I should pay attention to yellow flashing caution signals.

Embrecht, an older Dutch guest, and I sit down for breakfast. Emmanuelle, our host, asks, “Would you like coffee?” We both smile and say “Americano.” I then add “last night, my toilet didn’t flush.” Embrecht then adds “And, my bathroom is flooded with water.” Yikes. Shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head “So sorry. Hundred year old house. Three septic tanks. I’ll call the plumber!”

While eating breakfast, Embrecht tells me that he isn’t walking today. “Thunderstorms begin at noon. After Fornovo, we walk through valley and mountain foothills. Not good if lightning.” I agree, but I’m going to try and beat the storm.

After Emmanuelle and Embrecht wave good-by, I’m off shortly after 8AM. Cool, but pleasant. When I top one ridge, looking one way, I see Fornovo in the distance. Looking another way, a beautiful valley opens up. Nice!

I’m cruising through the valley making progress. I’m entering the foothills when a rain begins 11ish. Having passed a bridge that was washout, I know that this area must get some serious rain and floods.

I still have 2-3 miles till my BnB in Terenzo. What to do?

I notice an older couple in their front yard gathering their garden tools. I call out and approach them. The man walks away. Another flashing yellow.

Quickly, in google translates, I type, “Could I pay you to take me to Terenzo?” She pauses, looking me over, and smiling, “Si, si.” There are a few, very few perks in being a pilgrim; however, being viewed as a harmless stranger is one of them.

She collects her car keys and backs the car out. Another flashing yellow sign. The car might have been a good car in the 1960’s. Maybe. The seats are torn. Three speed stick. But the tires seem good. And there are seatbelts and a hand grabbar.

As we drive the 2-3 miles to Terenzo, my right hand hangs onto the grab-bar, turning white. My left hand holds onto what remains of the passenger seat. Mrs. Colombo either has lunch plans or pretends she is Mrs. Mario Andretti. Power shifting on the initial straightaway, we blow past the “50” speed limit sign. Hitting a series of curves, she downshifts taking the corners as tight as she can. Finally, as we enter the foothills, all that I can say is “Please God, don’t let there be any pilgrims walking this section of the road!”

We enter Terenzo. I scan ever both sides of road looking for a BnB sign. None. Another flashing yellow sign.

We park at the small, typical Terenzo church. Although it looks abandoned, one-hundred folks probably call this place home. Flashing yellow again. I pull out my iPhone to call the listed number. No luck. Mrs. Colombo tries no luck. Getting out of the car, Mrs Colombo walks to a house and knocks. No luck. Undaunted, she walks to another home and rings the bell. A woman comes out. The two women talk. I show my screen with the name of BnB and phone number. She shakes her head. Not a good sign. An older fellow from across the street joins us to see what is happening, in the rain. He shrugs his shoulder. The universal sign “I don’t have a clue!” Another flashing yellow when your neighbors don’t have foggiest idea that there is a BnB in their neighborhood.

We jump back in the car. As we get back onto the main road, Mrs. Colombo pulls over. A car has just pulled into a driveway and a 30-ish woman is getting out. Again, the two talk, I show my iPhone screen. Same results. However, this time, she points down the road, the way we originally have come. “BnB she says.” Maybe we are in luck.

Mrs. “Mario” Colombo drives slowly. She pulls over. The Pelegrino BnB. Not the one I reserved, but do I care? We ring the bell at the gate. An older woman comes, and then a younger man, her son. Although they speak Italian back and forth, I can tell that I am welcomed. I can also tell that I’m probably only a mile from where my joy ride started. But, I’m not walking in the rainstorm today.

Before I collect my pack and hiking poles from Mrs. Colombo’s car, I try to hand her some money. As she puts both hands behind her back, “no, no,no. Omaggio. Omaggio.” It is her gift to me.

“What is your name that I can offer a prayer for you?” “Colombo. Colombo.” I prefer Mrs. “Mario” Colombo! Or, at least Mario’s mother.