It’s just as well none of us ever knows what today will bring. Most of us with ordinary lives, living in ordinary times. We treasure those special moments that make us human. We plan. We dream. Hope for the occasional extraordinary. Wanting the best that’s possible for ourselves. Even more so for our children and theirs. The future can be a beautiful place to be, but also a very cruel place too . . .
The sun has already brushed his teeth by the time I’m lakeside. His dazzling smile disperses the golden mist as I get ready to click. Creates puffs of latent clouds that hover just above the surface, as if they are not sure what to do next.
Mornings like this make you feel good to be alive. The natural becomes super-natural. A mystery unfolds. It’s not the how, nor the what, but the why – that makes it so special.
We have one of our longest days ahead of us. Grenoble here we come. Hate to travel on a blue day, but needs must. Missy, as usual, programmed to ‘avoid’ all non-toll motorways. The local terrain can dictate though. Very occasionally, like today, it’s unavoidable. She takes us westwards across the top of Turin. We’re happy. Average mph is at a peak. Then suddenly we’re in the land of warning indicators. A blinking barrage of orange slows the flow to a halt. Prevents all but the adept bikers. They slip through. We hold on to our frustrations. Time slips by. Sirens scream by on the hard shoulder. It goes quiet. Everyone’s engine cut. Curiosity calls. Drivers step down. Peering. It’s a bad one. ‘That could be me, but for the grace of God’. A reality check experienced by all. Injects a calm and sober patience. 
Forty-five minutes later the last of three air ambulances fly off. 
It’s not a pretty sight. Cruelly, this motorway stretch ends just a few hundred metres farther on.
Lunchtime sees us park up alongside the last Eurospin this side of France. We lighten numerous shelves. Beastie bulges. We utilise every and any space that will accommodate our favourite Italian food! As we head towards the peaks of the Rhône-Alpes it turns into one of the hottest days of our tour. 30C.
With our extended lunch and motorway hold-up we are now way behind schedule. We head up to just over two thousand metres. The RN91 passes through the Col du Lautaret. Stunning scenery draws us to a halt numerous times. We’re fast running out of light. Hope to capture and preserve a little of the awe.
Mrs S not too happy about getting close to this super-steep gorge . . .
As if that’s not enough, here’s a high waterfall. We’re having a ball. Whatever will we come across next? . . .
We were NOT expecting this. Route Barrée. The déviation does not permit any traffic over 3.5 ton. We’re 3.65 ton-ish. Probably more with the liquid Beastie’s consumed. Do we head back and round the bottom of the Alps? Not likely . . .
We decide to risk it. This built up ledge not meant for the likes of Beastie. A couple of temporary Bailey-Bridge like structures raise our pulse rates. For once I’m not sure we were wise. It’s obviously meant as a one way deviation, but one or two know-all locals are also unwilling to do what we should have. Cause us acute consternation.
Relief is more than a four letter word. Once back on terra firma we get a glimpse of the ridiculous reservoir ledge.
It’s dark by the time our nine hour journey comes to a close. We pull up outside the camp gates. They are closed . . . a push of a button and a “Bonsoir monsieur etc., etc.” into a microphone does the trick. We’re in.
Hello Grenoble . . . zzz