"I had never happen - notes Matthew - mattana such a decision is taken on the day before departure." Worse, some twelve hours before the start, I'd say. We just returned home after a ride on my bike ride: Valgrana, Pradleves, Colle Fauniera, Ponte Marmora, climbs and Albaretto Celle Macra Macra, Dronfield, and return to Montemale Valgrana, 120 km to about 3,000 m in altitude. But the holidays are few to be exploited: Call some hesitation, we must take advantage. At dinner, in front of a plate of pasta, we define a few essential details of the trip, and once cleared the table, then, Matthew immerses himself in the study of maps of the trails, combined with the road book of the Grand Trail du Cro Magnon, the beautiful and grueling race that takes place between Limone Piemonte and Cap d'Ail. I've tried on my skin this year, in June and I struggled like a mule, but I have retained a wonderful memory. The forecast for the next few days are very encouraging for the Val d'Aosta, but excellent for the southern Piedmont: the idea, which I already buzzing in my head for some time, at least in part to retrace the route of Cro, independently, it does not seem so farfetched. Moreover, even Matthew, to me, and less impulsive nature has a certain amount of common sense, accept the proposal without protest.
In theory, since I trod those paths just two months ago, I know the direction by heart. But it is one theory, a very different thing to practice. It sounds easy, think of print head in a series of crossroads, where the layout is carefully marked by the work of organizing a race, but it is not at all, especially in the first few miles, when the anxiety of the street has not yet subsided, the heart and the legs have not yet taken the pace and looking stubborn tip to earth, always in search of the tape later. I know it can not rely on memory, far better than I download, as always, on poor Matthew, the task of making a guide, material and spiritual. So then if something goes wrong, I will have a scapegoat on which to vent!
Alarm episode four, to go walking bus from the parking lot at seven Calcantibus around Limone Piemonte: At least, this is the intention. I am sorry, already on the way by car, so much softness of intent: the sun rises and we are still traveling, minutes, quarter hours, half an hour of light wasted ... Which sends me into a rage, because we decided to walk until it is dark and a bit 'over, then stopping to sleep in the wilderness: waste the sun seems to me madness. Repress the nervous fatigue, but did not save a few growl too, warns that my poor companion, now aware, in spite of the destructive power of my outbursts. In Lemon, the victim swallows the second part of your breakfast as a kind of python, so as not to waste any time, but I have already put into action my emergency procedure to help me calm down: the nerves are a bit 'thesis, this yes, but I would say that the situation is under control. I'm almost back to me when, at half past seven, it takes on its way: backpacks that weigh on his shoulders as if they were of granite, with sleeping bags, clothing and food for all cases sufficient to withstand a couple of months siege.
bleak clouds obscure the sun as we move through the streets of Limone. I try the windows, lights and scents of a couple of bakeries, already open and active: We gladly do just a short visit ... But I can not afford it, especially after a blizzard for late departures. A policeman watches over the square, a figure in shirt and briefcase walking in a hurry and it reminds me that perhaps not everyone is lucky enough to be on vacation. We are still in the country, when it already requires a look at the road book. Sun chairlift, then a dirt path, we take it, I walk a few yards, then retrace our steps, because the track said he is following a chair, while we are trotting next to a gondola. We understand that the delay in two tracks lead to the same destination on the other hand, we immediately get the impression that the research the right way will not be a breeze.
The path goes straight for a bit ', to take on a real dirt road that leads us, with steep slopes, up to an area of \u200b\u200bthe ski slopes. Behind us, the view over the valley and up a sky layer hidden behind a high, uniform and leaden clouds, and yet, the weather was not announced bad weather ... While I already think of anything, and speak not only for the effort and puff the start, Matthew continues to treat me with the same caution with which an explosives handling a bomb ready to explode and that's it ... For once I calmed down alone is not going to wake a sleeping dog, please! A digger working
already good Now, at the laying of cables and a concrete foundation for some kind of structure. We go up a ski slope, steep and quite ugly, the only consolation is the finding of a package of Pavesini, still sealed and clean the box: You may have just lost the traveler whom we met just below ... Well, Let's take it as a sign of favor and incameriamolo of fate, that you never know.
In this first part of the race I keep very sharp images that alternate with confused memories: they are certain to be passed next to the station of the chairlift or gondola that is, "Severino Bottero. The problem is that I have the absolute vacuum about what happened immediately after: there is a fork, but I can not really say which way we should turn. Matthew pulls out map and road book; conspired for a while ': according to him, it is likely that we must bend to the left. But, as I put the whip to the neuron, there is nothing to do, taken from the anxiety of the race, and tormented by the usual pain that always accompanies me in the first few kilometers of a race, probably in June, I attended the mass without even make the case to management. Mea culpa, it was decided to explore the road to the right, a wide turn leads us to other facilities for skiing, even here, busily building work, with bustling crowds of off-road vehicles, trucks and construction workers. We pass a pair of vintage men mountain, we exchange for some reason, hiking German: Okay we look a bit 'rude, but it's not an exclusive extreme sports Teutonic ... Go up along the slope, again and again, while the houses of Limone away deeper and deeper. I do not remember any of this: in fact, a series of ramps too steep bowl us directly on the brink of an abyss, along with networks of protection, at an altitude of 1,900 meters, approximately. The road book escape any doubt, we should have over the pass at an altitude of 1,700 ... Well, we have not yet started and already we have added a good dose of altitude are planned. The trouble is that the marking of trails around here, leaves much to be desired, not to say that does not exist. From up here you see the parallel valley, where we should go. Code
between the legs, back on our feet, down at the fork of the lift, we just have groped, this time to the left along a path is almost flat, then slightly downhill. Soon reach a crossroads, where a bike rider, intent on replacing the tube for drilling, confirms that we are on track for Cros: there, just beyond, an indication on a wooden sign is almost hidden in the woods ... The path covers a long stretch going up and down through the plant, without exemption, even here, some doubts at a couple of forks. There are indications of traces of the route: it is, However, the Via del Sale. What arouses the attention of my neuron is the passage in the middle of the village huts Cros Here we also find, at last, the signs through the hills of Boaria and Pearl. And here we are watching, from below, the point at which, on top of the ski slope, there are gazing at the valley: Matthew notes that perhaps could have been groped a direct access ... Yes, of course, right. With the parachute, maybe.
The sun seems to slowly make their way through the clouds. We go up along the river, following the path and the providential tapes, this time without doubt those of the Cro Magnon, remained along the way will not be a great benefit to the ecology, but it is for us, at this time. At least for now, we are sure to be on track. Matteo let me set the pace, I should not and can not afford to overdo it: the road is still long, long ... Currently, there are no prohibitive slopes or bold steps, at least on paper. But the unexpected is just around the corner. Our route runs right in the middle of a huge herd of grazing cows. Will certainly be the most peaceful animals in the world, but the experience, alas, has taught me that even this rule has its exceptions. I strive to be rational, but my heart was splashing in the throat: the instinct is to turn around and go back ... Quiet, Gian, did not sense, if you come back here, then it is useless to even leave the house. Matthew, decided to go head track and an ideal path, as far as possible away from the animals, the trouble is that there's too many, and many, needless to do it on purpose, firmly planted in the middle of the path. Our journey becomes a confusing passage in the meadow, a mounting for the direct route, cutting the curves, but, despite our precautions, the cows show signs of agitation. Please, Spare us, I assure you that I fear I have of you, how can you have of me ... Fear triggers the hocks, go up the lawn with the heart pounding, m'inciampo of continuous as Matthew, although as I am afraid, can not to show it. A beast rasp the hoof on the ground, I do not face, but I already feel the ground vibrate under the blows of hoofs of a real office bovine organized ... Many pairs of round eyes staring at me, I know, have it all right with me, one after another, the four-legged stop harrow blades of grass and turn threatening the nose ... Before us, a beast bellows unabated, it seems seriously pissed: and OM? This we can not just go around it ... I look down, where the slope descends steeply to the creek. "We could go from there ...". "Yes, but they kill us," replies Matthew skeptical: does not matter, a better slip that un'incornata, or cows walking over my poor bones ... The terror of cows to hunt for the slope, I throw myself down the slope and go back, painfully, a little 'later, among the rhododendrons. Back up at a safe distance, we turn to the beast as he protested: breast-feeding the calf. What tenerum ...
horizon, go ahead. Survived intact and, on his journey. The adrenaline makes me trot in the legs in a gallop to the neck of Boaria Here intercepted a nice dirt road, which brings to mind the mountain bike parked in the garage. The view stretches to the sea, although it's hard to believe that what is really there, the sea. Countless peaks, trails, pastures around here, beneath our feet.
Rapido consulto della cartina, poi riprendiamo la marcia su un sentiero che sale appena appena, verso destra, tagliando un pendio erboso. Il sole ha vinto e picchia sulle nostre teste. Si cammina di buona lena: proprio non riesco a ricordare se la gara sia passata di qui oppure no, ma non ha molta importanza. Restiamo in quota a lungo; attorno a noi, solo prati, nessun albero, nemmeno a pagarlo. Ridiscendiamo ad un colletto, all'incrocio con una strada sterrata che corre alla nostra destra; ancora a mezza costa, marciamo fino ad individuare una costruzione, in alto a sinistra, contro il cielo e quasi sulla cima tonda della montagna: è un forte, senza dubbio. Lì per lì, sono anche convinta che si tratti del Forte Centrale, quello in cui, in gara, era stato sistemato il primo punto di ristoro. Convintissima, benché il neurone, sotto sotto, m'insinui qualche dubbio: eppure, durante la corsa, ricordo di essermi accorta della presenza di un edificio solo all'ultimo momento, appena prima di entrarci. E ricordo d'esserci arrivata via strada sterrata, non via sentiero. Eppure, sembra che la traccia ci porti dritti dritti lassù: sembra... Invece, ad un tratto, piega verso destra, correndo parallela alla strada sterrata qualche decina di metri sotto di noi, ed aggira la cima su cui è arroccato il forte. Titubante, Matteo consulta ancora carta e road book; non ci raccapezziamo, lui perché non conosce il luogo, io perché ho ricordi vaghi che, anziché help me, confuse me. The fort that we saw earlier, and that we could reach the top of this making the rounds round propabilmente is not what we were chasing. Boh ... Get along. A couple of hairpin bends down, then follow the track of the path, halfway up for a while '. Finally, we take a fork that goes down, down drastically. The landscape is very impressive and we are high above the tunnel tent, and on top of the homonymous hill, the dirt road. "And yet" - I insist - "the race did not make us go on Colle di Tenda. I am quite sure, that's nice! Rapidly lose altitude, descending along an edge that shows, at right, the landscape of Lemon with its palaces and to the left, a beautiful view of the Valle Roja. We now have the certainty of finding off-road: amen, now we just have to get off, then we'll see. The steep path we
basin at the intersection of two dirt roads: to me, this picture remind you of something ... He notes that, in these parts, the crossings are more or less the same, but no, I know that this is not a crossing any. From here we went in earnest in June.
On the dirt road, Matt stops for a moment to repair the damage to a blister, I continued, until I find the final confirmation of my impression. From the dirt road off a path that, in a few tens of meters, reaches another high, the right one this time. Unfortunately, the cars come up here, ergo also merenderos who flock to the lawn in front of the beautiful building. Yeah. I reached the fast appears; together, we pass the first building and reach the second, a short distance. Scathes me a sign: "Colle di Tenda". Ah, here ... The race is over, all right, I am that I did not realize. In fact, that day I was quite upset at this point, and in addition fully run-in with the fellow-competitor that he accused me of being too slow. As always, lagging with eyes fixed on the tips of my shoes.
The road book now requires us to follow the direction of Fort Pernant. A sguardo alla strada del Colle ed un pensiero alla MTB, poi si riparte: Matteo imbocca la scorciatoia, un sentierino ripidissimo e sconnesso; io invece scelgo la via più dolce, a tornanti. Per una volta che non ho l'assillo del tempo che scorre, perché mai dovrei andarmi a disintegrare i garretti, se posso farne a meno? Sfiliamo, un po' più su, accanto al forte; ecco un'altra immagine che mi torna in mente, nettissima. Mannaggia alla mia memoria a scoppio ritardato. Seguo sicura un sentierino che scende leggermentee e supera un colletto. Siamo ora alla testa di una valletta: ci sarebbe una strada sterrata che porta a scollinare, in due tornanti; il problema è che, ahimè, il passaggio è arduo, per via di due frane. Nulla transcendental, even for a picnic hiker, but I climb with difficulty on the first encounter and I block everything on the second. Matthew does not dare to insist that much ... I go back, to bend lower, and I know that he was right, the poor man: to get around the landslide, follow the path that climbs to the right and that to proceed, leading to a goal by the ominous name, Rocca Abyss . We climb along a stream that to my buddy finally seems appropriate to fill the bottle: just above a pond a beautiful green color. A couple of rampette on the rocks and we are strong in the presence of the third, on a grassy esplanade Fort de Giaure.
continue to walk along a trail in the coast, civenta decided until the slope and causes us to lose share, down into a wide plateau of pasture. Location Baisse de Peirefique: we get after eating the soles for a distance that seemed interminable, one foot forward the other on the path too narrow. Short distance into the woods and come out at a crossroads here is the dirt road above the road book. Another picture I remember. A few hundred yards ahead, I find the fork in the race that he had funneled into a long and painful descent through the pastures, marked only by Balise, but not from a real trace of the path. Matthew, cards in hand, proposes to follow the steep dirt road: go down maybe a little 'slower, but we will, if nothing else, sure of the track. Excellent idea and relaxing, I welcome the enthusiasm to proceed step quiet, talking, for once no vex, but some football too many stones, followed by precipitation of saints killed, run away forever. We dive into the pine forest: it re-emerge outside Casterino, where the river bridge sull'impetuoso gives us the warm embrace of the asphalt. About three kilometers jog on the hard gray coat, before reaching the dam and the village of La Miniere. Accompanies us, for once, a whole family, parents and kids on horseback.
A La Miniere, turn off on the right and steep paved ramp, "If all is well - notes Matthew - we come to the hill in a moment. "No, calm ... Later, planes, in front of a hotel restaurant. To think of it, the forty kilometers little ground so far give an idea of \u200b\u200bhow slow the course: after all, if it touches on the puzzling road book every crossroads, unable to count suOmbre that stretch and air becomes crisp, and the ring of mountains and peaks disappears, hidden among the treetops. We walk along a dirt road, it takes a long time 'before, as a shock, I remembered the layout of this climb. Just Matteo hints at a crossroads, and I turn on the light, but of course ... Quest'ascesa going to result in a deadly flight, not very long, but steep climbing to the limit! How did I forget it?
It stepped up out of there way to a grassy plateau, where the path can be seen with difficulty, between tree trunks and broken branches. Going down tonight I can not deny feeling nervous, worried about the idea that the darkness could surprise in this section. It 'an unjustified fear, there will still be at least two hours of light ... But so be it. The trail climbs more steeply, until the only trace is drawn from the notches of paint and the trail cairns. As best I climb behind my guide, building on whatever I have available, hands, feet, very nearly even teeth, and a step forward and two steps back and the soles that slip on the rocks crumble, my heart went crazy and shortness of breath. Checking the blind fear that hardly ever comes over me in these circumstances, it is important not to look back or under his shoes. Matthew rooms with the same agility of the chamois that we have seen recently, sometimes it stops, impassive, and looks resigned to that kind of octopus in epileptic seizure which is trying to follow it. On the hill, however, win my prize: a hug, compliment the four hundred meters in altitude exceeded half an hour and a splendid view over the valley, with a view dell'Authion. Col de Rauss: there are about eight, around mountains that appear wavy shapes of different shades of green and blue, the sky turning red, the sea in the distance. You see even a large ship, white: a scene almost surreal ... Shooting a long sigh of relief and let myself be swept away by a pleasant sense of euphoria: it's like I just passed the most insidious obstacles. Allotment with a smile, after wearing the jacket, because the fresh air sticks to the skin wet t-shirt. Destination? In theory, if we continue along the path of the Cro Magnon, we expect a long ride going up and down a path that cuts the slope, always at high altitude. But Authion is still very far from here, if we continue, we will walk for several hours in the dark, or at least stopping to sleep at high altitude. However, it is now clear that we do not have hope, even walking the whole night to complete the course by tomorrow. There is a path, just before dell'Authion, drops to Fontan and allows you to reconnect with civilization, in the form of railway lines, however, remember how hard it was found, the last year, that path. Groping in the dark and find the right way only because of the smell from mountain geologist Isaac, what an adventure ... No, I would rather have another idea, provided that the proper Matthew agrees. The sign here in the middle of the plateau indicates that the path, go straight, leading to Fontan:: you could follow him, go down a bit ', stay overnight at an altitude of a little' less prohibitive, and a few hours of sleep behind , continue Valléen the path along the Sentier de la Roja, reaching countries Saorge, Breil, Fanghetto, Libre, to the train station Airole. Route nice, however challenging and, above all, warm. My task seems to agree: I do not know if the idea really they wanted, or if afraid to unleash the atomic post anything of my reactions, I prefer not to investigate. Way, quickly, before you change your mind. A little while ago, going up the hill, we followed the light and now down the river, we will shorten the feeling of the day. The trail crosses a wooded tract, erupting into a broad grassy plain, with what remains of the stone walls of huts and fences. From here, follow the signs to Fontan, c'immettiamo up a dirt road: and walk, walk, walk, through a pine forest and then to beech, in view of the front. The chills on the skin did not slow in coming, despite the Jacket, the problem is the wet cloth on his back. But it is useless now and get change, then, dinuovo sweaty when sleeping.
We wrap the noises of the night, any animal that slips away, a few whistles, the rustle of wind in the leaves. The air is chilly at times, especially when the road makes some sharp bend and is exposed to the blade of current that flows down the canyon above. Walk and walk, the eyelids are becoming heavier, lies the tremendous risk of dislocation of the jaw yawn; thoughts run on tracks already completely rambling and probably not even parallel.
reach two dilapidated old houses: it might be a good place to sleep? It 's true, there is the shelter of a wall, but the site does not c'ispira. We decide to get a little ', passing close to other homes, they inhabited. Soon, there alongside an SUV, dying down his window: "Are you lost?" We are being asked, worried. "No no, thank you - we respond, bewildered - it's all right." In fact, I do not think that these parts are accustomed to seeing people who walks around at night with a backpack and poles ...
little further on, on our right a track off of the path that rode in the woods. A small clearing, almost flat, which seems made to our case: we could think of to sleep here ... We are convinced that they are now within easy reach of Fontan, since, on top, the sign indicated a total of two hours of travel, in our programs, when you wake up in a jiffy we in the valley, to lose the burr on the window of the bakery.
's about eleven thermal spread out a cloth on the floor above us unroll the sleeping bags, we change the mesh wet and wear what we have, for me, vest, shirt, sweatshirt, jacket, winter cycling jacket, Goretex . Finally, we are buried in their bedding, it also covers with the second heat sheet. Matteo eat something put it, I go to bed without dinner almost, apart from a few bites of dried fruit. After all, are so chilled that I do not want nothing but the warmth of the feather. Illus ...
finally, peace. A few moments to contemplate the flash of a black sky studded with stars that springs up between the darker foliage of the trees, lying on the ground and completely immobile, and share wonderful moment with Matthew, then, nothing.
The night is not the most quiet. Every now and then a noise that wakes me from my backside and it seems to me a broken branch, a presence nearby, and then, which dates from the cold hands and feet and soon takes possession of the whole body. Squeeze sleeping bag, close the hood almost to not breathe, I twined with the knees in my mouth: nothing to do, make damn cold. I tremble, I shiver, Blessed Matthew purr property. I end up waking him by dint of moving, trying to stimulate the circulation in the veins. How long the time between slumber and wakefulness, with the cold that torments me. I think the climbers capable of standing on the wall for days in extreme weather conditions, who knows how many degrees below zero: for them, freeze in half an hour ... Moreover, I am especially freddolosissima stops; moments in the office, wearing the sweater even in the scorching summer afternoons!
The awakening, just before dawn is both an ordeal and a liberation. We move at last, however, are hibernated so get out there that cost me a superhuman effort of will. The hands are white and almost restricted, difficult to articulate the fingers. Matthew is more lively than ever, as usual, does not suffer anything, him. Let there: street sleeping bags, towels off the heat, it starts again, so, beast, and as stinking worse than when we arrived. Amazing, how one can brutalize, and especially how it fits easily on the condition of bestiality! Moreover, between us, the stench neutralize each other, as the rest of the world, we have no plans to major social part of the purchase breakfast, as soon as possible.
start driving again without lifting myself an even layer. Dawn, as always, is the coldest hour. The feeling is that the road has no intention to come down to who knows how far it is Fontan? We walked so much, from there, but you can not really say that we have lost much altitude. E 'already clear when we are in the middle of a plateau, before a T junction with another large dirt road. The trouble is that it goes right in Fontan ... And on the left as well. A surreal situation. The paper there is a great help. We pull the coin: we try to left, it seems to come down. Although, watching the mountains around us, it is not clear exactly where. We share, still confident, despite everything, to be near Fontana: and what the heck, we're on a road with obvious traces of passing vehicles, there are homes in short, not twenty kilometers may be missing! But ... Walk, walk and walk on slopes and large sweet corners, we are to appear on Roja Valley: priceless entertainment, is a view of endless slopes without a tree to pay for it, however, was soon to realize that we are far, far away from the bottom than we thought. And there is no trace of the path we must follow the right road, which looks like a white ribbon leaning lazily below us, with soft curves. The white land stands in the sunlight hours of high morning, I can even undress a bit '!
True, I was very hungry and a great desire to bakers, though, I can not say that the unexpected has put me in a bad mood, indeed. A true traveler loves the mountain trails, and most are inaccessible, the better. To me it really like to walk calmly on a road like that, lonely, comfortable, bathed in light, I can look around without being forced to watch where you step. We are on vacation, after all, is not it? If we realize that it could not reach before nightfall Airole, patience, it will mean that there is also Breil. I'm walking in a beautiful place and in the company of the only person with whom I could share this wonderful mattana: what more can I want from life?
We meet even some cars, while we make plans to come back on a bike. Next, still ahead, a hairpin bend after another, until, already almost in the valley, a detour to the left on the trail. Has upset the cartel Fontan was indicated, yes ... But in the opposite direction to ours! Continuing from here, you get to Maurion. E 'is Maurion ndo? This calls for the extraction of the map. Maurion therefore Maurion: not far from Fontan, maybe three miles, but the mouth of a valley from the road side of the valley. In short, this paper, which already appears on my credit had some doubts, and bowls without appeal, in fact, the street where we got this far has been marked as a footpath, or even appear, while, conversely, other paths are paths such as roads!
go down to force a Maurion; take advantage of the garden to accommodate the backpacks and fill with water. Then we move along the asphalt road that goes down between the houses on the left side of the valley. Of course, in these parts, you see your little sun, the road is still in the shade and the temperature is not the most comfortable.
After a long march, with the hunger that now we can look forward to the plants of chicory, we finally arrive at the junction with the road of Valle Roja. Here too, an image that I have seen not to notice, but over the beautiful voyage made last September with Isaac, from Saint James Entracque Airole. It was night when we reached this very same point, then, that night we went from Maurion, down but not by road but the path that started on a high altitude, just before dell'Authion. How small and intricate world.
Fontan finally reach: each step is still to be ground a little torture ... Dilated pupils, wire burr and eye fixed to the point where I know I'll find the sign of the bakery: memory, here, do not betray me. We buy a whole pizza, plus an apple pie and a pain au chocolat: a few moments later, we magnificence on a bench in the sun, like two refugees who will not touch food for a week. Half head pizza, brushed with the voracity of a hungry piranha. It is not over, not to make the wrong grocery store next to the bakery, we grant a Pintone Coca Cola bottle and a pint of yogurt. A native, walking with her beautiful Labrador, wishes us a good appetite, smiling at our air hungry.
Neither admit it, but it is a great pity that breakfast is already over. You really get back on path. Matthew stashed in the backpack bottle of Coca Cola, the only foodstuff that we failed to exhaust. Sorry a bit 'that is always him to shoulder the burdens more expensive: after all, though, is his fault. Never complains, never gets tired ... From here on, traveling from memory: my memory. Let's hope so. Under a bright sun promises a hot day, we are reaching the railway station. The path to Saorge part opposite: if I did not trail in the company of Isaac, the last year, I would have never crossed the antechamber of the brain to be able to consider a path, this gut invaded by brambles and weeds that climbs up the mountain. For a long stretch, we trudge Indiana Jones-style, with the thorns that entangle us and we scratch it, when they finally manage to throw an eye at the bottom of the valley, we have already raised a lot '. The train station is down there, tiny, round, mountains in the morning light. The legs seem to be responding well, although the night is not exactly comfortable and relaxing, perhaps even on the path to hairpins, one behind the other, which inspires me. Come out to a junction on the right, no doubt. Proceed into the thick of the woods for a while ', or go down without either, suddenly, the track comes out of vegetation and falls down, beaten up Saorge, which already stands out, far below, with its towers. Difficult and slippery descent, just as I remembered, so patiently, one step after another and trying not to slip, I oppose the force of gravity and his accomplice unfair, my ass too heavy. Matt tries to inculcate the notion that I should not look at the toes down, but I have to observe half a meter below the ground, at least. Easy to say. This year, I recorded them have already broken me once: for the experiments, I would say that it is appropriate to let a couple of decades at least ...
Among the stone walls of the houses Saorge, more suggestive of the other, we reach the fountain. An old lady struggling with washing salad shows us the way to Breil, which I doubt, go down the main street of the little village, we pass in front of a beautiful church with a bell tower Romanesque. Now yes, I remember. We take a dirt road slightly downhill until you reach the bridge over the green Roja. The second climb starts here: destination, Collet du Mont Agu, who is at an altitude of one thousand meters, if I remember correctly. Thousand feet of climb, at times even challenging, but at all turns, as I like. Despite the recent and substantial breakfast, I'm already here I ask for help to Borraccetti of honey on the second day running, I am a victim of the effect incinerator ... We climb in vegetation that is already talk of the sea, even if the sea does not arrive, a few dry stone wall, the remains of buildings that could have some kind of utility, up here. And enigmatic sign, hanging from a tree: "No". Prohibition, but of what?
bend after bend, fatigue is felt. The few glimpses through the trees are not worth to see where it goes the way up, although I have more or less a vague memory. We are already in the vicinity of the hill, when Matthew, always remained patiently in line, it gives a reach and disappears among the trees. A totally different pace, I get it too: you go, indeed, not yet. A long distance is the hillside, down through the trees on a beautiful trail of soft earth, a beech wood, traces of a landslide that cut the walk a thin strip. Then, finally, you lose altitude. From the valley floor, barking dogs of the first housing, traffic noise. There is nobody around, though it is one of the weeks of August. I have the impression that this route is well maintained, but little known and even less attended a pity, really.
increasingly steep, the trail leads to the ford of a stream. We are almost in the valley, but, instead of going down to Breil the most direct route, which would force us to a couple of km of asphalt, we decided to go back and take the other path, the upper one. Or rather, I decide: Matteo trust and follow me. So we dive once again into the thick of the forest, so close as to give the impression of the evening light. A lift from goats, dark and muddy, brings us back up, on a curve overlooking the valley: the vegetation disappears and gives way to houses, scattered on the hillside. We wonder if there is no other way to get up here, if not, life here is reserved for those with good hocks ... That alone to the store to become a real climbers! Yet, I do not see around any access to car or motorcycle ... The landscape here gives the idea of \u200b\u200bclimate adorably warm houses with flat roofs, walls and light colors of the earth, flowers and cacti. The descent to Breil is long and very scenic, stand clear outlines of the buildings, the railway station, the center of the country. The trail runs next to the Roja, in a small park where some families have organized a slice of beach life, and ends up at the bend of the road, just before the bridge.
Another stop in the bakery is unspeakable desire, but confessed, of both. But we are in the middle of the lunch break and Breil is no curfew. Waves of dishes, from sauces to soups to roasts, but even the shadow of shops open. And stop at the bar for a sandwich is not our style. Tired and hot, we collapsed on the steps of the fountain to heal the body, particularly its lower extremities, and spirit. Matt seems a bit 'down in the dumps: I do not see excited to continue ... The train more useful for us to Airole is at 18.10, are about 14, now: I think, do it, at least according to the vague memory I have of the road yet to travel. Let the bottom of the stocks that we brought from home, or near, the belly will have to resign themselves to a bit 'of famine ... Then we share at a brisk pace, running along the river, with the white outline of Cruella stationed a hundred meters above our heads. At the sight of the beautiful landscape, Matthew seems to recapture the mood: I hope so ... This stretch of trail Valléen is really impressive and I knew that would not let indifferent. The extraordinary color of the water, the rocks in layers, the stone bridge. And the next ascent: hot, hot, and not entirely painless, despite is quite short. Long-running up and down on the trail of white earth that reflects light and heat, among flowers and colors of all sorts is a feeling that is repeated, beautiful, that which arises from the departure at the foot of the mountains, Limone in this case, and the journey to a far more mild and pleasant climate. The first town we meet is Libre: through the tiny downtown, houses built on each other and alleyways, where you pass only bent. Still long down through vineyards and olive trees, loads of blackberry bushes and flowers; increasingly tired and hot, we reach the roofs of Fanghetto. On the square in the shade, a big hound, old, rests on the lazy beat of cement. Although I have a moment's hesitation, here there is no doubt on the path to take. Just follow the trail signs and placards and take the path that goes down through the olive groves. A little 'tension spoil the beauty of the last kilometers, I was a bit' too optimistic, Breil, in my prediction on the time of travel. I remembered that he had spent less time last year ... It certainly can not say that I was lightning today, but has not lost time, the trouble is that the road is long The fear is of losing the train for charity, it would be a tragedy ... But, tired and undone as we are, we would both like to return to base and take a shower, dinner, a little 'rest. Hurry up and do not ask now is: I prefer not to know ... Moreover, Matthew does not speak, is grim, nervous. It also happens to him every now and then, losing patience! Now, I do not think you can expect more: at every turn, I checked another, I do not know what is missing in Airolo, I have a memory too confusing.
The first houses appear suddenly, the trail goes around a village that seems to me, is not too far from the town center. Come on, Gian, a last effort. My traveling companion is locked in a stubborn silence: for its part, is a very strange behavior ... Boh, the sparrow, I'm sorry, I made a mistake in the middle of the forecast, but what can I do? It 'just another confirmation of how unreliable memory in general, mine in particular. Footstools, finally, on the solid asphalt, to offset the error of my first road trip this time is much shorter than I remembered. A ramp leads up and up, the church square. Peep the first tower that I can, from a distance, to decipher: the six twenty. "OK - I conclude - that's it, there we are." Matt takes a few moments to pose a grudge: he was convinced of having to get on the road and he still knows how far ahead ... Instead, it is made. A hundred kilometers and a vertical drop incalculable, but significant, in-soles unleash euphoria: just a few steps to the booth of concrete that is the station Airole of little more than a shelter, we leave them with backpacks and fatigue. Smiling and elated, we sit on chairs in a train shockingly timely. Numbness and a little 'train of pain, but the journey is not so long: Lemon arrive just in time to loot the bakery and sling the cake pan, at least what's left. As soon as I open the door of the Opel, I welcome the warm and beautiful voice of Elton John: Oh damn, I forgot the radio on ... With trepidation, I turn the key: I answered a different tune, one that goes off the engine. Luckily, this time I have not discharged the battery, the dinner was saved!
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