The little town of Trittenheim in Germany is situated in a bend of the beautiful river Mosel. At the border is a camping ground that was totally occupied because of the great weather in this week in May. It is divided into two parts because of a bridge. Very near this bridge that leads to the main vineyards there’s a restaurant with a lovely terrace. Of course they offer white wine, the specialty of the whole area, but they also serve a lovely Weissenbier. This is a special beer because they use wheat instead of barley in the brewing process.
My wife and I were enjoying our Weissenbier on this evening. The terrace was completely full with people enjoying wine, beer or incredibly big glasses filled with ice-cream and sauce. There was small-talk in different languages and you could sense everybody was enjoying this lovely night.
All of a sudden two boys on bicycles came racing from the direction of the bridge. They were around ten years old and they seemed to be in a race. After passing us the smallest one made a fearful fall on the asphalt. The terrace became silent immediately. But he started screaming very loud and limped further. The other one threw his bike on the street and followed.
Everybody seemed to know the theory that as long as children make sounds and keep moving, they’ll be alright. Lots of times I’ve been amazed by children: they seem to be made of rubber.
So nobody came into action and pretty soon the sound of talking, eating and drinking resumed.
All eyes were on the street again when two women of around forty came running from the direction in which the boys had disappeared. They both were a bit overweight, the running was obviously not for pleasure. They disappeared near the bridge.
After a few minutes a bald-headed man of the same age ran toward the bikes, took one and spurted away in the direction of the bridge. His knees kept being bent because he was way too big for the small bicycle. He took the side-road after the terrace. The tallest boy appeared again, took the other bike and rode away from us in the direction he had run before.
After this the road was empty again and we seemed to forget the set of scenes we witnessed.
We had just ordered another beer when an ambulance appeared from the direction of the bridge.
It was not making a sound and the siren was not in use.
My wife and I started to discuss what might had happened. It all seemed a bit weird. I think there’s only one solution:
The boys were with another relative (grandpa, grandma?) on the camping ground in their camper.
The older person had a heart-attack or a stroke and the boys rushed in panic to their parents who were on a terrace a bit further from the bridge. The women ran to offer help, just like the bald man raced on the bike to the rescue. He had to take a side-road because coming from the main road you have to use a flight of steps to get to the camping ground.
The way the ambulance had passed us, meant there was not much good news for the relative. There was no hurry in transporting him or her anymore.
Or might there be another story that can be told?