Day 15 { june 9th 2002 }
“Over the top!”
Time to flex our muscles; we’re going over the top. We'll meet Rambo and some rather stiff upper lipped Italians, and beauty is only skin deep... Lago di Como is dazzling. Together with the faithfull sun, it boosts our moral to new heights
We have breakfast around half past 8 downstairs in the canteen. We chat with the owner and are informed that the building we are in, used to be a truck garage! Of course, there is very little which reminds us of it, but when you look carefully... For example, the grease-pit has been transformed into a ’70-style lounge area and the former structure of the large hinged doors at the front of the building is still visible. Splügen was going to be an alternative freight-route. But due to circumstances, the envisaged situation never became reality due to better alternatives. So the garage where trucks could get an overhaul, all of a sudden became a painful investment.
“It will all be over in an hour”
The sky is overcast when we leave. The hills are wet and there is hardly any vegetation, apart from stubborn grass and moss. We climb upwards in silence. It’s hard. We know that in an hour, it will be over. We crawl forward over a shiny black tar road underneath a slate grey sky which throws the occasional drizzle at us. Around noon, I almost forget that my family will give me a call. Damn, have to stop for that. And I had gotten in such a good pace... Hearing some familliar voices minutes later boosts my moral though and makes me more determined to go to the top. Time for a photograph as well.
“Damn you! Get out of our way!”
Not long after that, the final ‘chapter’ presents itself in the shape of a zig-zag road with very sharp curves leading towards a small building. Now, we all think that this is the italian borderpost, but it appears te be a white hope. In the meantime, the fact that my gear settings do not rise to the occasion play havoc on my energy levels. I decide to ‘dig deep’ and flog my muscles. I start grunting, trying to get in touch with a supply of adrenaline of which I know it is tucked away somewhere. I feel a determined grin shaping my face; it works! Bianca on the other hand finds all this very amusing; such a silly bugger on a weird looking bicycle, grunting his way up the Alps. Don’t care. Totally focust, I bypass Rick, in the meantime evading cars which cause quite some irritation. Damn you! Get out of our way!
“Rambo himself”
I arrive at the border post about 10 minutes later. Made it. I’m proud (bloody hell, it’s quiet out here!) I park the Condor against wooden pillars, look around and stretch my legs. This certainly is a desolate place. It reminds me of some passages of the Lord of the Ring story.
The borderpost appears to be a Swiss one. It’s Italian counterpart is about 800 meters away.
A man dressed in a grey parka and red baret comes out of his shelter and lookst at me. The only thing I look at is that Uzi on his hip. It’s Rambo himself. I can feel his brains cracking, trying to make something out of that weird red contraption with wheels.
In the meantime, I’ve taken my camera out of my bag and walk towards some sort of a cafe. Rick appears around the corner and is digitally remembered. After 5 minutes, Bianca appears.
“...the officer get’s enthousiastic...”
We chat with the customs officer and somewhere along the line, I mention the fact that this site is partly online.
Now, to my amazement, the officer gets enthousiastic and tells us there is an internet connection in his shelter.
“Lets have a look”. Curious, we follow the man, and darned, there it is, Explorer 6!
A minute later, we
look at my site at an altitude of 2,1 kilometers in the middle of the Alps! The Swiss officer tells us that some people
cycle this road every day to work. Swiss humour? We look at one another and raise eyebrows. But hey, WE did it and don’t
care a flying ... !
“Mussolini...”
For some reason, my own enthousiasm blows me of my socks (I feel as giddy as never before!) and as we leave, we sing our way up to the top, to the Italian side.
Now, the Italians are a different story. Not a single shred of hospitality is conveyed by the concrete parking lot, the concrete building, the concrete walls...
Shall I go on?
Well, you get my drift. The only thing which cheers up this place is the colourful flag. With his arms folded in front of his chest, a small man standing in the doorway looks down at us while we take something to drink and call names at him (hi hi). Now he knows how Mussolini must have felt at the end of the war...
“..they think they are God.”
A jeep pops up while we put on our rain-gear and gloves. A young Caribinieri shouts something at us from his opened window while he drives straight at us. ““What is all THAT fuss about” we mutter. ‘Mussolini’ communicates with him by means of an arm gesture (hold your horses buddy).
It appears that my Condor is parked at the spot were he usually parks his car!
Can you imagine that? There is enough place to park 20 cars but noooohooo, he insists on parking his little tank over there. This buddy can’t ruïn my mood anyway, so I move it.
While the Caribinieri passes by, I call names at him. In Dutch of course and with a ‘camouflaging’ smile on my face.
Tsss...give them a uniform and they think they’re God.
“...etched in our memories”
Well, time to benefit from going all the way up; going down! Bianca is fearfull of the fact that her brakes will let her down, so she continues at a much slower pace. In the meantime we are presented with an awe inspiring vieuw of mountains, a waterfall and valleys, miles and miles beneath us. It’s etched in our memories. We race through the first Italian village, Monte Spluga, situated alongside a huge lake bearing the same name. Poverty is the word which comes to my mind. What on earth do these people here for a living?
“Nope, more like a heart-surgeon”
The nice thing is that when we look into the distance, downhill, we see a blue sky! Our spirits go up by the minute. We pass some tunnels (wet and damp) and truly enjoy the ride down.
Chiavenna is coming up. We decide to stop and eat something. Before that, Rick and Bianca talk to an older Dutch cycle couple.
Rick an I speculate about his profession later on. “Now that was a typical doctor”. "Na, more like a heart-surgean".
“...when he was younger”
We go to a terrace in front of a restaurant. We’re a regular circus attraction. An old man approaches and enthousiastically starts to
ask questions. He is an fervent cyclist and made quite some long trips himself when he was younger.
He wishes us all the luck in the world and leaves on his own typical Italian bicycle (a metal basket on the luggage carrier and partly white tires).
Such enthousiasm makes you feel better in seconds!
“...an absolutely gorgeous looking brunette...”
However, an absolutely gorgeous looking brunette waitress tries to rip me off when I pay for my pasta. I return to the till and strangely enough she already starts to apologize before I’ve said a word! Our eyes meet. Bad naughty girrrrl. A pity this has to happen.
My suspiscion is aroused. Oh what the hell, such things happen.
“...a visual prelude of things to come...”
The journey continues and we approach the Lago di Mezzola near Campo. It’s a visual prelude up of what is about to come;
Lago di Como!
It soon displays itself in all her splendor; what a marvellous sight for sore eyes.
And then to think of the fact that the weather isn’t even fully co-operating yet.
We set up camp near Colico while it’s drizzling. That evening, we have pizza. I order my usual glass of milk. The waiter/owner jokingly
states that when you have no alcohol running through your veins, you’re not a man. Sure, all HIS manhood is
fitted inside his belly hanging over his beltbuckle.
Before I tuck in, I decide to take a shower. So there I am,
buttnaked but no warm water. It can’t be this Spartan? The macine receives some direct hits. No effect. It appears to
be a malfunctioning warm water device, so it appears the next day. All righty then, no shower tonight.
I have all the faith in the next morning.
This environment just feels so good.
