Paper Chase

This entry is part 14 of 21 in the series Adventure Rider Issue #42

The Corona crisis had unexpected consequences.

Things were bad at home. I had the new Adventure Rider Magazine, the reading room was empty and we were almost out of toilet paper. Then an idea came over me…

what if some of the internet gibber about toilet paper growing on trees was right?

It was on the ’net, so it had to be true!

I could go for a ride, find the modern Holy Grail – the toilet-paper tree – harvest some of its smooth, soft, bounty and come home a hero.

I badly needed a ride. It was a win/win situation.

Surrounded by views of endless forest.

But where?

I fuelled the mighty DR, dressed in my crusty riding gear, grabbed a backpack and set off.

I figured maybe toilet paper grew near paper-barks, so a ride to the swamps it was.

After negotiating slippery, muddy trails a stand of paperbarks appeared. A quick search found lots of mozzies but no toilet paper. I considered paperbark as an alternative, but it wasn’t soft enough and would leave my arse rawer than a long day on a standard DR seat.

Roll after glorious roll of white toilet tissue hanging from a tree’s low branches.

Enlightenment

The trails were nice as the Suzuki headed for the valleys far from town and a rustle in the scrub caught my attention. A maniacal laugh echoed from an area of thick scrub and a dirty, scruffy bloke crawled out clutching a handful of dark green plants “I got the good shit,” he burbled, “Hooeee!”

My hopes raised. His red eyes grew large and He ran screaming down the track. He clearly hadn’t found the right tree. The leaves he dropped were narrow and serrated. A clean of my more delicate areas with some fragrant green plant wasn’t going to work.

Wilderness

At least the riding was great.

Long, flowing trails climbed and climbed, and soon I was surrounded by views of endless forest and ridges.

Eventually I found myself on the area’s highest peak.

Fires had licked at the summit. One side had been burnt while the other was still green and lush. As I admired the view I began to doubt the existence of a toilet-paper tree. I was turning around to go home when a small bush with a strange cylindrical growth on top caught my eye.

It was toilet-paper roll with the white goodness missing.

Deep, dark and wet

Patches of green could be seen in the deep dark gullies untouched by the recent fires. The overgrown bush clawed and scratched at bike and rider as I hopped logs and headed down the slope.

A cutting to a creek looked daunting but promising at the same time, and the 650 slithered down through the thick leaf mulch, pulling up at a sandy creek.

Sand was rare in this area, I knew.

Its eerie whiteness contrasted to the rainforest’s dark overtones and bright-green foliage.

I dismounted, shed some gear and, dropping down a bank, started walking upstream.

Razor-sharp wait-a-whiles clawed at my skin drawing rivers of red blood and I could almost see the leaches running towards me as I ducked and dived around stinging trees.

Then a touch of white caught my eye.

As I smashed through the last of the thick undergrowth, there in front me was roll after glorious roll of white toilet tissue hanging from a tree’s low branches, almost glowing in the dappled light.

With great excitement I harvested a few rolls off one side of the tree, making sure to leave plenty behind. It smelled like toilet paper and felt soft like toilet paper…but there was only one way to find out for sure.

Inspiration

I grabbed a copy of Adventure Rider Magazine from my backpack to help with the testing process and searched for a suitable log. A few paragraphs later the editor’s words had worked their charm.

I chuckled to myself as I carefully tore some of the soft, white tissue off the roll and gingerly put it to the test. I shouldn’t have worried. Mission accomplished.

Suitability pleased with myself, I buried the evidence and suited up.

Closer to the main trail I was careful not to leave any big skidmarks, and thanks to the exotic tree my pants were similarly free of branding.

Judgement call

The ride home was even more fun. The bike seemed lighter and a huge smile of contented success filled my helmet.

As I stacked the fresh TP rolls triumphantly on the bench at home, the wife looked over unimpressed and said, “You’ve been riding again, haven’t you? It can’t take that long to go to the shops.”

I explained my dangerous adventure and she rolled her eyes in disbelief.

True story? Or a yarn to justify a ride during lockdown?

You be the judge.

Series Navigation<< Carrying Extra FuelAndy Strapz Thermalz >>