Never Turn Your Back On The Ocean

At the frog translocation dig in Ibarra, Gaius says goodbye to Simon.

What? Sorry..? says Simon. Oh yes, goodbye.

He is preoccupied with his boxes.

I would stay, says Gaius, but the Tour de France beckons.

Of course, says Simon. Best of luck and all that.

And good luck with the translocation, says Gaius. May the Riobamban frogs prosper.

Very kind, says Simon. I'm sure they will, now we've established the correct dose of pool salt.

By the way, says Gaius I must show you a photo. It's one of the mutants.

He shows Simon a photo of Flap, with his parents.

My goodness, says Simon. There's a lesson.

Indeed, says Gaius. Farewell, but first I must say goodbye to Lydia, Tilly and Buzz.

Lydia, Tilly and Buzz are in different locations, one digging trenches, one measuring out pool salt and one playing on his iphone.

So this takes some time.

Now Gaius is at the bus station, buying a ticket to Guayaquil, without the bargaining talents of Arthur.

He gets on the bus, and sits down next to a fellow traveller.

Going to Guayaquil? asks the traveller.

I am, says Gaius. I am meeting my companions there. Assuming all goes to plan.

Might it not? asks the traveller.

I'm optimistic, says Gaius. One of the companions is most reliable.

And the others? asks the traveller.

(It is pleasant to converse on a bus).

Gaius tells the traveller about Sweezus (the unpredictable) and Humboldt (the new chum).

The traveller tells a story about how he lost his wallet in Ibarra, and then got it back.

.........

Meanwhile, Arthur the reliable, Sweezus the unpredictable and Humboldt the new chum are preparing to surf at La Chocolatera.

No sand, and the shoreline is craggy. Not many people out surfing. Best season is November to March. But .....you get what what you get.

Left handed breaks come in long peeling tubes, which are infrequent.

They paddle out, and wait. Here comes one.

What do I do? asks Humboldt.

Try and catch it, says Sweezus.

He and Arthur both catch it.

They slide away through the long peeling tube.

Humboldt is unseated in the turmoil.

A fellow surfer paddles over.

Bad luck dude, she says. You missed it. Wanna wait with me for the next one? I'll give you some pointers.

Thank you, says Humboldt. It's my first time.

Then you shouldn't be out here, says the surfer.

Well, I am. Just give me the pointers, while nothing's happening, says Humboldt.

Okay, she says. Surfers code. Never turn your back on the ocean.

What? says Humboldt. Never turn your back on the ocean? Am I facing the wrong way?

No, that's the CODE, dickhead, says the surfer. It means courage.

Another one's coming, says Humboldt. What do I do?

Stand up, says the surfer. Front foot on the chest line, back foot placed so that your legs are just wider than shoulder width. Keep your knees bent at all times. Like this... see....!

She has caught it. She glides rapidly away.

Humboldt, the new chum, catches the next one.

Awesomely he arrives at the rocky shoreline where Arthur (the reliable) is nursing a badly gashed knee.

Sorry To Say This

Salinas.

Sweezus, Arthur and Humboldt wheel their bikes along the Malecón boardwalk.

Sweezus enters a surf shop.

Five minutes later, comes out.

You want dangerous? asks Sweezus. If we head to the end of the peninsula, there's this FAE naval base, so you have to get permission, but they reckon it's easy to get, and there's this cool surf spot called La Chocolatera, no sand, but a rocky beach and powerful churning swells....

Sounds good, says Arthur, who has perked up since they got there.

Mm, says Humboldt. What about surfboards?

Already hired 'em, says Sweezus.

Santiago comes out with three shortboards.

How you guys gonna do this? asks Santiago. You got no surfboard bike racks. You wanna hire them as well?

Guess we pretty much have to, says Sweezus.

Arthur forks out the money.

If it was left up to him, he would have tried Sea Salt. Santiago looks susceptible

They ride off towards La Chocolatera, with their surfboards attached.

Sweezus's phone rings. It's Gaius.

Greetings, says Gaius. How goes the novice?

Who? says Sweezus.

Humboldt, says Gaius. Is he improving?

Yeah, he's cool, says Sweezus. Rode all the way to Salinas. We're just about to go surfing.

Nowhere too dangerous, I trust, says Gaius. The Tour's just a week off.

Not heaps dangerous, says Sweezus. Shit, only a week off! That means.....

I've had a few thoughts, says Gaius. Regarding logistics. You could fly direct to Nantes from Guayaquil. It's three hours shorter.

Awesome, says Sweezus. That's what we'll do.

Wait, says Gaius. The problem is, you are on borrowed bicycles.

Bugger, says Sweezus.

What is it? asks Arthur.

Fuck-ups, says Sweezus.

No need for that language, says Gaius. And then there is Terence.

Double fuckups! says Sweezus.

WHAT? says Arthur.

Calm down, says Gaius. I have been speaking to Maldonado. He suggests you put the bikes on the train.

Yeah, brilliant, says Sweezus. What about Terence?

Would you trust Saint Roley to accompany Terence to Guayaquil by train? asks Gaius.

Like, what kind of mood is he in at the moment? asks Sweezus.

Saint Roley? asks Gaius. Achieving equanimity, after losing that guinea pig he was attached to.

I mean Terence, says Sweezus.

Oh, Terence, says Gaius. This may or may not be a problem. He has become attached to some wasps.

Wasps doesn't sound like an insurmountable problem.

They'll soon get tired of Terence. Or more likely get randomly swatted.

Yeah okay, says Sweezus. How's Ibarra?

I am feeling a little superfluous, here, says Gaius.

A normal dude would sympathise.

But Sweezus (sorry to say this) sees us all as a little superfluous.

Ear Wasps

At Frutabar, Arthur drinks sticky fruit cocktails until he is sick.

So it ends up a good night for Arthur.

He composes a nightmarish poem. He's a drunken boat, lashed by furious waves:

Sweeter than the flesh of hard apples to children
the green water penetrated my hull
and washed me of spots of blue wine
and vomit, at times I saw what I thought I saw
the low sun, its mystic horrors.....

Humboldt only has a headache. Not even a bad one.

(He ate three gourmet sandwiches, nearly as many as Sweezus)

Come on! says Sweezus. Surfing! Salinas!

Urghh, says Arthur.

He looks pale.

Cheer up, says Humboldt. What will you do with all that money?

New bikes, says Sweezus, and new outfits.

Arthur appears to concur.

Lucky you, says Humboldt. I'm getting an unknown quantity. The ex-bicycle of Schopenhauer. As for a uniform, what do I wear?

Whatever, says Sweezus. Belle'll fix you up. You might get to wear Vello's.

Are we the same build? asks Humboldt.

You're both kind of skinny, says Sweezus. Height, yeah, no, not really. But with bike knicks, it doesn't matter how long the legs are.

Colours? asks Humboldt.

Cyclamen, says Arthur.

Sweezus laughs.

Good one, bro!

Why, is it funny? Humboldt's not keen on the colour.

The three cyclists leave the port of Guayaquil and head for Salinas.

It will take three hours, and forty five minutes. 

Let's return to Riobamba and see what has happened.

Was Terence given the scissors? Yes, and the hat is now ruined.

You wrecked it, says Mariposa. Looks like there's wasps coming out of your ears.

Terence is led to a mirror.

His expression is difficult to read, because he is deciding.

Does he want to look like there's wasps coming out of his ears?

They're not real ones.

Short wool strands of rainbow colours. Frizzing, like wasps.

On balance, he likes it.

Can I have the bits you cut off? asks Mariposa.

I CAN'T HEAR YOU! says Terence.

Mariposa turns his flaps up.

The wasps hover over his head.

For Your Good Fortune

Evening in Zona Rosa, Guayaquil.

A lime green pub with big headed figurines hanging out of the windows.

The Bar El Colonial.

Sweezus, Arthur and Humboldt are inside.

Neon lights flash pink and purple. An acoustic guitar show is in progress.

The crowd drinks beer, sways, sings sentimentally.

This is nice, says Humboldt. Is it modern?

Not really, says Sweezus.

Hmmm-mmm-ayay! sing the punters (in Spanish)

It's lame, says Arthur.  I thought it was meant to be dangerous.

Yeah, says Sweezus. But hey. So what? We're supposed to be training.

Arthur slopes off with the Sea Salt to drum up some trade.

He won't be back for some minutes.

Arthur's a dark one, says Humboldt.

Yeah, says Sweezus.

He won't get into trouble? asks Humboldt.

He lives a charmed life, says Sweezus. Pity it doesn't stretch to winning a bike race.

Whereas I feel quietly confident, says Humboldt.

Great, says Sweezus.  Reckon you can beat Froomey?

Hmmm-mmm ayay, slur the customers of Bar El Colonial.

Who? asks Humboldt.

Froomey, says Sweezus. Team Sky rider. No one can beat him. And then there's Richie Porte. Just won the Tour de Suisse. He'll be peaking.

I'll be happy to finish, says Humboldt.

Like David, says Sweezus. He's happy to finish. So's Gaius. You three'll go well. On rest days, Belle does awesome picnics.

Hmmm-mmm ayay!

Oi! Ai! Oof! A fracas at the bar appears to be happening.

Arthur comes back.

Dangerous? asks Sweezus.

No, says Arthur. I've made three thousand dollars. And got orders.

Fuck, says Sweezus. Shall we leave now?

Yep, says Arthur. There's this bar called Divina Nicotina.

Not cool, says Sweezus. Might be smoky.

Frutabar? says Arthur. It's surf-themed and they do gourmet sandwiches.

Okay, Frutabar.

They leave Bar El Colonial, and head for the Frutabar.

They are followed by someone with a knife.

This is not necessarily dangerous, (as we shall discover).

Oye! cries the knife holder.

Run! He has a knife! cries Humboldt, turning.

Arthur stops. Turns. Takes the knife.

Gracias, says Arthur.

Por tu buena suerte, says the knife guy.

Which means 'For your good fortune'.

At least, I believe so.

It Can Be Dangerous

Three bikes for two people? says Pedro. Why is that?

There were three people, says Saint Roley. Alexander von Humboldt was with them.

Humboldt? says Pedro. I know him. He can't ride a bike.

He can now, says Saint Roley. He's been invited to join Team Philosophe as a Tour de France rider.

Half his luck, says Pedro Vicente Maldonado. Hear that, children?

No, says Mariposa. I think we should rescue Piffy and Pi-face.

I'll go, says Pescado.

He clambers out of the window.

The frogs are sitting on a warm rock, eating waxworms.

He waits for them to finish, before bringing them inside.

No bikes. Does this mean we can't go to school? asks Mariposa.

We'll see about that, says her father.

When are they coming BACK? asks Terence. I want to show them my hat.

It's an excellent hat, says Saint Roley.

I got it in Hawaii, says Terence. It's got side flaps.

With plaits, says Saint Roley. You look like a beautiful woman.

Yerk! says Terence pulling the hat off.

Don't you want it? asks Mariposa. I'll have it.

NO! says Terence. Just get me some scissors.

Pescado comes in bearing Piffy and Pi-face and Flap.

Wow! says Mariposa. Look at his back flap!

Flap feels embarrassed. He has already undergone too much scrutiny.

Let us avert our gaze from Flap's discomfort.

And focus on Guayaquil where Sweezus, Arthur and Humboldt are just arriving.

(even if it means we won't know whether Terence gets scissors)

Guayaquil at last! puffs Humboldt.

You did good, says Sweezus. You'll be an asset. The boss'll love you.

The boss? asks Humboldt.

Vello, says Sweezus. He's my boss at Velosophy.

I didn't know that, says Humboldt. What is Velosophy?

An online magazine, combining cycling and philosophy, says Sweezus. I'm one of the creatives.

I hadn't pinned you as a creative, says Humboldt. Arthur seems better fitted.

I'm not better fitted, says Arthur. I'm a poet.

Yeah, a poet, says Sweezus You can't make them creative.

I suppose not, says Humboldt. Ugh! I must dismount soon or split down the middle.

Sweezus looks around. There appears to be a grand river running through Guayaquil. And port things, like boats.

Someone walks by, who looks like a local. Sweezus stops him.

Where's the best nightlife happen? asks Sweezus.

You might like Zona Rosa, says the local. But be warned, at night, it can be dangerous.

Dry Up Or I'll Wet You

Terence jumps out of the taxi.

He will burst in through the front door.

He will show his new hat to Sweezus and Arthur.

But he can't do it. The front door is locked.

He must wait for Pedro Vicente Maldonado to get out of the taxi.

Unload the children, and their baggage. And his baggage.

And Terence's baggage, which is Cherry the electronic parrot.

Pedro unlocks the front door.

Terence bursts in.

No one is there.

Noises come from the frog room.

The frogs! cries Mariposa, running to the frog room.

Followed by Pescado, her brother.

And Terence, in his un-noticed hat.

Leaving Cherry with Pedro.

Twice times seven, says Pedro.

Forty nine, says Cherry.

That would be correct if I had asked a different question, says Pedro. Think. What might that be?

Please say forty nine? says Cherry.

Try again, says Pedro. No, don't bother. Mariposa is calling.

Dad!

He strides into the frog room.

Saint Roley is explaining what happened to most of the tadpoles, and the mutant frogs, one of which, Flap, is in the garden with Piffy and Pi-face.

Dad, says Mariposa. Our frogs are in the garden!

Pedro opens the window.

And there's waxworms on the table, says Pescado.

I can explain, says Saint Roley. We were hoping....

Pedro gathers the waxworms and throws them out into the garden.

That's happened twice now. The waxworms' hopes dwindle.

What were you hoping? asks Pedro. That someone would open a window? Done!

Dad! says Mariposa. We should have brought the frogs INSIDE.

We were hoping you would know how long moths last, says Saint Roley. But now it won't matter.

Of course it matters , says Pedro Vicente Maldonado. How long do moths last? Twelve days if they're female, and twenty one if they're male.

It's good you threw the waxworms out of the window so they didn't hear that, says Saint Roley.

Thirty two, says Cherry.

Where's Sweezus? asks Terence, tweaking his hat.

Was I right? asks Cherry.

What was the question? asks Pedro.

Twelve days plus twenty one days, says Cherry. Thirty two days.

Close, says Pedro. Thirty three. But none of them live that long. It's an either-or, not a sum.

Is that an expression? asks Cherry.

YES! says Terence. Either you dry up or I'll WET you!

Cherry dries up.

Sweezus and Arthur have gone to Salinas, says Saint Roley. They borrowed Pedro's bike. And the children's.

That's three bikes for two people, thinks Cherry. It doesn't add up.

Bad Comrades

And what of the others?

Simon and his team are in Ibarra, assisting with the translocation of Riobamban marsupial tree frogs.

Simon, aware of the dangers of using too much pool salt, is using it sparingly.

So far, so good.

Gaius is on a bus on his way to Ibarra.

He chats with another passenger.

It will be a lightning visit, says Gaius.

What a shame, says the passenger (a lady).

Not at all, says Gaius. I only wish to ascertain how the pool salt is working. We have had trouble.

With your pool? asks the lady.

Ha ha! No. With the tree frogs, says Gaius.

He explains how too much pool salt has resulted in the deaths of a number of tadpoles and mutations in others.

She appears to be interested.

Terence is on his way back to Riobamba, with Pedro Vicente Maldonado, and the children.

Their plane has landed in Quito and Pedro is calling a taxi.

Terence has a new hat.

It has side flaps and is similar to the one that was stolen in Melbourne when he was there with Grandpa Marx for the Marxist convention and they got separated and bad comrades took it off him.

Cherry is slowly recovering her abilities, after falling into the hotel pool in Hawaii.

She is learning her tables. Twice times seven.

 And the square root of pi.

Saint Roley is still at Maldonado's with the waxworms. They are afraid of the future.

Wah wah, cry the waxworms. Can't you ASK someone?

I would, says Saint Roley, but I don't have a phone.

Where did we come from? asks the head waxworm, who seems less agitated than the others.

Next door, says Saint Roley.

So, go next door, says the head waxworm.

No way, says Saint Roley. The first thing that would happen is that Flap and his parents would jump in through the window and eat you.

Perhaps that would be the best outcome, says the head waxworm. At least we'd have certainty.

Wah wah, wail the other waxworms.

Don't be defeatist, says Saint Roley.

All right. Close the window, says the head waxworm. Then go and ask the neighbour.

Saint Roley could kick himself for not having thought of this simple solution.

Well, not that simple.

He might break his beak. Or his toes. Depending.

He dithers.

A taxi pulls up outside.