A smile came to my face as I was driving on Marshland Road recently. I couldn't help but reminisce.
It was the early '70s, and I was in my early 20s, an adventurous youth camping throughout Europe with my best friend in a VW bus. We made our way into Bulgaria.
It was a dreary dark winter day, the unsettling feeling of a desperate loneliness one might expect in a Communist bloc country. I shudder when I recall the challenge of driving, gingerly negotiating the narrow roads with no shoulders, full of potholes, tree roots jutting through the asphalt, worrying that we might damage a wheel, a rim or worse.
Thanks for the memories, Marshland Road. By the way, whom do I call when I break an axle?
Hilton Head Island