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Sunday |
| Hitching back
didn't go so well at first. So many stressed-looking couples in rented Jeeps and Mustangs just rolled on by in their convertibles, plenty of room in back, no need to even open a door. I was pretty hungry by this time, otherwise I wouldn't have tried hitching before 4 o'clock when the locals know not to drive because that's when tourist traffic is at its choke clueless worst on this challenging cliff-hugging winding narrow road where every trip I see the old adage proven multiple times: They'll let anybody drive. Luckily a crusty character in a beat-up truck blaring hard rock through a busted open rattling dashboard radio pulled over and I found a place for my feet astride ankle-deep pile of trash in front. He only took me so far, dropped me off at a beautiful hairpin turn next to a 1910 one-lane bridge midway up a tall steep gorge. "This is a good spot to get picked up," he assured me but I was ready to wait. It was such a sweet scene I didn't care how long. So of course the very next car stopped. |
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