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Friday
Today is our last full day in Stresa and once again it turned into a beautiful day, weather-wise. That being the case it was back up to the cable car to the top of Mottarone only this time with 2 mountain bikes, map, an a sense of bravado that exceeded our collective sensibilities.
The plan looked quite straightforward, the girl in the bike shop had highlighted the trail and explained what was what and off we went. A gentle climb to get up to the ridge then it was downhill all the way, probably about 30kms and a descent around 1500m.
Asphalt roads, no traffic (for the first half) switchbacks and long runs through the forest, what could be better. Well for one, bikes that did not have disc brakes that squealed with the slightest touch and stopped the bike with equal furiousity.
After about 1 hr we were supposed to hit a gravel road through the forest, but the asphalt just kept on coming. Rounding the bend, and having long since missed the designated turn off, we came to boom gate and a group of locals having lunch under a tree. So, once again, I venture forth with map in hand and ask, "dove qui?" Which to me at least meant "where am I?" Well one woman pointed to a town which despite there being no sign of human habitation for the past 30 minutes, was somewhere that I knew we did not want to be. The boomgate guy put us about 15kms and on another mountain ridge from where the woman said and so then the whole group of about 10 joined in. I decided, wisely as it happened, to go with the advice from the boomgate man and we continued on our way.
Jean being Jean was not convinced and was fixated on looking for road signs rather than looking at the road, and on one particularly steep hairpin bend, she saw a sign, braked to read it and landed on the road, bruised and battered. I was in front and heard the crash, looked back, saw her on the road, braked and arrived in a similar position. Thinking that lying on the road on a step left hand downhill bend was not the best place to be, we pulled ourselves and the bikes onto the grass and took stock.
With the only way to go being down, it was up into the saddle and back down the hill.
Fortunately, a coffee and panini was not too far away so that gave us the chance to have a rest and check for broken bits, of which there were none, just a few scrapes and bruises and a bit of damaged pride.
More switchbacks, calls of "car back" "barking dogs" "watch the holes" "how much further" and we were down on the lake shore.
In a couple of months, this too will be an adventure that Jean will look back on fondly, but I am so glad that it was her idea to do this even before we left Australia.
Saturday
Up reasonably early, and on the station around 9:10 to get the 9:40 train to Milan - that arrived 50 mins late - so as I sit here on the train writing this blog, Jean is planning how we are going to organise our connection to France from Milan, knowing that the one we booked would have already left by the time we arrive. Ever the optimist, Jean is thinking if all these trains are late, maybe our scheduled connection will be late as well, so I can sense a completely pointless dash to an empty platform when we arrive in Milan.
Oh well, it's just another adventure.
So, here we are in Milan and having established that the train we were scheduled to get on has long gone, we find the Trenitalia "Customer Service Centre" and join the queue to sort out the options, which are an all stations Regional train with two more train changes leaving in 1 hour or a 3 hour wait for a direct fast train. We opt for the later. However, while there is no additional charge, they cannot give us a seat allocation for the 4 hour trip. Eventually, we find another Trenitalia ticket office, join another queue for 30 mins or so and the girl prints out a ticket for 2 first class seats on the 15:05 direct train to Ventimiglia. So we appear to be back on course. The train has left on time so providing there is a train from the border into France when we get there at 7:00pm, we stand a good chance of sleeping in a bed tonight.
Well, we made it to Ventimiglia 20 mins or so and onto the next train to Juan les Pins.
A good train, not many people until a drunk Frenchman sat opposite and proceeded to tell me, in French, Italian and English, all about his experiences in Australia 20 years ago interspersed with a running commentary on every town on the way. We heard about Paul Hogan, Elle McPherson and road trains.
So at last we are installed in our hotel, been out for a feed and ready for bed.
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