There is no cheerful clatter of pans, or old Beatles records spinning in the living room. No warm cinnamon smell fills the air – only burnt coffee. For a moment, I'm half expecting Papa to swoop ... [+]

For the first few miles, the excursion was painted in bitter silence. Harrison’s socks were wet and his knee ached. The couple hiked, sucking wet air, dispelling vapors; neither mentioning a plan ... [+]