Deakinitis

The other day, I went to a restaurant in High street and ordered a ‘Below Zero’ beer, which if you’re not familiar with the term, is beer served at almost freezing point. When it arrived, however, I noticed that it was almost room tempertaure. So I asked the waiter: “I thought you served beer below zero.” To which he replied, “Sir, that is below zero, it is just not very cold yet.”

Things like this happen to me all the time. And every time I post it on Facebook, it seems that people get a good chuckle at my expense, so much so, that more than a few have asked me to write a book that chronicles my misfortunes for their amusement. While that may be a long way away, I thought I would use this week’s column to put together a few stories of what is now commonly referred to as Deakinitis.

Pacific Highway, Northern NSW, Australia, at some ungodly hour––I’m driving back from the Gold Coast to Melbourne through the darkest part of the state. I pull over in a rest area to grab a power nap. I’m all alone in a place that would give Stephen King the heebie-jeebies. I recline my seat and open the windows just enough to let air in but not enough to fit a hand.

I wake up 30 minutes later and drive off. I’m doing 110 km/h when I notice a shadow on my windscreen. I flick my wipers on. Nothing. So I figured it must be inside. I touch it. It moves. This big, hairy spider the size of a child’s open hand runs up to my side of the windscreen. I hit the brakes so hard, veer to the shoulder, and practically roll out of the moving car. Now I’m on the side of the road, locked out of my own car, at 3am, without shoes on, being held hostage by arachnophobia.

I do finally muster up the courage to kill it. I ripped off the back pocket of my jeans and used that to squash it. I needed to do it in one fluid motion because if I scared it and it crawled behind the dash, I would have to call the BMW press center in Melbourne and tell them that their car is now an $80,000 sanctuary for the local wildlife. Problem was, if one got in... I ended up driving the rest of the night at half the posted speed limits, with all the interior lights on and a flash light, looking a lot like a rolling aquarium.

Jeju Island, Korea – There we were hanging around waiting for the tour bus to pick us up. We had just finished an hour or so of the great outdoors exploring the gorgeous landscape in all-terrain vehicles. As we returned, we all lined up and were blasted by a shot of compressed air to get rid of all the dust we had picked up. It felt great. So good, in fact, that I had to sneak in just one last blast when the attendant wasn’t looking. I aimed straight for my face, pulled the trigger, and yelled out F***!. Turns out I had taken the high pressure water gun by accident. One of the participants almost slipped into a diabetic coma from laughing so hard.

Most regular readers will remember my Deakinitis in Portugal when I rented a scooter from a nearby village. The darn thing breaks down 3 kilometers away from the rental place. Good news was that two of those kilometers were downhill. Yup. I did it.

I coasted down the hill, straddling this lifeless 50cc scooter with a tiny little helmet perched on my head that looked more like a papal cap, bag of groceries in one hand and a camera slung around my shoulder. I figured if I could just build up enough momentum, I could make it up the hill where the shop was and switch the bike over for a working one.

Problem was, there was a roundabout right at the base of the hill. I take the racing line so I could carry my speed through the corner. I’m totally committed to the turn when I see this car coming towards me. I lock the front brakes. I go tumbling down the street in the most ungraceful way possible; screams and grunts echo through the entire village and I could see bits of broccoli rolling around me. I don’t even remember buying broccoli.

To top it off, because I had some fresh meat in my bag, I get chased by a German Shepherd the size of a pony.

Somewhere in the South of France––I had been given a once in a lifetime opportunity to drive an F1 car around the Circuit du Var. All goes reasonably well without Deakinitis creeping into the cockpit with me. Thing was, I needed some car-to-car moving pictures if we were going to put this on our cover. The instructor is concerned about an F1 car traveling so slowly, while I am in a van up ahead shooting all this.

There are a lot of negotiations going on. My editorial director, Carl Cunanan, is now taking care of most of it. I’m on standby. I crack open an icy cold can of Diet Coke. I barely take one sip and the instructor comes running out and says, “If you want to do this, we need to do it right now. Hurry!” Damn. I put my can down, grabbed my camera and said, “Ready when you are.”

He tells me to jump on the back of this jeep that I was leaning up against. My adrenalin is pumping hard. I only had one shot at getting this right. We take off. The F1 car follows closely. I tell the driver of the Jeep to build up speed. We’re doing about 80km/h by now. We take the first turn at about 50 km/h. Out of the corner of my eye, through my wide angle lens, I see something enter the frame. The F1 car swerves violently to avoid this very familiar can of Diet Coke that is flying through the air and heading straight for him. It smashes against the track, centimeters away from the carbon fiber body, spraying soft drink everywhere. The irony is that a tin can almost caused US$1 million worth of damage to one of the most advanced machines on earth.

Manila, Philippines, August, 2002––I’m on the South Super highway doing about 30 km/h in traffic talking to my mom on the phone. I had my window down because I was a hopeless chain smoker back then. I was deep in conversation when suddenly a hand comes in my window and snatches the phone right from my ear. While I’m driving! The thief then runs against the flow of traffic and jumps over the fence, across the railroad and then taunts me by waving the phone and laughing.

I pull up against the curb, jump out of the car and give chase—Barong and all. I get one leg over the fence before I realize that I could lose a whole lot more than my phone if I made it in to his territory. Common sense prevails. I count my losses and walk back to my car. Damn! The bloody thing is getting towed!

And just before you start giggling to yourself over my misfortunes, beware: history has now shown that Deakinitis is contagious.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia––Castrol Philippines held a promotion to race against Formula One superstar, Juan Pablo Montoya in an F1 simulator. Five lucky guys get called up. Perhaps they were just star-struck or something, but when the emcee tried to liven up the show by asking them if they had any fighting words for Montoya before they raced, they cowered in fear and just froze.

One by one, they all piled into the simulator without uttering a word, leaving Montoya with the impression that all Filipinos were quiet and reserved. The last guy freaked out so bad, he left the room. This meant there was an opening for someone else. Castrol’s (then) Marketing Manager, Paul Salapantan pushes me forward. To create a little atmosphere, and rescue my countrymen from obscurity, I grabbed the mic off the emcee, stared down Montoya and yelled out in WWF style, “You’re going down!” had it happened just five minutes earlier, maybe he would have been more prepared for it. Instead, he practically leapt out of his chair sending his bodyguards into panic. His career never really recovered after that.

Singapore Airlines, around 15,000 feet above sea level––Approaching Changi Airport, we hit a humongous air pocket. The plane drops around a hundred feet or so. Twice. Guess who is the only one not wearing a seatbelt. I get some serious airtime. My seatmate, Subaru’s (then) Marketing Manager Ariel de Jesus grabs on the armrests for support. But they’re the ones that fold up.

Passengers were hysterical. Many were crying. And only in this chaos did it all begin to make sense. Deakinitis is not a phenomenon. It’s just life. The more you experience it, the more likely you are to spray yourself with water, get attacked by spiders, threaten an F1 car with a can of soda, scare the living crap out of Montoya, fall off a scooter, get attacked by a dog, have your phone stolen in moving traffic, lose an X5 in a flash flood, fall a hundred feet from the sky and about a thousand other things that wouldn’t fit on this page.

The point is, go out and live life. Enjoy it. If you can afford to, buy that car that is extremely impractical but makes you feel like a million dollars. Take that ridiculously long road trip you’ve always daydreamed about. Become a race car driver, even for just one weekend. Do it. Whatever it is that makes you happy. Because one day your life will flash before your very eyes, just like it did for us on that flight. Better make sure that yours is worth watching.