And before you
know it you are back into the world of past days…
At first it was
the fingers of mundane activity lethargically welcoming me back to society. And
within a day I was squeezed by the fist of corporate. Welcome back. I traded my
hiking boots in for high heels and my suits smelled of cleaning chemicals, not
of week old sweat. And perhaps it happened some other way, but I would like to
think my journal bid me adieu on a too early morning flight north. That perhaps
some unsuspecting someone stumbled across the sweat soaked pages and hand
scribbled notes and read them with a smirk. I hope the quotes and notes
inspired a hapless flight attendant to explore just a little more in the next
city if time permits it. Better yet – that time is made for it. But my journal
seems to be gone and I must write before the tales are lost to the caverns of
my memory. So back to the hiking:
After my run in
with scree and 1000m later, I ducked into the first Rifugio to be greeted by
two German speaking Italians who probably would have hugged me if I did not
look so lost. So this is a Rifugio. I left my pack and poles outside, because
that is what Pete and Cathie had done and for now, I needed someone to copy. I
sat down at the table in the corner and ordered a small beer and skiwater. I
managed to break the ice with the English couple and asked a few tips for
Rifugio life. 'Which bed do I take in a room with 30 beds' – 'Bottom bunk, by
the window' answered Pete who subsequently lost out on every bottom bunk by the
window when the three of us found ourselves in the same hut for the remaining
nights.
After lunch I
made the next hour alone thru an evening fog over to my home for the night.
Another open arms welcome before I scribbled out a post card while nibbling on
my first run-in with Polenta. The night was uneventful as I was in a room of my
own (benefits of early season hiking) – so no snoring, no foreign odors –
nothing but me and the steady rain on the idyllic tin roof. RAIN???
Okay, stay calm.
Sleep first and then deal with the weather tomorrow. I stumbled down to
breakfast after a deep sleep thanks to nature's built-in sound machine and
peered over my cup of earl grey at the day's weather report - rain until lunch
time. On deck for the day was a reversal of yesterday's incline into a valley
of cows via a mix of switchbacks and old military roads. The last time I had a
descent like this, my left knee joined in the chorus of laughter spewed by the
decent company I had been keeping while I hobbled like a 90 year old down the
mountain. Disaster was brewing.
I closed my
extraordinarily well organized pack, zipped up my rain jacket to face the
onslaught of rain that was tap dancing on the windows and made my way
downstairs to lace up my boots before hitting today's wet trail. I took one
last deep breath of wood-burning-fireplace-laced-baby-its-cold-out-there air,
tucked my chin to my chest and took three steps in to the downpour and then…nothing.
Just like that it stopped - with such an abrupt gesture as to mock my
preparation that I stubbornly traipsed through the first valley, downhill (and
back up hill as I neglected to look for trail markings) and down-down-down for
a few hours before shedding my layers of warmth and waterproofing.
The ascent
portion of Day 2 was when the restlessness first showed signs of change. Until
the clouds subsided and an unfiltered sun beat down on me for the next hours, I
had been having a very cognitive fun and relaxing time – but it was still
cerebral. Now it was morphing into something wholesomely new in me, something
much more ethereal – with the sun and the strain of the climb I had my first
taste of what I had come for: a fatigue that was mind erasing and a field of
vision that mixed the favorite hues of spring greens and fierce blues. The
mountains bore a shade of red after a century's dance with oranges and browns.
With every breathless turn the ground beneath me was speckled with kindergarten
purples and yellows that matched the purity of the air that filled my lungs.
I slowed my step
and heard that favorite voice remind me that I wasn’t in a race. My competitive
nature was quelled in a blink and I floated to my next stop.
Fanes. I took
refuge in the shade just long enough to say hello to faces from the breakfast
table and to Pete and Cathie who had gotten up early to brave the rain. They
didn’t have to tell anyone they were out in the rain – the railing was their
laundry line and their shoe linings were propped up like makeshift compasses to
catch enough sun to evaporate the puddles. Another round of substandard polenta
before a tour group of fellow Americans yapping about material things scared me
off to my neighboring refuge.
The main room of
Lavarella was bustling with people so I quickly found my room, claimed my
bottom-bunk-by-the-window, shed my clothes and escaped into the barrel sauna
out back. I nestled in next to a German couple and proceeded to have the sauna
conversation everyone has with Americans – 'I thought Americans did not like
the sauna because you have to get naked' – the catch here, I had never had the
conversation while simultaneously being actually naked in the sauna – and to
make it better, we had the conversation in German.
Normally one can
pass off awkward encounters as a momentary laugh, but I had not seen the end of
my medical friends from Hannover. As was often the case – and welcomed
situation – I was at a table set for 1 before they insisted I join them for
dinner – this time clothing included. It was a welcomed change of pace as it
distanced me from the banter of a young couple freshly engaged telling their
story for the 4th time in 2 days over a meal – congrats you two, but
I will move to another table. We dined on…polenta… and salad and shared their
fancy bottle of red wine over a few rounds of a card game called 'Take 6' – I
think. I stated earlier that my competitive nature had been suppressed – I let
it come out long enough for a bottle of wine and a goodnight. I would not see
them again because they were doing local hikes.
A smile had
suddenly become permanently affixed to my face and I am convinced that perhaps
I was even smiling in my sleep…
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