Get high and you'll see snow in July

Saturday morning, feet dragging, lazy breakfast and I start my anticipated weekend adventure around 12:00. It is about an hour and a half (un'ora e mezza) taking the fast route. That includes the autostrada from Torino towards Aosta. Being alone in a right-wheel car, I have to exit, grab the ticket, re-enter and drive before the toll bar closes. And repeat for the exit. Heading north, the mountains start to get closer and closer. Exiting the motorway and taking the road towards Breuil. This is the starting point for many long hikes. And ascends of 4K peaks, like the Matterhorn. I see dirty glaciers and snowy peaks in the distance. After a certain height, things stay frozen.

It is a nice escape from the 38C in Turin. I think of Yana baking on 40C+ in Portugal. Here the fresh mountain air is a pleasant 23C, which will drop even further to 15C. I don't have a specific plan, just hike for a few hours, inaugurate the new walking stick and be present to the surrounding beauty. This seems to be a pretty popular spot, the little town is filled with shops, attractions, and tourists. There are parking rules and dirt roads. It feels too organized and crowded, I need ruggedness and empty spaces. There are fewer people along the route toward the mountain shelter. Animal smells awaken Strelka's ancestral hunting genes. When we start seeing marmots she completely flips. They seem to communicate our presence using high-pitch warning screeches.

The more we ascend the more landscapes and expanding views are revealed. Unfortunately by the time we reached the shelter, it is already late and we have to return. Not enough time, not enough equipment, and too much over-excited dog energy (who needs a core workout with all this pulling). I wonder if I would be able to climb these not-so-faraway mountains. Especially when things get icy and technical. There is only one way to find out, learn more about mountaineering and try to climb some peaks.

On the way back I opt out of the autostrada, driving on quieter, more scenic roads. Next to rivers and through small towns. Italian drivers are even worse at night and the roads have zero light. Once it’s pitch black the magic realism starts unraveling, I glimpse weird fiestas, in non-descript places. In one instance, the darkness is broken by a small circle of fully illuminated trucks. Just for a second, before they disappear.
They reminded me of this short story, hope they were just having fun.