All things for a price, this is the nature of the deal. It is only the cheap things, which can be purchased with folding paper and jingling coins. Blood and karma is the true currency of the cosmos.
Recently, as in it was noted by local media, at the large tunnels at the Roof of the World, there has been a practice called metering. This is meant to control traffic along the Road. More to the point, a means of letting backed-up autos park within the tunnels themselves. This would most logically be because of a decided lack of ventilation that would allow carbon monoxcide poisoning should there be several autos parked within the tunnels.
In our little Sahel it is a given on the socially constructed weekend that traffic is going to, at times, resemble rush hour within the borders of a major city. West or east, depending upon which part of said socially constructed weekend one is on. The metering practice seems to happen more frequently-and amusingly, I might add, for us locos-on the east-bound day.
Want to weekend in the mountains? Ski? Hike? Climb? Snowboard? Snowshoe? See whichever relative? Get away from it all? Swell. There is a price to be paid. Part of that price is the other thousands of weekenders who had the same brillant idea.
A socially constructed weekend winds down, and the Road heading east looks like quite the metaphoric parking lot. Checking conditions, it's this way from about twenty miles west of the Roof of the World to the eastern edge of our little Sahel.
I cannot help but chuckle at the circumstance as I relax with some music and contemplate making a cup of tea. All those weekenders are trying oh so hard to get home, and their penance is the traffic they must endure to get home. And here I'm already snug at home.
I have already done my penance and paid my price...
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