I
left with La Más from Tirana, Al-
bania -where I enjoyed wonder-
ful moments walking around the
city, on a sunny Saturday morning
chased by heavy black clouds; one
of those that scare us until they
overtake us.
It then began to rain torrentially
to the point that suddenly I began to
feel blows to my hands; they were ice
stones! It was now hailing.
I had no place to protect myself, so
I continued on my way with limited
visibility, having fun with "the risk" of
taking sharp turns and looking at the
gasoline needle, because I had been
told that there are few gas stations
along that stretch. What a landscape!
The GPS indicated that there was a gas
station before entering Montenegro,
and I decided that I was going to fill
the tanks (I bring a supplementary
seven liters), and headed for the bor-
der.
The last gas station was closed and
the next one was kilometers away,
already in Bosnia, and La Más, dry.
For the first time in my life, I ran out
of gas on a road trip with very little
traffic, heading for the border with
Bosnia-Herzegovina, just seven kilo-
meters from the border. As if I have
no problems in my life, I did not "feel
anything". That is, I parked on the
side of the road I got off, I took off my
helmet and my gloves, and wondered
about how I was in a state of absolute
peace since I decided to undertake
this journey. I didn’t worry, it was two
in the afternoon, the day was already
TRAVERSE 37
sunny, the storm had passed, it was
cool.
I laughed.
Three cars passed by and I did not
even stop them. I opened the two
tanks to see if I really did not have any
gasoline and no, there wasn’t a drop
inside. But from experience I know
that "something" always remains, so
with the helmet fastened to one of the
side fenders of La Más, I mounted it
and started it, I clutched first gear and
I slowly went forward when after the
second turn, I found a police blockade
and I started to laugh out loud.
A policeman holding the radar in
his hand and a phosphorescent Stop
sign stopped me. He began to scold
me, screaming, and I assumed he told
me: "Why are you not wearing a hel-
met?"
I was so happy to see him, I kept
laughing and started to explain with
gestures that I had run out of gas and
he insisted on the issue of the helmet,
until I shouted the magic word: MA-
RADONA! ARGENTINA! Automatical-
ly a smile came out and he answered:
MESSI! KEMPES! while giving me a
handshake and the other policeman,
the one inside the van, came over to
greet me.
With gestures and words in differ-
ent languages I explained to them
that I had run out of gas a kilometer
before, and that as proof I could show
them where I had lost my gloves. I’d
forgotten them and left them on the
back of the bike and had fallen on the
road. That was why I did not wear the