Are the lanes faster? From the cycle "Shuttle bikes from Karpov"

I liked the guy, slowly became almost a family, Sima made friends with his wife Masha, and we often even spent the night in their apartment, from where it was much closer to Belorussky railway station. In the morning Leshka scored with his luggage his Volkswagen golf, we somehow squeezed into the salon and set off to meet new adventures. I wanted to tell about one of these adventures, where we were following the strange habit of Alexey to ride only by some back streets.

Leshka is a driver from God, and this is not an allegation. In the army, he drove some general who liked it so much that he didn’t want to part with his best driver in all the years of service, so he called Leshk in his own written description, recommending that he be given first class, which, naturally, was performed. After serving in the army, Leshka did not want to be a driver, he graduated from the institute and worked as a programmer in a large design organization. Probably, he was a good specialist if he was seconded to France for six months, when their company successfully implemented some of their projects there.

But then perestroika broke out and, like so much in our country, the company closed them, so he had to get the rights of a first-class driver out of the closet and use his driving skills. He started from Germany to use the used cars. The point is, as you know, quite dangerous. Once, this danger manifested itself in a group of people who was not installed by the police, who were on our side not far from the border, waited for such poor fellows, braked, were thrown out of cars and hid in an unidentified direction too. For some reason, they didn’t want to open up any of our militia, and Alexey remained with his wife, small daughter and peak interest. It was impossible to find work at that hectic time, and here she found him.

Returning on the day we rode in the direction of the Belarusian station. In Poland, we were going to bargain, for which we carried six large bags of goods, and were going back to delivering some consumer goods. Lesha used to spin in the narrow streets, where it would often be difficult for two trucks to cross each other, and I had a bad feeling about it:

- Lesh, well, let us get to the high road, see how the cars run merrily there, - at that moment a rather long piece of the highway seemed right, parallel to which, just with frills, Aleksey drove us.

- Now they are really running, but there, - and he jabbed his hand somewhere, - they will surely stand up.

Almost immediately after these his words exactly where he showed, we got up. You know how it happens in our country. Some repairmen dug a huge hole in the middle of the street, put up on both sides a section of such a small fence painted in orange, but apparently forgotten why they dug the hole, and went to study the design documentation, leaving everything done to fend for themselves. I did not have time to tell Leshka that he himself crap all this, and he didn’t even have time to turn on the reverse gear to begin to turn around, as a car that seemed to be moving at a very decent speed, which at the sight of us sharply slowed down, appeared from behind. And another one had already crashed into it at full speed - fortunately, they stopped a few meters away from us.

The ringing of glasses, the screeching of metal and the loud matt-peremat - well, everything is as usual, you yourself know this very well. Another thing was curious: some people jumped out of both cars and attacked ... us. Only a good reaction saved our physiognomy. We had time to dive into the Golf and block the doors, and here and they already saw the reason for our stop. Their further actions were completely unpredictable. Not paying any more attention to us, they pounced on each other with their fists.

“Lesha, don't stand, you will freeze,” the pragmatic Sima shook our driver, “we have to go, we’ll be late.”

Leshka turned over the polmashin, but found a small demining shovel, with which we took turns to clear one of the sidewalks, dumping the ground, generously scattered around by the workers, into the pit. About half an hour, probably no less, we were transported before Lyosha could somehow squeeze past the pit, close to the wall of the house, to the intact section of the street, and we continued on our way. And all this time behind the back there were shouts: “It’s your fault!” - “No, you don’t know how to drive, you bought the rights!” - well, everything like that.

- Probably, today we will definitely be late, - this is calm Sima said.

Leshka raced, as he probably never drove before, but still we only saw red lights moving away at the station. Our driver ran away somewhere, and when he returned, he said that the next stop of the train that went without us was Vyazma. He didn’t give us a minute to think, and even if he did, we would agree on everything, curiosity tormented me very much - is it possible to catch up with the train, which had been pounding on rail junctions

Lesha can ride quickly, and he confirmed it that time. The apron, to which we ran up at Vyazma station, was completely empty, only some kind of package rolled over from side to side, driven by a light breeze.

“Probably late,” Sima sighed.

“Nothing, then in Smolensk we will definitely catch up,” Leshka stood with a dreamy look, mentally, apparently imagining how he would tell his friends a life story.

I went to the schedule of arrival and departure of trains, several times, checking whether I understood correctly. I read it, and then called my friends to him - let them understand that before the arrival of our train there was still about an hour!

“You know how to drive quickly, Alex,” said Sima and added. - So and so - this is on the highway, but would go by lanes, you would get earlier.

Watch the video: Basketball in the Fast Lane: 1-2-3-4-5 Cycle (December 2019).


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