Greek Health and Safety is a wondrous thing…
Surely there isn’t anyone in the world that doesn’t consider quad biking the most fun you can have with your trousers on? Now I stupidly had had my driving licence nabbed two weeks before our Greek departure, and the DVLA take a small era to get a new one out to you. And so we had only my friend Becky’s (aka Wussbag) to work from.…
We had organised with the owner of our secluded campsite for someone to come from a bike hire shop in town and pick us up. And so when a motorbike turned up it was greeted by our surprise and confusion. Becky and I shuffled around in the dust listening to the two men’s Grecian gabble, after which the driver returned to his motorbike and beckoned me to get on the back. I obliged out of sheer bafflement. Then he beckoned for Becky to get on.
Now we’re not talking about some enormous chopper here, it was a big bike yes, but not a three person bike. Becky, also baffled did as she was ushered to. He then bent down, grabbed Becky’s ankle and hoisted it on to my knee. He did the same with the other ankle, nodded with a toothless grin, put both thumbs up and revved his engine before we could utter the slightest yelp or “I’m terribly sorry, but isn’t this rather dangerous and terribly unorthodox?”
Hammering around Paros’s roads, the dry heat hit our faces and as I held Becky’s legs in place and watched her flip flopped feet jiggle around on my knee, I imagined what could only be the face of fear incarnate behind me. We staggered into the bike hire shop and it wasn’t until much later, after looking in the mirror that discovered that we were now sporting beehives.
We were first presented with a scooter and the task to ride it well enough for us to be let loose on it for the rest of the day, fell on Wussbag. Almost crashing twice in the car park we were told that we were under no circumstances allowed a scooter and that we would have to settle for a quad bike. Becky grabbed me aside, clammy handed and sweaty and said, “You have to do the test drive on the quad bike, I can’t take it.” And so, the obvious thing to do came: hand over my blue eyed, blonde friend’s driving licence and as a brown eyed, brunette, pass it off as my own. In England this would not swing, it wouldn’t even gently sway. In Greece, no problem!
The manager glanced briefly at both Becky’s picture and my face before asking me to sign for the quad. Desperately trying to remember Becky’s signature, I scribbled something with a B on the form and thought, “Oh god, my mother’s going to get a call from the Greek police asking her bail her fraud committing daughter out of prison.” “Here we go!”, the manager said as a quad ridden by an 8-year-old screeched to a halt outside.
A fabulous day ensued whereby we buzzed around Paros at 40 miles per hour irritating other drivers with our pace and noise. And it didn’t take long for Wussbag to have a go and refuse to give it back either.
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Tags: Beth Colmer, paros
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