Last night’s storm has blown itself out. Early morning calmness greets us. Like a petulant child. Now sitting quietly as if butter wouldn’t melt in its mouth. Looking you square in the eyes. Asking “What? What did I do?”
11pm and we can hear it coming. Whistling down from the higher snowy peaks, as it gathers momentum. Thundering warnings echo out across this high pitched valley. All trappings of camp life securely stored inside. It’s way past 2am before sleeps overcomes. Three hours later it’s still throwing its toys out of the pram. Beastie stays firmly planted. He’s rocked and rolled as if he’s some sort of amphibian and has taken to the high seas. Apart from a severe lack of sleep no damage done. Beastie has taken a bit of a sand blasting.
With intentions of taking Scoot high up into the snowy parts of the Sierra Nevada we tog up like members of Scotts Discovery Expedition. Bulked up shapes resembling Buzz Light Year. I’m excited. Mary-Ann is more reserved. Just wondering how cold it’s likely to be. Helmets on. Gloves on. Ready, steady, plop! Engine won’t turn. Battery thinks it’s Shrove Tuesday. Flat as a pancake. Then it dawns. To open the under seat storage you have to turn the ignition key a quarter past normal start position. It’s also important to return it fully to the off position. Why? In start position the headlight comes on. Whether the engine is running or not. I’d got Scoot ready before breakfast. 75minutes beforehand. Not returned the key to off. My brain starts to bubble over. Can’t believe what its done. Goes into Basil Fawlty mode. Looks around for the biggest branch it can find. None to hand. Even after the storm. Ignores the hammer – too extreme. Someone must pay. No one about to throttle. Just as well. Maybe. Just maybe, I can bump start Scoot. We’re pitched off at right angles to quite a good slope. 80 yards or so. Push Scoot to the top. Hop on. Trundle down. No response from the starter. Still togged up in vain. Try a second time. Still nothing. Time to remove helmet before contents explode. Consult that kind Mr Google. He and his forum friends say it’s impossible to bump start an automatic scooter.
At this point, my brain, AKA “me” starts to shut down. From early childhood days it has never developed a proper coping mechanism for frustrating situations like this. Mary-Ann recognises the signs. “You don’t like being thwarted, do you?” She’s OK about what I’ve done. More pragmatic than I am. She gets on with other things. My frustrations turn inwards. I teeter towards the autistic. Clutching at straws. I remember that mum used to put my torch battery on a heater to bring it back to life. It’s now late morning and contrary to today’s forecast it’s very hot. I remove Scoots battery. It’s tiny – 5″ x 5″ x 3″ Place it in the sunniest spot I can find. Ha! Did I really think that would work? I must have! It didn’t. 
Reluctantly I realise it’s hopeless. The day’s adventure lost to one insane moment. Remove all togs. Nearest Yamaha dealer’s in Granada. Then I remember Scoots EU insurance includes breakdown. Check the policy. Homestart included. Phone Carole Nash. Three hours later and with some translation help from reception Scoot is idling nicely. Just to fully charge the battery I take Scoot for a run. Take the route we would have taken this morning. Ironically, seven miles up, the road is closed. Fallen tree perhaps?
The views on the way up and down help to smooth away the day’s ripples.
