If I ever manage to get old

it would be kinda cool to live in one of those small villages.



I would have a dog, a real pow dog who would wake me up early if it’s a good touring day coming.
When I’d make my morning cup of coffee and read the newspaper, I could check the mountains from the kitchen window. My dog would be waiting me next to the door, wondering how it can take so long for me to get my gear packed.




We would have our own paths and secret spots. We would take a brake at the top and enjoy the familiar view, peace and quietness. Then we would go down, me first, sometimes stopping and waiting my dog, who would take long jumps down the slope, beating the snow with his tale, snow and smile on his face.