ROAD BOOK, Sector 4, Table 1 - Life Outside the base, take the road through the vineyards to the village of Albard de Bard. Without the hairpin to take the path leading to the chapel of Bondon. It continues in the midst of the chestnut trees to the clearing of Places, then for a nice trail down pass just above the Sanctuary of the Madonna della Guardia and after a short climb down to the capital Perloz (663 m). We move water point near the church and take the "Chemin de la Paroy" until Moretta Bridge that crosses the river Lys. After the bridge, at the junction, take the narrow road on the left that leads up to the Tour d'Hereraz (586 m).
We go up a paved road through the vineyards. The sun beats down on our skulls already tired, and the ground reflected a warmth that we were no longer used. Moral to the stars: Michael takes us for a short distance, never let us miss his enthusiastic encouragement. "I see you well, very well." I recall a sequence of splendid documentary on Marco Olmo, in which Jane encourages her husband in the race: "'et vedu well, Mark, Cume legs ... Indeed, benisim." True: maybe it's a pitiful lie, but it is as a remedy for those who lead from the hocks.
Every square inch of land is exploited in the vineyard: it is pending, sacrificed in the rocks, it does not matter. George cites the 'agriculture heroic "mentioned by the food critic Edward Raspelli it is true, the expression makes the idea very well.
Michele says hello, promises that it will continue to follow us, via computer and phone, like so many these days who are following our adventures. It 's beautiful and almost unbelievable that someone is involved in my work, even if only in virtual form: I receive dozens of messages of support ... Too bad I can not answer, but I have to save the battery of mobile phones. They have not invented yet , the magazine for runners who draws energy from the movement of the legs.
gentle ascent and descent between vegetation and few, shoot development, walking at a good pace, without effort, that's not too much background commitment. So, you can make work a little 'the language: we talk about everything and more, racing and life events, moments and experiences people have encountered. More than talk, actually, I like to listen, George, meanwhile, is a well of surprises, has undoubtedly had a life outside of the ordinary. And a little 'if it is created, with his terrible temper ... Terrible in both directions, instinctive, one of those who act out of passion, and then, only then, turn on the brain. A trait that certainly unites us, even though I'm about to get scared, because I see myself in him taken to extremes.
A bit 'of trail and a little' dirt road, we have gained share, perhaps a few hundred meters. Beside the road, piles of sawn logs and cleaned up, scent of wood. A little 'plan, then we go back and still drops down to a gut in the middle of dense vegetation from deep green, almost black. A stone bridge, gorgeous, with a covered-shaped tower in the center and faded frescoes on the walls, leads us across the valley, just to go back just to the hamlet of Perloz. Here is a welcome refreshment point: never pull us back!
ROAD BOOK, Sector 4, Table 2 - After few meters you reach the paved main road, continue for about 150 meters up to Barmette, then Remondini. In front of the chapel, take a nice trail to the paved road, follow it to a bend and take the little road
road on the left through the woods. Continue alternating path and road to the chapel of Santa Margherita. Continue to the right towards Granges and a path to get to the village of Moline (1386m) and Sassa (1433M). Refreshments available.
Between greetings and encouragement, we share this beautiful town on the pavement of all in stone. Ablaze in our speeches, we were able to cut herself all over, it is true, this stretch of the race is not all that challenging, but we are both away. Trotta only because by now your legs can not do more. Until we reach a large deck with iron railing and a system of massive closed: here so that I get distracted, contemplating the enormous bulkhead, the threaded cylinder that lifts it, to imagine the force required to operate such a system.
The road to the left leads in the direction of Tour d'Hereraz, a short stretch of asphalt road and through another town, a wedding favor with a few houses, some cats and a puppy in his arms to his master. George recalls the story of her friend, admired the view of some geese in a yard, "How beautiful these geese." And the mistress of the beasts in return: "And he knew how good they are." I imagine the horror the friend of George, believes animal rights ...
Soon, easy climb gives way to a deadly path: thus, a betrayal. We take the first flight just as we passed a couple of competitors. Sassa to inform us that there is a shelter and maybe you can sleep: yeah, it's time to think also that, the night will fall soon and we will need two or three hours of rest, taking advantage of the dark. Encouraged, we face ruthless ramps for this lift that cuts the wind: we no longer now to chat. Poor Santa Margherita, which is dedicated to the chapel that we should reach on my part is bestemmiatissima: I am a bit 'worried ... Breath as a bellows, I feel like I weighed a ton and a half, I curse every bend, but then there's always another ... But when it ends this ordeal? On and on, on, through the houses, the paved road that sometimes washes our feet. We may also pass from there, wanting to ... But no, come on, it will be almost over. Almost. Almost accident ...
A path more gracious, always uphill, takes us forward again, while I meditate on my misfortunes and my despair. Calm and cool, is a small crisis, one of many, you know, Jean, that when you do not seem to have more, in fact you can walk for hours. Come on, soon you get to Sassa, rest a bit 'and again, as it should. The fear is that serpentine can not sleep: the first point is the next appropriate Coda refuge, at least three hours of walking, and is about to drop at night. The trail leads past two huts, abandoned but apparently in good condition, if not there should be room for us to retreat, this would be an arrangement to keep in mind.
High above our heads, check the profile of a building: an instant later, c'investe the noise of metal from a cow bell, which sounds right for us. A final, merciless ramp in the middle of the grassy slope and we're on, Sassa village. A sumptuous refreshment point: we enjoy a beautiful sunset red, crushing pieces of bread and fontina under the jaw become similar to those of a crocodile. George inquires whether it can stand for a few hours: I do not breath, but I look forward to ... And with the cold that comes over me back. Yes, apparently so: sigh of relief ... The organization gentle girl with us in a room lined with wood and heated by the warmth of a wood stove, then climb a few flights of creaky stairs to a small room with a sofa and a rug on the floor. Perfect: a paradise. I yield the couch with George, who has to sleep much more difficult to me, Lay your sleeping bag and, without a rapid episode in the bathroom, I've got buried.
troubled sleep by the sound of the bell, which stresses without pity the arrival of each runner, a crash but only to drag in an intermediate state between sleeping and waking, never let me open my eyes. Succeeds, a little later, an imperious knock at the door either squirted up, scared. What's happening? "It's nine o'clock, you need to share." Like, we go on? But not even two hours have passed ... "Sorry, it's the rules, you can stay up to two hours, then you need to share." I do not believe, is a nightmare, tell me which is a nightmare. Here, cocooned in the warm, exhausted, in an attempt to wrest back a bit 'of energy ... We throw out? Lean dealership ricomporci quarter of an hour, get ready and get off. I have tears in eyes: tears of fear, despair, anger. Rules or no, these are madmen, criminals ... The hands are shaking as tinker to gather and roll the sleeping bag. You can not, can not be true ... Yells, his voice breaking, George, more unique than rare, it is much calmer than me. Yeah, soon revealed the secret, when one is lying down, took a dose of slight pads that help him, he almost pathological sleepless, falling asleep. Obviously now is quiet. Quiet as a result of sleeping pills, but lucid enough to realize that, with quell'ostacolo in the body, he will not be easy to resume the march up the mountain. The thought crosses my his head like a lightning: for God's sake ... Not only will not be easy, if we get some mild stroke or above, will also be pretty damn dangerous!
go down the stairs with my heart pounding; vent my anger on innocent volunteers at rest: "I know it's not your fault, I know that you carry out orders, but please tell the person in charge of everything that is a crazy. " Someone intervened to calm myself: "It 's a safety issue ....". The flight to the eye: security? Security and prevent the rest a bit, 'and throw it outside to go to two thousand five hundred meters into the night when we are undone and we ask only a couple of hours to sleep? Apparently yes, That's right: either we share, or discredit us, and woe to stay overnight here in the next survey point, because if there were not to see us get within a certain time, would be part of relief efforts. Incredulous and angry, I shiver with cold and anger; George urges me to stay calm and very nearly eaten alive too: quiet? From that pulpit is preaching!
ROAD BOOK, Sector 4, Table 3 - From Sassa will follow the path that leads to n 1 with Portola (1966m) and after Carisey Col (2124m), from here continue along the ridge leading to the Coda refuge (2224m). Water point.
Col breath broken by sobs, I resume the march, on a dark path and threatening. Giorgio wheel, silent. The light and the noise of the shelter disappear behind us. At the first clearing, trying to shoot for a while 'sleep interrupted wear a jacket over and we sit on the grass, where the slope is almost back. Fall asleep for a few minutes, but it's too cold, there is little to be done, tap evidence to resign. As you climb up. Rise of long and painful, even if shining above us countless stars. Candles ahead of us and follow us, mingle with the reflected light of the flags. It's cold; advance slowly, with great effort, his head bursting, the tension that haunts me. George is quiet, I am concerned, I feel speak from time to time, I'm afraid that the medicine can hurt, even if the chemistry they will be certainly more than me-he proceed in the dark rocks are delineated slowly, by hand as we approach, in ways uncertain, to sometimes absurd, that change in the reflection of the front. We are leading a small group when, suddenly, a cry awakens me from my slumber resigned. One more step and I understand the reason: in front of us, under our shoes, appeared out of nowhere a huge expanse of light, plain, beautiful as you could ever see the day. A Frenchman is moved behind me: "Paris, Paris," she exclaims! Well, do not overdo it, maybe not Paris ... Be satisfied that Biella! George points out that, according to the road book, we would have to trespass to land in a section of Piedmont.
The climb, which I hoped already concluded and resumed, albeit softer, crossing a grassy slope in the wind. The path is uncertain, you walk by a balise another, again and again. Suddenly, an intense steady light appears, that of the refuge, but is still years away. It appears that you move, every turn you away ... Short ascent, descent, still lifts, downhill, and then ... There will be room? You can get some sleep '? For us it is vital. Even one hour, but we stand at this point. The cold bothering me ...
The light finally stops, becomes more intense. This reveals the outlines of windows and a door. The Coda refuge, finally: 2,200 m above sea level, some with views over the plains. The point of comfort, or rather a simple point of water is outside under a gazebo. We enter the refuge: the girl who runs it tells us that there are no beds available ... It does not matter, I beg you to find a place, any place, even just a bench, a corner of the floor. There is luxury: the girl, very kind and attentive, even gives us a table for one. I never dared to hope so. A table and a thick wool blanket: paradise. Levo shoes, backpack. In this big room that looks like a pit of hell, I crouch on my bed and sleep in the lead, a troubled sleep, which slipped in the voices, the sounds of footsteps on the wooden floor of the backpacks that strike the ground. I wake up maybe an hour later, shivering despite a prey to the deck against me, on the same table, another girl fell asleep. Delay a bit ', before getting up, then I see George already in motion. Ok, time to get up. I propose, however, to put something warm in the stomach: the proposal for a hot chocolate, my job does not say no. The girl and the mother of the refuge are tireless, immediately prepare and serve breakfast at a table for us and another couple, which fly just before we heard some big word, perhaps because of a misunderstanding. We riders we are tired, it's true, but as rightly point out the refugees, they are, if possible, even more ... The girl is standing by 50 hours, with one foot badly injured in a fall, it has received neither a pair of crutches for him, nor adequate supplies for the runners, and in fact has almost sold out of the shelter. And then, of course, his work will not be exhausted when the last competitor has passed through here: the battle to remain a clean and tidy ... But he has a character of iron, has run away, her order to send away the people who stopped to sleep. At the risk of cluttering the local summer night, winter, floors and tables della sala da pranzo. L'ascolto a bocca aperta: questa ragazza, come si suol dire con fine locuzione, ha davvero le palle quadre... E la mamma come lei! Non finirò mai di ringraziarla per avermi trovato un posto. Un'ora, una sola ora di sonno, ma per me, qui, quell'ora fa la differenza tra crollare e continuare.
Colazione con una squisita cioccolata calda, fette biscottate e burro: poi è proprio il momento di andar via. Usciamo sotto le stelle, ma con la consapevolezza che l'alba non tarderà a sorgere; mi ripropongo di contattare le due signore, in qualche modo, per dire loro grazie.
ROAD BOOK, Settore 4, Tavola 4 - Passati per un piccolo tratto sul lato Biellese si raggiunge un colletto from which a steep path up Serrafredda Alpe (1904 m). A small slope and then through the mountainside until Gouillas (1814 m) where it joins a farm road. Follow it for a while and then take the high road on the right path No 1. It then descends through wooded slopes to the lake Vargno (1670 m) Refreshments available. Left to right the high street, go down a short distance and then take the right path no 2 nd leading to Marmontana Col (2348 m).
We are moving along a path that goes down slightly, to a fork, from there, the trail drops down with steep jumps, stones, sometimes stretches a bit 'exposed to compel me a march very cautious. George seems to feel better, go down quickly and safely, where I have to measure every step. I would like to see a little 'stars, but how? If I only get up the nose from the direction of my toes, the risk of crashing ... Who knows how many people still in front, how much behind? Not very important and we should be, according to my calculations, the relatively well placed compared to the gate times. I have no references to see where we send our path. We find ourselves, suddenly, on a dirt road, so far came a truck and an excavator, which rest on the carriageway. I confess that I really want to open the door and take advantage of the seats to sleep ... Sleep continues to harass, I know, will be so until the day will dawn. That is, until I'm in the full light of day. Even George tribulation and yawns. Street, right again to climb up a slope through the woods and trees and tentacles that stretch on us. We need to reach a lake ... How far is it? I do not know, and the rest would have great importance. My perception of distance is upset, deformed by fatigue, sleep, nausea. Let's go down: lots of lights, in front of us, scattered throughout the mountains. Yet another pit stop for me just now, you have to run for cover, calling in San Dissenten equine dose, otherwise I will end up dehydrated. Down two tablets in a single blow, with regrets had not brought a cap from carboy.
The descent is not difficult, but endless, winding, winding still, constantly changing direction from where I imagine going through. George is a few minutes later, down at a good pace, I feel numb, heavy head, a nausea that I can not stop. Yet, I also hunger. Go into the woods. I look for the lights with a desperate desire, but are still down, the more down, still bends and hairpins, it is not hard, but I do not take it anymore. When you finally see the light of refreshment, I'm almost to the limit. A concrete step above the stream, a short flight on the rise: the barracks are a gazebo, a table well stocked with groceries, a fire lit.
me down to sit by the fire, then on a bench, his head against the wall, the nausea more intense. And 'George to bring a pause in the barracks. We have cots available here. Shot down on me before I find, as they are, without clothes, without anything, in confusion, George tells me, but I can not follow him. A quarter of an hour of sleep, perhaps, then the chills force me to move. Of course, if none of us here a remedy for pneumonia, we can be really lucky, as provided in immune ... We leave the dormitory
chill out just in time to the first light of dawn just as cold. At the banquet of ristoro, prendo un the caldo. Nel frattempo, è arrivato anche Aldo, che, come suo solito, se la prende comodissima. Mi riempo la sacca a spallaccio di formaggio e beni di conforto vari, che mi riprometto di sgranocchiare lungo la salita; infreddolita, riparto a ruota di Giorgio.
La salita successiva è ripida, impegnativa, in mezzo a prato, roccette e resti di baite; il cielo ora azzurro ci mostra i contorni delle montagne e, forse, anche la nostra meta. Settecento metri da superare, circa, lungo un bel percorso dalla pendenza regolare, un po' più pietosa nella parte alta. La nausea pian piano se ne va; al contrario di Giorgio, io credo di poter affermare che, entro certi limiti, mi sento decisamente meglio quando the share increases. Take a deep breath, your legs feel less tired. The hill, Aldo there have achieved: a small point of pride ... Although, in reality, he has no intention to join us, nor any interest the stated clearly, in very difficult times, this is a trip for him ... It is for me only that I, unfortunately, I have a well running slower than his and I can not indulge too much with myself.
ROAD BOOK, Sector 4, Table 5 - Below the hill, keep left to go down the valley. You follow a long downhill to the Clear Lake (2096 m). After passing a small artificial barrier of Leikier Alpe (2094 m) continue to Mianda Alpe (1998 m) where the junction behind the boulders. Take the right path to go back to the split in the rock called dou Leui Crenna (2311 m). Go down the hill until a stretch of Old (2184 m). Continue along a trail through the steep rocky slope. Left to the left the path that goes down to Gaby and then going through some ups and downs in the mountain and after a last run Chaparelle Niel (1555 m). Refreshment.
The descent, long but not too challenging, it freezes the sweat on the skin. The temperature is really Siberia, the soil hard ice cream. Four hundred meters of altitude and the last attacks of sleep. Distracts us the continuous noise, deaf, nearer the engine of the helicopter: we see him rise from the valley floor and disappear behind the ridge of the mountain. Before we come to pass that covers the shoulder view, the helicopter is already broken. Maybe a rescue? We are now in the neighborhood of a beautiful lake, I seem to perceive, on the plateau, a group of people. Perhaps a party? So soon? Hard-core hikers! But no, that is our mini water point, we reach after crossing, with some difficulty on my part, a small closed forcing cement, alas, such a jump. The injured taken away by helicopter seems to have left just like that ... Over a glass of hot tea, scambiamo quattro chiacchiere con i colleghi occasionali di marcia, Nicole e Leonardo. Non invidio i due volontari costretti qui all'immobilità, mentre il sole tarda ancora a raggiungere questa conca; il freddo spaventa in marcia, ma è davvero insopportabile da fermi.
Ripartiamo. Quante volte si riparte, in questa lunga avventura. E mi sorprendo io stessa di quanta ansia, ogni volta, mi spinga avanti i piedi. Un tratto di sentiero facile, quasi in discesa, sul versante della vallata alla nostra destra; poi, una brusca svolta e si torna a risalire. Pare che questa sia, a detta di qualche bene informato, la salita più terribile dell'intera gara. Beh, non c'è che dire: incoraggiante. Il road book parla genericamente di un path ... Not exactly like this: after the first ramp, going back with the enthusiasm of the sun finally found, the track is lost on a scree of large boulders, often unstable, with agility to climb unknown to me. George, lightweight and perfectly at ease, I exceed four jumps, I was trudging along, using all the holds possible, including the nose, the balise is there, look for the support, if it stands the test, go up a step, another support, foot here, hand there ... And woe to turn back. If I look down, it's over. I feel behind the voices of two colleagues, they also tough and determined. Still precarious handholds, steps that do not know how to fix, not even I was struggling with a 7B ... Giorgio disappeared. The heart goes crazy with fear last step, which forces me to endless moments of rest, without which I can see the solution to the puzzle. Then I try, with hands that tremble with terror: made, are over. Finally, after an eternity on the trail: a trail at least, narrow the gulf side, but there is. And, before a show as impressive as the left, a crack, a vertical split in the rock, and the dark figure of George in the middle, in the background. And 'a must photo.
The descent, at least in the initial section, is anything but simple. I adopt the proven technology of the support cheek, because the line is a steep path, to hairpins, which crosses the stone, and shoes that can take that. The foot, also supported cutting, sliding inexorably downhill. For a few tens of meters in altitude, take forever ... The trouble is that we're both taking a little 'lightly, according to our calculations, and a quick look at the layout of the road book, should miss only one more ascent, not too demanding, and then down to Gressoney. In fact, at the end of the most difficult stretch, the trail takes a slightly more gentle slope, and from there, however, is a continuous, endless, destructive series of ups and downs, sometimes bitter, among the grass, rocks and marshes; a torture to the legs and an even more severe test for morale. Climb, climb, climb again and again, I am exhausted and my pops is in better condition. Visibly nervous, shooting for a trifle. Beyond collar of yet, we see against the sky, the silhouettes of a group of people: how I wish there were, between them, some familiar face ... No, I'm not here for us. We pass, but, by mistake, we continue in the grass, losing some balise. We realize that almost immediately a loud voice, George tries to attract the attention of fans perched on a collinotta. "Up there," he stated, "beyond" my pops not grab the fly, rages and hisses a rispostaccia ... No, this is not lo sopporto. Già sono stanca e preoccupata; non tollero scatti di nervi, né da me stessa, né da altri. "Vuoi dartela una calmata?", lo rimprovero. Per tutta risposta, il malnato parte a razzo, su in verticale per un ripido pendio erboso: non ho altra scelta che seguirlo, arrancando, scivolando, cercando invano appigli inesistenti, con il cuore in gola per l'angoscia, anche se qui, forse, reale pericolo non ce n'è. Vedo arrivare, da destra, qualche decina di metri più su, altri corridori: beh, vero, abbiamo sbagliato strada, ma stiamo tornando sulla retta via. Infatti, ci immettiamo su un sentiero che porta dritto ad un colle, con tanto di torretta di segnalazione in pietre; però, non lo oltrepassiamo; imbocchiamo invece una mulattiera sulla sinistra, che taglia una parete di roccia. Sono al limite della resistenza, fisica e morale; sono a terra, sfinita e sfibrata dai mille saliscendi senza certezze, senza prospettiva di un colle da cui scendere giù, definitivamente. Giorgio trotta rapido, ma non lo seguo, non ci provo nemmeno. Cerco un conforto nel telefonino, ma è solo un pensiero; lo ripongo nella sua tasca. Le gambe fanno male. Brutto segno.
Un punto di ristoro, solo da bere: ma è un enorme conforto. Un cagnetto ci si avventa contro, abbaiando feroce: Giorgio reagisce malissimo, gli urla contro, gli punta i bastoncini. Eh no, quando è troppo è troppo, e questo è decisamente troppo. M'infurio anch'io: "What do you caxxo? You crazy? Give yourself calm down." I'm out of me, such a gesture, in my presence, against a small dog, and moreover, by a veterinarian ... I do not even respond, he. Time to bend down to pet the pooch, not at all threatening, just a little 'exuberant; time to see that I lost a water bottle ... I turn around and not see him again. Okay, worse for him if he will go if the Paturnie. A nice glass of Coca Cola, greet, apportionment. A few turns to lose altitude in a moment, then off along the path often flat or almost through the pastures. Walk with his eyes on the ground and the soul in turmoil, I plan to get down and commit murder, but is slow and painful. Here, much of the character of George I like, but this is the side that I hate him with all my heart. Nerves to become emeritus of nonsense: just a gesture, a word out of place, a moment of waiting too, and we already see that his face is transformed, as cues to the Dracula fangs. It pains me to admit, is a good and dear friend, but his character certainly is not the best for my summary, in a test so long and demanding, where the bigwigs is being tested and as more of the muscles. It would, conversely, someone who shines for Olympic calm and patience. For me, as for him. Yes, perhaps, for my part, the shock therapy of the "vaffanxxxx" against him is the most suitable ...
So ruminating, walking down a path that goes down slightly. Suddenly, I shake my head, as if I woke up then and there from a short sleep. Sleep? But if I'm walking! Bah, it will be an impression. A few meters later, dinuovo, same thing as if asleep, but this time I can not wake up. I feel like the same floating head. As if to move my feet and hands were not my will, but an outside force, independent. What the hell is going on? I stop for a moment, I sit down to earth. I get up, allocation: numb, I hear the distant sounds, muffled, and what I see are not my eyes to see it. Oh man ... I think this brand really evil. I try to eat something, anything, nothing changes. I try to speak I hear my voice, but does not come from me. It turns out that in a while 'I lose my balance and fell ... Yet, no, I do not, keep walking, I'm standing more or less, and only, I have an exaggerated effort to focus on what I see, the path, including rocks and holes. It is not sleep, not consciously, at least. Simply put, the mind goes: like a balloon inflated with helium. As if I was dreaming, I must grit my teeth to keep it down, anchored to the ground, the balloon. My head explodes ... Walking, walking, always downhill, sometimes steep, sometimes flat, numb and yet aware of it. And a little 'scared because I really fear that one moment to another, this strange feeling takes over. I must not fall at all costs: if I crack my teeth again, are trouble ... I think of something concrete, I think of Gresham, to the pasta party, I think the stones on the path, the departure, arrival. None.
ROAD BOOK, Sector 4, Table 6 - through the village until you climb up steep slopes of the Col Lazoney (2364 m). From the hill opens up the pleasant valley of the Loo with a gentle slope leads Ober Alpe di Loo (2055 m). Water point. After crossing the creek the trail descends more steeply up to Loomatten. Along the main road you will reach quickly the basic life the Palace of Gressoney (1329 m).
I reach the point of comfort, housed in a stone courtyard, next to a shelter or restaurant, I'm not quite sure. Here you need me to take some time to pause. "It 's half an hour waiting for you," growled a familiar voice behind me: toh, who sees ... Here, if you want the war catches me in the best frame of mind. Obviously my reply: "Who asked you expect?". Just when I was already a bit 'resigned and a little' deluded idea of \u200b\u200bcontinuing the journey in solitude ... "I have not done anything to you, I did not say anything against you, and instead insulted me." And I know what is going to the neuron at the moment, dear mio. Taccio, solo perché so che mi pentirei di aver parlato, e mi riempo le mani di pappatoria per scongiurare il rischio di una denuncia per lesioni volontarie, aggravate e continuate. Più nero in viso di uno spazzacamino, Giorgio raccoglie le sue cose e si fionda in marcia. Lo ignoro: con calma, mi rifocillo ed approfitto del bagno; infine, anch'io mi assesto lo zaino sulle spalle e riparto, all'avventura.
Il sole è davvero caldo in questo fondovalle; picchia sul cranio già dolente. Appena oltre il paese, imbocchiamo una salita sulla destra, che inizia con una scalinata erbosa accanto ad un muretto in pietra. Poco più avanti di me, una coppia che, sulle prime, faccio fatica a seguire. Il pancino deve ancora superare the trauma of abundant food, better go with caution. You sweat, the sun under a clear blue. Fatigue, however, has the advantage of removing some 'discomfort, at least for the moment. Reach a group of houses in the middle of the plateau, and beside a stream of clear water: Fill the bottle, which I forgot to do down to eat, and I put my head under the cold waterfall. For a while, I miss your breath, this is the change in temperature for poor neuron, but then I find the ideas a little 'clearer. The trail turns left and goes first in the woods, then up the slope. Meeting a group of hikers no longer young, scattered among the bends involved, Apparently, the more talk that the march. My two companions stop to pick up a small water source, the crack of a rock, beyond them, but does not inflict a great distance. Can not do it even if I wanted, but in any case, I will not: Do not make any sense. I seem to see, a lot later, the outline of the fugitive. Some bend over and over, it seems to me to grasp a firm figure on what I guess is the hill against the blue sky. I take it easy, however, I have no intention of losing even a drop of energy to get up there faster. I leave to others the ambition to be sprinters.
"Oh look ... a center Vodafone," says serissimo uno dei due colleghi alle mie spalle. Per poco non mi ribalto dalle risate. Tornantino dopo tornantino, raggiungiamo la vetta quasi insieme. La figura che avevo visto in lontananza è un escursionista appollaiato sul cocuzzolo lì accanto: "Quel signore con i capelli grigi ha aspettato un po', poi è partito in discesa... Mi ha chiesto di dirtelo". Ecco... Se è andato, meglio per lui. "Non vorrei essere nei suoi panni", osserva sornione il collega. Non mi fermo: sul colle spira un vento rabbioso. Un'escursione termica violenta tra il caldo della salita e le raffiche che appiccicano gli indumenti bagnati alla pelle. Meglio indossare il giacchino, e con tanto di cappuccio.
Attraverso un ampio altopiano erboso, saltando da a wetland to another, by a hair, I can recall the German competitor, which I take a completely different direction than indicated by the flags. "Danke, thanks, and row away with his relentless pace. The wind freezes your face and hands, I can hardly follow the trail of flags across the field in a straight line. A herd multiforme, cows, sheep and some goats, the pastor greeted kindly, it is stated on the race, he asks me how it goes. As long throw forward, that's great ...
trail, suddenly, over a sort of "step" natural and down, steep, winding, and then return wide and, if desired, corribile. Of course, I do not want. My illness is not slow to be felt, more lively than ever, him. The climb to some extent, engages the mind, forces the concentration and fatigue, distracted. In descent, is fatal, the nodes come home to roost. Just like a few hours ago, I find it difficult to focus on the trail, the stones, to control the foot and go on their own. Sometimes I feel I fall to the ground, the same that sometimes I wake with a start when I dream of falling, the trouble is that at this moment I'm awake, or at least I try with all my strength. I look around, as if the presence of someone else could help me, no, there is nobody, neither before nor behind. I can only hope that the end of the descent is not si faccia troppo desiderare.
All'alpeggio di Ober Loo, gusto qualche pezzo di una toma in bella mostra sul tavolaccio di legno e m'informo sul meteo per i prossimi giorni: tutto come se io stessi osservando me stessa dal di fuori. Non sento mia la voce, né mi sembra che gli assistenti del ristoro stiano parlando proprio a me. Nemmeno una dose di caffé mi riporta alla ragione. Riparto, divisa tra curiosità e paura; la discesa è ancora lunghissima e tormentosa, perché, in questa condizione, per me la fatica si moltiplica. Ogni passo è un'incertezza; i miei occhi non vedono le pietre, vedono altro o nulla, e devo strabuzzarli, stropicciarli, devo prendermi a schiaffi. Piano, piano, ancora piano. Non serve nemmeno hurt me, planted her nails in his arms, as if I had been anesthetized and me I could not wake up. That same feeling of suspension between sleep and wakefulness. Yet, I seem to be able to think more or less, is the body, which goes its own way. I wonder and think: maybe this is a form of self-organization, since I did not dare to sleep, he goes into "save mode", such as computers.
see a little 'wild comforts me, if nothing else, we are under two thousand feet, although the descent is still long. I reach another pair of competitors, I confirm that if I needed it, that the rogue has gone forward. So it resumed, before or Then again ... oh if The trail suddenly starts to climb even steeper in some places in the pine forest, at least I trust that the slope, yet another unexpected and unwanted, bring me back down to earth ... No way, hallucinations and hallucinations rest. The last stretch through the woods to reach the valley floor, is an ordeal, with the sunlight that descends in the evening. If it gets dark, they are breaded. I shake my head worse than a wild horse, and I feel like walking on eggshells. Not true it seems to me to see, to my left, roofs, signs of civilization. The path I bowl on the road, suddenly a little funny, because the cars whizzing us without criteria. I'm more dazed and confused than ever: I have to reach the rest ... I'm not sleepy, but I know that I need to sleep. Little but sleep. It 's almost evening and we would still be a couple of hours of light to be exploited, but I can not. I can not really.
I reach a comrade in misfortune: we are four words, but I can not follow the speech, it seems to me that the sound of her voice come from miles away, like an echo confused. Get a move on, not to arrive at the restaurant before him, but to avoid a fool: I can not articulate how I want answers. I have no words. Two miles, announces the writing on the asphalt. Still two kilometers ... I crawl, hallucinatory than ever, his head bursting. Set aside the murder intentions, I just want a bed. A hotel, a table, greeting people: I see them, but I can not react. The only thought that I can draw now is the arrival of the stage, throw myself down and sleep.
I reach a barracks that, by far, has the air of the gym. Yes, that's her, there within, with the comfort of some fans, sensing time, delivery of the bag, the usual efficiency. I crawl towards the refreshment table: here again, well that is still at least I try to eat that, given time, can be considered a dinner party, then digested at least a little 'in bed. As I start hunting for a place at the table, I see that George comes up to me, his face dark: c'incrociamo almost without speaking, and I asks a voice beyond the grave, because I angry with him. "I have not done anything against you. I did not say anything to you. Why have you insulted?". There and then, in the darkness of my unconsciousness, I wonder if I ever insulted. Just do not remember, I have to explain it to me ... Ossignur! Dumb, I asked him if there was stupid! O my mother ... It would be an insult? Urca, good man, it's good that blue blood runs through your veins, it's good that you are susceptible, but define "stupid" an insult to this day ... Do not you doing, the Supreme Court, 'is the thesis, no no! And then, however, I have no desire to controversy and split hairs. I'm not in condition. I just want to eat and sleep. Everything else, until a later date.
limp on the table as an empty sack, swallowed the paste as a kind of goose. A wheel, a lot of other things, because I am conscious of having to refuel, even if I do not want. A cute French rider, elderly, with an excellent command of Italian, button attacks: it is very lively, likes to chat ... I regret this, but I really can not do it, I can not give breath to my thoughts, to translate them into coherent words. The gym, the echo of voices into the vast and empty, the confused roar in his ears, light eyes no longer see. I follow George, with the last remnants of power, to the area of \u200b\u200bthe camp. I slumped on the front that I find. I'll take a quick shower after, but now I do not have the strength. Accommodations ...
cumulative elevation gain 13,847 m, 200 km combined.
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