Flexibility. That’s what it’s all about isn’t it? Home on wheels, so what’s the big problem?
With one eye on the road ahead and the other three on the forecasts to where we intend to be in a couple of days time, we make a decision. Intentions of a three nighter at Annecy, backed up with a Mt Blanc trip are shelved. Thunderstorms and snow are on their way. It’s a no brainer.
Aiming for another long haul day we stop off at Cascade des Tufs, south east of Arbois. It’s a stunning pic-nic spot frequented by Louis Pasteur and his family. We slip into snap-happy mode. Why take one when fifty will do. With days (and minds) blurring into one, they’ll bring our foggy future into focus.
Pity we forgot the sarnies. We could do with them. Italy still seems a long way away. We’re our own worse enemies steering clear of the motorways. Pat and Missy have kept us on the not so straight and not so narrow – so far . . .
Missy guides us lovingly up and through the Haut Jura mountains. Pat riding as shotgun. Hairpin bendingly beautiful views. First left then right, tempt the driver to divert his concentration. The on board Beastie “UP” button comes into play. A gizmo of a turbo booster that gives him a kick up the backside whenever he gets out of breath on some of the sharper inclines and curves. We all catch our breath at St Claud. It’s a big, big town. A crazy canyon that should house no more than pretty little hill side abodes. A raging river deep below. Instead, high rise blocks perch high up, precipitously either side. Massive Jenga towers casting their shadows. Blotting out what’s left of the daylight.
We’re aiming for a shadowy one nighter at Villard St Sauveur close by. Rolling to a stop alongside the Accueil, Beastie is being bombarded. A sub-sonic low base rhythm reverberates his innards. Our ribs feel the tickle too. The local rave overflows. It’s Friday evening. We DON’T feel like dancing. The German frau assures us it’ll be over soon. It is, but not soon enough. We’re cream crackered.
All that’s left to keep us awake is the . . . . . zzzzz
Well distant travellers, seems you crammed so much into the nine days. Who are all these painters, are they mentioned in the checker trade books. Beastie seems to search out the poor weather, have you reprogrammed his good weather setting and who is that you lady with her hand on you knee. Stay safe
That was no lady, that was my wife !