December 24, 2010 - a race to the sea The scoreboard on the motorway, warns: "Caution: Fossano flooding." Ale, here we go again, it rains two days and the mayhem happens. This morning, the wipers work, ma la velocità 2 è sufficiente.. Un briciolo di fiducia lo coltivo lo stesso: qui sembra venir giù un po' meno che a Carmagnola. In più, fino a ieri, le previsioni meteo lasciavano un po' di speranza: un miglioramento nel pomeriggio, nuvole ma senza goccia nel pomeriggio sul Piemonte meridionale e sulla Liguria. Quella minima parte razionale di me, rappresentata con orgoglio e disperata caparbietà dal neurone, non s'illude: è pioggia troppo regolare, continua, monotona, per lasciar presagire un cambiamento. Sul sedile passeggero ho tutto quel che serve per proteggermi, dalla giacca ai pantaloni impermeabili, ai guanti, persino il cappellino con visiera per tenere asciutti gli occhiali. Ho reclutato anche le scarpe in goretex, and patience if they are the ones from the path, which certainly will not enjoy a long march on the asphalt. Patience, my shoes a bit better 'defeat, that my feet wet all day.
To be honest, today I had to stay in office even in the morning. Instead, just after 7 am, are Ceva, now in the usual place near the station. It 's still dark, but already some shady characters around it with a newspaper under his arm, barely sheltered by an umbrella usually too small or slanting. Two elderly people chatting on the corner of a building, someone goes for a walk a little big dog visibly thrilled to have been torn from the warm bed. The drops form long streams on the windshield. I dressed up cobbling better in the narrow space of the passenger compartment backpack last look: shorts, shirt, jacket and cap parts, sealed in a plastic bag, two bars, a half carton of crunchy almonds and a fruit juice, pennies, phone, camera. And thermal fabric, which you never know. Alas, it's time to go. Opel
Abandonment in the square still dark and completely deserted, so I doubt arises: who is not here today to remove me? Bah ... Let's do some 'what they want. I throw in my stomach the last thing I taste hot for a while ', a cappuccino at a nearby bar. Disconcerting already early in the morning, a swarm of patrons crowded around a machine gambling ... And to hear them talk about playing a hundred euro, as if nothing had happened! Last shelter of the gazebo, I hold the straps of the backpack. The puddles reflect deformed, the street lights. Let's go.
Through the square, a few hundred yards to the imposing brick railway bridge. The Tanaro flowing gray and impetuous, foam and curls against the stone sides of his bed. In the booth of a workshop, already lit, an elderly man wearing blue overalls, lisa, mechanical, and smoking a cigar. "Paroldo, 8 km," reads the sign. The first ideal, mid-term. The journey will be long, to Genoa. The road already hangs between the last houses of Ceva, moving only the tractor with the shovel for the snow. Snow today? Mah City lights fade behind, but the sky is already a bit 'clearer, to my left, some buildings still clinging to the mountain, to my right fields and woods. Just beyond, the valley narrows and the road runs between the wall of earth and sand from the river and a tortuous course and the furious current. Everywhere, from the wall, sprouting small waterfalls and small streams that create and dig furrows where the water runs in the street and the street. It amazes me to see, here and there, waterfalls of ice cold today, but the thermometer is above zero. I try a few pictures, knowing that soon, the camera s'ammutinerà; awake so curiosity of a pair of motorists, amazed to see a human being stop along a street in a valley lost and lonely, dripping with rain. Water, water flowing everywhere, from the sky, from the roots of trees, canals, along the branches and trunks. The climb is steady, very sweet, just mentioned a few corners, then the valley opens. First trace of human presence, the fraction of Bovine. My eyes follow the truck overtakes me, I see a zig zag track, which I sense that I wait two turns.
slip soles, from time to time. The asphalt is covered with a layer of snow barely hinted at almost dissolved. In fact, if I look up, the hills betray traces of snow, who knows if the night before or even earlier. The land is swollen, giving the idea of \u200b\u200bbeing a real quagmire. The grass at the roadside is crushed and dragged by the force of the water. Luckily, the rain continues to be sweet, firm. The sky is gray, swollen. The only faint hope is that, on the Riviera, the situation is a bit 'better, but I'll get only between several hours.
layer of snow, as you advance, you more often. Wet snow first, then more substantial. The few cars that pass me and raise it on the catapult, which is good shoes and pants are waterproof, but water is still a gap to slip from the instep. And so, less than an hour after the start, I find myself already with his feet wet. And in the cold.
certainly can not say now that the day is bright ... I reach the first houses of Paroldo. Here at will clean the street did not think just anyone, I run in the tracks left by those few who dare to venture up here today. A labrador, felted humidity, barking greets me from behind a network. The beautiful town square is deserted, but I see light and movement into an office. Four jumps and is still solitude, a couple of miles and I should reach the high road of Langa. I see already in the distance the track. The hill is white, snow and clouds appear white embroidered mantle from uncluttered lines of the rows of vines.
Gain laboriously crossing, jumping in the snow. Crossing the gaze of a pair of terrified motorists, wrapped in their boxes, dealing with a vehicle that is more or less where he likes ... Fortunately, the high road is in better condition. Slimy, yes, but cleared of snow. It dominates the landscape almost spooky. Every time I throw the eye to the pools, hoping to see a stretch of still water to signal the end of the rain, but alas, none of this. Every drop raises for a moment a tiny fountain and then draw a small circle which expands. Fortunately, feet apart, my armor protects me well. The important thing is not to stop for any reason.
Wonderful solitude. I've lost track of time, could be any time any day. Not a sound, nor the cry of an animal, not a breath of wind. It is not cold. The Langhe and fork for Sale Sale San Giovanni, I see the roof down, the mist that mingles with the smoke of the chimneys. Arbi, an old lady slippers, no socks, dark and worn with a sweater over her shoulders, sweeping away the snow. The moisture goes back walls of houses. The wind generator, as camouflage, gray against the gray sky, motionless, and the slight slope towards Montezemolo. The two tiny shops, a bakery and haberdashery, are in feverish activity, with the foggy windows that invite the warm buckets full of pieces of firewood traveling by force of arms towards the houses. We are at 750 m, more or less, I fear a little 'next long descent.
the wooden door of the beautiful, and unfortunately neglected castle di Montezemolo, is a hanging Christmas lights, sad and very unfortunate. The only sign of life in a place that gives the sense of abandonment. The gas station and the roundabout, which teem with bikers the weather gets extreme, are now deserted. Entrance to the bridge along the road that goes down to thousandths, this time, however, rather than slip into the gallery, choose the way of street, not a pun, but the name of a village of Roccavignale. Beautiful and secluded, the road slips in through a dense forest, past a few homes and shot back up the mountain, one curve after another, to check the other side, a lot of higher output gallery. Half stick of crispy crunch, as I overlooking a breathtaking view of hills and whitewashed flakes here and there, hidden by clouds. A cold slap in the face as soon as the road turns over the ridge of the mountain, you go down the houses of the village and the church built on a foundation of rock. They seem timeless places, cars parked on the street and courtyards are a striking contrast. About cars, judging from the thick white blanket on roofs and hoods, I would say that it snowed here too not bad.
regained the road that goes down to Millesimo Montezemolo, still troubled by the ongoing work and the alternating one-way. A look at the streets that come off on the right, go down into the valley, passing under the imposing viaduct highway and get lost somewhere. Sooner or later, I have to leave in exploration, even by bike, in a season and maybe a bit 'less repulsive. A Millesimo, traffic is already more chaotic, less evil that there is a bit 'of pavement, shabby but adequate. In the center of the country, for a change, there is a market, but possible that there is a market every time I step in here? It 's a stable market? Luckily for me, although now eleven, there is very few people around. Those few are loaded with bags: packages and parcels, but most groceries. In fact, very tempting aromas mingle in the air. A look at the Banquet of myself, but there is nothing interesting, have not yet invented, the banquet or Montura La Sportiva ... I do not stop even the inviting window of the bakery. Step further, next to the footbridge over Bormida, near the castle, and then to turn left, towards Carcare. The road here rises again for a couple of miles I know that I suffer ... Reaccustom the hocks of the hill after a long, arduous descent is decided. I'm trying, slowly, I fight against the wind that does not There, the large curve, the gas station, the pylons of the motorway bridge, gray on gray of the day. The temptation is strong to put me to walk, but I must not give way. The peak in the locality Montecala, is very close. Sooner or later they will come here by bike, exploring the back streets that come off the busy main today, you'd better keep going the way note, as the means of transport available to me is not so rapid. I take advantage of the descent, sweet sweet, for a phone call in the office, which already suddenly m'è reminded me somewhere I have another life. It 's okay, fine.
The rain continues, undeterred. Even here, a stream rushing down the road. Lidora village, at dell'autogrill motorway, which runs right over my head here in prison, is a continuum of houses, warehouses, shopping centers, until the roundabout. Right for me in the direction of Altar. Hunger begins to be felt, the howls of empty tummy, you will hear even on the Riviera: a little 'patience, four or five miles and I will be in Altar, where I expected to be a bit', a refreshing stop. Go up the avenue, past the junction of the cemetery, along the railroad. In view of the highway, I'm already here. I am more than a car, an old Opel Kadett white: it stops a little more forward, with the four arrows in the middle of the lane and then engage, very slow, the back. Moves back a bit ', lowers the window. I continue my run, the next step, without even turning his eyes: one that does a number like that not everything must be square ... He starts, he goes. Mah The world is beautiful because it is diverse. But my only thought now is to put something warm in the tummy. Finally, the junction to Altar: the avenue of plane trees, the military cemetery with its many crosses all the same, the huge site area, with old stone and brick building that, in his day, had to be beautiful. Now it's just a sad heap of ruins, barriers, signs of prohibition and work vehicles.
Raggiungo il bar proprio di fronte al bivio che dovrò imboccare. Un the bollente ed un pezzo di pizza rossa. Devo per forza sedermi al tavolino: ferma in piedi, al chiuso, dopo uno sforzo del genere, mi sento subito girare la testa e vedo tutto blu. Me la prendo comoda, dieci minuti di quiete, mentre un televisore sbraita i soliti servizi insulsi a tema natalizio: mi dà sui nervi all'istante. Non sarò mai abbastanza soddisfatta di aver bandito, ormai da anni, l'infernale apparecchio da casa mia. Alle mie spalle, s'infiamma una partita a carte. A malincuore, finisco il the e rendo la tazza alla gentilissima barista; tappa in bagno e poi... Via, si torna sotto la pioggia. I primi istanti sono terribili: gli abiti, comunque bagnati, stuck to my skin shivers, teeth chattering. Mamma mia ...
I've been brooding on for a while 'before coming here: he came straight down on the Riviera or try your luck? For some time I found peering map, a road that, from the village of Cairo Montenotte, allows direct access Albisola. And 'obviously longer than the direct route Cadibona - Savona, but it must be beautiful and evocative. My only fear is to stay for longer periods away from the sea, on a day like today where the temperature, though not ice, not at all comfortable. In addition, it is a way unknown ... The sign "Montenotte, though, I handle any hesitation. Come on, let's try. Starting over uphill, along a pretty well-paved road and almost no traffic, slowly, the effort of the ascent warms me up a bit 'muscles. With the small playground, I am leaving behind even Altar. The road runs in a bell'alternarsi of dense forests and meadows swell of water here and there things get tight, winding curves drawn, then come back and spread, between short climbs and dry stretches slightly downhill. The climb takes precedence, however. The forest refers to the rhythmic sound of the drops of water which accumulated on the branches, swoop down in large pools already. A couple of beautiful villas: "Via San Bartolomeo Bosco," I read the elegant ceramic plaques bearing the house number. Perfect, now I'm on the right path. I reach a crossroads I did not expect: it is the junction with the road that comes from and goes to Ferrania Pontinvrea. Even here, there we are. I accompany the red and white marks of the High street, so many that just can not be wrong. Sounds strange that the Ligurian Alta Via dei Monti is the same for a long stretch, with a paved road. To my right in the distance you can see the sea, just guessed on a day so dark, where the color of the water almost does not disengage from the clouds. In fact, I sense the sea because of the two chimneys of Vado Ligure, certainly not to my eye of lynx. A hundred yards ahead of me, across the street, walking down a shady figure. Way too, here, the climb is a bit 'too long and steep because I am stubborn to run. The road is still long. According to my calculations, I had traveled about 45 km Altar, here are 50 more or less. Better to save your strength! However, I undertake a march in the quickest possible, crunching on a mouthful of a finger. As I approach, the shady characters in reality turns out to be a sinister figure, a woman indefinable age, buried in the jacket, hat and scarf, but the young voice. However, the tough girl! She, too, here, alone, walking in the rain without an umbrella ...
My race, a little 'running a little' race goes on in an environment and for a time that I can not define. All around, thick forest and silence, only the monotonous noise of the rain, branches and trunks and glossy blacks of rain, which rents and so equal, to secure them, give the impression of a hallucination, seem to move, weave, lean towards the road. There is no soul, no human or animal around here. It 's wonderful, but I confess that a little' salt of concern: where is this blessed country? A curve, another curve, and some huge trees, the bark smooth, grown with branches reaching to the sea, in the direction of the wind, which fortunately today, at least he saves me. If only I had a waterproof camera! They are wonderful, these natural monuments. It 's all beautiful around here, despite the rain.
will be a trivial thought my own, but I can not help but, again, to review and replay certain scenes, certain phone calls, some verbal boxing matches - only verbal, although sometimes I armor infuse more quiet - with some condominiums, so to speak, turbulent. An acquaintance, only a few days ago, ruled: "Some people awake in the morning and again before opening his eyes, he wonders: how can I now break the c. .. and to whom?". Here, in my capacity as administrator sometimes ominous condominium, I can only express my consent. I think by posting here, and almost with a kind of compassion per certi individui che non fanno altro che masticare nervoso e vomitare veleno. Se di fronte a simili episodi riesco a restare più o meno insensibile, è solo perché nella mia cassaforte conservo giornate come oggi, quelle che per me davvero rendono la vita meravigliosa. Le scarpe, lo zaino, le gambe in spalla, non serve altro, è molto semplice la mia ricetta per la felicità. Tutto il resto, arrabbiature, diverbi, guai materiali, conteranno ben poco, finché avrò le gambe buone per rifugiarmi quassù.
Toh... Case. Vuoi vedere che ci sono? Oltre una curva, tra il fitto dei rami, s'intravedono sagome di case. Troppe, per non essere finalmente l'abitato di Montenotte. Case, luci natalizie, qualche camino smoking, here and there. Now, if I happen to view a human being, I will ask on the way to enlightenment Albisola. Yeah, you said nothing, a human being ... This is a ghost town, there is nobody on the street. And even in the gardens, on balconies, windows. Nothing and no one moves. The shutters closed, doors locked and protected from splashing on the street with plastic plates. Perhaps Montenottesi are highly confidential ... I reach a junction with a wide road, which branches off to the right. The signs indicate, there, Savona and Sanctuary. Uhm. And now? I remember that on Googlemaps, the way forward was named "San Bartolomeo del Bosco" almost to the coast. But you can not keep it that way same name if there is an intersection here and if I'm walking the path that continues as the main road. That intersection is just ahead? Damn me and my idiosyncrasies for road maps. Shooting straight, the road tends to fall, it seems, in the strongest terms. If at least there was a plaque with the name of the street. Nah, do not talk. I go out of town, continue for a few hundred meters, but the question haunts me: no, I do not think here of mica is well ... Risk going to end up Pontinvrea and then having to really go around the world to reach the sea. Better to go back: patience, the worse I'm going to end up in Savona. Date back at a good pace to the junction in the village and take the left path. Even here, the plates with the street name, not even the shadow. Just a nice big dog fawn, with clear traces of ancestors labrador, runs towards me with a friendly air: a pity not to ask him ... I climb at a brisk pace, along a road anonymous deserted. Water and more water, threatening warnings of possible flooding. Flood, here? A hairpin, a trail sign pole next to a path that branches off from here. "The Meugge" shows. Dirt road, on the one hand, street asphalt, on the other. So that's the place where it will land? Boh. Are at the mercy of events and bitumen. Beyond the bend, the road levels and allows me to race again. Then the slope, once and for all, is reversed. You go down to the sea: there he was, davanti a me, sembra così vicino, e non ho nemmeno idea di quanto tempo ancora impiegherò a raggiungerlo...
La strada, bella, ampia e con buon asfalto, scende dolce verso la riviera. Da quassù, la vista spazia su morbidi rilievi di bosco, ornati qua e là da solitari sbuffi di camini. Tentar di intuire la direzione della mia via è impresa ardua. Lascio andar le gambe, approfittando della forza di gravità che qui mi aiuta; conviene che acceleri un po', altrimenti il freddo mi si aggrappa alle ossa. 16, se non ricordo male, il numero che ho letto sulla prima palina oltre il bivio, a Montenotte. Immagino significhi 16 km da qui al mare, più o meno. 15, 14, pian piano le paline scorrono e mi avvicinano alla riviera, to the huge cargo ship that I can see from up here, the houses spread out to range in what appears to the mouth of a valley. However, the chimneys ... They seem a bit 'too close. If you really go this way you come out Albisola, the smokestacks of Vado should be more distant. Mah now I'm here, I have no alternative but to descend. The rain did not really want to learn to take a respite, at times even strengthen it. Cutting curves, like the experienced marathon runners, it is true, the drop-down helps, but the race is not like the bike ... The legs have the same struggle, we must still put one foot before the other. Indeed, on one hand you save a bit 'hard work, the other part is spent in dolore ai muscoli. Poche auto, sia verso valle che verso monte; un cagnotto nero, di pura razza indefinibile, sfugge al giardino di una casa in ristrutturazione e si lancia all'inseguimento: mi giro, gli tendo la mano, ma il quattrozampe si tiene a rispettosa distanza. M'inveisce contro a lungo, finché il suo latrare si spegne oltre la curva.
Una discesa che sembra infinita: anche qui, dovrei portare le mie ruote, prima o poi. In salita, però, prima. Scorgo da lontano un cartello: non riesco a leggere, ma reca un nome lungo... Pian piano le letterone bianche prendono forma dallo sfondo azzurro. "San Bartolomeo del Bosco". Ma allora... Vuoi vedere che sono sulla strada giusta? Già, pia illusione: ancora non so, lo 'll find out tomorrow scrutinizing the map, which around here is a maze of streets that lead all the same name, "Via San Bartolomeo del Bosco" in fact. Damn, 'sti Ligurian understand to be stingy, but come to recycle the same name for more roads ... Even Scrooge could de'Paperoni much!
The descent leads me towards the railway bridge, huge, massive, brick. We just below step: try a photo, but the machine has already decided that when too much is too much. The goal remains stubbornly closed in itself. Amen ... Get along. From here on, goodbye peace. We return to civilization, or at least its first layers, the most daring construction, trapped in the bank del torrente ed il pendio della montagna. Da qui, la strada costeggia un impetuoso corso d'acqua. Il nome che leggo su un cartello – ora che non mi servono più, vedo cartelli dappertutto – confonde le mie già esigue nozioni della geografia del luogo... Il Letimbro non è il torrente che passa a Savona, accanto al Tribunale? Ma allora sto andando a Savona o ad Albisola? In effetti, Santuario dovrebbe essere una frazione di Savona, o comunque nei paraggi... Osservo questi edifici con l'occhio ormai deforme del mestiere. Cavoli: io vado matta a star dietro a tutte le norme, certificazioni di impianti elettrici, termici e chi più ne ha più ne metta, certificazioni energetiche, consumi, impermeabilizzazioni... E qui vedo grovigli cable and pipe routes that follow the most imaginative, humidity you eat the walls and plaster, unsafe elements. For goodness sake, is not that these phenomena of "anomaly" can be observed only here, God forbid, is that today I can take the time to throw in the eye. Moreover, the natives were extremely pragmatic solutions to all problems. An example? A good sign in a balcony, "No parking. Fall rubble." In other words: I'm warning you, here goes all to the dogs. And if he falls a log on the body, or on the head, you have no right to complain ... What then, if I'm being honest, is what most reflects my inner thoughts. The roar
until the arrival of the stream with me, almost by surprise, its location in the Sanctuary. The shrine is there, nothing to say, clearly visible. I should be there already, in these parts, but many, many years ago, and certainly not on foot. I do not remember anything. Archbishop, however, a providential fountain: the last, and only, time of day when I was drunk at the bar. I did not reach the bottle, so I know that, in this climate, it is an overkill. True, you should drink still and always, but will make it tonight at dinner.
From Sanctuary, the road to the sea is still long. The village is now a continuous, marked by huge and horrible chapels of the Stations of the Cross: damn, at least I knew how many stations ... I have a vague idea of \u200b\u200bwhat is lacking in the Riviera. In Savona, I would say at this point. If there was a crossroads for Albisola, somewhere, it seems obvious now that i played.
An elderly out of a small garden, a piece of land snatched from the street and the river, with a basket full of eggs, and are asking me, do with fun, a word I do not understand, but which, judging by the tone , not to be admired. Moreover, it is known that the Ligurian are a bit 'caustic. The light of day, that little dim and I was granted, slowly goes away. The headlights of the cars are becoming more defined. At dusk, arriving in Savona. It seems clear by now that I can not reach Matteo in Genoa for the closing hours of the store: they are the past four and a half, I have yet to cross Savona. If I were Baldini. I have already warned, in fact. Never mind: the program is that both will go to my house tonight, ergo, wretched me raccatterà along the Aurelia. "I can leave at seven," he says. So, I know I will jump through hoops and at least start at six and a half. "But if you need anything, call, to give up everything and come." I tear a smile, heart of gold ... Do not call me even if moribund Knock down the side of the road: it is Christmas Eve, the store will certainly be taken by storm, will cause a net loss of huge proportions!
La mia strada va a confluire con quella che scende a Savona dal Cadibona. Mi ritrovo proprio là dove non avrei voluto passare. Il caos totale ed assoluto. Traffico, gas di scarico, luci abbacinanti, gente, troppa gente, ombrelli borse semafori voci petardi e schiamazzi. Eccomi precipitata al fondo dell'inferno, ancor più insofferente per la stanchezza che si fa sentire. Stanchezza, uhm... In realtà, noto con piacere che mi sento meno stanca oggi, rispetto ad altre volte in cui, proprio qui, sono arrivata per la via più breve. O sarà solo la voglia di levarmi da qui il prima possibile. Corro lungo la pista ciclabile; alla mia sinistra, si allarga il letto del corso d'acqua, che qui sembra quasi vuoto e, al di là, sorgono hideous tenements, one worse than the other, with the forest of antennas and satellite dishes to mo 'icing on a cake already creepy. More daring than ever, I challenge the red traffic lights and flames in the eyes of motorists. Slalom among strollers and packs of pedestrians, only with the desire to see them all disappear, from first to last. Apart from those who walked the maggots, of course, for them, I gladly make an exception.
cross the bridge, following the direction of Genoa. Probably, there is an easier way to cut off the city, but the valley to find. The fortress, the port, by Gian that you're out. E 'already dark when I reach the fountain, under the lighthouse. Short stop and go, delirium is behind, I run along the sea towards Albissola. Barely a breath of wind, the sea almost calm, the foam that appears at this time a faint blue. And it rains again. Go through the first tunnel and continue along the Promenade des Artists, now almost deserted, left, flashing lights, music, lit shop windows, restaurants that are preparing the work on the right, a black expanse. Rather than seeing, the sea is heard, in the smell and sound of the waves. The legs are, in fact, a bit 'stiff. A estimates, Savona I could have reached the mark of 70 km, it is also normal. To avoid the Aurelia, in the historical center of the country. "Scion! Scion, stop!" A shriek behind me I turn around and find botolino of being chased by a white mottled, a Jack Russell puppy four months, I said the proud young lady, who is also a leash paciosissimo Bulldog. The little one is a real devil: I bite your index finger in furious attempt to wrest away the glove, with an unexpected strength in the jaws, not happy, literally splashes on top of the patient companion on all fours, then returns to attack the finger. With difficulty I get rid of the pleasant setback and resume the march in the direction of Celle. A stretch of Aurelia completely dark, and here, yes, I feel the lack of a head torch. It 'true, just continue along the railing, but I remember that often the sidewalk of the steps or depressions ... It uses the light beam of the headlights that come behind me to peer as far as possible in front of me, but still run on the eggs. The cars are in the opposite direction I dazzle and blind me completely. Want to see a moment to another I will miss the earth beneath your feet? In a few short sections, I resign myself to walk with caution and holding his hand leaning against the railing in order to limit damage. But what is missing in cells? The sea beating against the rocks, at some point with a thud. Too bad they can not stop to observe, what little legs still manage to write, I have to use that non-stop, otherwise they are breaded. Beyond the slope, to the left, the road bends to finally Cells. I'm going see the light, even though a glance at the beloved shop window Olmo; here should pay attention to Pellacchia. Even in Celle, as well as the narrow, earning a walk and then the old center of town. Panzuto a character, not just in the prime of his years behind me mutters, "raise it, those legs, you have to raise them." Of course, do not waste breath to answer him but rather, thinking, genie, to raise the backside off the couch more often, judging by the tonnage. Once again, away from the madding crowd, a short stretch of Aurelia in the dark, then the lights of the highway and walk down the short trated below, the sea, equipped with benches and lampposts. It 's wonderful here. The fatigue is felt, but I was almost sorry to hear that it's almost over. I do not know what time it is, I do not want to pull the phone from his pocket and the bag of which I wrapped in plastic to protect it from water, but I do not miss much at seven. Varanasi: The widening between the supermarket and the port, the stock of clothing, the walk a little 'more crowded. Somewhere here, you should be able to take the old railway, now the bike path and pedestrian: shame on me if I remember where ... I scan the waterfront, but I do not see anything like that. Yet I'm sure ... I continue again and again, I am sure that the runway was blessed here, but I can not figure out where. Boh, is fatigue. Trill of the phone: Matteo has announced that has just left the store, in advance, as I imagined. "I'm almost at the exit of Varazze - I can tell - I continue along the Aurelia prejudice." "Note that this is a dangerous stretch, I can not stop," he warns. In fact, it's true: I'll be gone by here a thousand times, but still I did not put much focus on the sequence of places. Must be the stretch of Plans Invrea, where I find myself running along the main road without even a stretch of sidewalk. True that I have on the backpack that is reflective on the legs, but I have lights, better not risk it. It would be a shame to be ironed after all this effort, without even having kicked in the stomach a hearty dinner. I'll be back on my steps: Matteo wait on the seafront in Varazze, walking a little 'back and forth to loosen the legs. So do I, four or five times up and down the same stretch of a few hundred meters away, watching the sea for a while '. I'd like to reach the pier, but then risk passes that Matthew and I do not see. Nine grades, marks a thermometer: temperature pleasant, it were not for the wet clothes that just can not keep warm, not even wanting to. The lights of the coast can be seen from afar, from both sides.
At half past seven, I find myself happy and satisfied on the seat of the van, in my state of mind of absolute grace that usually follows this kind of evidence. The most beautiful eve Christmas possible, 85 km, more or less: no less tiring and nerve of twenty or more days of continuous work in store for the poor Matthew. He has his own, fortunately, a very quiet and balanced character, which can give due weight to things, I think, instead, a dose so obstinate and prolonged contact with many copies of the human race would lead me to give of crazy in about a week, maybe sooner. We return to Ceva, recovering, Opel, Matthew left the truck there and moved on my four-wheel trusts. Ceva will return tomorrow morning to bike, I'm afraid the same under a flood: will return to Genoa in time to cook the Christmas dinner, there could be, for him, more power effective. As for me, no lunches or banquets. What is certain, like it or not the legs, is that I'm going to run.
► 23/01 - San Marino - Marathon Christmas 2010 (recovery) 
I controlli facilmente intuibili e una vasta gamma di personalizzazioni rendono Worms: Battle Islands uno dei giochi più divertenti di questo periodo. Questo gioco di azione e di strategia a turni per PSP è stato sviluppato dalla Team 17 e prodotto dalla SCEA. Questo videogioco è uscito nei negozi a fine novembre. 
INVERNALISSIMA OF NAME AND DONE? 
The Michael Jackson Experience is a game based on the performance of the legendary king of pop. This rhythm music game for PSP was created by Ubisoft and was released in stores last November. 
Tom Clancy's Ghost Recon Predator is the new tactical shooter game created by Ubisoft for the PSP and set in the jungles of Sri Lanka. 
Split / Second is definitely a very fun game, although perhaps the PSP version is not the best one. 
Monster Jam: Path of Destruction contains all the authenticity, personality and the fun of the 30 'monsters' official Monster Jam that will do battle with no holds barred. This racing game for PSP was created by Activision and was released in stores in recent days. 
Tourism, Gastronomy & road racing for the weekend of 14 cm during the 14th edition of the San Martino stroke in Controguerra: an event has become a "classic" more than, say organizers, 2,000 members! 
Ys: The Oath in Felghana è il remake del terzo gioco della serie YS. Si tratta di un gioco di ruolo per PSP sviluppato dalla Falcom e prodotto dalla Xseed Games. 
Qui sopra vi abbiamo mostrato un'immagine di Ys: The Oath in Felghana, mentre qui sotto vi facciamo vedere il video con il trailer di questo gioco per PSP: 
