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.
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