[This is Chapter 2 in a series about a group of hippies travelling in Europe in the 1970's. ]
"Ladies and gentlemen: the story you are about to hear is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent."
With our small stake remaining it was time to regroup and ponder our future plans. There seemed no better spot for regrouping than my brother's place in Germany. He had recently started working, as a civilian, on a military base there.
A quick train ride found us knocking on his door. The timing was right as my brother had, only recently, fully stocked his bar with duty free booze from the base's PX in preparation of the Holiday Season. It seems Christmas had come early.
Many a long and slurring discussion was had on what to do with the little stake remaining. The discussion became more relevant after my brother was fired for missing too many sick days since our arrival. We were now in full force think tank(ed) mode with my brother now interested in the Hippie Bus Project.
Maybe it's being blocked by me mentally due to guilt, maybe it was the copious amounts of alcohol being consumed at the time, yet for the life of me it is hard to remember who actually came up with the idea of how to finance a safety inspected German Volkwagen Bus. Being simple enough and perfectly anarchistic in its approach, it could have been any of us.
The idea was to invest our remaining stake in three runs to Amsterdam, rolling profits from one run into the next. Straws were drawn to see the order of the runs. Wico was the first pick.
It seemed none of us were into waisting any time in which to enact this ingenious plan, so off Wico went; although a little hung over; the following day.
The amounts we were talking about could be met at any Amsterdam cafè. So after four or five days had passed we felt some concern while waiting in Germany.
Contact was made with my former construction employer in Holland. He said he had heard that Wico was cooling his jets behind French bars. Evidentally when the customs came onboard his train they went right to him. He had been wise enough to hide things under the cushion on his seat; which may have been a good defence in Germany, but in France you are guilty until you can prove otherwise.
Wico was out of the running for now and our stake was gone with him. As rent day approached we seemed out of ideas. That's when my brother received a letter from an old flame from home. She had packed it in in the insurance business and wanted to formulate her future while spending the winter in the warmer parts of Europe. She wondered if he would be interested to join her.
As he finished reading the letter aloud, he looked up and our eyes met just as we both spontaniously broke into maniacal laughter.
We poured fresh drinks and toasted our new partner in the Hippie Bus Project. She just didn't know it yet.
