You will have to excuse us. The last week was kind of over-demanding. We cycled day and night, we ate quite the minimum, we slept in the floor, in the most marvellous grass that rendered every other grass un-tent-able, we crossed the Alps, we broke personal speed records, we got a Crash Course Italian Culture, and we got sick. Specially me. Let me summarise.
Directed by my Alpine commandment, Luca suggesting The Great Saint Bernard, and cycling fast for the good weather, we arrived to Martigny on Saturday night and camped in that marvellous grass we’ll never forget: hearings drove in unbeatable, we built the tent in 6′21″, and took it down in 4′00″.
Early depart on Sunday, put some extra air on my tires for less friction resistance, and start the climb. The way up took us seven hours, lunch-break included – mustard-fish kebab –, climbing 2000m all straight. After the division between the pass and the tunnel, where half of the cars took the latter, the hardest road started. All curves, huge inclination, over tree-level, and awesome alpine streams of water to drink from. There, my motivation skyrocketed.
Listening to Cuban Rumba all the way up, with my smallest gears all the time, I left an exhausted Leon behind, and went up dancing on the bike and saluting all drivers. At my arrival to the top, plenty of them just applauded. Leon arrived half an hour after.
The way down was my part. Leon departed first, I changed clothes to the most aerodynamic things I had on my bags, tightened my SPD shoes, and went down with all my heart. My GoPro on the helmet is a witness of how many cars I just surpassed. Quick sprint, hard break before the dangerous curves, another quick sprint. I passed the 70km/h in almost every sprint – finally breaking that old record of the Brocken –, and one of them, just a bit after tree level, got me to 78’12km/h, a record that now I’m not looking forward to break again. For now.
To Aosta we arrive just to sleep in a camp site; I saved nothing of myself for later, I completely burned by body in the Pass. The day after, a completely dead me could only revive his mind with a shot of Italian caffè: in one day, I did all the quintessential Italian things: Caffè, Pasta, Pizza, and Ice-Cream. I could write a blog itself about coffee in the world, and I’m finally in my dreamed country on that matter.
And in Parella, regardless of Leon’s sunburn and my stomach disease that got me throwing up a whole night, we got the rest of our Italian Introduction: a whole family of very talkative and loud people whose biggest chunk of expressivity is in their hands, offering home-made Pasta and Limoncello. And Raviolis. And Grappa. Oh, and applauding to whoever finished the whole plates. I’m gonna love this.
PS: now dear reader, why that feature picture on the post? Looking forward for your comments!