Run a small bnb in a remote National Park and you need to expect the unexpected.
I’m just back from two weeks in Panama — hauling an embarrassingly large backpack from hostel to hotel, from the murkiness of the tropics to the clarity of the country’s highlands, and from coastal towns on both the Atlantic and Pacific edges of the country — and I thought I was returning to the quiet of a northern California winter. Time for some home maintenance, some scribbling in the journal, maybe even a chance to catch up on the blogging. But noooo.
I didn’t even get a chance to shake off the jet lag before hearing from David and son Robert. Up from the Bay to fish for steelhead, they’d found me online and were just a few hours to the south. Make those beds, stack those towels, get some muffins in the oven. Bada bing.
A short time after Dave and Rob showed up I got a call from Dawn and her daughter Jessica who were on a birthday ramble down the coast. Any rooms at the inn, they asked. Bada boom.
The vacation was barely over and I was already immersed in the machinations of muffins, morning coffee and best trails before breakfast.
After slogging through Panama I think I can handle it.