Jingo had not tired out as much as he thought he would have during the long flight, in fact the three days had left him feeling a bit more refreshed. He was use to long flights, making routine flights from Newfoundland all the way to Gibraltar had made him fairly cable of getting comfortable in his seat, the longest straight flight being from Reykjavik to Cadiz which took almost two days if he were conserving fuel. 

   After setting down his mummified coworker Jingo took a step outside into the chill, he had not anticipated having to return the way he came, if he had known they were coming this way he would have probably stayed at the aerodrome in Reykjavik. Taking a deep breath before starting, he wandered past the parked planes and ran his hand along their frozen, metal skins, only stopping by The Witch Doctor to check the fuel needles on the drop tanks.

   Continuing forwards Jingo crushing frozen dew under his feet. He had over heard the proposition that he was being dragged into, repairing the Frenchie's plane so they could crash at his frozen shack, it was hardly a fair deal as the issues with the plane weren't exactly known. Jingo stepped into the dark cave that the man used as his hanger. It appeared as though he had tried to repair the plane once before, there were lights dotted around and boxes strewn about. It was too dark to see the plane in full detail, so for a few minutes Jingo ambled around in the dark, almost slipping on a few puddles. Fumbling in the gloom he managed to find a generator and switched it on.

   For a few moments Jingo wasn't sure what he was looking at as his eyes still hadn't adapted to the light, but when they did focus he felt physically sick. An R-1 Bolivar.

   "The Trabant of the sky..." he mumbled, walking around it and checking out the body, "It may look like a car.. but it's all bike."