Back in the 70's i used to ride my 50 cc Agrati Garelli enduro bike as a kid, trough the farmland where we used to live surrounded by forrest, old farmhouses, some very old, going back to the 16th century, cold winternights, i didn't mind getting milk from my uncles farm, for following my favorite track, right along the border that was once ruled by smugglers, robbers, of all kinds, that could not appear at daylight, more or less surrounded by Germany, my route went among some abandonded lakes that were once mines, and forbidden to swim, during mooney nights, i stopped, took a break, and enjoyed the view over the water, listening to the nightbirds and ouls, and the reflection of the moon, over the water. i must have been 13 and man enough to go out in october storms,at early dark i figured through this abandoned section of the border, i got my Garelly just a few months ago, so fully took advantage of taking up this honorable task for mum during my first days of adv riding, of course the moon wasn't always there and didn't always stop at the mines, enjoying the whining of my small Italian two stroke thouroughbred sometimes more than the nightbirds, it dawned to me that even the moon wasn't there there still was the reflection of some light at the watersurface at one of the mines, hmm weird, so coming back one night i asked mum, it went silent, her face turned pale as the colour of uncles fresh milk, no explanation, you went out there? that far, to bed!! right away, not supposed to go that far from town, weeks went by, it was the last time allowed to get the milk, never understood, but years later we had already long moved away, grown up, my aunt aged, retired from farming, the pond where swimming was forbidden had never been a mine, a girl had drowned some 30 years earlier, it was the pond of white wives, where during early 13th to 17th century women abused of whichcraft where thrown into, because the water was so black up to day nobody knows how deep the pond really is. Thinking this was all crap and lonely winternight story's, i went to see my early days of my childhood riding area, just a few summers ago, on my rally tenere, saw some friends, rode to the pont, it was stil there, now overgrown, so i had to walk the last kilometer, checking it out now at daytime, the water was really inkblack, no birds just silence, hmmm.....when riding back, i stopped at some old farm that seemed to draw tourist and citypeople, to get some refreshments, not paying attention to the sign, i sat down enjoying the the summersun, the old pastures cows grazing, now the sign , Museum of the white wives, finally gave me the cold shivers i should have had some 35 years ago.