January 18, 2011 - By bike to greet the dawn Solo un anno fa, non mi sarebbe never crossed the antechamber of the brain to throw me out of the house by bike, at six and a half of a frosty January morning. Not so much for the cold weather, laziness, sleep. And 'that the race bike I have shared thousands of miles over the years, the length and breadth of touching the most revered shrines among the fans, but I never conquered safe driving of the vehicle, I always had the distinct, unsettling feeling that the wheels were not me, to control the situation. Imagine: facing the darkness, fog, ice and slippery road, all together, it would be a folly, a bid to commit suicide with a good chance of success. By now I was so resigned to the love-hate relationship with the velocipede, which I would never have dared to hope for a change in my favor. In fact, truth be told, after the latest incident of New Year's Day 2010, I was slowly leaving my first love ever, in favor of the race ...
The arrival of mountain biking, with some days of adaptation to overcome the mutual distrust, it changed my life. Yes, I am not exaggerating, since sport is my life, finally being able to ride on a medium that gives me security is priceless. I will be bound by eternal gratitude to those who put me in your hands, or rather, in the backside this wonderful surprise ... Quick look between the lines of the roller, you can see the whole line of street lamps, to the end of the street. Do not open the window out of pity towards the neighbors, they are the six hour and I already rife with various chores around the house. A little late ': it is true that at eight and a half I have to be ready instead of fighting, in the office, but it is equally true that, with morning temperatures of this period, difficult to resist in the saddle over an hour and a half: over, the pain in fingers and feet became really unbearable.
Three layers of mesh: a tank top with perforated leather, an old cotton shirt with long sleeves, which date back more than an hour of exercise in middle school, plus my very first bike shirt, red, faded and worn usage, but still whole. It does not matter if this does not meet the taste of the finest designers: there is the jacket, also very dated, to cover everything. Long pants, the fineness of Goretex socks over with another pair of socks to read, now pitted, to make insulating layer, two layers of gloves, collar and cap cells, a pair of shoes that I have already consumed a walk on the paths and still squeezed racing on the asphalt. In case you had not guessed, I hate to throw away stuff that can still serve, and be patient if I do the figure of the scarecrow. So this time I can only see the wild boar, which I think is planned for high fashion. Thus caparisoned, with the addition of a little jacket and reflective tapes' everywhere more light front, greeting Skipper who took possession of the Latvian and proud of my pillow and I'm leaving.
jump into the road, just emerging from a cozy and warm environment, is not so traumatic. It must be said that we are below zero, of course, but not by much, this morning, in addition, we must also consider that in my house do not give up to seventeen degrees: the temperature range is limited ... Nose up: the sky is clear, a beautiful star, for the handkerchief that he can see the roofs of the houses. Better not delude ourselves, however, does not mean that outside the town, the situation is less rosy.
A kilometer or so to go in the city: better to light all the lights. At this time, the chronic impatience of motorists average for all that lies outside of his cabin, plus the heavy lid of sleep. Time and already a hundred yards from the cold back up their sleeves. The road seems not coated with glitter, all glistening in the light of street lamps. Capers, I have not closed properly, the zipper of his jacket, at times I froze the trachea ...
A truck stop with the four arrows on, before the shrine: the courier delivery of the bundles of newspapers. These youngsters of today: in my day, this would be done at least an hour ago ... Has condemned the majestic German Shepherd in the garden of a house: this may Here, every day, should break the sleep of the canine right?
The tension of the hustle and bustle of self takes precedence over sleep and chills. The rotunda, the underpass, which would be forbidden to bicycles in brackets: Yeah, right, use the special track ... Thought, as usual, those who conceive of the cyclist in the one as the old lady with shopping bags and Graziella. I would not, at this time are a fully fledged vehicle and as such I will be able to move. Emerges over the railroad: the lights that pop up in the distance, straight from the bottom of the interim order is a bit 'blurred, spread out to star, as I imagined, a little' foggy there must be in the country. Turn left, but with caution: they should make up their lights flashing wrist ... Actually, I remember seeing something like that, at a glacier walk, a few years ago. It 's true that I have a reflective armband, but I have no confidence in the ability of motorists to understand that I get behind. In these cases, although it is a bestiality in terms of rules of the road, I prefer to pull over to the right and crossed, with the open road, but now, thankfully, is not necessary: \u200b\u200bno one around, either in front or behind.
take the way of the dartboard, what I call "the old road of Ceresole" I do not remember if I have coined this definition or too rather, if I have stolen a document of some kind of recent history. The dartboard, then that is a pile of dried thorn from frost and junk of various kinds, the old structures are walls and brick pillars, looking stern and menacing as befits a place where you handle weapons. A straight line between the houses and then, after all, a curve: I know there is, the curve, but today is not seen. Barely perceive a glow orange, that of the new street lights of nearby industrial area. 'A bit of fog, "the face of bicarbonate. Time to reach the corner and I find myself in front of a wall, wet and cold. I follow not the road, but his image now, by dint of pass and repass over the years, I was Printed in mind, however, are not at all sure of being able to stay within its borders ... As the pupils become accustomed to the darkness, even the double darkness of night and fog, began to glimpse the edge of the asphalt, right and left, make no mistake, travel in the middle. And now I turn out the light front, which I am not of any help but in return, I dazzles, illuminates the droplets suspended, reflected in all directions. For a few miles pedaler in the dense cloud. It 's a very strange feeling, similar to the one you live in a dream, in which the boundaries, those few who are perceived, they are confused, unfocused. The eyes are fixed on the roadside, which sometimes disappear in nebbia un po' più fitta, poi riappaiono. In qualche punto mi tocca persino fermarmi e muovere qualche passo con la bici per mano; è davvero impossibile, anche lungo una strada arcinota, capire a che punto sono arrivata. Inchiodo con un po' di spavento quando perdo il mio riferimento. E mi accorgo di aver raggiunto il cavalcavia dell'autostrada, solo perché sento che spingere i pedali diventa più faticoso... In cima, la visuale è appena appena meno fosca, a guardar su, vedo le stelle. Ma scendo e mi ritrovo ancora immersa nel gelido morbido involucro. Curva a destra, curva a sinistra, verso le cascine Commande; qui la strada sale impercettibilmente. Conosco bene la successione delle buche, a meno che non si sia aperto qualche nuovo cratere in the last two days. I see in the distance the lights of the farmhouses. The road is wet and covered with a layer of slippery mud, frost everywhere at this time. Dark stains appear, expand, come to meet me, I stretch out their arms, threatening them, are the trees, even now know them one by one, but the imagination and fear turn them into freaks and almost alive, I mean, furniture. Every sound, every rustle, it is even more disturbing because I can not see what caused it: besides, I do not think at this hour of the morning with this terrible cold, quest'umidità you dig in my bones, I do not think they can be many living beings, as well as signed and some rat. Cautiously, still riding along the paved road, the variation of the slopes gives me an idea of \u200b\u200bwhere I am, other than GPS. The demarcation of the properties of Command, and the junction for casermotto Ceresole.
The miracle that happens in this short stretch of uphill road is such that, by comparison, San Gennaro is a PIVELLINA. We get up to twenty meters, not more, on a rampetta asphalt that keeps a very vague memory ... And the fog dissolves. I can not swim, but I think the feeling, at least visually, is similar to the one that comes back up after a dive. As if, until a moment ago, I watched the world with a dark bandage over his eyes and suddenly someone had lifted me. The road clear before me, a strip of clear sky just over the horizon, twinkling lights, flickering. The first traces of dawn. It 's still dark, but it goes without turning on the front, I have no trouble seeing where I put the wheels and I enjoy this fabulous landscape. The sound, the barking of dogs, seem sharper now. And the cold, although cold it is less annoying and unpleasant. I am a big grin widens: I can afford it, now that, with the fake teeth strictly not suffer more than the effect of frost on the teeth. The thin stems of poplar wood, re-created only two or three years ago, after the storm had destroyed the existing trees, blacks stand out against the sky that gradually tends to blue, while the stars, one by one, disappear. The farms, dark shapes in the lights betray the signs of early labor of the peasants, the ice in the puddles, toes numb already. I pedal at a good pace, Cascina Vigna, the junction for Cascina Francia ... The imboccherò after his return, and now I want to get to the terminus of this side street, where the cars passing through an event is quite unique. The small white church, a short, down cold. I throw the eye with greed to any cattle track to come off the field: it is strong, the temptation to throw the wheels ... But the time before the office, is a tyrant; better focus their energies on a route that has a minimum of direction.
A fire burns red stripe step beyond the horizon and the village Cristini, with its bell tower that stands just out of the dark sky. The luminous blue Gai, the company that makes machines for bottling wine, over the road. The two Cagnoni that I usually meet here, to look at a farmhouse, and that sometimes accompany me barking for a short while, have not yet joined this morning. Another chapel, the oldest and battered the previous one, before the last handful of houses and farms before the road goes to flow in the other, more traffic, which connects to Ceresole Casanova. Approaching the intersection and head back, retraced my steps, even sulle mie pedalate. Non ho più l'alba di fronte, ma quella parte di cielo che è ancora scura; per un attimo ho la sensazione che il tempo stia scorrendo all'indietro. La breve discesa di prima, adesso è una confortante risalita, che infonde un po' di calore nel corpaccione. Rieccolo, il bivio per la Cascina Francia. Imbocco la bella strada sterrata accanto ad una peschiera inesorabilmente congelata. Mi volto e vedo uno spettacolo che non ha pari: il cielo ha preso fuoco, un tripudio di sfumature di colori caldi, rosso, giallo, rosa, non potrei crederci se non lo vedessi con i miei occhiali. La luce lambisce la superficie gelata dell'acqua. Le canne sono imprigionate nel ghiaccio, i rovi proteggono le sponde. Raccolgo un sassolino, lo getto nella fishpond, tock, it bounces. With difficulty, pull out a glove and reached into the back pocket of his jacket, hoping that the camera, in contact with body heat and wrapped in a plastic bag, has not suffered from cold and moisture and should deign to cooperate. He does, in fact. Taking a couple of pictures, trying to keep my hands as much as possible properties, a few seconds and go back to slip the gloves, fingers already hurt. I have to have some problems with peripheral circulation, so it's not possible to suffer a cold that comes to hurt after a few moments.
Allocation in a gallop along the road that runs along three farmhouses and a beautiful grove, already advanced in years, the land is so cold that clings to the wheel is not even a molecule of mud. And where was thrown to the fresh gravel that is insidious lock the wheels, no problem, the pebbles are frozen the one attached to another. The dawn spreads over the countryside and the lights, even the telephone wires and high voltage pylons create embroidery on blacks increasingly rosy sky. A few corners, light latch, and a din of birds, I think crows, rising from the nearby poplar grove when I: if I ever wanted to go unnoticed ... The animal kingdom, at this moment, is the only company, there is no trace of human movement outside of the Hague cascine. Capita spesso che qualche "profano", qualcuno del mondo dei "normali", sgrani gli occhioni e mi chieda se non ho paura. Paura di aggressioni, intendono. Mah, sbaglierò, ma la risposta è no, non ho paura. Nei periodi in cui l'attività è consentita, ho paura di essere impallinata da qualche cacciatore, questo sì; sulle strade più trafficate, al buio, ho paura che qualche pilota un po' allegro e distratto mi renda un tutt'uno con lo strato di bitume. Ma qui, stamattina, non ho paura di nulla. E' la mia felicità perfetta, che niente e nessuno, nella mia esistenza "borghese", potrebbero mai regalarmi. Me la porto al lavoro, questa felicità, come scorta per attenuare le arrabbiature; funziona sempre!
La strada sterrata confluisce in un'altra strada secondaria, asfaltata. Tiro dritto e percorro quei cinquecento metri che mi portano fino allo stradone tra Ceresole e Carmagnola, passando di fronte alla cascina Novareisa; dietrofront ancora una volta, ma qui seguo l'asfalto. A questo punto, i piedi implorano pietà, li sento gelidi, gonfi e doloranti. Le dita delle mani non stanno poi molto meglio. Pedalo agilissima per ottenere l'effetto frullatore e mandare in circolo un po' di sangue; anche qui, sfilo tra le cascine, Gerbido, Olivè, Brichetto. Un tratto in ripida discesa, più o meno corrispondente al tratto in salita che mi ha strappata poco fa alla nebbia, mi costringe ad immergermi ancora nella coltre umidiccia and cold. The early morning light makes the life of the cyclist, the return is a little 'less wretched, but that cold, awful cold ... The landscape is gone, are the sounds of the countryside comes to life, even in this sad season, merged with the hum of the engines that run along the nearby highway. Grit your teeth for evil, whenever it is, shake your finger and pedal like a madman. I rejoin the starting point of the ring and go up the bridge between the acacias paralyzed by the cold asphalt is still slippery, very tricky. Luckily the bike is armored for any test. I look down: the handlebar and the brake and gear wires are coated with a thin layer of ice, more or less over there where it comes from my breath. The bushes are white, the branches of trees and shrubs, the grass surface. Only one wish, a heater to embrace. Carmarthen is just there but not seen, and not necessarily a bad thing. I know it'll get rid of the cold, I'll take him all morning in office, despite layers and layers of clothes, but it was worth it, as always. Although it will be around 25 km and no. There is no need to go so far to find the wonder, just the fish of Cascina Francia ... Already guess the photos on the computer screen, and once the subway entrance, catapult me \u200b\u200binto reality. Anything I can do, with a camera, you press the button, just a picture in a thousand comes out well, by pure chance.
grab with both hands the key to open the gate of the yard, and my fingers are too stiff. By home, I raise my shoes, rub your hands, I enjoy the temperature, while it never above 17 degrees, I already Saharan Africa. And the Tittone try to make him a cuddle. There he was, the great guard dog: magnificence on the bed, opens one eye, with great condescension. Blessed dogness!
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