Everyone was back at work today, except perhaps our friendly technicians in Arzviller working feverishly between lunch breaks and coffee to put the Plan Incline back in service. We debated with Michael when might be the best time to leave our harbour, he thought mid-day but we opted for ten, which as it turned out allowed us to wait two hours at foot of the Incline until his arrival.
We were there in time to see it working though, and with a sudden lurch which almost spilt the three boats aboard into the valley below, stop working just as suddenly.
So we waited and ate and drank coffee and waited some more, and eventually someone said it would be working again in one hour, so we collectively decided that we had time for lunch a sleep and perhaps another coffee, and once that was done, before we knew it, our hour was up and we were aboard.
Unlike those who had gone before, there were no hiccoughs mid flight for us.
Rather than risk spilling us overboard, the machine refused to budge from the outset. It wasn't until the two emergency technicians had done nothing but shrug and argue and climb over things that clearly did not appear broken, looking terribly concerned but offering no advice, that someone decided it should all work now if they hit the big green button on the control panel.
As the thing burst into life and we gently lurched upwards we could see below the upper level station, what looked like a small battalion of managers and engineers and people in suits all shrugging in unison and arguing and pointing to things that clearly did not appear broken, looking terribly concerned, and we knew that we were in safe hands.
By the time we had departed and negotiated a few kilometres of tunnel beyond the top, the clock was getting terribly close to overtime, and that will never do.
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