American Army And Eczema

Morenic Trail - Trail Oulx

"Slow down ... ... Brake Warning! Slow down ... do not stop ...". If the car had included the ejection seat, I am sure that poor George would have already used. I know, there are countless circumstances in which bear is undertaking a martyr: one is beside me in the car on the passenger seat. I can not help it: if the wheel is not securely in my hands, I fear, as far as I can strive to pretend nothing has happened, I can not avoid stepping on the brake pedal furiously on a non-existent, or to throw your hands forward to each braking that I can see an end disastrously against the rear of the car in front. Early in the morning, then, is the worst time because, for whatever strange reason, is part of the day they are more sensitive to car sickness. Yet I decided I should upgrade from Sestriere to reach Oulx. If you think road atlas, which is, of course, a representation in plan, I abhor the idea of \u200b\u200bdescribing a long semi-circular path to move from one place to another; instinctively prefer more or less straight line, you know is the shortest. Even if I know, rationally, that this straight line becomes the electrocardiogram of a heart in fibrillation, as you must climb over the mountains.

So my ordeal began in Virle at 5.45, when I come punctually appointment with my pops of fatigue, and ends on a large square of Oulx, for a parking lot, almost a couple of hours later, aided by the fact that, stunned by the nausea, I realized that our path had already reached and exceeded Oulx Sauze, several curves higher. George was convinced that the departure was there ... And I was not aware of where I was and why.
We arrived too early, it's seven and a half, more or less. Start of the race scheduled for nine o'clock. We pick up their race number, complete with a black t-shirt technique. The cold is biting: there are ten degrees ... I realize that only now, alas, it really began in the fall. The chimneys are smoking, you feel the scent of wood. The country is still asleep, immobile, with difficulty, discovered a bar per riscaldarci un po' le ossa ed il pancino con una cioccolata calda. Pancino in sofferenza: smaltisce i postumi del travagliatissimo viaggio. E dire che Giorgio, almeno in mia presenza, è un pilota prudente e delicatissimo, non certo uno di quei novelli Schumacher che prendono le curve su due ruote. Ma io ormai convivo da sempre con il mal d'auto. Me l'ha offerta, sant'uomo, la guida: ma non mi sentirei mai di accettare. Sarei capace di tramutare la sua bella auto, lunga ed elegante, in una Smart, picchia di qua, sbatti di là.

Dal bar, ci trasferiamo poi in auto, ad osservare la piazza che si anima di corridori. La temperatura è glaciale, soprattutto per i miei pantaloncini cortissimi; complimenti Gian, proprio una scelta oculata ed intelligente... Sulle cime, tracce della prima spruzzata di neve. Il sole lambisce appena i prati lassù in alto; qui, a fondovalle, saremo in ombra ed al gelo ancora a lungo. Un trail da 45 km e poco più di 2.000 m di dislivello: in assoluto, è impegnativo... Il fatto è che noi, reduci dal trauma del Tor des Geants, camminiamo ancora, a distanza di una settimana, su una soffice passerella di nuvole; ci sentiamo più o meno onnipotenti... Non è disprezzo, supponenza, presunzione, ci mancherebbe altro, non sarei qui. Ma la sensazione spontanea, al confronto, è quella di avere davanti, oggi, una breve camminata: 45 km, distanza da otto, nove ore di marcia, più o meno. Ed a quota ragionevole, intorno ai duemila metri al massimo, più o meno. Faticherò eccome, questo è fuor di dubbio; però, quel che conta è l'atteggiamento: se parto sapendo di dover percorrere "solo" 45 km, parto tranquilla e rilassata.

Il popolo dei corridori, tra cui ho già individuato e salutato un buon numero di volti noti, sciama verso il parco, accanto al parcheggio. A malincuore, decido che è ora di abbandonare il calduccio dell'abitacolo: più o meno, è come se mi trasferissi nel frigorifero... Giorgio ed io andiamo a caccia dell'unico angolino di sole nei paraggi; scrutiamo intensamente la linea che spezza il sole dall'ombra, quasi a volerla spostare, con il nostro sguardo, più in là, verso l'area departure. There is no way the sun will take as long as necessary. I look around shocked: many colleagues trotting in short sleeves, some even in his undershirt. I am wrapped up in Goretex jacket and freeze ...

the call of the organizers, we move in mass on the lawn of the park, where he was placed inflatable arch. A dive to the heart of the audio from the speakers, run by none other than the notes of the soundtrack of Tor des GEANTS. We three, today, veterans of the beautiful Aosta hard work: in addition to George and myself, there is also Frank King, who'll have the thankless task of broomstick. We have to even mention the honor of the Journal: I know, it is my naivety, but I can not refrain from making the wheel of a peacock ... In the background there are sweaty, the right to tirarcela a bit '!

kind gift for the girls: we start with ten minutes ahead of boys. Damn, not that I will be really happy. Where is it now a wide-ass chase to find the strength to go on? I'll have my courage alone, as long as their male colleagues I have met and exceeded. Patience, after all it wont be long. Here we go with no frills, we are left to run before leaving the park, then in the cobbled streets of Oulx, under the eyes of some elderly puzzled out to shop, and the policeman forced against his will, to be nursed in a herd of overgrown babies. After all this is that we are ...

I call the bone, muscoletti, the various joints. It seems that all answer the call, but in any case, already the first steps, it is clear that the fatigue of last week still leaves its mark. The heart of yours, so start with a cold, goes mad. I find myself now in the queue of the group: toh, that strange case ... Just behind the houses in the country, we take a path that presents itself now with a nice ramp. Run, do not talk about either: a colleague test, but after a few steps waiver. It 'a false alarm, just beyond, the slope decreases, the path turns into a long saliscendi, una traccia che lascia appena il posto per appoggiare il piede, tra erba, rovi ed alberi. Una traversata nel sottobosco che le mie compagne di corsa prendono con gran vitalità: bastano pochi minuti, perché io non le veda più. Ci provo, a correre, ma siamo alle solite; a me non è mai piaciuto correre su qualcosa che non sia asfalto. Posso ancora tollerare le strade sterrate, ma qui, con una superficie di appoggio così limitata ed irregolare, non mi sento sicura, ho timore di storcermi o di inciampare. In più, come sempre, mi ci vogliono almeno dieci km per entrare in temperatura, manco fossi una caldaia; correre adesso, appena all'inizio del percorso, mi costerebbe una fatica, fisica e mentale, che non ho proprio willing to bear. Today for me is the holiday mood, even levitated three feet off the ground, suspended on the memories of the adventure Valle d'Aosta. A girl asked me more than an excuse, like a lack of respect towards me: to think of it, may be a manifestation of esteem as taking the piss ... But I feel well prepared to interpret it according to the first version.

The belly, unfortunately, today does not seem to listen to reason; protesting alarmingly. Suddenly, I hear the sound of galloping behind me: here they are ... They come in a gallop early humans. I put aside: the first bullet goes, then a second, third, come all. What a nuisance having to by every time I get one. Fortunately, the trail is soon to merge into a dirt road, very steep, so the bulk of the runners can pass without problems. Many people call me by name, greet me, make me compliments, it will be foolish on my part, but I'm really happy, and never mind if a bit uphill trudges'. A few reap the victim too, but I know it will be a temporary satisfaction, the first drop will do justice. The stretch on the road makes us gain share in short, with some very steep switchbacks and then a quasi-straight. The climb leads to a long stretch of the slight slope in the middle of the meadow here, as expected, I find myself in a few moments, all alone. Squirting away like marbles impazzite. Ho la netta sensazione che questa non sia la gara più adatta a me... Ma ormai sono in ballo, tantovale ballare. Il panorama è stupendo; il sole non si fa più pregare, adesso, anche se l'aria è frizzante ed i manicotti non accennano ancora a scendere. Provo a correre anch'io, ma la pancia ci mette del suo per rendermi la vita impossibile. Sfido chiunque a prodursi in performance da velocisti, stringendo nel contempo le chiappe a tal punto che si potrebbero tagliare i tondini di ferro... Nell'interminabile tratto di falsopiano, qualcuno ancora mi sorpassa, di tanto in tanto; mi guardo attorno, alla ricerca di un posticino appartato, ma come si fa, con tutta 'sta gente intorno? Per giunta, un sacco di persone che mi conoscono e mi salutano per nome... Non sarebbe simpatico, ricambiare mostrando al mondo la parte migliore di me. Resisto, finché posso. Ma poi non posso più... Approfitto di una curva della strada sterrata e di un cespuglio di rovi che mi offre un po' di riservatezza; pazienza se mi tocca pagare il favore consentendo che il mio ingombrante posteriore si tramuti in un puntaspilli. Riparto, sperando in un futuro migliore; la discesa, giù nel prato e poi ancora attraverso il bosco, mi porta in vista di un abitato. C'è gente che incita, lungo il percorso; si sente la voce di un altoparlante. Ah già: mi sovviene in questo momento che la corsa prevede anche un percorso breve da 7 km, probabilmente vicino alla conclusione. Ma sarò poi sulla strada giusta? I'll be a crossroads for mica lost along the way? "But .. For the 45 km, well I go from here?". I ask this twice and twice I feel to say yes, we hope ... I put the door to a playground. I returned to Oulx, but I had not yet realized. The arrival of the race by 7 km expected to follow the trail to the right, the other hand, pull straight, along a cobbled staircase which becomes, up the hill on the right and should come out on a paved road.

The road is a slight, imperceptible climb, I could run ... But I give up: better not to make too much of the cockerels. I have in front of 38 km, approximately, but are far from being in good shape. I'd also say that I feel a rag. Warm greetings from Supporters of the elderly for a walk in the country, then when the road makes a slight hill and reverses its slope, hint corricchiare. The race track leaves the main road, slips between the houses and then continues on a dirt road that crosses a bridge and starts to climb in the woods. The dining table, light of my eyes: chocolate, sweets and Coca Cola at will. Greetings, thank you and continue along the dirt road, marched, the more you can not. With shortness of breath, I reach a fraction. From a distance, I hear the metallic sound of a loudspeaker: toh, which is in honor of the race? Not at all ... And 'being made and, apparently, the pastor has had the unfortunate idea of \u200b\u200bextending la portata della sua voce anche al di fuori delle mura della chiesa. Ma dico io, se mai volessi prender messa, verrei dentro io, ti pare? Se invece me ne sto ben lontana dai tuoi confini, ci sarà una ragione... Scappo via inorridita, con l'unico guizzo di vivacità che le gambe mi concedono nella giornata, e non posso reprimere un moto di disgusto all'idea che, corrente l'anno 2010, ci sia ancora gente che si beve simili fandonie. Bah. Del resto, dicono che per sopravvivere sia necessario illudersi, e ciascuno s'illude a modo suo. La salita, concesso un breve tratto di respiro nell'abitato, riprende decisa. La pancia, idem, torna a ballar la tarantella. Sento alle spalle un ticchettio di bastoncini: inconfondibile, lo riconoscerei tra mille, dopo averlo udito per giorni e giorni, non dico ventiquattr'ore al giorno ma quasi. Lo riconosco prima del suono della voce che lo accompagna. Il buon Giorgio è in arrivo. Mannaggia, ed io che oggi speravo proprio di riuscire a staccarlo... Va bè, se non altro, ho una buona scusa, le intemperanze intestinali, per giustificare il fatto che sono stata raggiunta. In realtà, so benissimo che il sale sulla coda me l'avrebbe messo comunque, quel satanasso. E' impegnato, tanto per cambiare, in una fitta chiacchierata con due colleghi; uno di loro è il terzo reduce del Tor, Franco. Bene: se non altro, ora che si viaggia in compagnia della scopa, so che nessun altro più mi infliggerà l'umiliazione del sorpasso. Son già tutti avanti.

march in packs, at a good pace, until the rise unexpectedly becomes flat and then down to corricchiare, not before, for me, a second pit stop. The fugitives, fortunately, have little desire to escape, waiting for me in the short descent, then ending with a steep path and the ford of a stream. Uncertain about my shoe soles worn now, step from rock to rock, hoping to not crashing, where George jumps and dance without any difficulty. Across the river, you begin to get serious, with a steep path of land that goes up the mountain by cutting a winding dirt road, with a splendid view of the snow capped peaks from the first. We climb with good pace, after all, now that the track adjust salt and strong, I feel better, both in the legs than in morality. George followed without problems. The breath is always there to talk: if you saved up for the race, nine times out of ten we would be on the podium ... A short stretch of dirt road, where we see a church, a little 'higher, and an impressive view on Chaberton veiled in white. "You'll see the Chaberton, but you will not be forced to stand on top," she had announced one of the organizers: Well, but if I were to reach that peak, I would not at all disappointed! Or maybe, now, because the temperature is already the most comfortable here, under two thousand meters, let alone one thousand feet above and whistles!

ramp after ramp, under a clear blue warm sun, in fact, reach the church and reach a little further, in view of a lovely village, stone houses and wooden balconies looking sometimes not so solid. We reach two colleagues, in quite a while 'we could hear voices behind it: a brief stop at the restaurant, four words, then still running, on dirt road, to count, as they say. Sorry a bit 'that the group must adjust to my pace, but unfortunately for me there is no alternative ... More than this there is none!

Travel companions will launch in the titanic undertaking to give a name the many peaks that surround us. I have the distinct impression that the ideas in general are a bit 'confused ... But it does not matter, what matters is to be convinced! The climb, cheerful and noisy, takes us across a grassy plateau, before us, a cluster of houses surrounded by trees, warm colors of autumn clothes: yellow, red, shades of brown ... In the background, the mountains, a picture postcard, so beautiful that it seems almost built for art, for the benefit of the runners. Wonder. One of the two attendants announced that greet us here: "cut" the path to go down to Oulx, in time to witness the arrival of the winner. Inevitable philosophical digression on the comparison between runners and the tail tip, that is us. After all, says my colleague, happiness is the absence of desire, we do not savor the taste of victory ever and we are so happy with what we have and we just finish the race and nothing more. "Well, we're mezzeseghe and we are aware and happy to be," commentary, for the sake of synthesis. I was criticized for lack of poetry ...

A gem and a jewel of the country's restaurants: the banquet exposes nothing less than a collection of cakes, the other a more appetizing, appearance. He grabs two pieces: a type specimen plum and another, more elaborate, with pears and chocolate, a Piedmontese recipe, he explains George. Sin then, between the houses, the road rears up and force me to risk choking. It 's a matter of priority, I can not stop chewing ... Meeting a group of people in suits, disappearing over the door of a restaurant. Then, the tapes signs lead me on to a dirt path, marked by the tracks left by water and steep enough, George joined me shortly thereafter, just to escape a precious morsel of the cake with pears here, do anything to damage, this filibuistiere. That mouthful is the missing energy in the final sprint for the podium!

The slope, now very harsh, does not prevent us, however, Menara language, with severe injury the ecosystem. This chatter of everything from chopsticks to gossip about the neighbors. The road, on earth and rocks, steep back in the woods, looks like a ski slope. Checkpoint at the junction between the two pathways: those who want simply to walk 28 km should turn right. We reject with contempt: Long, full speed ahead! Behind us. Franco goes back, collecting tapes. The view is now hidden by bushes. We follow, it seems, the path of a "vertical kilometers", the track is more severe, so that the poles are now on the hook. At a junction, take the path on the right: and here, really, you should be able to turn into a goat ... Rather than climb, you climb, or almost. Giorgio see the altimeter and we are in the neighborhood of two thousand meters, should not be missing much at the end of this ascent. Puffing like steam engines. Good Franco assures us: it is almost, in a moment shall grow a church, we're almost there ... "Almost," I have already noted, in the mountains is often a debatable concept, but in any case, shortly thereafter, we are really in front of the silhouette of the church and two shady characters that lie ahead. "I am the broom," she announces Franco; chant that was repeated at each point manned, from now on.

The path continues with ups and downs in a long ridge overlooking two valleys and peaks as far as the eye can see. Too bad they can not look around, too high, For me, the risk of falling over. The right ankle already launched pangs of pain now is constant. I guess I have to live with the burning, until the racing season in the mountains will give way to winter break. Then, just running on asphalt, where there is almost no danger of undue wrong, I will give some articulation 'to rest. For now, grit my teeth, because the pharmacy, unfortunately, remained at home, forgotten on the kitchen table. Corricchio whenever I can: my legs, now that they have passed a climb, they are brighter, lifted.

Yet another point of comfort, manned by volunteers who give us very nice, as always, Coca Cola and candy different. Announce that we wipe from here in just over four kilometers, time to walk around in circles, climb and descent bland, up and down through fields and marshes, just over two thousand share. We are more or less halfway through, but we've already forfeited much of the difference, in addition, the morale is really lively. Nothing could be further from a call today for us, we almost feel on holiday ...
The second step in the banquet of the restaurant is a must, followed by a long descent into the forest, their feet cut through a soft carpet of newly fallen leaves. It runs and chat, Franco has run rejoined us, saving us from an unfortunate detour off the path. We need to get off fino ad una località che si chiama Chateau; per raggiungerla, attraversiamo tra l'altro un bosco incredibilmente suggestivo, detto "delle Gran Pertiche". Credo siano larici, anche se non potrei giurarci, vista la mia crassa ignoranza in materia; in ogni caso, sono alberi altissimi e dritti come fusi, che lasciano a stento filtrare i raggi del sole e creano sul terreno un morbidissimo tappeto di aghi. I tronchi sono nudi fino a discreta altezza. Un luogo incantato, suggestivo, che lascia a bocca aperta.

A Chateau, un altro banchetto del ristoro: qui si complotta contro i nostri livelli di colesterolo... Primo pomeriggio, residui profumi di pranzo e famigliole a spasso lungo la strada sterrata. Deviamo ancora sulla sinistra: breve tratto di corsa nel prato, poi ancora discesa, sotto un paretone roccioso, chiusi in mezzo alla vegetazione selvatica, rovi, gaggie; il tratto forse meno significativo dell'intera corsa. Il telefono di Franco comincia a sqillare: è il boss della corsa, chiama per sapere dove siamo. Lontani, siamo ancora lontani! Cavoli, a quanto pare, il grosso dei partecipanti è già al traguardo, o quasi; a noi mancano ancora più di dieci km, e non ci pare nemmeno di essercela presa poi così comoda. Amen: aspetteranno.

Correndo e chiacchierando, raggiungiamo le case di Beaulard; passiamo oltre, perché dobbiamo ancora raggiungere il limitare di un campeggio. Da lì, invertiremo finalmente la rotta, per tornare verso Beaulard, face the final short climb and finally conquer the arrival. From the campsite, in fact, change direction, through a park along a dirt road that at times allows us to corricchiare: activities in which, after all, we continue to prefer the friendly conversation. Still the phone by Franco: I'm always the ringleaders, that I inquire about our position. Well, is not that in ten minutes we can then do a long way ... The route goes slowly, first to the homes of Beaulard, pappatoria another banquet, and then more strongly across the field, to join a dirt road, steep and stony, ripping up and take us back in a couple of bends. Now we talk about family, privacy, incredible, As a few kilometers of the race can cement the confidence. Marcio more quickly as I can, now, five or six kilometers from the end, I smell the finish and the two gentlemen do not give up: on the contrary, the steep stretch of trail, when we have to go through a herd of cows, and George that takes the lead, where I nodded. "Make them move, you think that cows do you mean." I refer, of course, to his job as a veterinarian and never ever dare advance doubts about the moral rectitude of my mirror appears. Omnia Munda mundis! The cows, however, moving a little 'dried. The ramp continues for a while '; George exclaims, langue, but it's almost done, really. The path sbuca tra le case di Chateau; troviamo ancora un tavolino, quasi messo lì per caso, con pochi resti del passaggio della mandria di bufali che ci ha preceduto; poco oltre, l'altro tavolo, quello davanti a cui siamo già sfilati qualche chilometro fa. Di là, a sinistra: strada bianca per qualche km. Incrociamo un conoscente di Franco, in mountain bike, che ci accompagna per il lungo tratto di saliscendi, un po' da correre un po' da camminare. Il telefono non dà tregua... Tra un po', va a finire che da Oulx mobilitano il Soccorso Alpino! Mi verrebbe da prendere quel maledetto aggeggio e scaraventarlo giù a fondovalle... "Siamo in trattoria", rispondiamo in coro, "siamo al secondo". Mancano il dolce ed il caffé, lasciateci in pace!

Il ciclista ci informa che una ragazza, una delle prime, è caduta malamente inciampando su sentiero e picchiando il viso: nulla di grave, per fortuna, ma il naso resterà gonfio per un po'... Mannaggia che jella! Scorrono i cartelli con l'indicazione dei km: idea non comune nelle corse in montagna, che io apprezzo moltissimo. Così mi faccio un'idea della residua durata del supplizio... La strada tende a scendere, con qualche breve risalita, l'ultima delle quali su un tratto di asfalto. Infine, una deviazione ed un ripidissimo sentiero a precipizio: manca un chilometro, più o meno... Rotoliamo giù nel bosco, fino a sbucare in un cantiere. Da quassù si vede già l'arrivo: e, da laggiù, i tifosi in trepida attesa si accorgono di noi. Urla di ammirazione e giubilo: "Ma dove caxxo eravate finiti? Vi davamo per dispersi", che simpaticoni i nostri fan! Rispondiamo agli schiamazzi con altrettanti schiamazzi: devo dire che un'accoglienza così festosa non mi era mai capitata... Una vera festa, neanche fossimo i vincitori! Nemmeno a farlo apposta, i tre reduci del Tor arrivano insieme. Per le ultime poche decine di metri, ci accompagna una piccola folla, Sergio & C., che immagino contenti quanto noi dell'arrivo: per loro è la fine di un'attesa da incubo! Sette ore e trentotto per Giorgio, sette e quarantotto per me che sono partita prima: in assoluto, non mi sembra un risultato così disdicevole... Non è colpa nostra, is the rest of the world that is made by extraterrestrials!

happy and satisfied, once again, the Trail of Oulx was a pleasant surprise, easy and well organized, meticulous eye for detail. We were a little 'the mascot of the race: George, then, it is also the premium category, complete with a bottle of wine. "Go, go pick it up - the retort - woe to miss the chance for that one time you're gonna get in life." E 'already so that the bottle is not on my foreman Fell ... Quick visit to the table of food, then back to the car, with the shadows that accompany us already long, and way home. Even today, we have earned the loaf. The Next Saturday, for me, will Morenic Trail!

What Does A Witness Do At A Wedding

12-19 September 2010 - Tor des GEANTS. Seventh and final stage Ollomont - Courmayeur

ROAD BOOK, Sector 7, Table 1 - above the town of Rey, take the path that climbs up into the woods near dell'alpeggio Prumayes (1621 m) pops out in pastures. Follow the road until Champillon pasture (2057 m), then the pasture of Pessinoille (2151 m). The trail climbed the steep pastures, leading to the hut-Champillon Letey (2375 m). Water point. From the hut, the trail switchbacks up to the door with several Champillon Col (2709 m). The first part of the descent from the hill is very steep up to the pasture Crou de Bleintse, from which the path diagonally to the right leading to the pasture Ponteilles Damon (2046 m). Down the last stretch between the meadows to Ponteilles Desot (1807 m). Water point.

The rest of the volunteers are friendly and diligent to the point that almost put me in a quandary. They ask me what I eat, I take the dishes, but no, not the case, we are not at the restaurant, I can use by itself ... A hearty dish of pasta, bread, cheese, yogurt. The pasta arrives for George, but the recipient is not there ... I have to go find out, intent to traffic in the bag on a bench in front of the showers, with an expression that gave up to ask "How are you?". The tension is the law in the face. He swallowed il suo piatto di pasta, accenna a voler dormire, ma in realtà, secondo me, non sa nemmeno lui cosa vuol fare. Mi domando quale sia il demone che dà a quest'uomo il tormento, nella gara e nella vita. Mi fa rabbia vederlo così, perché diamine, stiamo vivendo un sogno; io mi sento la persona più fortunata sulla faccia della terra e non c'è proprio nessuno, ma nessuno al mondo per cui, in questo istante, potrei provare invidia. E lui no, non è contento, sempre incavolato con il mondo. Se almeno ci fosse un motivo, una causa scatenante, ma no, nulla, nessuna regolarità nei suoi baratri di tristezza. D'altro canto mi dispiace; gli sono affezionatissima, vorrei poterlo aiutare in qualche modo, e invece mi rendo conto che la mia presenza spesso peggiora la situazione. Del resto, non posso certo dire d'essere un fenomeno di delicatezza e sensibilità; le mie reazioni, di solito, passano dal "vaffan..." ben prima che dal chiedere se c'è qualcosa che non va. E poi, in fondo, questa volta il buon Giorgio non ha tutti i torti a ringhiare. Deve avere un dolore tremendo ai piedi, insopportabile alla grande maggioranza degli esseri umani normali. "Dai, fatti vedere dal medico, magari hanno anche solo un cerotto, un Compeed, qualcosa". Intanto, m'ingegno con la doccia: il guaio è che le cabine non hanno spazio per cambiarsi all'interno. E non c'è spogliatoio. Pazienza: che sarà mai un po' di sana promiscuità. La doccia ritempra le energie... E' adorabilmente calda.

Ripuliti e cambiati, entrambi ci sediamo ancora per qualche istante al tavolo del ristoro, in compagnia di Michele e Gabriele. C'è un gran viavai di atleti e familiari, chi arriva, chi parte, chi si lamenta e si guarda sconsolato i piedi, sfilando con estrema delicatezza ed orribili smorfie le calze ormai fuse con la carne. Ecco, questa per me è un'altra gran fortuna: non ho mai avuto problemi di vesciche né di unghie, proprio mai. Indosso ancora le La Sportiva che avevo alla partenza, ormai sulla via della distruzione: confido che reggeranno, me l'ha assicurato Matteo.
Si riparte, senza appello. Pare abbia smesso di piovere: ci avviamo, in compagnia dei due amici, che ci abbandonano di lì a poche centinaia di metri, quando la strada comincia a salire. Due colli, solo più due colli ed è fatta. Non ci voglio credere, non ancora; c'è un'altra notte in mezzo, è davvero lunga... Ma è difficile, ormai, reprimere oltre l'entusiasmo. Se non ci capitano incidenti, possiamo dire che ormai è fatta.

Seguiamo la strada sterrata, prima nel bosco, poi attraversando i pascoli. Ogni alpeggio reca l'indicazione della quota; controlliamo l'altimetro di Giorgio, che di solito ci azzecca, in un margine di dieci metri. Ci raggiunge un compagno di gara, accompagnato da un amico; vero, il regolamento a rigore lo vieterebbe, ma in fondo non vedo che male ci sia ad avere accanto una persona che, In this case, He walks beside you and keep you a little 'company. Nothing I do in this guide. In short, it's good practice to penalize illegal aid, say, a passing car, if it is possible here, but I would say psychological relief to let it go ... Otherwise, we would have already had to seize the phone!

The road continues up the slope in the lawn. We enjoy an already weakened by the late afternoon sun, and a little 'out of the clouds too thick, tall, thin. Let's move on to the pasture Champillon, the refuge is a bit 'higher up, seems placed on a hill of grass. And 'that, no doubt, with flags waving. The reach, break for bere un bicchiere di the, poi ancora in marcia, su per i ripidi tornanti che tagliano il pendio in verticale. Ovviamente, il colle non è mai dove sembra... Superiamo una prima sella, ma si sale ancora, più dolcemente; si piega appena a destra, il vento già freddo e le ombre lunghe del tardo pomeriggio. Dopo l'alpeggio Champillon ed il Rifugio Champillon, non poteva mancare il Col de Champillon, poco più di 2.700 m di quota. Passare quassù è un brivido, e non per la temperatura. Manca solo più una salita... Ancora lontana. Per ora, ci attende un migliaio di metri di discesa, anche ostica all'inizio: attenzione, Gian, non puoi e non devi farti male adesso. Cautela. Il panorama, come sempre, è incantevole; siamo noi che non abbiamo più la lucidità per apprezzarlo. Conta solo più la meta, anche se nessuno nei due ne parla, silenzio e pudore. Povero Giorgio, quanto deve penare con quelle unghie. Ci giriamo e rigiriamo tra le mani il road book, come se avessimo timore di vederlo cambiare immagine da un attimo all'altro. Scendiamo giù, a Ponteille Desot; c'è un ristoro, poi dieci km quasi pianeggianti, fino a St Rhemy. Saranno piatti davvero? Viste le passate disavventure, ho seri dubbi. Meglio prepararsi psicologicamente ad affrontare almeno un paio di vie ferrate.

ROAD BOOK, Settore 7, Tavola 2 - Dalle case di Pointier Desot, prendere verso destra la strada sterrata ed attraversare il ponte sul torrente. Dal third curve the path that leads in short pastures Plan Bois (1893 m). To the left of the houses, part of a long path in the woods pianeggiane,
following a covered canal aqueduct, leading to Essanaz (1820 m). From here a dirt road that leads to the village of Saint Rhemy (1621 m). Refreshments available.

The descent leads us, with a long sweet in the middle of meadows, in view of the valley, where the shadow gallops and gaining ground every beat of my eyes. E 'evening, now. Across the valley, across the river, we see a dirt road: it can not be ours. This is confirmed by the very nice refreshment volunteers. In the face of the water point: we find a dark bread, spicy, delicious, and tome of various kinds, even a craft beer that George does not give to taste. C'incamminiamo And then, without shadows now, between the fences of the cows, with the first chill that touches the skin. And euphoria that we know him to be premature, but we can no longer control. Ten km in plan, rest and quiet to the hocks. Far from us the idea of \u200b\u200brunning, I take this opportunity to call home, to catch his breath a bit ', to resume those talks that much for a while' were crushed by fatigue and anxiety. Darkness falls on the dense forest and up the little that you see on the valley floors, the first lights along the road. Not only will you march in the plan, you go down, addirittura. Ci culliamo nell'illusione di raggiungere St Rhemy e poter riposare: in fondo, più o meno ad ogni punto di ristoro ce n'è sempre stata la possibilità, finora. Chissà perché, però, alla vista delle tante luci del paese e della strada che sale al Colle del Gran San Bernardo, illuminata su in alto sulla montagna, mi sorge un sospetto. Sarà davvero possibile fermarsi a dormire un po', qui? Per carità, non credo che avrei grossi problemi a proseguire; non sarà peggio di quel che è stato finora; però, sia Giorgio che io ci siamo cullati fin qui nell'illusione di poter chiudere un po' gli occhi...

Molti passi più tardi, raggiungiamo le luci del paese ed incappiamo nel punto Refreshments. A gazebo: Brand bad ... Assistants to the table warm and rich, as usual, but sleep is not talked about, unless you go to the hotel. For me, the question even arises ... I scan the face of my companion: I know the intoxicating effect of beer is not over yet; George collects the blow without flinching. Eaten biscuits, laughs, jokes and agrees with me on whether to restart until the next refreshment, the pasture of Lac Merdeux, a name, a guarantee. "Are you sure?". I ask him at least three times, then I do not want to accuse him feel compelled to share with the force ... It seems so. Well, then you go: salute, while another competitor, most destroyed of us took refuge in slumber in self rescue.

ROAD BOOK, Sector 7, Table 3 - From the village you cross the bridge and after 100 meters of gravel road, take the path that leads to the town of Laval (1624 m). Follow the paved road through the villages of Couchepache and Mottes and after a downhill, take the dirt road that continues up until Devies of pasture (1726 m). Take the path that leads up to the pasture
Merdeux Desot (1950 m) and Tsa de Merdeux (2273 m). Crossing several streams, we arrive at the Lac de Merdeux plateau (2540 m). Acqua.Dal point plateau the route climbs and a long diagonal toward left, you reach the Malatrà Col (2925 m).

through the streets of the country, and yellow in the dim light of street lamps, a long walk between the houses of the villages of St Rhemy and then, going to the mountains. We accompany the curiosity of cats, the sounds of metal dishes in a restaurant, the smells of dinner. A couple of hours and you're at the shelter, they told us. Well, believe little, we even three. We follow the arrows that accompany us from rooftops and alleyways. Amazing how every roof, every doorway is a good place to sleep: there are gentlemen asleep in the strangest places ... Still ahead, for now always the tarmac in front of us, one of the hairpins of the climb by road to the Gran San Bernardo. We will go under? George is a bit 'dazed, suffering, now, yes, sleep. Beast, that you suddenly falls on him and you just can not help it. I try to draft a speech, but there's no way to awaken his attention. What is worse, little by little we are leaving behind the country and its lights.

We pass under the bridge crossing the road and we take a path on the right, which climbs steeply up a series of hairpin turns dry. George passes on, I let him make the pace. The lights up area are getting smaller until it disappears behind a ridge, when the valley fold, at least in our impression, decided to right. We expect about six hundred meter climb up to the Refuge. A beautiful starry sky greets our last night march, the temperature, for now, is nice, no wind. I follow the march of the lights in front of us, that draw the track of the path half way. George is always more tired and impatient; better not to seek dialogue. I'm sorry, I wish I could help out, now that I'm really good, for once. If I could choose, I would not stop at the Refuge. Would soon get right to Courmayeur, or at least I tried, at the cost of having to then cocooned along the path, in my sleeping bag. But I have a feeling it will not be possible.

C'impantaniamo in a real quagmire, in which I struggle to follow directions. The flags are distant from each other, wherever you rest your feet, it sinks. Looking ahead does not help me, there's a track, there are many ramifications of mudslides. My pops, with the decision of those who are fed up, meshing with the fourth and goes up, secure, according to a route that exists only in his mind, but, apparently, is the right one. The light of the refuge is over our heads away when we get closer, you follow with a long traverse in the middle of a steep grassy slope, and finally reveals himself. Merdeux pasture, in name and in fact, judging by the state of your shoes. On the large square clay there is a banquet of restaurants. George asks, sharp, to be able to sleep, a big man with us at the entrance of the building, but warns there's no place anymore. We realize that as soon as set foot in the room: a corridor, narrow and icy places in a room with a huge thermal shock, three to four meters, a charnel house: there will be twenty people in here to sleep, some to the ground, on people tables, benches, chairs. Our front illuminate a scene from Dante's Inferno. Closing the door, linger a moment in the hallway. George has already gone on a tangent, furious: "Here you can not sleep, how can I, just, I'm leaving." Like, can not we? And all those people in there, doing what would you think? A game of Monopoly? Come on, little stories, here we are, we are a corner, so I resolve while in the back room. Insists the gossip with his outburst, none of it. I hate when you leave dominate the nerves in this way. And you thought to find the Hilton? "I'm going back down." Here, perfect, this seems to me a brilliant idea, I would say from Nobel nomination. You go back down, just back seven hundred meters in altitude and seven or eight miles, to go to a place where you still will not give you a place to sleep. "You want to give you calm down?" Growl. "Shut up" is the answer. Very well, I conclude. Make a little 'what you want. Indeed, the expression that comes out of my mouth at that moment è un tantino più colorita, inizia per vaffa- e finisce per -ulo. Fa' quel che ti pare, io sono stufa, non ti sopporto più. Addocchio una porzione di piastrelle, tra un cadavere ed il fornello spento, ma ancora caldo. Butto lo zaino a terra, a mo' di cuscino; mi sdraio, rabbrividisco al contrasto tra il pavimento gelido ed il "putagé" quasi rovente. Mi addormento.

Nell'incoscienza, percepisco i movimenti di chi va e chi viene; chi respira, chi russa, chi mugugna nel sonno. Mi sveglio, guardo l'ora, è passata da poco l'una; ho riposato un'ora. Bene: tappa in bagno e poi via, me ne vado. Chissà che fine ha fatto, quello là, chissà se è tornato giù davvero. Mi dispiace che ad adventure so beautiful touches an epilogue so bitter, but I do not think it's my fault: he is the cause of his pain, after all, crying himself. My only thought now is to Courmayeur, and not let anything and anyone to undermine my dream. Override carefully the various inert limbs, scattered to the floor, step into the next room, where I think there is a bathroom. When you return to the circle of hell, someone accidentally turns on the light: toh ... Here it is, "that guy". E 'sitting on the couch, looking disheveled and bewildered. I go over: "What are you doing?" He asks. How, I do ... Allotment, it seems obvious. We had reported missing. In the twilight, whispering, let's be clear: stay still un po'? Boh, per me va bene, ma non troppo; basta che mi svegli. Trovo libera la sedia a dondolo e ne approfitto all'istante; mi ammucchio lì e mi riaddormento, incurante del fatto che chiunque entri nella stanza colpisca lo schienale con la porta d'ingresso.

Mi riscuote Giorgio, già bell'e pronto. E, si spera, di umore un po' meno cupo: altrimenti, giù a St Rhemy ce lo rispedisco io, a calci però! Ci concediamo un bicchiere di the caldo prima di ripartire: il freddo è penetrante. Sono sicura che andrà meglio, non appena saremo in marcia; infatti, di lì a pochi minuti, mi levo uno strato. Il sentiero corre a mezza costa nel prato, poi piega a sinistra ed oltrepassa un ponte. Da qui, s'inizia a guadagnare quota sul serio, con una sequenza di ripidi tornanti. Alcuni tratti di respiro ingannano sulla vera natura di questa salita. Il cielo e la montagna si distinguono solo per le luci, innumerevoli nel primo, sparute ed in lentissimo movimento nel secondo. Salita irregolare, lunga, ingannevole, e noi che siamo già oltre, col pensiero a Courmayeur, e tutto sommato saliamo leggeri, allegri, anche se è buio, anche se il nero sembra avere inghiottito tutto alle nostre spalle, senza più darci possibilità di tornare indietro. Il passo un po' più lento all'aumentare della quota; il fondo che, da terra ed erba, diventa sabbia e pietraia. La pendenza, già severa, d'un tratto diventa quasi insostenibile. Impressionante: tiny little steps to climb, with the foot that slides back and nothing to hold onto with your hands. George escapes to a stone, which rolls and rolls relentlessly, she hears the distant noise. Chills: we see nothing, only the slope of debris that vanishes many, too many feet below us. If we were to fall ... Nerves to proceed with the utmost attention, here there is no place to sleep and distraction. We reach a crossing equipped with metal steps and ropes, still strings, the passage becomes little more than a ledge. Thank goodness it's night, thank goodness I see nothing below me. The heart goes crazy, well, if only I confirm that he is alive ... Since I did not feel like an eternity to beat this frenetic pace.

ROAD BOOK, Sector 7, Table 4 - From Malatrà with the descent continues in halfway up the wide path by the river valley. Along the river on your right you reach the first pasture Giou Damon (2228 m) and crossed the wooden bridge to the left, the huts Malatrà Damon (2208 m). From here you will soon reach the Rifugio Bonatti (2025 m). Refreshments available. From the refuge continues to the left to the long balcony overlooking the Val Ferret conducting the first of Secheron pasture (1924 m) and then into dell'Arminaz (2009 m).

Malatrà The hill, just over a crack, I appear before suddenly. George is already there. A valley as dark as the one we just left behind, a cold wind whipping my face. Quota 2900, more or less, not to miss anything, not even last. No time to realize that we are on top for the last time. We attack the descent, which, fortunately, it seems much more malleable of the climb, begins with a thin track in the stony ground, but with reasonable slope, sometimes even in the plan. E 'immediately clear that, for poor George, the last part of the race will be an ordeal. The nails torn inflict the agony at every step: he said nothing, never, but can not hide the pace slow, too cautious, unnatural. I follow, often in silence. The cold does not hesitate. It is almost dawn, the coldest hours of the day, and we walked slowly, there is no way to heat up, so. I wear everything I have, recessed head between his shoulders. Impatience bothering me: I would run away, even here where the ground is easy, fly down to Rifugio Bonatti, then at Bertone, and finally in Courmayeur, this would the demon. But then there's the angel who takes his: Gian, that changes you, arrive an hour earlier, after an hour? Stefania, Skipper and friends there will be little different to the finish before 9, in fact, probably after, proves nothing, except the ingratitude of those who have shared with you the whole travel. It 's a strange feeling of unease, as if, staying longer at the top here, I am constantly exposed to the risk that something more concrete ruin everything, do not let me go.

The path descends into a very extensive plain, flat walk for what seems miles and miles, even if now we can no longer give any credence to our perceptions of time and space. The sky color of the first shades of blue, the temperature seems to drop again. Accomplice in the slope just mentioned, George seems to be a bit 'better, found the desire to chat. Lawn, still green, the altimeter has no intention to go down, the first, sparse trees, the river on the left, a pasture, cows. It seems to be on a plateau. And it is curious: there is no trace of explosive quell'euforia I cradled in my imagination for so long. We walk like we were on a trip, side by side, and perhaps neither of them dares to express the true feelings of both. The fact is that we are sorry. It 's true, we are tired, dirty and sleepy. But we are sorry to reach the Val Ferret, Courmayeur sorry to come down on and go under the arch of arrival. Because at that time will be over. We must come back down to earth. And I, if I could choose, I'd go back there and will continue so, again, now that his legs have become accustomed, that the heart takes me up and down without complaint, that the skin is Scorched by the clear light of September. Yeah, I burned my lips, a real horror.

Giro and turnaround in my mind the image of the Val Ferret, to try to understand where it's going to engage this path. Soon, my curiosity is satisfied, the track decided to turn down, and stepped over a few bends until you reach a group of buildings and a fork. Not much more is missing: in the confusion of darkness that still slow to give way, we reach the junction of a few hundred meters above the Rifugio Bonatti. We take a respite to make breakfast coffee and biscuits, we'd like to order a hot chocolate, but look for managers is not exactly encouraging: damn that sympathy ... Well, I can also understand, after all, be awake and active for a disproportionate number of hours, they like us. It can not be expected to flaunt a smile to win the Lotto. Other competitors are well on the way to a hearty breakfast, complete with cutlery and napkins on the table in his hand. We prefer to start again, slowly.

The sky is already more clear, when we go out to meet the cold. Fortunately, this side of the bivouac Bertone, the way is a bit 'rise and fall and offers the chance to warm up a bit'. There he joins a cat, even a cat that follows us, meowing, and run in the grass pretending ambushes: black and white is very beautiful. The peaks slips the red hood fire dawn, the Mont Blanc is here before us, we hailed a week ago and I'm sure, neither George nor I really believed to be able to walk back to thank him. Sunrise on the beautiful Val Ferret, though, downhill, you can already see the first clouds, dark and menacing this time. But no longer has any importance, now, not for us. The cat reminds us desperate, I'm sorry, but just can not stop, not today. George regained cheerfulness, trotting at a good pace. We talk, we walk around the mud to the pastures, agognamo both the roof of the camp that makes peeps. Pine trees, shrubs, curve after curve, the lights going out on the valley floor.

ROAD BOOK, Settore 7, Tavola 5 - Dall’alpeggio Arminaz (2009 m) si attraversa il grande ponte sul torrente, si continua fino alle baite della Lèche (1929 m) e quindi fino al bivio posto appena sopra l’alpeggio di Leuchey. Da qui, entrando nel bosco di conifere, il sentiero sale leggermente per portarsi fino al Rifugio Bertone (1989 m). Punto acqua. Dal rifugio Bertone si scende verso la Val Sapin, il Villair superiore (1389 m) e finalmente si arriva nella piazza della chiesa di Courmayeur! (1224 m)

Ansia di arrivare, ma nessuna voglia di arrivare, non per me. Lo spettacolo del Monte Bianco che si veste di luce, prima rossa di fuoco, poi sempre più chiara, il ghiaccio e the snow that respond to sunlight, is unparalleled. I could stay here for hours, if I had not, unfortunately, a commitment down the valley.
The chimneys, the smoke from the stoves, we go down among the beautiful stone houses of the village. At camp, there is still a cup of hot tea, a bit 'of chocolate, not because they need it now, but out of habit, for gluttony. Hoping that the sun's rays reach us soon, we stand off a couple of layers. And then down, the last dive. A stony path, disconnected, must be a torture for the feet of George, who also seems eager to leave behind even this difficulty. The roofs of Courmayeur glimpse of pines, closer. Way, corricchio even with a smile that widens from ear to ear, head in the famous "The Final Countdown" I confess that I go insane to hear the notes on arrival ... From now on, when I happen to listen to that song, I will not need to dream, think about an occasion worthy of the music I've really lived. Now every rock, every inch of soil becomes fire, so great is the desire to fly out, to run on arrival. And yet ...

Villar, back to step now comfortable on asphalt. I look around like I want to steal every detail is taken away, engrave forever in memory. We have over 330 km behind: 330 km, countless climbs, images, joy, murderous rage, desire to finish and feel like giving up, landscapes, faces a wealth of emotions that even the most sophisticated computer could store. George is special for the year, after the Marathon des Sables, won in 2000 as a gift of the fiftieth birthday today Tor des GEANTS, a goal with his teeth and tear with the nails, especially toenails, to celebrate the sixtieth spring . I hate to think how to decide to celebrate the seventieth ... Past
Villair, the intersection, the first houses of Courmayeur. Still typhus, was surprised to find Isaac on the square of departure, armed with a camera. And, yes, the last effort, the parade on the main street, the applause of the many that remain. The arc of arrival, the overwhelming embrace of my beloved big dog, holidays, slapping, shaking hands, signing on the board, photos with Stephen, Flavio and Gustin, perhaps the most pleasant surprise of this moment. More confused and disoriented than ever, will sleep, who knows. Something good in life, finally I've done myself, but just as I thought, there is no happiness now. The handshake at the French competitor, in the eyes of understanding with my travel companion, so loathed yet so valuable and indispensable, I find no joy. Everything is just finished, and is already nostalgia ...

cumulative elevation gain 22,912 m, 332 km combined.

Remote Host Said: 554

12-19 September 2010 - Tor des GEANTS. Sixth stage Valtournenche - Ollomont

ROAD BOOK, Sector 6, Table 1 - exit from the base of life, cross the main road and take the path towards the bridge over the river Marmore. Follow the road until Valmartin (1510 m) where the path leading to the hydroelectric plant. You reach the pasture Falegnon (1914 m) and go halfway up the valley until you reach the artificial barrier of Cignana. Climb up to the dam and the refuge of
Barmasse (2175 m). Water point. Continue on the dirt road and take the path that leads to the pasture Cortinaz Damon (2097 m). Continue gently downhill to the trail on the right that goes to the pasture Ersaz Dessous (2135 m) and Col d'Fenetre Ersaz (2293 m).

The pappatoria is even tastier when, in addition to appetite, there is also a good mood. The same can not be said of George, who face more than ever pulled. Foot pain must really haunt him, although he is certainly not the type to complain, in fact. If they were sawing off a finger with a bread knife, merely take note of it without blinking an eye ... However, it must be said that a little 'if you look, the trouble. We are here, life at the base, we have a certain number of physicians and nurses have decided to take a little 'break, why on earth do not you take a look? Yeah, it's true, there will be five minutes of waiting, this is a crisis that sends the poor man. I shake my head, disconsolate better go take a shower. I climb upstairs, checked at least twice the tags on the doors: "Showers women", with lots of doodles. It 's my. Dig a bit 'in my bag, which now has reached unspeakable chaos, what cable do I need to change me and m'infilo in the shower, the water jet adorably hot. I hear footsteps in the locker room, will be a colleague. I still enjoy the warmth of a moment, then I go out, as my mother has made me and Tor reduced: I encounter a great piece of Marcantonio shoulders with three cabinet doors and all the butchery in a beautiful display ... Smiled: "Sorry." And I, in a superhuman effort to divert your eyes from the lens on which they were inexorably to rest: "No problem." I dressed, carefully open the bag of dirty clothes, which I imagine to be radioactive at this time, threw in what I have, recompose your luggage and go back down. George is still there spinning like a top. We withdrew both in the local camp, for an hour of sleep: an auditorium transformed for the occasion in Dormitorium, dark, quiet, with lots of blankets. I sleep, as usual, on command, in a moment, I lose knowledge.

Again, you shall wake up George. By dint of insisting, apparently, I convinced him to consult the doctor has already done, and I purred. Well we just have to swallow a couple of cans of Red Bull and start over. Here I can not resist, I too want to go ... Two stages, long, hard long as you want, but two, only two. Greetings, sketch out in the yard, under a sun now a bit 'hazy. We hope that the weather held together a little '... George joins me and we follow the webbing to the main road, down a path that cuts the slope and we bowl on another road, beside a river. Cross the bridge and take a back a steep ramp, also paved the rays of afternoon sun, here where there blows a breath of wind, we do appreciate their intense heat. Valmartin: here comes off the path we must go now to return to the top: the stage ahead runs almost entirely over two thousand meters of altitude. It promises to be a long night, cold and oppressive. But this is no time to worry about it now. We set off on a nice climb, partly in the wood that goes along the rugged slope to the dark noise, continuous power station, the topped with a very steep section of trail, which leads us to the entrance to a valley wider , bright. At the head of the valley, a dam. We are approaching a good pace, cutting a low but lush vegetation. The wall of the dam, instead of being curved like the dams that I remember seeing so far, is straight, perpendicular to the water pressure. Just below the wall, there is a gatehouse, evidently inhabited. Disturbing cracks run through the concrete structure of the reservoir, we hope that takes at least until we passed ... We ride down there and we carry on the other side of the valley, where, with a couple of bends, we reach the shelter Barmasse. We are welcomed, even here, a group of volunteers at rest. These are, obviously, people who live there in the mountains, the accuracy with which we describe the path, and then by their faces. The man who ci porge il the ha un volto affascinante, la pelle bruciata dal sole, gli occhi di un profondo azzurro chiaro, belli come quelli della signora non più giovanissima che siede sulla panca. Con quegli occhi di ghiaccio, chissà che bella doveva essere da giovane. Lo è ancora adesso. Chiediamo notizie del meteo; ci dicono che potrebbe piovere forse nella notte, ma si tratterà di piogge sparse. L'importante è che non si spargano su di noi... Il Cervino, ormai, non si vede più, forse perché nascosto dalle altre pareti o dalle nubi. Ma abbiamo intorno a noi una corona di cime una più bella dell'altra.

ROAD BOOK, Settore 6, Tavola 2 - Dalla Fenetre d’Ersaz si scende leggermente sulla right in the path that leads halfway Vareton of pasture (2266 m). Continue on the path to the pasture
Grand Raye (2352 m). Refreshments available. From here you climb to the plateau where the Lac du Tsan (2453 m) and follow the path that leads to the hill Fenetre du Tsan (2738 m). From the hill the path descends steeply and some ruins just before he began a long diagonal crossing to the right until you reach the plateau where there is the Reboulaz camp (2585 m), near the magnificent Lake Luseney. Water points.


off again down slightly, with a stable bell'alpeggio to a huge and futuristic. Margari and dogs peeking in the doorway. Trail, unpaved road, still path, climb a beautiful valley full of grass, flowers and streams. Behind us, the Monte Rosa in front of him to find when we turn the few curves that break up the monotony of the direction of travel. With the mood light, we chat non-stop, climb calmly, without exaggeration, without letting the excitement we get carried away, otherwise it's over. Bell'alpeggio overcome a town: small disappointment, we hoped that the noises were for us, perhaps accompanied by a glass of water ... But no. We continue along a slight slope to the head of the valley, I look around and I start to lose, so it's nice up here in the late afternoon light. Col de Fenêtre d'Ersaz, less than 2,300 m. The view extends over a wide valley of pastures, dotted with pastures and marked by numerous dirt roads that connect them. The sunlight still be with us for a while, though, beyond a short descent, we continue to chase it up. The shadows are getting longer, the houses are dark spots that soon to confuse him with the grass. We go up a dirt road, while the first peep chills on the skin, reaching a bell'alpeggio. Grand Raye, elevation 2,500, approximately. Here, volunteers and Margarita together are doing their utmost to offer all possible, before a rich set table. Known on the wooden door the poster announcing the event "open Pastures," with guided tours a queste belle strutture; il margaro, a cui faccio i complimenti per l'alpeggio, mi apre la porta della stalla: incredibile, di fuori solo pietra e lose, dentro invece c'è una struttura avveniristica, enorme, posto per ben centoventi mucche. Che adesso, però, sono già tornate più giù, a valle. Per il calendario, non è ancora autunno, ma per madre natura lo è già.

Mentre sgranocchiamo, sentiamo avvicinarsi il motore di un elicottero. Non facciamo in tempo a voltarci, che già lo vediamo risalire rapidissimo la valle: sta arrivando proprio qui... E' l'elicottero del soccorso, assegnato alla corsa; passa sopra l'alpeggio, descrive un semicerchio, si ferma in sospensione sul prato lì next, then down. I admire his mouth open, oblivious to the cold of the evening, it stops here, the skin begins to creep. The time to load an athlete and go, rise again, and again a wide curve, fast. These pilots are real phenomena ... Heroes and, if necessary. Rescue the boy, he explains, has probably broken a tendon and had a swollen ankle so abnormal and could no longer walk past in the race. She wept: and I can not believe it, I can understand ... Seeing the collapse of the dream of who knows how many miles of training and effort, and who knows how many moments of forgetfulness, in the evening, just before going to sleep, now that there are seventy kilometers arrival, must be tremendous.

We welcome and continue the walk, in the evening light. We can guess the hill, up above and slightly to the left, at least, that's the way, judging from the colorful ants still glimpsed. A short stretch of flat trail, then climb the slope with steep switchbacks. We gain altitude in a small space and end up on a plane: here the flags have disappeared ... We follow a trace of wavering path, strewn like the grass all around, from the remains of cows. And 'George to discover the mystery: note here and there, chewed and torn white sticks, bits of torn flags. The cattle have eaten the signs! Damn, I hope it touches them at least one strong stomach ache ... Fortunately, the signals of the High Street No 1 are clear and well defined in most, apparently, the roof of the cow does not like the reflective material of the flag, which is on land, more or less in the vicinity of the place where he had been set.
Now in darkness, we proceed in the light of the front and crossed eyes, round, reflective, herds of grazing: curious that they are still here, and over two thousand five hundred meters, at night, in September! Fortunately, this night promises to be not very cold, indeed.

With our lights, our way to those who follow us. We reach the hill under a starry sky beautifully and look out on a sea that seems oil, jet black and impenetrable. Fenetre du Tsan, almost 2,800 m above sea level. The first part of the descent is impressive and dangerous, steep, sandy and stony ground up, offers very little security to the support of the foot. Then, gradient fades, we proceed along a narrow path, but easier. The darkness is thick, heavy. Luckily, soon we see before us a light that, for once, it seems very close and it is. E 'bivouac Reboulaz: c'infiliamo warm in the tiny, already crowded with competitors and volunteers for a cup of hot tea and a moment of calm. A small building but provided everything from stove to stove in the room for the night. But the intention is proseguire ancora fino al prossimo rifugio; è notte, vero, ma in realtà non è tardi come sembra. Il guaio è che, a settembre, le ore senza luce sono davvero tante.

ROAD BOOK, Settore 6, Tavola 3 - Dal bivacco Reboulaz il sentiero attraversa il torrente ed inizia a salire e dopo un ripido pendio di pietraia e sfasciumi, raggiunge il Col Terray (2775 m), dal qual si scende a tornanti un pendio piuttosto ripido. Si prosegue per un lungo tratto in mezza costa, con alcuni saliscendi, fino a salire su una costiera rocciosa erbosa. Dopo aver percorso in discesa un breve ripido pendio, il tracciato piega sulla destra passando sotto le bastionate rocciose e superando alcuni canali, sino a giungere su un pianoro lawn. You cross the creek to the left, past a small hill until you reach the Cuney Refuge (2652 m), near the Notre Dame des Neiges Santurario. Refreshments available.

We leave the camp, between the warm greetings of the volunteers. We meet to throw a black sea that is below us, above all around: for a moment, I am assailed by fear. No, where are we going, why? There is heat, no light here, because we have to meet the darkness? I do not want ... By Gian, courage. You are not alone, there is George, and maybe there are others like us, scattered who knows where. Walk, walk, walk more and more we seem to fall down to the bottom a nightmare. An endless stretch arm, to cut the side of a mountain that we see, but, to our left, slide down the grass, steep, and the roar of a torrent haunts us constantly. The trace of the path down steep, narrow, sometimes little more than one step between the wall and vacuum, seems to plunge us down into the blackest depths of a canyon, with the increasingly deafening roar of the water, as if by a moment another drag on. Before rising again, tears steep, dry, and then still proceed halfway. Few lights suspended in the black sea, property, who knows how far away from here, other lights, small, drawing a path behind us and ahead a noi. Siamo sfiniti nel corpo e nel morale. Possibile che il Rifugio, dall'ultimo bivacco, disti davvero solo quattro km e mezzo? Eppure ci sembra di aver marciato per ore ed ore. E non c'è traccia della nostra meta. Scrutiamo quello che ci sembra l'orizzonte, pesti di sonno, alla ricerca della nostra meta, ma niente. Un alone chiaro illumina le cime alla nostra destra, su, in alto: forse è lì che dobbiamo salire, azzarda Giorgio. No, secondo me non è possibile; lì è troppo alto, e quel chiarore è troppo intenso per essere una luce artificiale. Infatti, tanti e tanti passi oltre, scorgiamo la luna, sfumata tra le nubi. Una luce fredda, bianca, che tuttavia ci rincuora un po'. Oltrepassiamo un costone, un altro yet. A nightmare. The flags trail here, were placed with a dropper, is it true, the path is unique, it can not exactly wrong, as long as no intention to launch exploration in the steep slopes, however, have confirmation of your steps is essential when everything is already so difficult. Doubts, fear, cold winds that concern. 'll Never get anywhere? Not even the lights of the other competitors are comforting: we know that the 'sheep effect "may have misled everyone together ... I do not speak anymore, I kneaded the mouth, hands contracted in agony on the sticks. Even George is nervous every time he says, then silent for long. Resignation ...

La luce, questa volta in posizione credibile, dona nuova linfa alle nostre vene. Il rifugio... Finalmente. E pazienza se c'è ancora un po' da camminare, prima di arrivarci. La forza nelle gambe è già tornata; lo zaino sembra molto più leggero, adesso. Risaliamo il sentiero, il prato; ci avviciniamo al bell'edificio in pietra, accanto ad una chiesa che sembra quasi irreale, finta, quassù. La porta cigola e ci cede il passaggio in un locale stretto, già sovraffollato. Ci sono i volontari, alle prese con il computer per il rilevamento elettronico dei passaggi: pare che il collegamento ad Internet dia qualche grattacapo... A me pare già incredibile che, quassù, ad oltre 2.600 m di quota, un collegamento sia possibile, quando tanti paesi in pianura sono ancora all'età della pietra, tecnologicamente parlando. Cinque o sei compagni di sventura sono appollaiati sulle sedie, qualcuno accasciato con la testa sul tavolo. Mangiamo il solito boccone di tutto, dal formaggio al cioccolato. Siamo già d'accordo di fermarci un po' a riposare. Una porta c'introduce in un primo locale dormitorio, già pieno; lo attraversiamo e c'infiliamo nel secondo locale, dove troviamo quattro letti a castello avvicinati in modo da formare due enormi piazze, una inferiore ed una superiore. Sulle piazze, buttati alla rinfusa, corpi addormentati. Un odore acre, stantio ci ammorba le narici: certo noi non siamo profumati, ma qui davvero si soffoca... Il puzzo infesta tutto, air to the blanket, under which those same c'infiliamo to sleep. Other lots that sheet, we throw ourselves on those same beds, or not quite fragrant lily of the valley of pine, it is not the time to make the squeamish. After all, who has rested here, like us, has already run at least 256 km. So, to be healthy for strength ... Otherwise would not have survived.

Sleep is disturbed by the constant comings and goings, the thuds of people walking in the dark and hitting your shins against doors and corners, now insensitive to any pain. But most of all from the cold, a cold shiver that seizes the bones, although the effect stable. I lie back to back with an unknown, as Russian if he was cutting down a redwood forest, lucky man. Even George is awake. We try to rest a while ', approaching and meditating well under the blanket to retain heat, but there is little, if clothing in contact with the skin moist. Eventually, we get up out of desperation. Even a quick passage to the supper table, a bathroom stop at the refuge, almost clean, beautiful teeth and washed away, even out into the night in the biting cold. Farewell Cuney Refuge. We face another long march, again halfway up, up and down, more and share more than 2,500, with headache and sleep to keep us constant company. There is natural to think, with a smile on the state in which we reduced: bestial I would say, is the right word. Sweaty, dirty, devoted to the most varied forms, so to speak, of corporal expression, without any trace of modesty. Instinctive, here it is: a language and blush of shame to do the most rude dockers ... I have to laugh: patience for myself, I'm already pretty "patelavàche," to use a very effective expression of the Piedmont, even in everyday life, but my pops, a worthy descendant of a noble family, has an almost religious view of etiquette. But not here, not anymore. If only I had a tape recorder, the switch when the poor fellow, with toenails already torn, she stumbles in the misfortune of a kick to a stone ...

ROAD BOOK, Sector 6, Table 4 - From the refuge Cuney Chaleby climb up the Col (2653 m). The trail then descends the slope to a valley and then climb steeply again and with a run halfway, reached the bivouac Rosaire-Clermont (2700 m). Water point. It continues to climb up the Col de Vessonaz (2793 m). The descent has a first steep section, after which it reaches the pasture Damon
Arp (2206 m). Continue until you reach a rocky valley to the pasture Arp Vieille (1944 m). The trail enters the forest and goes down to a clearing. You reach the bridge over the river Betenda Buthier and reach China (1456 m). Refreshments available.

La nostra lunga marcia sotto le stelle, dopo la leggera risalita al Col Chaleby, ci concede un'altra pausa, questa volta più breve, al Bivacco Rosaire – Clermont. Una minuscola casetta in pietra, con dentro una minuscola anticamera ed un minuscolo locale occupato quasi per intero dal tavolo. Due volontari, ancora attivi ed entusiasti, ci coccolano con caffé caldo e biscotti, senza lesinarci i complimenti. Ma io ho fretta di ripartire, ora che so che l'interminabile tratto in saliscendi, almeno sulla carta, è alle spalle, e che finalmente si riprende a salire. Con il sentiero, riprende quota anche il mio entusiasmo. Il sentiero taglia ripido il prato; la luce del rifugio, alle nostre spalle, ci accompagna per un po', fino a sfumare nella notte. Il Col de Vessonaz è appena sotto i 2.800 m di quota; ci attende ora una lunga discesa, che ci regalerà però finalmente i primi raggi di sole. Il primo tratto di discesa è ripido e gelido; le stelle spariscono una ad una. Il cielo prende un po' di chiarore; il sonno si fa sentire, pesante, a tradimento, proprio in questi momenti. Scendiamo a tratti su impegnative pietraie; tocchiamo due alpeggi, a quota 2.000 circa e poco più in basso; c'infiliamo nel bosco, con i muscoli che strillano per il freddo e la pendenza a cui non erano più abituati. Il rumore del fiume, a fondovalle, c'illude a lungo, prima di concederci il sollievo di raggiungere il ponte che attraversa l'impetuosa corrente. Solo qui, a 1.400 m di quota about, we find the courage to stand up clothes for the night, taking advantage of a wooden bench on which to lean. Another day, and then there will be another night ... The latest. Maybe. Quick consultation of the road book, then again, a slightly uphill, over the bridge, leads us to the village of China. A refreshment bar set up in a garage: the menu is always the same, more like a sponge cake, very welcome. The usual supply: now, the gasoline would corpaccione continuously; anything we throw away is burned down, destroyed instantly. Hunger is a constant companion, at least for me. And for George: he makes tough, the ascetic, but underneath the jaws in motion just like me ...

ROAD BOOK, Settore 6, Tavola 5 - Attraversato l’abitato, si sale fino all’alpeggio di Eclevey (1573 m). Si attraversa il torrente e, entrati nel bosco, si inizia a salire fino all’alpeggio di Suchéaz e Brison l’Arp (2195 m). Punto acqua. Con una diagonale in mezza costa, si risale il ripido pendio che conduce al Col Brison (248 m). Da qui un primo tratto di discesa molto ripido a tornanti, fino ad un’area pianeggiante, dove inizia una lunga diagonale in mezza costa che, dopo l’attraversamento di alcuni canali, porta all’alpeggio di Berrio Damon (1932 m). Punto acqua. Con una strada sterrata si scende fino l’abitato di Ollomont (1385 m). Si continues towards the village of Rey to the gym. Sixth base life.

For some reason, I am convinced that, from now until the top, there are fifteen hundred feet in altitude. In fact they are "only" a thousand ... What a joy to find out! Trotta in a good mood, because only those thousand meters longer separate us from the basic life Ollomont. We go up a forest trail, steeper than what is envisaged; bends that make their way through the logs, beams of sun that barely slipped in among the trunks of pine trees. We walk at a good pace, as always, or almost, are before me, to measure the step up, slower than what I would like.
A colleague at a short distance before us, a blond man Marcantonio, probabilmente tedesco o qualcosa del genere. Avanza a fatica, però: si vede, che il passo è pesante. Ad onor del vero, non è il passo il primo particolare che mi salta agli occhi: è il pantalone scuro attillatissimo, o meglio, l'armonia del contenuto... Esprimo le mie illuminate considerazioni filosofiche al buon Giorgio, che dal canto suo si domanda quali siano i caratteri che un deretano maschile deve presentare per apparire interessante agli occhi di una fanciulla. Boh, non saprei, è una questione di proporzioni; voi maschietti vi fissate sui particolari; noi del gentil sesso, almeno, parlo per me, apprezziamo piuttosto l'insieme. Questo qui davanti, c'è da dire, è un gran bell'insieme...
L'armadio all'improvviso cede il passo, s'accascia a sedere su un tronco tagliato. Un po' perché è un gran bell'uomo, un po' per solidarietà di atleta, gli passo accanto e lo esorto, nel mio solito inglese un po' maccheronico: "Is it OK? Do you need anything?". "No thanks, I'm tired...". "Then come with us, we're going very slowly". Detto, fatto: in un attimo, il biondo si rialza, novello Lazzaro in scarpe da trail, e si piazza in mezzo, tra me e Giorgio. Non so perché, ma un pensiero in quell'istante mi folgora la mente: ho come la sensazione che andrà a finir male... Lungi dall'essere davvero senza fiato, il simpatico tedesco, che poi in realtà è un austriaco, ha una gran voglia di chiacchierare. Attacchiamo a close dialogue in which we tell our sporting past, in particular, the fair has been clearly struck by the experience of Petite Trotte and I said life, death and miracles, although I do sometimes struggle to grasp and translate details. My English is not excellent, but its often just vulgar ... Every so often, I try to involve the smooth George, but I can not make miracles with my neuron already squeezed every last drop of its possibilities. Switching from one language to another, regardless of the road and connect the thoughts ...

Soon, I was afraid of that happening. My pops gets impatient, go ahead and, with the dignified gait of the best times Varenne, leaves. Here it is, the capricious brat: he suffered the indignity of being pushed aside for a moment, the center of attention ... And now I got crazy. Go, go, finch. I follow with the eyes, without changing the way I walked, a heavy silence falls between me and the Wardrobe Teutonic, which I imagine it will be made to turn the absurdity of the gesture. But you look at figures that I have to do. If I put my hands on him, left him, that's for sure ...

We leave the forest and head towards a pasture, with water point manned by two very nice children. George is there, but once again, I loiter and drink a little 'and the division of Coca-wheel, with a good supply of laughs. Offhand, the intention is to run to the fugitive riacchiappare: I try, but the damned really taken off. Gian calm, better not do crap. If the dodger has decided to play the race and breaking his leg on a whim, his problems are, but you must not follow him, the only thing that matters now is to Courmayeur. You have to get down there, full stop. Quiet, slow and measured. But it is a promise: if George dares even to whispers that he is tired, or that wrong somewhere, or want to stop, by the end, I swear that I leave there, I would never leave him like a dog Highway, and not just because they say it is forbidden to suppress. I already have done so when lamentava per la quota, la stanchezza, il sonno: se davvero fosse provato, non filerebbe su come un 4x4...

Le pale dell'elicottero spazzano via i miei pensieri cupi. L'agile velivolo raggiunge prima il punto di ristoro, giù sotto, poi risale e si affianca al sentiero, proprio dove stiamo camminando; a turno, un operatore scatta fotografie, tenendo le gambe penzoloni fuori dalla cabina. Tremo per lui... Il rumore dei motori è assordante. Dietro di me, a poca distanza, sale il biondo, che evidentemente s'è ripreso. Il sentiero è ripido e culmina con una serie di tornantini secchi, uno sull'altro, brevissimi e nervosi, fino alla vetta del colle. Col Brison. Giorgio è lì: l'ho già visto da un po', it protruded from the top; because I knew that I would have angered even more, not even an infinitesimal I increased my pace. Top of the hill pretending nonchalance, his voice falls to the severity of the tone of Christ Brescello, famous in the film Don Camillo: "Giancarlo ...". Ale, that's it. Mo 'I will fix it ... "Yes, tell me," replied derisively, as I begin the descent. "When I was an assistant in the studio, with customers in the Piedmont but did not speak Italian, because she could understand." Ah, there, this would be the reason for the flight, I committed the unforgivable sin of plotting with the enemy tongue Ostrogoths in ... Furthermore, an enemy that, according to the imaginative thesis of my pops, we had already exceeded more than once, so do not deserve any help. Yeah, right: you think I should finish it there on the spot, maybe sticking a stick in the back. When too much is too much, I lose the brackets too: "This is the last time you tolerate such a scene - scream - otherwise every man for himself and God for all." And we still need me, after two hundred and eighty-odd miles, I also put in a translator simultaneously, maybe Italian - Anglo - Piedmont to accept ... I'm not Mandrake! "Is it possible that you are still convinced that, whatever we do, is a planned and directed his rudeness to you? Look no you're not alone in the world! "he continues." And then, this is a race, not a war, I'm glad when someone else gives me a hand and help me overcome a crisis ... If I can be of help to a colleague, it seems obvious that we try. "And finally, to round off:" This behavior would not be pleased by a boy ... Imagine one of your age. "Well, maybe I exaggerated in a manner and tone, and yes I know how much weight have for George, the words, but I get, if anything, the effect of silencing my stormy appears. And also to silence myself. The descent, after an initial mild stroke, which, thanks to the outburst, it cost me too much of some retort, softens, crossing halfway up the lawn, while the valley widens. I lock myself in a sad and stubborn silence, a mixture of disbelief and disappointment, and even a bit 'of remorse, George tries, further down, to renew a speech, but I do not go more than monosyllables. It 's true, characters are unable to keep the muzzle, but it irritates me to think that a bad episode so absurd and should already be cleared pretending anything. I would still, I, of things to say ...

a pasture, a beautiful tender puppy, something like a German Shepherd, who plays on the back of a big dog white, inert, placid: is this enough to sweep away all the clouds on my horizon. I rush on cotton of hair, very shy but with a great desire to play, it's so beautiful that it would put me in my backpack and take it away ... A glass of Coke, a few words with the margaritas. One of them, perhaps judging from the Albanian pronunciation of his broken Italian, he invited me to come back, I'll get the dog yet. We welcome, we continue the descent on a dirt road. It 'great to see, in the mountains, with pastors, two dogs so well kept, fed, clean and not even related. A scene unfortunately rare, almost unique.

trotted towards the valley floor a little later, we find two friends to welcome us, Michael, who we had already picked up before the Donnas, and Gabriel. Thus, the last mile before the town di Ollomont scorre via in compagnia. Michele, poi, è un pozzo di storie da raccontare, con le sue esperienze alpinistiche persino sugli Ottomila. D'improvviso, comincia a piovere: non m'ero nemmeno accorta che il cielo fosse velato... Le prime case dell'abitato, poi via lungo la strada centrale. La struttura a noi destinata è in frazione Rey: troviamo ad attenderci una folla di corridori, familiari, semplici tifosi, insieme ai volontari. Pappa e, se possibile, doccia.

Dislivello positivo cumulato 19.927 m; km cumulati 283 .

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12-19 September 2010 - Tor des GEANTS. Fifth stage Gressoney - Valtournenche

ROAD BOOK, Settore 5, Tavola 1 - Dalla base vita si torna indietro per circa 500 m. fino al ponte che attraversa il torrente Lys 4 to take the path that passes under the Savoy Castle, reached the town. Continue straight ahead on the path 15 which quickly leads to Chemonal. The path turns right and passes the road with an underpass, along the right side for about 200 m. underpass and another returns to the other side, towards the Alpenzu refuge (1780 m). Refreshments available.

George wakes me up an hour later, more or less. Who understands it's good, man: I am three days that drilling attributes, metaphorically speaking, because I refused to sleep the first night race. And then, when they could sleep, he did not, Charon the demon eyes of Braga, tormenting himself and also his neighbor. An hour I would have gladly still snoring ... Alas, silence, otherwise it ends up that he accused me of all my sins from my birth, indeed from my conception to the present. After all, that's okay, another hour savings over time gates. I crawl to the shower rooms: they are so confused that even the simple search of the clothes in the bag becomes a titanic task. What do I need a shirt, trousers, socks, gloves? Boh ... It 's all scattered on the bench, I look at this and do not understand. Boh, we hope that the warm water ports council. I enjoy the warmth, perhaps a few too many minutes, I'd better move, so do not pull the rope too, since some of my knowledge, there fuori, già rosica a sufficienza...

Torno alla branda, a raccogliere le ultime cose, a spalmare sui piedi un po' di crema. Il mal di testa mi tiene fedele compagnia. Un altro viaggio; questa volta, però, mi manca l'entusiasmo. Mi sento vittima di una sorta di condanna biblica... Coraggio, Gian. Vedrai che, quando sarai in marcia, ti sentirai meglio. Sarà... Per il momento, sono triste e preoccupata.
Raccatto lo zaino ed il borsone da riconsegnare all'uscita; s'ha da fare. Il barometro dell'umore di Giorgio sembra tornato sul bello stabile: speriamo che duri... Quand'è in fase di bioritmo positivo, è una compagnia davvero piacevolissima, un fiume di parole capace di farmi passare venti km di marcia senza that I know it. However, it is the living proof of what is said of men, who all have a feminine side more or less pronounced: in fact, is more resentful of a prima donna and a mammoth memory for all that feels a lack of respect. It 'an accountant with the flakes, takes note of everything and then you also accused boiata an infinitesimal distance to a lot of time when you, poor human being with normal memory, boiata that you had already relegated, as that, in the deepest darkness of memory. In any event, the Battle of Gressoney can be stored and delivered in the annals of history.

The first four, five kilometers give us a bit 'of breath, are flat, or nearly so, on a dirt road easier, allowing more beating about the language of the legs. The darkness has just dropped this time, the night we'll have it all, without discounts. The sky, despite the forecast that for a couple of days threaten a bit 'of rain, it is clear and starry, and the placid river mutters beside us. The last call from his brother George in our close contacts with the world, yet we still our solitude, and a step from the top of the hill over 2,700 m We cross a paved road and we take a dirt road on the left, which is not slow to let us know what stuff is made: steep ramps and hairpin turns in sequence. Shock therapy to the hocks, forced to an abrupt awakening. The slope of the land and crumbly, dry, they often lose the grip of the foot, even slipping back. Silence falls, for some reason ... Listener, in this moment, our breath, or rather, our rattle, you might think of a movie audio-rated, but no, we're only two brave or stupid, whatever you want, struggling with something is greater than ourselves. There
where, often, the bush gives a few inches of space, we can see the lights of the valley, already very, very far away. Does not take much time, on a road like this from goats to accumulate altitude. Ramp, curve, ramp, hairpin, I have a good look in the air, not so much I see a pipe, I do not understand where it will end. Last
tear us bowl in the middle of a meadow, like a mirage, check a group of houses made of wood and stone: all dark, except for a more enlightened a nightclub. It 's the point of comfort, refuge Alpenzu: enjoy a great cup of hot tea and a few words with the volunteers, as always very polite. George inquires about the possibility of stopping to rest, from here: will the Refuge Vieux Crest, over the hill. Here also, incidentally, all'Alpenzu, someone stopped to sleep: my pops almost almost be tempted ... But nipped in the bud any thoughts sleepy. Now you walk, period.

ROAD BOOK, Settore 5, Tavola 2 - Seguendo il sentiero, che compie una lunga diagonale attraverso i prati, ci si porta verso Ondermontè (2007m). Attraverso il rado bosco di conifere, si raggiunge l’alpeggio Loaoche (2363 m), quindi si prosegue per i ripidi pendii fino al Colle Pinter (2776 m). Dal colle Pinter il sentiero scende per un valloncello detritico e poi percorre un ripiano erboso fino ad una formazione rocciosa oltre la quale, dopo numerosi tornanti, raggiunge i pascoli che portano a Cuneaz (2062m).

Ripartiamo su per un sentierino che taglia il prato e raggiunge un alpeggio; ci illumina la via un potentissimo faro piazzato dai volontari del punto di ristoro. La luce illumina la nebbia che ha fatto la it appeared, from one moment to another, over our heads. Ondermonté, three hundred meters in altitude in a little street, a tiny hamlet ghost, all still, all dark. But everything, even here, a lot of details, restored with respect.

Our march proceeds, first in wood, then in the midst of meadows and bare rocks, exposed to the wind. The words are less frequent, a heavy silence falls. We get lost behind the thoughts that depart from reality and slowly fades into the dream and from there into the nightmare. The shadows created by the light of the front become silhouettes in motion, that make me jump all the time. George is a dark mood as I am, if not worse, this time sleep has chosen him as victim preferred. A few drops us lash the face I look up, a dark black spot at the stars and we just miss the rain ... But it is not real rain, clouds are only read in passing and fog droplets carried by the wind. Icy gusts that creep into the folds of the mountain and howl their complaints: hard to believe that this is real. Yet they are right here, right now. Fear is useless, if not worse. Keep walking: my buddy adventure falls from sleep, but here it is impossible to stop in the open. It's too cold, you freeze; pneumonia not do anybody would stand. Turn obsessively look to the huge boulders that accompany the path in search on one side a bit 'more sheltered, in fact, what is needed now is a cabin: four walls and a roof, obviously uninhabited, at least at this moment, and not too filthy inside. I see countless times, the cabin, but only at first glance ... The second group is one of many rocks. And the silence of George worries me even more. The night was terrible for this, you lock yourself in a dark bell, it forces you to stay shoulder to shoulder with your torments, there is no possibility of distraction

suddenly appears. I look and about: this time it's true, it's just a cabin. "Should we try to see if it's open?" I ask, and, without waiting for an answer, I'm already in front of the door. E 'is closed with a cord. Unfasten the knot, push the small wooden door, illuminates the interior, is empty, clean, with wooden planks on the floor. Sold: stop there to rest a bit '. Actually, I did not sleep right now, but my traveling companion is really tested. There will be rats? Boh, who knows, anyway, at this altitude, it is difficult in case of sewer rats from the sewer. At most, will be mice. "No - George cut short - there are rats because there is nothing to eat." Unexceptionable.
We wear what we have and we choose a board for one. I have the unfortunate idea to put to sleep on your stomach with your forehead resting on his hands and the hands on the shaft. Lead in sleep, although until a moment before I was wide awake, a kind of self-defense mechanism of the body, which, given the wretched situation, is full of everything, food, drink, sleep, whenever he can. And I wake up with chills throughout your body and hands frozen and unresponsive. Cabbages, I have no hands ... Then, slowly, the circulation returns to the phalanges. I sit down, tremble, that idiocy, I did not get stuck once in a sleeping bag. And to say that I'm scarrozzando backpack for days! George I also copy and mounds in the mummy. The wind howls impressive launches, who seem to want to erode the walls and stripping away lose from the roof, I'm terrified of what we find when we get out of here. Why we'll come out sooner or later ...

Wake up, gather in a hurry sleeping bags, and every moment of stillness worsens the feeling of cold. We go out and closes the door carefully, as we found it. Perhaps the blasts were a bit 'quiet, or maybe the noise was amplified in there, the structures of the hut. Stars shine. The path in the grass just becomes steeper, a few small light goes before us, others follow us.
did not take long time to realize that something is wrong. Still, sudden and strong, that feeling that has haunted me yesterday in the downhill on Gressoney. Confusion, alienazione. Mi manca il fiato; ogni passo diventa più pesante del precedente, la vista ancor più incerta. Vorrei parlare, spiegarmi, ma non riesco; vorrei buttare aria nei polmoni e non entra nulla. E' come se la forza stesse scorrendo via, come l'acqua da un secchio bucato. E i battiti del cuore, lenti, sempre più lenti. Mi sforzo di far finta di nulla, continuo a camminare, ma rallento, rallento ancora, un passo dopo l'altro, li devo meditare uno per uno, devo costringermi ad andare avanti. Mi gira la testa; anche Giorgio si accorge che qualcosa non quadra. Non posso fermarmi qui, fa troppo freddo; bisogna salire ancora, scollinare, e poi di là c'è il rifugio, anche se chissà quant'è lontano dal colle; di là si scende, magari si perde un po' di quota, magari starò meglio. Un passo, un altro passo, il sentiero è ripido, devo fermarmi di tanto in tanto, appoggiarmi ai bastoncini per restare su e respirare. Mi gira la testa; chiedo a Giorgio di tenermi un attimo le gambe sollevate, mentre mi sdraio a terra: lì per lì, sembra vada meglio... Ma, quando riparto, è peggio di prima. No, non è possibile, non ce la faccio, crollo, stavolta è brutta davvero...
Le gambe non tengono più; crollo in ginocchio sul sentiero, le mani ancora saldamente avvinghiate ai bastoncini; appoggio la testa al sentiero e resto così, per un tempo che mi sembra interminabile, senza forze e senza fiato. Mi sorpassa qualcuno, I hear the voices, but far more than pass. And it's good because maybe it is just that, the irrational fear of being abandoned here, that makes me react. If not allocated, are split: at times, the suggestion is exaggerated effects, but basically it is a good thing. Standing, slowly, it starts. A desperate effort, but I did not realize that the hill was so close ... The lights go away a little over my head, and disappeared. So, Gian, you miss a little, bite the bullet and go. George, patient and attentive follow me all the way up, then, go ahead and mark me down the road. The post signs of the hill is already better than a dose of oxygen, now it's down and firmly believe that the descent will take, at least in part, in my troubles.

I focus, with difficulty, on the feet of George, the first part of the descent is steep, sandy, slippery. I have to really pay attention, and it is not easy, in that state. She frowned as if this would serve to hold the thought that, left to itself, like air escaping from a balloon. It is this: if the purpose was of this man make me regret it so badly yesterday, and submitting it to the most horrendous torture at least in thought, well, that goal has been reached. Now, if there was him, I'd be in trouble. Hairpins, that stony landslide in the soles, a direction to follow when I do I see three or four, a pitch black moonless night, and no idea where it will end, and when. It goes a bit 'better, perhaps, now that the Col Pinter's up there, behind. The trail soon becomes more gentle, sometimes almost flat. Walk, walk, walk: it seems that there is no end ... One, two lights in the valley, but who knows where they really are, perhaps on the other side, we see only the circle of our front and that's it, otherwise we could be closed in a bull wandering into nothingness. Any reference in the night, disappears: distances, times, everything is distorted, distended. We have a single thought, a shelter, but who knows if they ever do. It 's just hope that the che mi trascina avanti. Ci accompagna il rombo di acqua che scende impetuosa, ma chissà dove nella vallata. Tutto quel che riesco a scorgere è il pendio accanto ai miei piedi, che sfuma nel buio.

ROAD BOOK, Settore 5, Tavola 3 - Da Cuneaz in breve tempo si scende alla località Crest, dove sorge il rifugio Vieux Crest (1952 m). Punto di ristoro. Dal rifugio Crest si percorre inizialmente un tratto di sentiero (13B), quindi la strada sterrata che porta ai casolari di Soussun (1958 m). Lo si attraversa e con percorso pianeggiante si raggiunge la località Charcherioz (1986 m). Si prosegue ancora per un breve tratto sulla strada sterrata, si risale poi ai rifugi Ferraro e Guide Frachey (2086 m). Il sentiero (9) scende verso il fondovalle toccando l’alpeggio Raccard e velocemente raggiunge il caratteristico abitato di Saint Jacques (1697 m). Punto di ristoro.

Una luce gialla, un lampione: che sia la volta buona? Ci avviciniamo, pieni di speranza, ma anche timorosi di una delusione. Siamo stanchi e demotivati. E' un lampione, sì, ma non è per noi: sembra incredibile che quassù, in mezzo al nulla, esista un gruppo di case, per giunta abitate ed illuminate... Ci raggiunge un altro concorrente, un po' stravolto come noi; tutti insieme consultiamo il road book, sia pure con una buona dose di scetticismo. Siamo a Cuneaz, quota 2.000 circa. Ancora in marcia, sempre più o meno in piano. Mi sento a bit 'better, the weakness has given way to anxiety, nervousness, however, negative feelings, but that, if nothing else, infuse a little' vitality. In addition a curve appears in the valley an expanse of light, but ... Possible? And check everything from where? Champoluc, the road sign indicating a footpath. But we pull straight through the houses of a village that seems too suddenly rained here, right now. Crest, finally: our goal. We find refuge smile signaling the route with flags, even on the stairs ... We admitted to a local warm wood, a real kitchen, complete with a stove and table set for dining. We do not pray, we eat in abundance. The menu is always the same, but the appetite is such that no one complains. Ask to sleep: fortunately, the answer is yes ... A boy takes us downstairs, where there is a small room, cozy with bunk beds: your shoes off and we are sleeping, with lots of tires and heavy rough. We are far from neat and fragrant, but so much so ... Sleep is stronger than any other unpleasant sensation.

George wakes me up with all the delicacy possible, even those handling a crystal vase. No, tell me it's not true ... Tell me I can still stay here in my warm cocoon. I made the mistake not to remove his jacket, before they can bury under the blanket, so, now, I'm sweaty and freeze. Amen, Gian, you've seen worse. Step into the bathroom, another step up in the kitchen to put even eat something and drink a little 'coffee. There is no longer the "meal": you eat, always, whenever, whatever. Even the volunteers seem tired: for them, bear waking hours being here, almost immobile, and with the task of carefully check arrivals and departures, worse than a station master, must be at least as it is difficult for us to walk. Now

should no longer miss very dawn. We are moving. Dirt road, footpath, road yet. Margaritas load metal cans of milk on the jeep. Did not take long to realize that sleep, unfortunately, has not helped much to my situation. We face a long stretch of almost level, not at all difficult, fortunately, and I hope that the light of the sun, the strong, direct full day, I wake up a bit 'out of my torpor. I continue to be confused, to travel in pairs, the same as me walking and the other observing myself. Tor des GEANTS This cost me a fortune on the psychoanalyst's couch, if this continues! We have exceeded the 200 km long running "only" more than 120, you might say. The trouble is that we are already far from the start, but still too far from the arrival, in order to lull a little hope. Every time you nomina Courmayeur, l'inciso è d'obbligo: "Se ci arriviamo". Certo, la fantasia ogni tanto vola all'ultima discesa dal Bivacco Bertone, alla strada asfaltata che raggiunge il centro cittadino, ci vede correre come due pazzi, pronti a travolgere chiunque o qualunque cosa ci si pari davanti... Ma è ancora prematuro. In 120 km a piedi, con tanta, tanta salita, può succedere di tutto. Dobbiamo essere pronti a reggere il colpo, se qualcosa dovesse andare storto. E gli acciacchi non ci mancano; Giorgio lamenta il male alle unghie degli alluci, io alla caviglia sinistra già svirgolata di suo; entrambi abbiamo già attinto alla riserva farmaceutica negli zaini. In compenso, quella sensazione di gambe rigide e stanche è sopita: le go up, now there are more afraid, as though the body had just become accustomed to fatigue. Or maybe he decided not to protest, so it is useless.

proceed halfway up the long, still around 2000 m altitude. Sausson, Charcherioz, then two shelters, Ferraro & Guides Frachey. The sun continues to accompany our long journey for forecasts of worsening appear to spin, day after day. I hardly dare to believe in luck, until now, wanted to assist us. The blue sky and beautiful mountains are a great comfort. Today we get a view of the Matterhorn: I can not wait ... I do not ever will arise from his eyes the wonder of that day last July when I traveled by car to Valtournenche un po' rintronata per le curve, e, alzando la testa, me lo sono visto improvvisamente davanti, maestoso, aguzzo e bianco. Quel gioiellino di corsa che è stato il Cervino X Trail ha avuto, tra gli altri, il pregio di lasciarmi ammirare questa montagna in tutta la sua imponenza, benché quella domenica fossi tutt'altro che in forma...

Una breve discesa ci conduce al paese di Saint Jacques. Arrivo al ristoro sempre più allucinata, anche se mi sforzo di fingere bene: ormai mi sono abituata a convivere con il mio doppio; dopotutto, non esiste, quindi non ha peso e non grava sullo zaino. Quasi quasi, mi tiene compagnia, anche se non si spreca a darmi qualche spinta. Si scherza e si chiacchiera con i volontari, come sempre; ci dicono that we are great ... And, by the light of their eyes, it seems that you think so. We're big? Who knows ... So read the writing on the sheet, a lot of miles ago: "The Giants are you." Mah samples are others. We have a successful combination of our health, strength and passion. True, at times I thought of having to give up. But I never thought, even for a moment, to want to quit. And then, basically, if you really get to Dovesi could not refrain, I just think back all'allucinante, surreal assembly of the building that I had the good fortune to preside over last Friday night means any physical suffering that the mountain I want to impose, by comparison , it will seem crystal joy!

ROAD BOOK, Sector 5, Table 4 - From Saint Jacques, cross the bridge over the river Evançon and take the path that climbs up to 4 Croues (1871 m) up to Nannaz Desot pasture (2040 m) . Continue to the refuge Grand Tournalin (2535 m). Refreshments available. From here, go down the road and take the right path 4A. With a diagonal crossing the path climbs up the hill to Nannaz (2772 m). From here you descend into the valley to climb up the Col des Fontaines (2695 m). The path starts the descent to the town of Cheneil (2097 m). It falls in the forest, through the pasture of Promindoz (1845 m) and finally the village of Cretaz (1515 m). Fifth basic life.

distributed. A bridge, a pole, which shows us the Grand Tournalin Refuge. It goes a bit 'better, now. The slope is gentle, a succession of pine forests and ample grazing land, trail, dirt road, still trail along the river at times. Where the wood gives a glimpse of the sky, we enjoy the blue uncut, after so many days. Erupted in the vicinity of a mountain pasture: Nannaz DeSoto, about 2000 m altitude, splendid. The refuge is later, on top of a slope of pasture, there is a nearby dirt road accessible by car, I think with the terrain. We approach the large building dark and imposing. Pauses are now religion for us, a hot drink, eat, rest your legs for a moment, even if most of the time I did not even sit down.

We close ourselves behind yet another door, a volunteer shows us the path to go down, up, way up the green crown of peaks that we face. Diligent, we marched, slowly, because the slope here is no joke. Three hundred meters, a little more, to the hill: climb slowly, silently but secretly elated, because we will find over the hill waiting for the Matterhorn.
The wind blowing in my face, cold, is a sign of approaching the hill, what do you say that, for once, you've almost finished suffer. The blades of grass sway and you know it's done: the sky, the pole, the hill. Nannaz, 2770 m and that opens up a whole beautiful valley below us. I scan the horizon with greed: a forest of peaks, one more beautiful than ... But he is not seen yet. And to think that should be very close ... Wisps of white clouds fray, as the peaks caught. We are approaching a down easy, sweet, right, and a short climb to the hill of which we see from afar the pole. We know that there, for today, our struggle against the force of gravity will end. For now ... It is incorrect to speak of "Today" and "tomorrow". Our days do not follow the trend of the sun settled on the sequence of base life. "Today" will end in Valtournenche, when put foot to the point of comfort, "tomorrow" will always Valtournenche, when they go out.

With the mood light, timidly in celebration, we approach the last roughness, Col des Fontaines. I bend down to read the metal tag, when I get up, blinking against the magnificent wall. Here it is, the Matterhorn. Immense in front of me, hidden in part by a wayward cloud that stole from him. It makes me want to scream with joy ... George also participates in this crazy euphoria. We boldly throw down down, knowing that, between us and the tiny dark spots that are seen in the valley, the houses, there are thirteen hundred meters jump, a climb that will test our poor hard joints. Never mind if some desert too begins to peep on the shoulders of the mountains. We feel the need to communicate our joy to the world "outside" Matthew can now hear a tone very different from beyond the grave that I have raised in recent contacts. Yes, I begin to believe that we can do it ... The long descent

rejoins the final part of the route of the Matterhorn X Trail, in the home of Cheneil, pretty village of small houses with brightly colored flowers on the windows. I wonder if this really exists or whether a stage mounted especially for us ... But those geraniums, they will buy new every week? A group of indigenous greets us from the balconies: it must be ora di pranzo, a giudicare dai profumi. Il Cervino è sparito dietro le nubi. Proseguiamo la discesa, perdendoci per un attimo dietro a bandierine gialle che nulla hanno a che fare con il nostro percorso; poi, dopo una sequenza interminabile di tornanti nel bosco, che straziano ancor più le povere unghie dei piedi del mio compare, raggiungiamo i primi muri di Cretaz, frazione di Valtournenche. Tifo sfegatato da parte di un gruppetto di bimbe in un parco giochi: si sa, il fascino di Giorgio ammalia in particolare le fanciulle... La piazza, il parcheggio, il centro sportivo. Quinta base vita: l'euforia ha scacciato ogni malessere. Si mangia!

Dislivello positivo cumulato 16.523 m; km cumulati 236.