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.
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