From Faverges in France , to Nervesa della battaglia Treviso in 2004

update 20-04-2004 by Claude Bandiera

Transalation by a friend Cedric Degenece

pictures of the trip

The trip : by bike , 663 km & 734 km going back

• Faverges / Faverges / Albertville (23 km) / Aiguebelle / Moutiers / Bourg st maurice (75 km) / san Bernardo (106 km) / Aoste / Ivrea / Vercelli / Robbio /Mortara (313 km) (1ere etape)
• Pavia / Lodi / Crema / Soncino / orzinovi / Manerbio / Ghedi / Montichiari / Lonato / Peschiera / Verona / ... / Vicenza / Castelfranco/ Barcon / Montebelluna / Nervesa (350 km)

with my friend Fanny

First day Faverges Mortara 313 km

Last preparations, not sleepy, so in middle of the night, without a sleep, I’m going, a such salmon, to go up the river of my life in order to collect information about my ancestors

And well my “ancestors", it is distressed, that I leave Faverges in this Sunday, per hour or the night birds saunter and distil their loneliness

It is the occasion to test my bullfighter's costumes, my lighting and my good star.

Circulation is calm, the valley is quiet.

Moutiers, the first fright: I am taken left by young butters and buttered, outgoing of a night club

After Bourg saint Maurice, on this road of not very interesting valley, but calms at this hour, begins the long rise towards the col du petit Saint Bernard , marking the confin French territory.

The day is already well started and the mountains of Vanoise light gradually the “dent parachée” (tooth parachée’s) majestic very beautiful, is surmounted by its glacier.

The pace is quiet and flexible, but I mark several short stops of sleep because I did not sleep of the whole in this night.

After the “Rosière” the conditions change, the mountain, the true one, is well, the vegetation is rare, the wind of face rises, making the progression difficult

But the old old people's homes are always present, little before the top of the col.

Ouf finally the top, on the right, Lancebranlette th well named, on the left the Mont Blanc cross-section is particularly impressive.

that is there: Italy, circulation is has present strong, re-appear then the memories of the voyages of antan « in italie con la fiat » (in Italy with the fiat)

I’m on the big road, Aosta chokes, and me I crack when a ray yields suddenly.

But fortunately, the meetings of sophro of helping the Blondel mother, I nimbly repair in spite of sweat oozing on my face. I am wet from head to feet.

In this ugly valley, the strong wind of face and heat in spite of the "dorea baltea" pouring its foaming green water, make the projection painful.

Ivrea, Vercelli, rice and corn as far as the eye can see.

Little after Mortara, a splendid field behind corn, proposes its reception to me.

After a shower bidonnée, but soapy, and hot, the cans having heated all the day on my Fanny, I slip surreptitiously under the tent, in order to escape to the horde of the mosquitos.

Lundi, 2nd day : Mortara Nervesa 350 km

Tired I am it, although the night was calm, awaked me in start here 5 H has, and without hesitating, I am nimbly one "the road again", in less time than a squadron in alarm, moved by the mosquito’s. Turkish grain, rice, trucks, and vine, intensive circulation on a road known as "statale" and not very broad, but Italian aims badly, because on several occasions the blow passed so close my cap fell. Italy grouille, Italy grouille and me, I hurry in order not to finish in stew of cyclist

I choose the centre town of Pavia in order to see another thing of Italy Belles frontages ochres, pretty girls with the tanned skin, paving stones, terraces and dolce vita, this village charms me. , but asphalt should be taken again quickly. Heat being unbearable, I must mark several pauses. In Crema, a coffee of course, in order to try to sponge the preceding night without sleep. I continue to visit the service stations, who propose energy drinks and beer at reasonable prices. Circulation is infernal, terrible, the least variation can lead me to dead it is the Italian caster: I will be used as chopped meat with the risotto? Fortunately we are not far from Modena, country of Ferrari, the white lines and the semaphores are not that a very small indication.

It is promised "never that again ".

Enough of but, enough of rice, enough of the trucks, I choose again Lodi centre "oh the beautiful buttocks, they are not Mathieu’s but beautiful and well has Calypige, one of the Italian goddesses "., I adore Italian Italy and cities A Desenzano along Lake Garda, a small air of the Adriatic planes with the top of the area: palm trees, tourists, and of many “sluts” their charms between asphalt propose and corn: "sordid and afflicting" Those encourage me of a sign of the hand, charming, unless it is a sign of distress. "Not thank you, excuse me, but J have my cycle say to them I in substance "In the absence of beautiful panoramas I have time to read the many panels which skirt the statale Some are astonishing, the such first: "Mr. Kazanova proposes wedding dresses", that does not invent the Such second proposes publicity for a sex shop", Italy is really astonishing.

After a small turning on the motorway that I am obliged to leave while carrying Fanny on the back, Verona the beautiful one finally.

No time to visit well on, because I always have my cycle, moreover it is already the hour of aperitif of the evening, and Free the Italian cousin already owes impatient in front of one ombra himself. Click clack, the place, arenas, flâneurs, Verona you are beautiful, I will return without my cycle, with another beautiful can be.

Castelfranco finally, Venezia (la vénétie) the true one, on a small country road, the vine, trattorie, strong smell of corn, all points out this Italy to me which we know "Volta", during the holidays.

625 km of hell for a little happiness.

now the night is well advanced, Italian discusses on the places, the batrachians croassent, the Italian night is envoutante the black night has present, non-existent panels in Italy, " scusi la strada per ", I am obliged to revise my Italian, haunted by the fear of finishing at the bottom of a field of but, but I leaves itself there rather well, since almost arrived to me here. Giavera, Bavaria, via del paradiso (from paradise) finally, the last coast carrying out has the house of my large father, and now of my cousin: is killing. 21 H free very anxious is well. Ouf, Ciao, "bevi une ombra....... ” (you drink a shade)

After these a few days spent, to eat, drink and tell, between visits of the vaults, of alive and dead it is necessary for me well to set out again

Maser in Veneto, a 15 km di Nervesa

1st day back Retour Nervesa della battaglia (Vénétie) – Castiglione 216 km

The chime, of Nervesa shells its melody, the storm thunders with far, Venezia which is thirsty awaits this rain impatiently.

I choose the small roads, indeed the course between countryside, irrigation canals, is envoûtant (bewitch), but I waver, the kilometers accumulating sometimes in loops.

I am obliged to leave my legendary reserve "Scusi the strada per...". "Turn left and then the second grain of corn..."

After this outing in the country, A Vicenze I find the city, the center is so beautiful that I carry out the turn twice of it. I succeeded has to avoid Verona and its walk of approach on its arteries grouillantes.

Here, in Lombardy I am again, "storm O despair" of immense flashes streak all the vault of heaven, the rain shingles my hood, but Fanny resists
Head lowered in the handlebar, eyes closed I "Ciao ciao" do I hear sleep almost suddenly, "Hold, already an angel which accomodates me in hell? "My dio bestia" , it is Callipyge de Mantoue which has just doubled me.

Here’s miss but, with VTT, streaming of rain in its body, with damner a sexton.

”where you from, do I say to her in the language of Dante ? “ We converse a few too short minutes ", I propose a small corner of umbrella to her, or half of my hood" but: damnation, the rain ceases and we must separate

Each one his road, each one his way, the God bless rain having ceased, I waver on beautiful hills.

Solferino, Rivoli, not, we are not in Paris, but well on the spot of Napoleon’s battles.

The rain having begun again, I decide to sleep under the courtyard of the church hall of a hamlet of Castiglione

Where Don Andrea and its flocks offer me a "Roublou rababla" coffee, we spoke thus Italian, the real one, the beer helping, the occasion is beautiful, the priest interesting indeed, here, in Italy one speaks primarily the patois, the local dialect.

And if in Venezia “Vénétie” I understand this soft music, Lombards, these savages I do not hear them at all. The night will be thus in the shade of the chiesetta managed by Don Andrea.

It still night, but I must go away from here, before circulation and the mosquito’s do not kill me.

The Alps are again there, in front of me, the road is beautiful and deserted, the trucks being regarded as "personna not grata" this day, and me I in finished more scraping me the mosquito net.

Susa, laugh enough, I am at the foot of the collar of mount cenis. After having filled the tank with drinks and food, I approach, not without apprehension, this last obstacle, which no doubt will be difficult.

The meter mentions only one more digit during these 30 Kilometres of difficult and interminable rise in spite of the imposing landscape.

But if circulation is almost non-existent at its beginning, it becomes more consistent on the top, or them: Marcel, Renato and others bofs (rednecks) are legion in their mobile home.

Han, han, the collar, France, la dent Parachée (the tooth parrachee) opposite is still, unless it is another top, to tell the truth, I don’t care at all

Ouf descent, but the strong wind of face in the valley of “la Maurienne” makes the progression painful, in spite of fluid circulation since the advent of the highway.
Aiton, Loana the baker, having put her boobs (round loaves) at rest, because it is Monday, it is while typing in greases that I return painfully in Favergie.

It is then 19 hours.............................. Rest of the warrior.