Correva l'anno 2009 e non era una notte buia e tempestosa, tutt'altro. Era una luminosa mattina di metà luglio, con l'aria frizzante dei 1.200 m di quota di Courmayeur. In compagnia di Matteo, mi aggiravo in quel di Dolonne, al palazzetto dello sport, soddisfatta ed ancora un po' rintronata per la lieta conclusione degli ottanta e rotti km, quasi novanta, del Grand Trail Valdigne: traguardo raggiunto poco prima delle six, welcomed the dawn light in front of Mont Blanc. Satisfied for myself, because I had honorably endured the hocks from start to finish, but especially for Matthew, who had already returned to Courmayeur for several hours, putting in his pocket a dramatic eleventh place overall.
One, put the first moment, I was still happy and unsuspecting. A moment later captured: trapped. The giant banner, in various shades of purple, hung on the wall on the second floor of the building, had already captured my eye and paralyzed, and a little 'back, in the vacuum of the skull, my single neuron.
Tor des GEANTS. 330 km, 24,000 m in altitude. " A few ideas, ma folgoranti. Il neurone, benché ancora disorientato per colpa della notte insonne, ha reagito alla velocità del fulmine "Ci sarò". Senza nemmeno sapere dove, come, perché, quando. Quisquilie. La decisione era presa. Alea iacta est.
Quasi quasi mi stupisco di me stessa: mancano ben tre giorni al via della corsa, ed io ho già cominciato i preparativi. Beh, non esageriamo: diciamo che sto già riflettendo sul bagaglio da portare a Courmayeur. Il Tor des Geants è stato, per tanti mesi, null'altro che un lungo tratto a penna sul calendario del 2010, alla pagina di settembre: un messaggio al mondo intero, io quella settimana lì non ci sarò, cascasse il mondo non mi troverete, nemmeno in caso di vita or death, there will not be affected, family, work taking. From September 12 to 19, forget about having a daughter, a sister, a wife, a niece, a cousin, an accountant, an administrator of the building, because I'll no longer any of that, I'll be a heap of bones and muscles exhausted painful pilgrimage in the mountains of Valle d'Aosta. Already
the composition of a bag to make sense, for such evidence, it is superhuman undertaking. 330 km, zero zero three hundred and thirty bar as you write checks. Walk a distance that I never even imagined it could take, especially in the middle c'infilo 24,000 m of altitude difference, and the same, nothing special at all irrelevant, downhill. Only one thing consoles me: I believe that, like me, nobody else has ever imagined. So, I'm in good company. I have just completed, less than two weeks, the Grand Raid Pyrenees: 40 and more hours of driving for 160 km of hard ones hard, over 9,000 m in altitude. Here: After crossing the finish line of Vieille Aure, there, I would have to leave for another round, and then yes, I could get an idea of \u200b\u200bsomething that approaches the Tor. A rough idea, mind you, because I would still have missed a bit 'of miles and six thousand feet of climbing. Fateful question, I would be able to do so? Answer almost embarrassing in its obviousness: no, of course not. I wander
home with the frenzy of a dog owner who tries in vain to hunt for bags, Small bags and totes that I do not know how to fill. Quiet, Gian, we need a starting point, otherwise do not get out alive. The backpack, here, first of all the pack, be ballasted with the binding material. Survival blanket, waterproof jacket and pants, sweatshirt, whistle, two in front with spare batteries, elastic bandage, bandana, water bottle, food supply, an entire tube of paste Fissan: so far it's almost easy now. Add a good supply of medicines: anti-inflammatory drugs, the excesses of the tummy tablets, aspirin, others put the bag in tow. And then, the vital roll of cul de papier. All wrapped up in plastic bags, bland attempt at defense in case of rain. A whole week with the sack on his back, to trample paths: Yeah, I certainly can not hope to save much of the 150-hour maximum time allowed. And with the anxiety of the hour barriers: I know there are, although I do not know where or when. I printed a couple of weeks ago, the road book, but, as my usual, I then felt the need to consult. So, as I made to memorize the details of a route so long? A week running, sleeping little, just wash, rest less. I'll know how to endure such a long separation from my beloved water? There is nothing to laugh at the toilet of the house is at the top of my scale of suffering, is perhaps the most distressing source of nostalgia.
All I know is that our competitors we have a check-in baggage, a grant will be transported from one base to the next life, ready for delivery to our arrival at each crucial stage of the seven seats: Valgrisenche, Cogne, Donnas, Gressoney , Valtournenche, Ollomont. The seventh is Courmayeur, the arrival ... A mirage. I do not imagine even for a moment to be able to reach, Courmayeur, I never wanted to imagine, in all these months. A calculated effort even remotely. How can react feet, legs, muscles, after one hundred and fifty, two hundred and more miles, as it can react, especially, the foreman, a foreman so fickle as mine. I I spend with great ease from the high peaks of enthusiasm to the Mariana Trench of discouragement: how could I even think of how to manage the whirlwind of emotions that overwhelm me in all that time, those miles? No, not even in the slightest. The target image is taboo. Hope to get to the end would be only for me, conceited, foolish and illusory. Better not to build the castles in the air, rather than attend to their dramatic fall. How much stuff can I bring along? Unconfirmed reports speak of "a lot of 50 liters." That means a lot? I have to put him to the bag, or I will supply the organization? Well, while I make a couple of bags, then we'll see. T-shirts, shorts, gloves, vests, socks, underwear, a waterproof jacket parts, a couple of towels, soap, toothbrush, a pair of shoes, in case the miles should weaken the strength of my beautiful La Sportiva. A jacket of those that I use for bike, ski, in the case of penalties weather, cap, fleece headband, a roll of toilet paper emergency. I forget anything? But yes, of course I forget something, I notice just before the start, at best, at worst, will discover in the course of the race had left behind something important. And, by the way, I have a load that I need the moving truck to transport it. I console when, in extremis and trafelatissima, my appointment with the good George: he, who is also a small man, rude as it wants and needs without the cliché, it has almost filled the trunk of a car with its "absolutely essential ".
The drive to Courmayeur, a beautiful Saturday afternoon with the sun still hot, the last for this year, I guess. Should I shoot out joy from every pore, but no: "I see it, you're tense," says George. Already strained. And not because tomorrow will be the time X, no, that does not bother me for now. I falls on the distress for the entire week I'll be spending away from home: I have fixed everything in the office? Forgotten some slope important? Warned all those who had to be warned? And if something happens and I'm not there? Yeah, think about it, are years that I happen to be away so long. I almost, I feel guilty, very nearly, giving up ... But come on, Gian. All are useful, no one is indispensable, he says. They fare very well, even without you.
The withdrawal of the chest is a quick bet on the Sports Hall Dolonne. Another passage, a little later, to deliver the yellow bag, official, when I transferred the contents of my luggage: incredible, there was room for more ... Yeah, especially since I forgot to put in a key element: the pappatoria. And I had bought a ton in bars and dried fruit. Invitation to the concerns and I hope that the organizers did not make us starve. Then the recall, the dinner polenta, cheese and apple pie, a nap. The last comfortable night, and without alarm for hours before dawn: Will I see a decent mattress only between several days and on the other hand I hope so ...
E 'wretched fate of those who have time and opportunity to sleep, but seven is already well ahead of eyes staring at the ceiling. By starting at ten, could take the opportunity to earn a little 'sleep ... But nothing. Tantovale rise. I allow myself the last hot shower and calm, even if I do not need any. Hotel Managers Croux you really are made for runners in four of the Tor: A breakfast buffet is a feast of delicacies of all kinds, jams, chocolates, cheeses, meats, breads, croissants, milk, tea, coffee, eggs, yogurt ... Confident that there are still two hours away, I try to cram her going, meanwhile, smiles at the Babel of languages \u200b\u200bthat drives the large room: there are English, French, American. The only thing missing that George and I talk begins at Piedmont.
have just nine when we rest our behinds on the steps of the revered church in the center of Courmayeur, in front of the headquarters of the Company Guide. We have already made a couple of tanks in the country, we just have to wait. The grid and the arch of departure are already there to make a show of himself, does not take long to fill the square. One by one, in groups, with family and friends, we are so many clowns with a number stuck in various places, belly, leg, on the backpack. Wild-eyed and dreamy, and whoever ends in silence and who vomits torrents of words a bit 'disjointed, strange effects of agitation. There are familiar faces, the usual: Aldo, Luciano, Lorenzo and many others who, while chatting avendoci exchanged several times, I would not know a name. He weighed the backpacks of others are few, to have rocks comparable to my shoulders, that other binding material ... But it is always the same story. It 'true that, in the basis of life, I'll find my bag and I will take the necessary, but are made this way: I prefer to have me with clothing and supplies for any emergency.
a quarter to ten o'clock, when the grid is already offering a colorful performance by cattle truck, the volume of the music rooms, a solemn song, the kind that bring chills and make splash at attention, stomach in and chest out . I wonder what he thinks, who watches us from the street and from the balconies. Dell'autosuggestione power, I have my heart breaks ... The microphone announcing the weather forecast for the day, rain in the evening and night, so it seems. Good start. Bah, Gian, the rest can not mica expect a week of sun, mountain, would be a utopia. Do you have to resign, there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. Then the speakers dell'altpoparlante tremble, jump in the air; countdown, ten, nine, eight ... Two, one, go! It starts: on the run, but only for representation, to say thank you to the crowd of locals and tourists who has gathered for the occasion in the main street of Courmayeur. Fanciful, our fans: you are armed not only with the traditional cow bells of all sizes, but also pots and pans, to make more mayhem. Will meet with the dishes all bubbles! At the bridge over the Dora, where the descent is over, we are all in step, as it will be, at least for me, from here until I can get by.
ROAD BOOK, Sector 1, Table 1 - From the center of Courmayeur, take the road that leads to the Piazzale Monte Bianco, continue towards Dolonne way down the road to victory Sources. Once over the bridge on the left take the path that leads 1A on the right of pasture Arpettaz. Continue on the dirt road until the last pasture of Arp. From there it continues down the path that leads to the Col Arp (2571 m).
The first climb is a land known: I have nothing else to do but go back down the path of the last Grand Valdigne Trail, as it was when the start and finish of the test were in Courmayeur. 1,300 m in altitude, more or less, to deal with the parking brake engaged. Cross the village of Dolonne, even here, cheering loud and huge, viewers of all ages. The heart reacts badly, as usual at the start, out of breath, tiredness, legs hardened. Everything as expected, everything ok, I hope. In fact, I am beginning to think that I'll never ... The first flight on the path, a hairpin bend after another clash in the queue, patiently waiting. Can only welcome that, there will be plenty of time to run later, if at that point, you still can not stand up. Yet there are those who yield to impatience, surpasses, click Next. Cui prodest? The path
nel bosco ci scodella su una strada sterrata che passa accanto ad alcune case; poi, oltre l'ultimo alpeggio di Arp, ancora sentiero, quello che attraversa l'ampio vallone verde. Si vede già, lassù, lontanissimo, il colle, con la fila di minuscoli puntini colorati che ci si avvicina, a zig zag. "Secondo te, ci sarà già qualcuno lassù?", domanda Giorgio. E come no? I primi sono dei missili, sono attesi di ritorno a Courmayeur per mercoledì... Secondo me, sono già a La Thuile a quest'ora!
Man mano che rosicchiamo metri di quota, mi sento un po' meglio. Il battito del cuore ha preso il suo ritmo. Certo, la voglia di spingere un po' di più non mi manca, ma non devo cadere in un errore così idiota, se voglio avere qualche speranza di incamerare almeno una buona frazione del Tor. Immortalo in una foto il Bianco che spunta, in piena luce, oltre la costa del sentiero. Si sale a strappi e lunghi tratti quasi in piano, fino all'attacco finale, sotto il colle, dove la traiettoria s'impenna in ripidi tornantini uno sopra l'altro. E già si sente lo scampanare dei tifosi in cima al Col d'Arp (quota 2.571 m). Il primo colle è alle spalle.
ROAD BOOK, Settore 1, Tavola 2 - Dal colle si scende lungo il vallone di Youlaz fino al primo punto di ristoro del Mayen di Youlaz. Da qui si continua sulla strada sterrata fino all’imbocco del sentiero che taglia verso i casolari dell’Arp desot. Si continua lungo la strada asfaltata fino al tornante da cui parte il sentiero che in mezza costa porta fino a La Thuile (1435 m). Punto di controllo e ristoro.
L'elicottero ci raggiunge proprio mentre iniziamo la lunga discesa. Il sentiero è facile, comodo, non troppo pendente; induce alla corsa: a maggior ragione, non bisogna lasciarsi ingannare. Dobbiamo attraversare il lungo vallone di Youlaz, con pendenza dolcissima e qualche tratto in piano, scendendo accanto ad un bel torrente e persino a qualche chiazza di neve. E' solo l'inizio di un lungo viaggio, eppure tutto è già alle spalle; l'unico desiderio, terra terra, adesso, è il primo punto di ristoro; qualcosa da bere sembra esserci là in fondo al pianoro, più o meno nello stesso punto in cui è piazzato uno dei ristori del Grand Trail Valdigne. Infatti, man mano che ci avviciniamo, scorgiamo forme umane in movimento accanto ad un tavolo. Ed un bel cane nero, indifferente a noi. Già, vero: c'era l'obbligo di portarsi il bicchiere ed io l'ho dimenticato... Ho una borraccia in più, piccola, che userò come tazza. Che scocciatura, 'sta storia. Con la scusa becera dell'ecologia, gli organizzatori si levano un fardello...
Coca Cola in abbondanza e via; la discesa è ancora lunghissima. Si percorre un buon tratto di strada sterrata, dove tanti allungano il passo e guadagnano vantaggio; fate, fate pure... Io rallento, anche rispetto a Giorgio, che nei tratti in discesa ed in plan is always faster than me, I must not, absolutely do not have to waste any more energy in the infinitesimal bare minimum.
A steep section of trail cut us a couple of bends. Meanwhile, the sky is already a bit 'obscured by clouds, the first drops fall. We're good ... Quiet, Gian, is not yet time to agonize. It may not be something serious, you may stop. To dress or not? It's all the same, so much math: if I wear a jacket, rain will stop instantly, if the levo, restart. A little 'street, asphalt this time, you can already see the valley road, the houses of La Thiule. Giorgio and I still breath and great mood to chat. Trail, a bit 'up and down, the lawn: ground note, this, we are in La Thuile. Detection of an electronic bracelet and the first refreshment edible. Here, Gian, now calm and cool. Drink and eat slowly. Yes, with quiet a cabbage ... Quaff Coca Cola, fontina cheese and chocolate in strict order, with the frenzy to get out at all costs from here, now, are even more eager to George, who dine at Tuc and cured beef. I throw a little 'accident in the bag of food that I have hanging on the shoulder and away out of here. Crossing escape the eyes of other competitors from the boys, the adventure has just begun ...
ROAD BOOK, Sector 1, Table 3 - From La Thuile partono le indicazioni Alta Via 2. Si prosegue lungo la strada asfaltata fino ad un ponte da cui parte la strada sterrata che fiancheggia il torrente.
Giunti alla strada asfaltata si prende il sentiero che sulla destra, nel bosco, porta fino a La Joux da cui si imbocca il sentiero delle cascate che porta al Rifugio Deffeyes (2500 m). Punto di ristoro.
Giorgio ed io ci avviamo con le mascelle ancora in movimento. Calpestiamo un po' d'asfalto in uscita da La Thuile e poi lungo una stradina che sembra più una pista ciclabile, quasi in piano, popolata di famigliole in bici e turisti in fase di digestione del pranzo. Camminiamo lungo il fiume; un po' di salita, un gruppo di case, un sentiero che si stacca sulla sinistra. Milletrecento meters of altitude, on paper, for this rise, but the path in the woods, after a first flight, seems to descend, even with mild slope, for a long stretch. The climb resumed later in the thick of the woods, following the signs to the Refuge Deffeyes. Some hesitation, for us and the occasional fellow travelers on this section, when the path seems to blend into the trees. But tracing, with the flags, it seems well made. Distracts us the sound of a beautiful waterfall: the path we bowl in front of the fence of the lookout. But I, as always, I have eyes only for the meter of land in front of me, a stick after the other, continued to rise. We are on the Alta Via number 2, as there to remember the yellow triangular spread a little 'everywhere, on rocks and signs. Hats off to the signs around here, do not get lost even if you want!
We left behind the wood that was quite a while, 'when we reach the inn where the Rifugio Deffeyes. I never visited until now, many shelters as it sees these days. The welcome is warm and enthusiastic; short break before heading towards the 2,857 m high pass in name and fact.
ROAD BOOK, Sector 1, Table 4 - From Deffeyes refuge, continue to the High Pass (2857 m). From the first falls on stony hill, then up the path, up to the pasture Promoud (2022 m). Refreshments available. Continue following the signs to the Col de la Crosatie (2838 m), which can be reached along the path along the river, up to a valley of the stony rubble and then ending at the top with large stone steps. From the hill you go down to the right along the diagonal crossing leading to the Fond du Lac and the remains of a pasture (2338 m).
Plan, as always. The sun seems to want to accompany still, I hope that the weather at the start were drafted by a bird of ill omen ... A George creates problems share, to me, the descent on scree ... Promoud reach the pasture is a liberation for both. We expect a glass di Coca Cola; è ben immaginabile la nostra sorpresa, quando invece ci troviamo di fronte ad una tavola imbandita di tutto punto. Uno dei margari dispensa polenta a piene mani: polenta buonissima, "grottoluta" come si direbbe da queste parti, calda, accompagnata da fette di ottimo formaggio. Mi sa che questa è iniziativa spontanea dei pastori, perché, sulla carta, qui è segnato solo un punto acqua. Simpaticissimi, i padroni di casa: visi di montagna, bruciati dal sole, occhi di un profondo azzurro che illumina i colori scuri dei pesanti abiti da lavoro. Un concorrente chiede i sali; lo guardano come se fosse un marziano appena piombato sulla Terra... Non mi resta che afferrare la bottiglia del vino; solo un goccio, per carità, ma that other salts ... And to think that I, wine, bourgeois life, no matter its a damn, I do not see anything and, in general, I do not like. Much better than a glass of Coca vulgar.
Even George, always exceeded the vile pleasures of the stomach, he has not pulled back, with polenta. We share weighted and gorged, under the questioning eyes of cows and horses grazing in the meadow, the trail then climbs steeply immediately, severe. We hope that the wine will not make me lose track!
Once again, Jean, piano. Short steps, measured. The shadows are long, the sun, in bright yellow, soon leave us, hidden by the peaks are too high. We're almost there, Gian, the first long night is coming. As the forest thins out, is more intense than the blowing wind, and colder. The trail, now exposed, go up a steep slope, toward what seems the passage of a hill. And to think that I should have learned by now: the hills, mountain, where there never seems to be. The wind chill is increasingly violent and I think it is appropriate to cover. Top of the hill, there where I was convinced that it can over the pass, but unfortunately, what I see makes me switch instantly good mood. The path is a saddle swept by the winds, George and I are fighting a fierce battle to put the jacket wind and pull up the hood, barely hiding the rocks. The climb takes over tougher than ever: I have to frequently leave aside the sticks and make me safe hands, stiff with cold. The joy has given way to live terror: the trail is exposed, the balance made precarious by the wind, if I look down, I can feel the head turning. And if I look up, I do not see the end and even worse ... With shaky legs, continuing to rise, the anguish in his heart and a row of competitors behind, waiting patiently. The leaden sky, black clouds and the sunset, the air whistling in your ears, everything to make plays scary quest'ascesa. I can even take a wrong turn, when I try to climb up a step impossible, thank goodness I'm called to order the pursuers. Jokes, chat: "... it gives you a caxxo, grab a piece of comment. Maybe a little 'in raw terms, but effective: we are just on the first day, and Tor already makes us understand, without room for doubt, what are we going to do. My nerves are on edge. Rocks, steps, hardened hands on the stone. The voice of George, who continues to repeat this climb because they like this atmosphere and exalt him above all, I knocks: the irony is he, but I swear that, if not the plant, I do go back to the pasture Promoud the most direct route! If at least had the decency to keep quiet ...
A scream pierces the black veil that now my dark sky: "The hill." And 'as if someone had lifted a boulder shoulders. The hill, finally ... Hoping that, there is a bit 'better. Col de la Crosatie, damn.
The descent is already nearly dark, the valley is in shadow, a dark valley in which we go diagonally down a steep hairpin bends of the narrow path. The wind is a bit 'dropped, but it throws on the drops of rain clouds still far away. Over our heads shine the stars ... 'S time to switch on the front. The rain seems serious: George wears the jacket, I just keep preclude wind, which is not waterproof. Will have to stop sooner or later, the starry sky ... In fact, a closer look, a black belt extends from above the tops on our right. However, the valley seems to bend to the left, the little that I can make out in the dark. Perhaps we are saved ...
reach a plateau, we look around: there are no more flags. And now? What is the right direction? We have to go through the herd of cows, their round eyes, close together, shining the light of the front. My mood, already precarious, even sinking a bit 'towards the abyss: I'm afraid ... George moves back and forth in search of the track, I prefer to wait for them to approach the other lights behind us. The trouble is that those following us, due to lemmings, but the runners who wear them do not have some better idea about us. My traveling companion is a hunting of a lake, because he knows that we have to go from there. The stubbornness rewards: we find, finally, the trail. It continues to drizzle, some more intense burst alternating with pauses with a few drops.
ROAD BOOK, Sector 1, Table 5 - The trail crosses the stream and continues along the plateau until the Bénévy cottages, where you enter the forest. Finished, the trail follows the road to La Clusaz and then Planaval (1554 m). Refreshments available. Follow the paved road to the village of Revers, then the dirt road that leads to Prariond, where the path to the Frassy. From there, the paved road, you reach the village of Gerbelle. Cross the bridge to get a Valgrisenche (1660 m). Prima Base Vita.
Umida ed infreddolita, continuo in silenzio la lunga discesa, alle spalle di Giorgio. Quando entriamo nel bosco, il buio sembra ancora più fitto e minaccioso. Mi sembra sia trascorsa un'eternità, quando raggiungiamo tracce di vita: le luci dell'abitato di Planaval, il punto di ristoro. Caffè, Coca Cola e qualcosa da mettere sotto i denti. Scambiamo quattro parole con i gentilissimi volontari, poi ancora in marcia: un breve tratto di strada asfaltata, dove il nostro passaggio è ben segnalato dai coni e dalle fettucce bianchi e rossi, e poi a sinistra, attraverso una frazione, su per una comoda strada sterrata. Ora piove sul serio: Giorgio si ripara; io no, ormai persa dietro ai miei fantasmi, demoralizzata, stanca, impaurita. Lascio che la pioggia impregni l'antivento ed arrivi alla pelle intirizzita; non vedo altro che le luci lontane della prima meta, Valgrisenche, sparse su per il pendio. Solo la leggera salita mi permette di scaldarmi un po'. Il mio compare mi rimprovera, ma non sento ragioni, come se fossi ipnotizzata, incapace di reagire.
A Valgrisenche piove a dirotto. Raggiungiamo il punto vita: potrebbe essere una scuola, non riesco a capire. Controllo del chip sotto un gazebo e solerte volontario che ci consegna le borse: proprio le nostre, contrassegnate con i nostri numeri. Efficienza perfetta. C'infiliamo poi in un budello di corridoio, su per una rampa di scale e, da lì, in a room that would be even wider were it not a charnel house. Apparently the apocalypse: there is not space to rest your bags ... I'm so confused that I can not even organize your thoughts, let alone find their way to do. A quick look at the showers we understand that not even mentioned. I raise my soggy jacket, shirt, tank top, the wet, I hang all of a coat rack, as best, but without hope that something dry. From the window, the dim light of a street lamp illuminates the puddles in the street below, it continues to rain and could not be otherwise. In here, the atmosphere is saturated with moisture, the floor is all dirty and wet. It is not anyone's fault, of course, we are aware it is an inconvenience that we must accept. We alternate in a bathroom with the sink, where we are able to give us both a wash, as best, then, put aside your bags and go down to the lower floor, a bite to eat. There may be eleven or midnight, who knows. A plate of hot pasta, yoghurt, bread and cheese will, if nothing else, I console myself that I haunt of shivering because of damp clothes. No, because of my idiocy. I could change, but it would be quite useless while having dinner again immediately, in the rain. Time five minutes and I would dinuovo soggy.
What I see and hear around me was unreal: competitors comfortably seated at the table, who asks a piatto di pasta, chi un bicchiere di vino, e madame volontarie, tutte con la stessa maglietta viola targata Tor des Geants, indaffaratissime a correre di qua e di là, scodellare portate, riempire i thermos del the e del caffè. Come essere al ristorante!
Mangio con calma, quasi a voler procrastinare il momento della partenza. Stanotte non si dormirà: questa è una decisione che ho preso io ed imposto, suo malgrado, al povero Giorgio. Insomma, una notte insonne la si può sopportare; è un'esperienza che entrambi abbiamo già provato più volte. Ho l'incubo dei cancelli orari e vorrei, finché ne sono in grado, accumulare un po' di vantaggio sulle barriere. E poi, c'è da dire che in questo carnaio è can not sleep: mainly because of George, which is a chronic nervous and sleepless gives clear signs of impatience in the midst of this confusion. But success ... The cold. Carrefour two cans of soda with caffeine and taurine, two doses of coffee disgusting, but still coffee, then it is high time to move on. Let's go back up in the pit and we equip the rain, waterproof jackets and trousers; riconsegnamo bags and then head out into the night in the rain. A violent shudder shook me. Gian Force, is a bit 'in a good mood. Something tells me you will face the worst. It 's too early to be discouraged ...
cumulative elevation gain 3,750 m, 48.6 km cumulative.
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