It is funny what you get good at. It isn't always the things you work at and practice.

We finished a couple of busy days chasing Andreas around Innsbruck and planned our way to the west in two broad sweeps taking in high mountain passes on both sides of the Inn River valley. The southern sweep would include the legendary Silvretta Hochalpenstrasse. Then, while we were doing the final packing, Jo found a message on her phone. Her mother, Clare Lobban, had  taken a stroke the previous night. Clare was 97 and her condition was serious. We got the computer back on the net, sought more information and started to consider the options.Over breakfast we made our decision. Time was short. We rode north for Munich and the nearest airport with a direct link to Sydney.

A few rainy hours later we had found a commercial hotel in the industrial hinterland between Munich and its airport, bought a cheap grip for Jo's luggage and  booked air travel forward. We waited a long vacant Sunday in a place where everything is closed and then ate a last sad breakfast before I rode Just Sue to the airport and watched Jo walk away towards the terminal with her new canvas bag.

Just Sue and I went south, back to Austria and over the Fernpass, the Hanntennjoch, Flexenpass, the Furkajoch and the mighty Silvretta. Still pressing west and south we rode through Liechttenstein, 10 k/hr under the speed limit because of the famous over-policing, and then over the Klausenpass to Andermatt in central Switzerland. By then I had the news that Clare had passed away while Jo was travelling but not much else for lack of internet access. 

But Team Elephant (-) was struggling. In Andermatt I sat up to 2:00 am doing the route planning. Research that Jo has at her fingertips took hours to re-find. Many jobs were just more difficult  with a team member missing and, most annoyingly, Just Sue just didn't step up. This single mindedness is a fault she has in common with the Elephant.

By Thursday Just Sue and I were heading east again across the Overalppass and by the end of the week we are in the far northern Italian city of Chiavanna thinking about a rest day. With a little luck and another late night we will get the planning right and somehow, almost mysteriously, our missing crew member will appear at an airport somewhere west of here in a few days time; just like magic.

It is funny what you get good at.