Wes and I encountered many interesting sights. On a pleasant country
road between Standish and Au Gres was one example. We rounded a gentle
bend to see that the trees contained a wake of vultures. We were
concerned that we might be looking worse than how we were feeling at
the time. After a few more pedal strokes down the road, we rolled onto
the point of interest for our creepy feathery friends. A raccoon had
an unfortunate meeting with a car and had obviously lost. Curiously,
next to the expired raccoon was a buzzard who shared a similar fate as
the dearly departed, with the same result.

So to the vultures was it;

A) a moral dilemma? “Gosh that is Cousin Carl?”

2) a religious experience? “Dibs on Cousin Carl!”

III) poetic justice?

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