ROAD BOOK, Sector 2, Table 1 - Leaving Valgrisenche follow the road until the tunnel, where the left hand path Mondanges at number 9, which cut the winding road leads to Prariond (2039 m). Shortly before dell'alpeggio, turn left towards Bois to follow the dirt road until you meet again towards the right path 9, which leads to the Chalet de l'Epée (2377 m). Point of water. From the hut follow the signs to Alta Via 2 and 9B Fenetre Col de Torrent (2840 m), simple and not very steep climb.
The cold does not help the condition of my legs, nor the morale. Cold walls of the stone houses, taxes closed, indifferent to our efforts. Even riglgliosi flowers that decorate the towns of Val d'Aosta seem to have lost the color. I scan the dark face of my companion, I fear for misbehavior on my mood, but also and especially for those of his own. If possible, George has a temper even worse than mine, someone says it's just my own character, but taken to extremes. He did not agree, he, to go without sleep the first night. The rain lash jackets, hands, eyeglass lenses, have no other choice but to be guided by his hand. The climb, if nothing else, it gives a little 'heat in his veins, but the shoes already sinking into the sticky mud and wet grass. No sign of life around to us, many colleagues have probably decided to earn a bit 'asleep at the shelter while the storm rages outside. To be sure, occasionally, a glow illuminates the clouds, but it is far, it is not even hear the noise. I go up to head down the path that crosses the road several times, looking down to see nothing and heart at the bottom of shoes, in silence. Sleep still does not feel, at least for me, on, or blame, the tension that makes me grit my teeth and shake the sticks with your fingers in agony. I never thought you could get back to Courmayeur with my feet, but I can not accept that my dream collapses already, so soon. Step by step, with a maddening slowness, is salt without understanding where the blind pursuit of reflective flags.
A yellow light, fixed overnight, suspended in midair. I wake up from slumber and, for the moment, I do not understand: what is it? I try to Wipe the lenses of his glasses with the sleeve of his jacket, but I can only worsen the situation. George, certainly smarter than me handle any doubt: is the refuge. Chalet de l'Epée. Toh, and who knew that we would reach a shelter? We approach slowly, as climbers in the storm drain to the base camp, the roof opens a door, the door appears a big man in thick jacket and cap. An aura of warmth welcomed us, but I am not convinced: as ... Dinuovo stop? We lose a lot of time unnecessarily ... Before he could open his mouth, George is out of sight of the refuge in the cozy great room, all light wood, other competitors are already there, sitting with his hands tightly around steaming cups of tea, and do not seem distressed by the passing of time . Hot mash for us: I can not deny that I need it. The managers of the refuge are a disarming kindness, you are bending over backwards to help us feel comfy and warm up a bit '. But I'm not going down this stop, I'm nervous, tense. Is there anyone who lies here, in another room George is almost tempted to take advantage ... But I do not listen to reason. No and no, we do not stop. The fire of the stove, the warmth that clouds will, no, not even mentioned. If my pops had to insist, I would tell him to do what he wants, but without me, I add the wind, still damp, under the jacket, I take the bath and are ready to restart.
Giorgio yield to violence. Perhaps because refugees predicts an improvement forecast for the next few hours: we throw both out in the rain, that one with hope in your heart. Water, wind, darkness, I see nothing around, not stars, not the contours of the mountains, only the reflection of the flags, deformed in a drop of water on the lens. We reach the other competitors, or others join us, as the trail gradually hangs più severo. Il vento rinforza; impercettibili ticchettii sulla giacca, minuscole punture sul viso. Sono aghi di ghiaccio. Possibile? Eppure non sembra che faccia così freddo... Ancora un paio di tornanti ed ogni dubbio è fugato; non sono più aghi, sono fiocchi bianchi che il vento trascina in orizzontale, come sparati da un cannone sulle piste da sci. Beh, che dire, non c'è mai limite al peggio. Se non altro, la neve inzuppa un po' meno gli abiti...
La pendenza è sempre più severa. Troppo. Ci arrampichiamo lungo un tratto verticale che non sembra nemmeno più un sentiero; è un canale di sfasciumi che scivolano giù senza offrire alcuna presa per i piedi né per le mani. Passi lentissimi, incerti, nail sunk in the sand. Any vague foothold gives and moves a step forward and two steps back, with the horrific knowledge that slide without being able to stop. And, to my right, rushes down the steep slope and disappeared into the darkness ... Another time, terror. But how the hell can we do to get on here? But these are crazy! I cried, I can no longer proceed, if not for a providential hand that rests on the cheek and pushes me on. I stopped again, looked up, shocked and desolate: there is a human figure standing a few feet higher. "No, this way is wrong, you do not go anywhere. Balise have to go back to the last." Go back? The terror turns into uncontrolled panic. Get back, here, but seriously, it's impossible! Even George, badly hung just above me, shows signs of restlessness. The well has also seen him, the abyss. The first tier, responsible for the error, go down quite easily, I try to master the fear, but I have legs and arms are shaking. I turn with my back to the mountain, barely moving his feet and already I find myself half a meter down, along with landslide debris, but in a direction that I can not control. It 's a bit like being in the water, away from any grip, and do not know how to swim: I know something ... I move like a worm, crawling on his back, however, on the backside, scraping against the rocks, until I can move from the side of the canal where there is a bit rock 'stronger. George, behind me, is more controlled, but does not hide the fear. And if he is afraid that certainly is not afraid of heights or chasms, then I feel entitled to cry in terror.
The yellow flag down there, it's my salvation. Ironically: at this point, the first in line has the wrong road, turn right instead of left, if he had instead taken the right path ... We were all in the Col de Torrent Fenetre ten meters.
ROAD BOOK, Sector 2, Table 2 - From the hill steep path winding up of pasture Torrent (2170 m) from where, following the directions of the path 15 and Alta Via 2, head for the diagonal to the village of Notre Dame Rhemes (1723 m). Refreshments available. From the square of the town hall will take the path showing
Entrelor, which leads to the pasture Pré du Bois (route 10) and continues along the stream up to a wooden cross (2097 m) and continue until Entrelor Hill (3007 m).
I face down with legs that are still giacomo giacomo. Steep path, steep and not too easy: even here, the feet slide down on the debris. But more or less you can stand. George let go: "We been having really bad up there ...". Yeah, I ponder to myself, I am glad that a little 'scared to touch you too, so you learn to behave like a bully when I'm scared!
With the light from the front at full power, get down with the greatest caution. Other lights have already disappeared. Tonight I feel eternal ... But it seems that the rain will give us a break, the wind on this side, is no longer so intense. He stumbled as long as the stone leaves no room for a fund is a bit 'less bumpy. The descent, as expected, has hit the mark: we are both stunned, his head heavy, his eyes are closed. We drag each fight your own ghosts, who dislocated his jaw by dint of yawns. I can not lamentarmi: rischio che il bastoncino del mio collega si abbatta senza pietà sul mio cranio; è piccolo e leggero, ma potrebbe far male...
Le prime luci dell'alba colorano il cielo che appare a sprazzi in mezzo al bosco. Immensa fatica per tenere i pensieri ancorati al suolo, impedire che la testa si perda chissà dove. Il road book, che consultiamo più che altro per distrarre la mente, ci annuncia per la giornata le due salite più impegnative e più alte dell'intero viaggio, entrambe oltre quota 3.000 m. A Rhemes sarà quindi opportuno concedersi un po' di sosta e fare il pieno di calorie: anche perché è ora di colazione... Caffè e Coca Cola, soprattutto per poter combattere il mal di testa cronico. Ci attendono 1,300 m in altitude, sore counted in less than 5 km: the figures do not bode well. On the positive side you enter, just now, in the Parco del Gran Paradiso. We continue the march, a little 'less dazed, waiting for the sun to get to show themselves. Giorgio growling, reproaching a sleepless night in which I forced, but I do not give a straight: that is, if you like. Rather, step by step, try to understand that they think my hocks. I'm tired, I seem to have taken forever to get here, and we are at about 65 km, since yesterday morning at ten. Possible? I can not decipher whether the fault of the track itself very slow, or whether it is mine, because I'm too tired and hesitant.
Ci lasciamo alle spalle le case di Rhemes superando un ponte. Immancabili i segnali dell'Alta Via numero 2: li seguiamo su per una prima rampa; ne seguiranno altre, alternate ad ingannevoli tratti in piano. Un po' mi preoccupo: se già dobbiamo raggiungere quota 3.000 in poco più di 5 km dal paese, significa che la pendenza media è abbastanza sostenuta. Se poi qui si viaggia in piano... Raggiungiamo l'alpeggio di Pré du Bois e ci tuffiamo in un bellissimo bosco di larici attraverso cui filtrano i primi raggi del sole, che illuminano i granelli di polvere sospesi; alberi altissimi, tronchi pelati nella parte inferiore, un profumo intenso e penetrante, da respirare a pieni polmoni Più avanti, oltre gli alberi, una croce of wood with a touch of eerie, even a bit 'tilted. The valley is a priceless performance that leaves the mouth open and fully compensates for the effort: open, wide, green, gives the background, the sight of what seems to me a glacier. I do not know names or places, but my eyes fill with steep walls, apologies, and snow-capped peaks, and white coats who all seem to be perennial. The trail climbs, challenging, first passes next to a well-maintained pasture and then, later, near the ruins of another building. E 'in ruins, this building, but still nearly intact the stone arches of the doorways, a marvel of architecture.
more you go, the more the slope looks wicked. The morning light is crystal clear and violent, my eyes are a bit low limit for 'annoyance, but, from time to time, raise them to try the hill. Only I can not figure out where it is ... We cross a pasture, the remains of a mountain pasture, in addition, the grass gives way to a stony gray. The more we get, the more the breath of George becomes irregular, heavy, slow pace. I, too, are certainly not as fresh as a rose: I do not think the altitude of suffering, but these ramps are grueling, often such that an unprecedented step costs a waste of energy; point the sticks, I rise with all the force of arms, to save some 'hocks, but I am exhausted. It is pointless looking around, a ring of mountains of stunning beauty, very nearly if I no longer have to drag me out of breath. George is quiet, pants, fatigue stops, from time to time, then starts again. I admire him: it is one of those tough characters who never give up, even though, in a faint voice, expressed his doubts on the possibility of coming to Cogne. It does not matter now. Here it is indispensable for intermediate steps, even small: so, for now, what we have to do is put the whip to the hocks and reach the hill, at the cost of any massacre. Hairpin after hairpin. He stops, I stop myself: to wait, of course, but it is displeased that the rest of me, indeed. Those few seconds are enough palpevre to close, listen to the beats of the heart, let them slow down a little, turn around and return. Fifty steps, pause, another fifty. Goose bumps, despite the violent rays of the sun, the air is still cold up here. The backpack weighs, saw his shoulders for the first time I have some doubts on the transport of the sleeping bag ... Moreover, it is essential below, if you want to spend the night on the trail. It sometimes happens that the sleep tent suddenly his trap: if there is to stop the wild, along the path or in a makeshift shelter, sleeping bag is essential not to numb.
Not a cloud to disturb the dazzling blue of the sky: I'm spitting blood, but I'm happy ... Happy for the narrow escape, for the time perhaps you will give us a bit 'respite. And, while concerned about the slowness with which I am going for the legs stiff and painful. Col Entrelor is deadly, and if I tell you, I love the climb ... Four counts of thumb, for what little that the neuron is able to combine, they make me realize that the 150 hours to 330 km are not quell'esagerazione then that might have seemed on paper: true, is an average of little more than 2 km / h but, so far at least, the harshness of the technical difficulty of climbs and descents did not allow us to run some.
For this climb, crampons I would have seen the best of trail shoes. Some traits are so steep that the shoe slips. But it will be fascinating, or will it be really? The conquest of the hill is a relief, for a moment if we try not to think ahead fourteen hundred meters spun down. The first part is stony, and debris and does not require, however, no particular effort: only the massacre of ordinary muscle.
ROAD BOOK, Sector 2, Table 3 - From the hill the path descends to the left up to just below the Lac Noir and Lac Djouan (2516 m). Continue until the Djouan pasture (2232 m) and then to shed hunting of King Vittorio Emanuele II Orvieilles (2165 m). Continue along the path to the right leads to 8C Eaux Rousses (1666 m). Refreshments available.
As always, downhill, a good number of competitors reaches me of a great career and I pass on the ears, then disappear over the horizon. Never mind, I go too, if you are so strong. We'll talk about a few dozen miles. George and I first reach some beautiful alpine lakes is amazing to see how, here, all of the renovated building, even the most remote, faithfully respect the traditional image of stone walls and stone roofs. Opprobrium of building I have seen, fortunately, only in densely populated valley floor.
over open grassy meadows, quiet pitch, the idea of \u200b\u200brunning nearly even there. We give the legs a bit 'of breath a little later, we reach a colleague who think like us. He just chat with two rangers: inevitable jet envy the job of those two lucky ... Far from easy and relaxing, of course, but in close contact every day with these wonderful places. It 's the links to get myself noticed the Gran Paradiso. In my total ignorance, few peaks that I could identify without doubt the Monte Viso, the Bisalta, the silverware, the Rocciamelone, the Chaberton, the Matterhorn, the Peaks, the Pic du Midi and the Mont Ventoux of course!
Gradually, after long stretches of walking slightly downhill, we get closer to the valley bottom, we end per addentrarci nel bosco; qui perdiamo quota più in fretta, giù per stretti tornanti scoscesi e tormentati da insidiose radici. Il nuovo compagno di viaggio, che abita in zona, fa notare, sull'altro versante della vallata, una traccia che risale a zig zag molto regolare nel bosco: è l'itinerario che andremo a coprire dopo il passaggio ad Eaux Rousses, al ristoro. "Facile, con pendenza costante; poi si arriva alla casermetta dei Guardaparco e si percorre un lungo tratto quasi in piano". Omette, il marrano, di illustrarci quel che viene dopo...
I tornanti nel sottobosco si susseguono uno dopo l'altro, sembrano infiniti; i tetti del paese, sempre alla stessa distanza. E le gambe che chiedono vendetta. L'ultimo prato prima del gazebo the rest is a sigh of relief: here sits a few minute break. And you have to refuel, because the next climb will be long and demanding. With caution, however, at least for me, because my tummy has already shown signs of impatience. Bread, cheese, Coke, a few moments with the rump resting on the bench. Compliments and encouragement from the volunteers never fail, as competitors, more than a lingering shadow, plagued by muscle pain, sleep or simply fatigue. Shadows in the looks that cross-case basis.
ROAD BOOK, Sector 2, Table 4 - Cross the small village to the main road which crossed the bridge, take the wide path 10B, bordered by stone walls, leading to Levionaz Desot (2285 m) where there are a votive chapel and the cottage of the rangers of the National Park of Gran Paradiso. The easy trail leads into the valley of Levionaz up the tanks of the aqueduct. After crossing the creek you go left to the sentiero10-10B that goes up with the Loson (3296m), the highest point of the race.
again with some time delay with respect to George, Val d'Aosta in the company of fellow with whom s'intavola now a good chat. The trail goes up the lawn and then becomes severe road salt, winding with very gentle slope, up through the woods. Now we have the mirror image of what we saw in the previous downhill, you can see in the distance, the evil Entrelor Col. My colleague pointed out to me, above the village of Eaux Rousses, a beautiful waterfall that colors the entire rocky Paretone a rust color: This is an impressive waterfall iron, which gives its name to the country.
The sun beats down on our heads furiously. Giorgio reach, but almost immediately I detach an interesting place to explore suitable for pit stops. I reached him again, only because, his goodness, he stopped waiting. This first long stretch of climb on a dirt road is not that difficult, just as we were told. But we still rise to a height of 3300 m: it's no illusion, will not be a walk. We ride next to the hut of the rangers, Levionaz lower, at the point where the valley bends to the right. It opens before us a broad grassy valley, crossed by a river, dating, staying on our right, before a long arm and then a short stretch of strong structure ascent up to the aqueduct. There are several gentlemen in the vicinity of fatigue, but all, apparently, the liveliest of us. I confess that I am a bit 'worried, usually, the climb is the only ground on which I can pull something of my foes, but here there's no way. It is not, of course, the ranking, which interests me: I just hope this is not a symptom, for me, fatigue or inadequacy. George follows without difficulty. The trail crosses the stream and moves to the left of the valley, left for us to climb. A breathtaking performance, in both sections of the trail to climb to the valley, and in those that passed the bend, we show the rugged peaks of the crown in front of us. I scan the walls dark, jagged, which I have before my eyes, but I can not find anything that could be breached.
The path continues, never too steep, the air becomes crisp. Interspersed with long stretches slightly more stringent cross in the middle of the meadows and streams, all of a sudden, we are even given the surprise of a group of mountain goats, five or six copies, che scendono lungo la pietraia e si fermano nel bel mezzo del prato. Marmotte, se ne sentono fischiare, ma se ne vedono ben poche.
Man mano che saliamo, Giorgio accusa il malessere dovuto alla quota. Anch'io sento i battiti del cuore più rapidi, i piedi più pesanti; non importa, andiamo piano finché basta, guardiamoci intorno. La luce quassù è abbacinante; il cielo di un blu profondo, senza una nuvola. E' vero, sto masticando fatica, ma qui mi sento in paradiso, il mio personalissimo paradiso. Cosa può esserci al mondo di più bello?
Altri concorrenti sono puntini colorati, qualche centinaio di metri più in su; ma anche quei puntini si spostano con lentezza quasi innaturale. Purtroppo, quando the trail really starts ripping into the final hill, now visible above our heads, the pain of George's condition worsened. Breathing heavily, he speaks with a whisper, as if to summon all his strength to spit out a word. Progresses very slowly. I begin to worry: this, of course, is no longer a simple sign of fatigue. And 'something worse. Are far too fresh, but in an instant my ailments dissolve, fade into the background. I let George throw me out; account twenty or thirty steps, then ask him to stop, another twenty, thirty steps and stop in again. It 's so docile is not in itself because, otherwise, at the very idea of \u200b\u200btaking orders, I was already stoned with the stones of this beautiful stones. Twenty or thirty steps, stop, twenty, thirty steps, stop. But the breath, if possible, it is increasingly labored, his voice weaker. The hill is there, maybe three hundred feet above us, but three hundred yards of the good ones. I rack your brains for a solution. My traveling companion desperate to get in Cogne, cares about me, urges me to go on. Yeah right: I'm leaving for my cabbage and soak you in trouble here, on the verge of an illness. Come on, we have to get up there to the hill by force. More runners, look at those two in front of us: they too, you see, stagger and stop all the time ... In the end, do not take it anymore to see him in this state. To impose a pause, step in front, the pack's release and I lift him by the shoulders: protest, has tears in his eyes, but is too weak to react. By George, it is an affront to male pride that I am engaging. It 's just that I want to see you up there, and I want to live ... vedertici We continue the march in a backpack loaded with more to come a rock, I hesitated. What the hell can you stuck in this bag, to make such a stone? One step after another, short of breath, I see the sky beyond the slot. The hill is approached, the breath of George, slowly becomes more regular, as his pace. He wants back the backpack, but do not give a straight, though weeping my knees, back too overloaded in an asymmetrical way, I keep it tight until the last, brief sideways. Here, I admit, I yield willingly ballast to its rightful owner, who by now has run a bit 'again. The ramps are bad behind, in front of us, only the hill. Col Loson, the Cima Coppi of the entire race, this installment will not get more. I must say I am relieved, so far we have been fortunate to moplto the weather, but not necessarily be so in the coming days. In case of rain, even if only three or four hundred meters are already in less difference.
ROAD BOOK, Sector 2, Table 5 - Get off the Col Loson paying attention at the beginning un po’ esposta. Si prosegue poi sul sentiero più agevole (18) fino al Rifugio Vittorio Sella (2579 m). Occhio agli stambecchi! Punto di ristoro. Dal rifugio si segue il sentiero molto praticato, che conduce a Valnontey (1674 m). Prima del ponticello si imbocca la strada sterrata (sentiero 23-25A) che, alla sinistra del torrente, porta a Cogne (1532 m). Seconda base vita.
Indosso in cima il giacchino antivento: un concorrente francese mi fa un cenno di complimento, ha assistito alla scena. Per istinto, la cosa non mi fa piacere, anzi, mi lascia un po' di amarezza, che scaccio dedicandomi alla discesa. Giorgio, ora in condizioni visibilmente migliori, fa da apripista nel primo tratto delicato: alcuni narrow passages and seemingly slippery to travel with caution, clinging to the rocks and chains, where they are placed. I should not look down, but the eye drops ... Only the eye, thankfully. Steep slopes where there is health slide: I would not really be here in the night. Then, the descent takes more human contours, reaching a grassy plateau that you could already see from up there. Behind us, it remains an imposing ramparts of rock and the hill up there, barely visible. The descent, sweeter, in a valley bathed in sunshine, brings us a view of the Refuge Vittorio Sella, where she awaits yet another point of comfort: we reach prey to a strange elation, guilt, perhaps the share or maybe the feeling of escape from danger. A few minutes of break in the heat of the friendly shelter and then off, we resume the march. Our journey is still long, infinite, but our work, for now, will end in Cogne. Less than ten km: agree, this time, the need to stop, take a shower, eat slowly and rest for a few hours. The barrier in Cogne time is set for 6 am tomorrow, we have all the time we need to take it calmly. We will, down in the country, more than 100 km in my legs and just under 8,000 m of altitude difference. If we were to pull the rope too, we would risk to say goodbye to the race. I'll probably say, goodbye, sooner or later, but I do not want that to happen he has given so stupid anxiety or hurry.
The path descends to the valley from the hut he seemed to be very popular, although at this time, with the light of late afternoon, there is no longer a living soul. Neither human nor animal. Who knows what happened to the other competitors: the rest is just normal that, on a path so long, the three hundred-odd runners at the start end up a bit scatter 'everywhere. Fortunately, the arguments of chat between me and George never fail, if there is a point of the body that never hit the cramps, that point for us is the language.
go down in the vicinity of a long stream, which occasionally cross; erupted from the woods and a view of some houses. We ride next to a botanical garden, which would notice even if it were not for the watchful eye of my companion. A handmade banner, a black image on a sheet: "The Giants are you." It 's wonderful ... Here, even the stones are aware of this race, there are people waiting for us along the way, people who do not know us yet with us for some stretch and heartened us, people who hails from moving cars in the short stretch of paved by Valnontey forward. Long shadows, the sun still low, it is already evening when we reach the first layers of Cogne. A large meadow to our left. Hang up for a few moments of our contacts with the world, in particular with their families. I turn on the phone for a few seconds, the time to update mom and Matthew on the situation in reality, both are already aware of my adventures, because I have the bracelet on the wrist, in any place of electronic control, allows those who are at home to see my step and my position. I must say, monitoring to date has been exceptional over the bases life, there are countless points of detection and electronic manuals. And, in every way, an operator communicates by radio bib numbers to the next step. So, we know that if we were to get lost or hurt us, someone will come looking for us in a very narrow slice of the path, without too many uncertainties and loss of valuable time.
Kept phones, walking briskly along the sidewalk, so tired in the legs, but the good mood. We dare even a little 'trust. We are undone, it is true, but this is basically normal, not surprised there. And 'This is the condition in which we live, if we do, the next day .. Through the beautiful streets of the village of Cogne, following the arrows marked Tor des GEANTS it is already dark when we finally arrive at the sports hall for our accommodation. A broad structure, comfortable, well heated, on the one hand, a space intended for the dining tables and on the other, behind a curtain, the area for the camp. Good Aldo, our friend far faster than us and has already reserved two places: we have to give us a refreshing shower, chilly for the truth, and a hearty dinner of pasta, cheese, bread, yogurt, fruit, and so on and Coca ha, and so forth. We share the table with Aldo, who travels to a completely different cruising speeds, but also grants long periods of sleep and rest, just like if it were engaged in a nice organized trip. George is a pity that, despite everything, so nervous that I could not stand still in his chair after all, now I know his character, his nature as a person never satisfied of the instant in which it resides. I'm used to his hands moving frantic, his anxiety lo fa girare tra tavoli e brande con la frenesia di un cane da caccia. Speriamo almeno che riesca a chiudere occhio per qualche ora. Io lo chiudo, eccome; questa branda è un comodissimo giaciglio...
Dislivello positivo cumulato 7.880 m; km cumulati 102.
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