk. I am convinced to this day the local BAG were on a backhander or related to this man. So far this spare wheel had been used as a means of introduction to lots of knowledge and tricks of the trade, that and the fact that Dave Chamberlain had forgotten his passports. I had met lots of great blokes, so time to return the favour. The other driver was allowed to drive up with his unit to Bolk’s garage, I lent him my spare and he had two wheel replaced. In return he took me to Geiselwind and got me drunk again. After my next trip I got my wheel back when it was dropped in George Brookes yard in Oldbury

The next day was a gentle run up to Zeebrugge and I met the bloke who had been driving Chris Brearleys yellow Roadtrain. Andy drove home from Dover, my mate took my trailer up to Montrose and we reloaded it from Forfar to Middlewich with new Tesco trolleys. Loads of lessons learned, one was to refuse anything North of Leeds unless I was paid more money. The little Saviem did another nine trips to Greece before I replaced it with a Ford Transcontinental, all of them overland. I never used the ferry to Patras again.

Great Fun, would I do it all over? You bloody bet I would :stuck_out_tongue: