Left at the Pass

Hmmmm,

The sheep had been moved and the seats and seatbelts reinstalled in the van. The blueberrys were ripening in the sun. Family vacation ensued. We wound into the mountains. Night fell. The van found its way up a steep mountainside in the darkness and tents were erected in a field. The following morning the family was awakened by the sun and the cold glacier wind. With the van repacked and breakfast eaten, a mountain pass was summited and a botanical garden visited.

Crazy uncle-cousin-brother was left at the side of the rode like so much salami skin or pistachio shells. Was it an accident? No body knows, but he was picked up unlike so much salami skin or pistachio shells by a passing motorist, but alas, left behind again.

A few days of stumbling around in the mountains in thunderstorms and rain, hurting his ankle, and drinking a steady flow of double espressos, brought him to a bus stop in a small city in the hot sun and that eerie European-Sunday-emptiness.

Embrun to Barcelonette.

I'm sticking out my thumb again. There are no buses over the next mountain pass to my next stay.

All is,

steve

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