The Vuelta

The Vuelta, Tour de France, Tour de Flandre 1999-2000 …and (Vic)tory for the last 28 veterans.

After the debacle with the van, apparently the whole world knew about it... I was suddenly “famous,” put on a pedestal and lauded by some and vilified and reviled by others, a bit of everything... I had to keep my head and courage to keep from drowning in both. VTM came to film at home and during the broadcast Noordkaap sang “Hou van mij.” (Love me). Tess Goossens made a series titled “Een vrouw met een missie”(A woman with a mission). I received the “Famous Belgian” award from Reader’s Digest, which came with a cash prize of 500 euros. The shelters in Mechelen and Limburg offered to let me stay with them, Technical Food offered to be present at every adoption day. Too much to mention. In any case, despite all the honor and the fact that, after my decision to start GINB and officially register the organization through legal channels, and which subsequently appeared in the Official Gazette with the organization's rights and obligations, I received increasingly hateful and scornful calls. Fortunately, there were also several “more urgent and serious” appeals from organizations in England, Germany, France, etc.… All with the similar request: HELP…

This one from France was from an employee of Princess de Croy, where a dozen Irish Greys from a Spanish racetrack had been sitting in the kennels of the refuge for months. They had been dumped there by an English organization that had stopped responding, asking if I could help... The calls from the other countries were almost all about the same problem. In a suburb of Barcelona, ​​about 30 discarded Greys—who had run on the Meridiana canodrome in Barcelona—were sitting in a shelter with no prospect or future, waiting for transport. Asking if I might be able to help…

First, I contacted France, and after a conversation with the noble lady who had deigned to come to the phone, I promised to come and collect the dogs as soon as possible. I kept my promise and drove with Dai, who had once dropped off the Greyhounds there on assignment, in a small van whose best days were long past, to the shelter of De Thiernay in Nevers, where no one had ever been received by the princess "herself" before. It was love at first sight for both of us, and we could not stop talking, so interested was the princess in what I had set up. After we spent the night there and had breakfast, the abandoned Greyhounds were loaded up, and we returned to Belgium, where a family was waiting for them. Before I left, the princess insisted on staying in touch, and so it happened, for her word was law. When I was back home, I still had a million things to do, because I had been sending the "GINB" news from the very beginning of the organization and that on typed sheets of paper from which I made copies, then had to collect, staple, put in envelopes, and send. A laborious task, sigh. Fortunately, during that activity, a gift from heaven was offered to me. A lady who was terminally ill wanted to donate her old van to me, which she, together with her husband and their sled dogs, had driven to races in Scandinavia and far beyond for years. The vehicle had not been used for a few years (10, to be precise...) but was still in “good” condition, the owners claimed. So, together with my entourage, I drove in high spirits towards Essen and the Wouters couple, who were the owners of the vehicle. It was a pleasant introduction, only I was shocked that there were still so many sled dogs in the kennels in the back. Anyway, the van, which from what I knew still seemed to be in good condition, was certainly useful, and my heart leaped with joy!!”

In any case, first and foremost, she urgently needed a thorough check-up that must be done as soon as possible. It needed four new tires, and I insisted that, for the comfort of the dogs, proper kennels had to be installed. All costs would, of course, be paid by GINB—meaning me. Once it was ready, we would leave for Spain as soon as possible to pick up the Greyhounds from Barcelona. While the van was being worked on, two ladies who were fervent “fans” had meanwhile organized a large-scale event at the Battenbroek estate near Mechelen, which I was not to concern myself with at all. They would take care of everything; I only had to be present. However, the registrations and turnout turned out to be so large that I had to rent an expensive circus tent to accommodate the exhibitors who had signed up; the approximately 600 “fans” who had registered to eat were all received in the designated buildings. Unfortunately, the date of the event coincided with my departure to Spain, which was scheduled for the following day. Anyway, I was there all day and treated everyone who had helped with the service and the raffle to dinner in the evening. The latter had been a huge success but had gotten a bit out of hand because the ladies had not provided enough prizes and panicked at the complaints from participants who had bought tickets and had not won a prize. When I left, I entrusted the settlement to them and reminded them that they must keep all the bank statements. I was glad it was behind me, because the next day I must leave at 5:00h with my “new” van and my “new” driver, who had become a widower in the meantime. So, I had no choice but to give the man the chance to drive and alleviate his grief a little.

Had I known the day we left Latem what was in store for me, I would have passed. We had not gone very far when I realized I had forgotten my phone and, much to my driver's displeasure, we had to turn back. Back on the road, I received a call from Anne, who lived near Nîmes and had paid for the transport of the dogs from the Rome racecourse after an accident had occurred. She absolutely wanted to see and speak to me, as we only knew each other by phone, so she would not take no for an answer. Since we had to go to Barcelona anyway, I gave in, and after a long search through the beautiful French countryside, we arrived many hours later at a castle full of Arabian thoroughbreds and Greyhounds, where the "châtelaine," dressed in riding outfit, embraced me in the courtyard. Despite the warm welcome from Anne K and the enchantment of the surroundings, my driver was not satisfied. He wanted to leave as soon as possible because he was tired and we still had a long way to go, which was ultimately true, so I apologized, and after a delicious meal, we set off towards Barcelona in the hope of finding a place to sleep along the way. Fortunately, we found one; what kind did not matter because my driver was withdrawn and angry at everything, that did not bode well, I thought anxiously. The next day, the serious work began, for I had an appointment in Barcelona with Gloria Casas, the president and founder of the Altariba organization. I had met her when she invited me to Barcelona a few months ago, where an international demonstration against animal cruelty was taking place after vandals had raided a shelter and gruesomely mutilated and killed several dogs.

Because we were ahead of schedule, my driver decided, against my wishes, to drive on to Vic where the dogs were!! He took a road through the mountains, and we arrived in the village earlier than planned. I was furious because I like to stick to agreements and decided to call Gloria since we did not know where to go. She got the shock of her life and could not believe we were in Vic while we were expected to arrive at Hotel Pamplona!! After an hour of directions in a mix of French, English, and Spanish to exit 152, which turned out to be in Portugal, we set off on a whim. The next hour we drove via every possible road and back roads and ended up back in Vic!! My grumpy driver drove from left to right and from bottom to top to find the hotel. In vain!! Gloria, who was still on the phone, and I were at our wits' end. Nothing compared to my driver, whose patience had run out, even though he was at the root of the problem. After he suddenly slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the van to shout "Hotel Pamplona" at a couple of workmen while talking and gesticulating loudly, the startled men pointed in a certain direction, that of Barcelona... An hour later, in a suburb of Barcelona, yes, indeed, he slammed on the brakes again in front of Hotel Pamplona and said scornfully, "voilà," now that is male logic... Very tiring, but just like Gloria, who was still on the phone, I was relieved that we had found the hotel, because we were both worn out from the stress. As we said goodbye, I thought that it had apparently been too early for Ludo to make the trip, and I was reluctantly looking forward to the evening. Fortunately, I could look forward to tomorrow, because in the morning we had an appointment with Gloria, who would accompany us to the shelter where the dogs were staying.

Very “un-Spanish” she was half an hour early the next day and still the charming woman I had met some time ago. She gave us a warm welcome and thanked me generously for taking the dogs to Belgium, as everyone had pretty much given up hope that they would ever leave. When I told her that most of them were being awaited by adopters, she was overjoyed. We left Vic, and after a drive of about 30 minutes over bumpy roads past dry fields, we arrived at the shelter, where I could not believe my eyes when I saw about 500 dogs of all breeds jumping up in their enclosures, begging for attention. Gloria and the person in charge of the shelter led us through a tangle of dogs to a spot at the back. When I saw 28 timid, battered, worn-out Greyhounds instead of 30, the person in charge told me that, unfortunately, 2 had not made it. Terrible, so close to redemption and hope, I could barely hold back my tears and, upon seeing these poor souls and the harrowing images, thought back to Mallorca and Solitario. When I entered their enclosure and ran my hands over their heads and wet noses, I whispered to them that the misery was over. The knowledge that I would take them to Belgium the next day, where a beautiful old age awaited most of them, made my heart overflow with gratitude towards the adoptive families who had agreed to give these abandoned and suffering dogs another chance. The following day, we returned to the shelter to pick up the dogs and, waved off by the staff, left Vic with our travelers towards...

I had not yet dared to tell my driver that the princess had called and begged me to visit her, because a French writer and a German baron from a neighboring castle were interested in adopting one of the greyhounds on board, and I would do a lot for two prospective adopters. When I informed him, he was, to put it mildly, not pleased, indeed, angry, very angry. Anyway, I had promised to visit, because adoption was of vital importance for those poor dogs. It did mean, however, that we must take a 400 km detour, about 6 hours. So, we did not have an easy road ahead of us. After an exhausting, endless drive along pitch-black, hilly, and wooded winding roads, we arrived at the princess's at 4:00h. When I got out, I stared blankly and was so tired that I was disoriented and completely out of it. After standing peering into the darkness for five minutes, wondering where I was, Ludo, who was unfamiliar with the estate, had to rouse me from a kind of hypnotic sleep before I realized I had to wake the princess. She had made all arrangements; the dogs were unloaded, fed, and watered, after which they could rest comfortably. There were food and drinks for us too, but neither Ludo nor I had the courage to eat anything, just a few hours of rest, please. The princess prepared a hot water bottle for me, tucked me in, and then came to check if I needed anything else; she asked concernedly if I might need some warm milk… It was a short night, and I felt as though I had only been in bed for five minutes when I was woken by voices making their way upstairs through the great hall. When I looked at my watch, it was 7:30h, and I was groaning and creaking at the seams. My driver was up too, so I had no choice but to get up and meet the prospective adoptive parents.

There was the sophisticated German couple and there was the writer Maillet. After I had introduced myself and meanwhile said a quick prayer for a good outcome, I introduced the dogs. The ladies let out cries of emotion, and Hélène Maillet had seen her dog as soon as they came outside. The intense eye contact had determined her choice. How the dog looked or what its gender was played no role; it was her dog. The German couple stood with their noses in the air, shamelessly looking and judging, and ultimately found the dogs too old and not beautiful enough. I wanted to cry with misery and wring their necks. My driver probably had the same thing in mind, but with my neck… After a hearty breakfast and countless apologies from the princess, I started the long journey back, disappointed. I had not foreseen that it would be that long. When we drove back onto the motorway in Dijon around 14:00h, I thought just a little more perseverance, and it will be over. Nothing could be further from the truth. Up until the last toll booth, everything was fine, but once through the final barrier, the traffic and the number of trucks seemed to increase tenfold. As if that were not enough, it started pouring rain. The rain came down in buckets, it became pitch black, and I thought our last hour had come. The dogs became restless just like me, and my driver yelled at me to stay calm. I tried, but in vain; I was terrified and absolutely wanted to get off the highway. However, my driver would not listen and said impassively that we had to go with the flow. He remained ice-cold and eventually guided us safely through the chaos of cars, rain, hail, and thunderstorms. A little less than 20 km further on, the princess's breakfast lay in an unnamed French toilet…

At the border crossing in Luxembourg, my mobile phone died, and we did not know if the Mechelen shelter would be waiting for us, so Ludo drove on to Essen, much against my will, where the dogs were unloaded and I was allowed to take a beauty nap on the sofa. After yet another short night, the dogs were prepared, went back on board for the last time, and we drove to Mechelen, where the owners were waiting to meet their new housemate. Although I was nervous as always, all my protégés found a home. A relief, because as always, I felt uncertain about their future; I had brought them along, and I alone was responsible for their new life. However, everything turned out well, and as always, I was moved to see how happy everyone was to find each other. That is ultimately why I did it, and it would not be the last time. After we had taken a few dogs home, the odometer read 5,748 km!!

Epilogue

When I finally got home, after a well-deserved night's rest, I called the ladies who had organized the Mechelen event. When, after trying several times, I finally got one of them on the line and asked how much the event had ultimately brought in, she said mockingly, “YOU'RE OUT OF LUCK, ALL THE MONEY IS GONE, WE SPENT IT ALL AND HAD A GREAT TIME!!!!!” While she broke my heart, muffled mocking laughter from her friend echoed in the background… I cringed with misery and was completely devastated, but even though I knew nothing about technical gadgets, I had automatically pressed the record button!! Notwithstanding my complaint to the Ghent Gendarmerie, who urged me not to be so naive anymore, and the hiring of an expensive lawyer friend, no action was taken regarding the theft because even a recording in which the perpetrator confessed guilt was not accepted as evidence. So much for the expensive and bitter end of a feigned friendship at the expense of helpless animals. How could people be so bad? I cried bitter tears of helplessness and wondered how I was going to pay for all of this.