Lorenzo & his humble friends

The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool

Category: lorenzo

Two seasons

The sun creeping into our apartment at the last flood of via Belfiore 82, in San Salvario. The neighbours smoking cigarettes on their balconies. The podcasts on the long bus ride to Moncalieri – Axefiles, Economist, the FT world weekly, Francesco Costa, RFI le journal en francais facile. The main square rising up in the fog, the Collegio right behind the corner. Its empty corridors full of animals stuck in the nineteenth century. Ludo with Niels. Blah Blah nights. Fencing in the Parco del Valentino, the sense of defeat when I gave it up. The evenings out with Marco and Leila, how they are wonderful dancing together. The canavese. The Greek restaurant. Miriam and Pietro, Sharewood. The Teatro Piccolo and Franco Cardini. The night shifts in Massaua: we all come and go, but some of us have a tougher ride in between. Tabletennis with Teresa, Mancio, Matteo and Niels down in the basement of Collegio. That sunset run along the Po and then up Monte dei Cappuccini. The Cineforum Baretti on a late Saturday afternoon. The desperate shopping at Abu’s four hours to new year’s eve. Dinner out at Silos. Those early January nights with Etta leaning under my blankets when I felt too sick and exhausted to push her away; after all, I might not be allergic to dogs. The new house at the corner between via Bogino and via Po, warm and compact. The smell of clean linen and the heating system full blast when I was still too sick to take care of myself. Chess with Niels. Porta Palazzo every Saturday, toma and oranges. All those comic novels. The brunch at the Circolo dei Lettori. The readings at Ospedale Mauriziano. Bar Dotto. The fifteen-minute sandwiches at the grocery shop in Moncalieri. Tamango and Quesar: I kept the card until yesterday when I finally threw it away. The museums, all those museums and the public support behind them, the creative installations sometimes a bit superficial, but hei this is a city where every day people que to enter in places where they discover more about history, photography, painting, even criminal anthropology. That one reading at univoc with Flavio, who has a big voice and sings pianobar, and Gianni, who has a British sense of humour and never published the novel he wrote. Strolling through the parks on an early Spring Sunday, the streets closed to the cars, fountains are buzzing, kids run round with pink balloons, there is a charity race for women. On the train this night I look back at the last five months one more time. Now I am ready to go.

Can’t you feel the fears I’m feeling today?

One year ago today I was cycling the Strade Bianche, the culmination of a period of steady trainings sometimes wet, often alone, always cold. It was a thing that was my own and it was intense. I look back at that period, and that day in particular, with nostalgia.

One year later I am having an equally intense day, but for different reasons. Tonight I will bid farewell to Torino, where I have been living for the last five months. During my stay here I have been fighting some major demons; yet, I have immediately and completely felt at home in this city. Credit for this goes to the buzzing cultural environment I found; but also to Niels, Marco and Leila, as well as all the other colleagues and friends whom I have met here.

walking-out

I am walking out now. In the next two months I will move from one place to the other, lacking a centre of gravity of sort. I am going to feel precarious. I miss not having a bike which I could ride to the countryside to freeze my body, clean my thoughts and open up my mind.

Let’s be ready

Few have been the posts I have published here in the last couple of months and this is due to a variety of reasons. Three of these are more important than the others and I want to discuss them with you.

First off, this space was born for myself, my family, and some close friends. In the last ten years of my life I have moved frequently, so this is a good instrument for communicating what I do to all those people who are nowhere near me. The problem is that the number of readers has grown over time. I think this has to do with the fact that nowadays some of my posts pop out on the search engines. Several of the people who read what I write barely know me or do not know me at all. This has changed my approach: at the beginning, this space was a conversation between me and my friends, now it feels like talking to an audience. Too often, this awareness has stopped me from writing, because, you know, certain posts read by the wrong kind of people are like a piss against the wind. Anyways: this is not how it was supposed to be. From now on, this blog becomes a conversation between me and my friends again.

However. My work has changed over the last semester or so. I am completing my Ph.D. dissertation and this is depleting all my energies. It is not so much about the amount of work – sure, though, that is a lot and I have started again to work until the wee hours of the night, just like when I was a student. Rather, it is the type of work: it feels like I am living in my mind the whole time. This makes it hard to communicate with others – personally and impersonally. This will come to an end soon. But not yet.

For now, my dear reader, I have one good advice for you. Invest in your friends, for they are the cornerstone of a rich existence on this planet. The quality of your life depends so much on them. I like the kind of curious, ironic, resilient people; but maybe you will be looking for something different. It doesn’t matter. Once you know that you have found people who make you feel good, keep them close. You can do it even if they are far.

Below you will find some pictures we took during our sixth new year’s even reunion with the Canadians plus and then some other pictures from a weekend with my florentine brothers. This weekend, really. All these pictures were taken in Torino, where I am living now. You know how they say about Mahomet and the mountain.

2017: resolutions

Continue volunteering with the Red Cross and do it regularly. Go ski touring. Learn a bunch of very simple recipes and cook with Niels and Anna. Keep reading one or two classics. Get drunk with Dani and Jonas. Collect whiskey. Find a long-lasting present for Martina. Get a better pipe and some good tobacco. Spend time with Camilla, Isabella, Marco and Francesca. Go fencing; and build up some muscles, for Christ’s sake. Organise the old pictures and start making new ones with the Polaroid camera. Hike with my parents. Fill a notebook with notes on Florence and fill another with notes on Torino. Discover some good music: it is about time. Find a new way to make money. Visit Toulouse and drink whiskey with Martin. Spend three weeks on the road, possibly outside Europe. Write Thomas. Do not give up on those pointless attempts to learn French. Go hiking with Manuel, Mindo, Giallu, and Nicco. Return to Ireland with the Canadians. Become a doctor in Social and Political Science.

El Warung, Artenara

Mia sconosciuta lettrice,

Ti scrivo da una grotta piccola-piccola dove mangio formaggio di capra e bevo una birra prodotta dal signor August K. Damm. Sono ad Artenara, un paesino incastonato nella pietra vulcanica delle montagne canarie. Qui tutti vivono nelle grotte: mi pare di poter dire che questo e´l’equivalente spagnolo di Matera. Solo che ci troviamo nell’Oceano Pacifico, sulle coste tra Marocco e Western Sahara

Sono finito qui dopo che a maggio avevo letto un articolo su El Pais. L’autore parlava del lavoro di una associazione locale per sviluppare un tipo di turismo alternativo a quello che sta distruggendo quest’isola bellissima, ponte tra Europa, Africa e America. Sai che qui si fermano la maggior parte dei navigatori alla volta delle Americhe? Nel corso degli anni sono passati coloni, avventurieri, esploratori e corsari. Fu qui che si fermo’ Cristoforo Colombo nel 1492 prima della sua traversata verso l’ignoto; e anche Francis Drake attracco´a Las Palmas nel 1595 per sottrala al dominio spagnolo. (Non ci riusci’). Ancora oggi l’isola ospita ogni anno a novembre le navi che fanno rotta verso l’America in una regata mondiale; e con le navi arrivano centinaia di ‘boat-hikers‘, cioe´persone che offrono manovalanza sulle navi in cambio di un passaggio attraverso l’Oceano.

Sto divagando: quel che voglio dire e’ che tu, cara lettrice, probabilmente non sapevi nulla di tutto cio’. L’immagine mondiale delle sette isole canarie e´legata al turismo di massa. La sola Gran Canaria attira tredici milioni di turisti all’anno. Sono persone che vengono principalmente per il clima, che e’ mite 365 giorni l’anno; e per le spiagge. Allo stesso tempo, pero’, Gran Canaria e’ la regione con il tasso di disoccupazione piu’ alto della Spagna. Il turismo di massa si concentra a Las Palmas e negli enormi resort nel sud dell’isola. L’associazione di cui ho letto su El Pais ha come scopo la promozione di un turismo alternativo che dia maggior risalto alla storia delle isole; alle culture locali; alla diversita’ paesaggistica e ale attivita’ all’aperto. Per farlo ha creato tre ostelli: Atlas a Las Palmas; El Warung ad Artenara; e una cueva per famiglie e piccoli gruppi a Acusa Seca. Negli ostelli si ospitano scalatori, ricercatori, artisti, hikers, navigatori; si organizzano concerti, seminari e cineforum, camminate, yoga, sessioni di surf. Chi viene ospitato, come me, contribuisce a far progredire gli alloggi e a organizzare gli eventi.

Devo pero´ammettere, cara Lettrice, che arrivato a Las Palmas la prima impressione non e’ stata positiva. Avevo provato a non crearmi aspettative, ma sono stato sconvolto dalle colate di cemento, l’orizzonte torrido, l’edilizia selvaggia, la spiaggia urbana infinita e pienissima, le trivelle a poche centinaia di metri dal lungomare, i negozi tristi e anonimi. Parlando con gli altri voluntari ho scoperto che la mia e´una sensazione condivisa; eppure quasi tutti tendono a tornare. Delle persone conosciute ad Atlas, Las Palmas, almeno la meta’ erano di ritorno per la seconda o terza volta. Ho iniziato a comprendere il fascino del posto leggendo alcuni libri: tramite i testi e le foto ho scoperto l’enorme varieta’ di queste isole, dove ci sono la piu’ alta montagna di Spagna, il terzo vulcano piu’ grande d’Europa, deserti e spiagge.

Ho anche conosciuto meglio i ragazzi che stanno qui e ho capito che posso imparare molto da Rodrigo che e’ un trentasettenne brasiliano che ha lavorato per anni nel marketing e fa surf; Silvia, che avra’ circa venticinque anni e fa dipinti vegan per giornali del settore; e Chelsea, che penso abbia la mia eta’ e scrive per giornali online. Sono tutti digital nomads, cioe’ persone che possono lavorare dove vogliono perche’ per farlo basta un computer portatile e una connessione a internet. E’ un pensiero che non mi attrae: ho sempre pensato al lavoro come a una attivita´necessariamente sociale. E tuttavia quella dei digital nomads e’ una realta’ sempre piu’ diffusa in questo mondo globalizzato e ipertecnologico e io vorrei capirla meglio. Gran Canaria e’ il primo posto al mondo per tasso di digital nomads: la vita qui costa poco, fa caldo e ci sono spiagge praticamente ovunque.

Manolo, il ragazzo che ha creato e tutt’ora gestisce l’associazione, vorrebbe che i digital nomads si integrino meglio nel tessuto sociale del posto, interagiscano con i locali e portino una crescita sociale e culturale, non solo economica. Io vorrei fare qualcosa in questo senso; ma potrei anche aiutarlo a sviluppare l’idea del percorso GR131, un trekking di oltre 500 km, da Lanzarote a El Hierro. Sette isole nell’oceano, fino a 3700 m di altezza nel punto piu’ alto, circa 28 giorni per percorrerlo tutto. Manolo spera di trasformare questo percorso uno dei piu’ importanti d’Europa. Mi sembra perfetto.

Per cominciare sono stato mandato ad Artenara, a El Warung: un ostello in una grotta a oltre mille metri di altitudine. E’ stato il mio regno per gli ultimi giorni. Un regno bellissimo. Dai riflessi del sole ardente sulla roccia vulcanica nel pomeriggio al silenzio surreale dell’enorme vallata davanti alla mia grotta al tramonto: e´tutto impresso nella mia memoria.



Ora mi preparo a tornare a Las Palmas: dobbiamo organizzare un concerto sul tetto dell’altro ostello, quello cittadino. Poi mi occupero’ di raccontare storie per il cammino che taglia attraverso l’isola. Ieri sono andato a esplorare i sentieri vicini, ma ho esagerato: sono sceso fino all’Oceano. Alle 14.00, dopo sei ore di cammino e una temperatura di quarantatre gradi avrei potuto morire se non fossi stato raccolto dalla macchina di Jote e Jose, che passavano di li per caso.  Il polipo che ho mangiato nel pomeriggio mi ha ricompensato di tutti gli sforzi.

All my aces are on the floor

I have always liked to have people around, but the circumstances of life are such that I find myself more lonely than I used to be. Fai di necessità virtù, they say. I still dislike loneliness; but there is one specific instance when I can appreciate living on my own (Dee do de de dee do de de I don’t have no time for no monkey business) and that is when I am on a bike.

So here we go again. At the crossroads of Valais and Ticino, the Granfondo San Gottardo is one of the hardest cycling sportive events of the year. For me, this race had a special gist for three additional reasons: (i) it takes place in Switzerland, where I have been living for a few months this year; (ii) it is harder than the other races I have done before, with 110 km and three mountain passes to climb for a total of more than 3000 m of elevation; (iii) Nicco and Giallu had decided to come with me, so we could be together just like last year in Trentino. To this, it must be added that I am in the middle of a tumultuous process of moving out from my home: I was relieved to have such distraction.

Onto our road trip with Nicco and Giallu then! We drove from Florence to Ambrì and we planted our tent in the airport. After a very wet and sleepless night we got up at 6AM, had a heavy breakfast and started our race at 8AM. Up to San Gottardo, Furka, and Novena. This is how my race went on Strava; and this is how it went in pictures.

 

 

It went pretty much as we expected. San Gottardo is smooth and pleasant; Furka is long and steady; Novena is consuming and never-ending. But we finished! Even Nicco, who got a flat tyre on the descent from Furka and spent about 45 minutes looking for a pump. I rode my bike for 4 hours and 42 minutes, with two long breaks at the feeding points, crossing the finish line at 2:40PM.

In the evening we drove to Neuchatel and the next day we visited Montreux and cruised through the San Bernardo pass, Aosta and Genova. We arrived in Florence in the middle of the night and I have been packing up my belongings ever since.

 

Racing a Gran Fondo was one of my resolutions for 2016; I have now raced three. This is it: all my aces are on the floor. In the coming months I won’t have time to train properly and I won’t have the determination to do all the sacrifices that the preparation for a Gran Fondo requires. So farewell to my bike and all of that: what a ride it was.

Value art more than success

Lucerne/Olten, June 26

This morning I hopped on a train. I had decided to spend the entire day roaming randomly from one town to the other, familiarizing to a very Swiss habit: living on a railway. I though of this as the proper opportunity to wish farewell to those things and people that have become part of my life in the last three months, since the moment I first moved here. So I am going to do it now: this is what comes to my mind when I think back of my time here.

Trains, indeed. Switzerland is a country of commuters. Trains here are a bit like the tube: people use them every day, because they are so comfortable, frequent, and fast. And, of course, Swiss cities are on average pretty small, so it’s easy to walk everywhere once you are in the train station. So trains, that’s one thing I will miss. I, myself, traveled to la-Chaux-de-Fonds, Lausanne, Zurich, Bern, Geneve, Lucerne, Interlaken, and a lot of small towns. These were silent, peaceful, and scenic rides. I hope more of them will come in the future.

 

I will remember the army kids in the train stations. They are so many. I guess that is because each male citizen below 35 has the duty to serve for something like three weeks each year. This must be reason why youngsters in their uniforms are a common view in this country. They keep their hands in the pockets and smoke, talk, drink. It is a funny contrast, because their youth and small rebellious acts defy the nature of the uniform they wear.

I will enormously miss the Black Office and regret I did not spend more time there. It is here that I learnt the basics of how to fix a bike and it is also here that I was able to exercise my proto-French without much fear. I have great respect for the idea of helping people to fix their bikes and the sense of community based on good-will I found there.

And then there are all the other small things that are so stereotypical and true: the cows I met during my long rides across Romandie; the watch-makers in La-Locle; the weird blend of languages, which I find somehow exciting; the general sense of hospitality; the rare days of sun on the lake; the local beers, like BFM; the green fields and the mountains, which unfortunately I have not explored; the bizarre monuments in the cities; the Portuguese immigrant community of Neuchatel, providing each morning pastel de nata and coffee; and the counter-cultures, like the anarchism of the Black Office, the bike messengers, the rural communities of Jura, and the urban movements of Zurich.

I will remember fondly the office and the environment that welcomed me there. I got a lot of work done and I like to say that it is because there is not much social distraction in Neuchatel. But this was also because the nccr has provided me with so many resources – it was a genuine pleasure to dig deep into them. Apart from work, many colleagues also proved to be kind friends. Running the risk of not making justice to all, I will remember Marco, Stefanie, Flo, Eva, Valentin, Robin, David, Rorick, and Alice. And, of course, Jean-Thomas, who has done much to integrate me, both professionally and socially. I already knew his attitude; but it is only after these three months together that I have come to know his values and personality. It has been an education.

 

In the end, my most vivid images are those created during my long rides in the countryside of Romandie. Neuchatel was much more alive seen through the lenses of two slim wheels. Perhaps I, myself, am a bit like a bike: balance only comes when I am in motion. So there I go again, off to new uncertain beginnings. Because without them the heights would not feel so great, would they?

Fiesole race report

Last Sunday i rode my second gran fondo from Fiesole to Fiesole, 105K. It was supposed to be something like this.

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It turned out to be more like this.

Giro d'Italia 7a

And think that the day before the race I arrived in Florence and it was about 35°, a temperature substantially higher than what I had in Switzerland. On Sunday morning at the start of the race it is still sunny, but all the riders of the pack have checked the weather forecast and know it is going to rain. Except me.

I start the race on the back of the peloton and since there are more than 500 participants in the first few km I get stuck in the traffic. Things look good when I start the first climb from Le Cure to Fiesole, rolling up with my pace and passing many riders.

On the long descent to Vicchio I manage to stay with a relatively large bunch and then on the second ascent of the day, the steep climb to Cima San Cresci, I leave the bunch behind together with a friendly chap who has pretty much the same pace as I do. We even find some time to joke on the way up. When we arrive on top of the climb I stop to wait while he drinks and eats at in the feeding zone: this way we can go down together on what is supposed to be a very technical descent. I have always considered myself a pretty bad rider when it comes to going down, but this time I surprise myself. Me and the friendly chap go down like rockets and by the time we finish the descent we have a large group of riders in sight, only a few hundred meters ahead. We give it all in, strong and hard, and we manage to catch up. It turns out to be a really massive group of about 50 riders, with 40 km of flat terrain ahead before the next ascent. It all looks good, then and there: when you are going on a flat terrain, staying in a group means you save 90% of your energy. That moment I remember thinking ‘conditions are ideal, this couldn’t get any better‘. In fact it can’t; but it can get worse: it starts raining, and it is not rain really, it is a proper storm. A few minutes after we pass from this road, a tree collapses. The picture below was taken by a local newspaper.

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What comes next is probably the most stressful hour of my 2016 thus far. With the roads inundated, riders start falling on the ground. The water does not only come on me from above: it also squashes in my face and in my eyes because the contact with the wheels of the riders ahead. I see extremely little and am I riding on a very slippery road surrounded by other cyclists at something like 45km/hour. In those long minutes I think of all the things that can go wrong: I might crash, I might slip, I might be taken down by another rider, I might loose my contact lenses, I might also ruin my mobile phone that is drowning in a pocket full of water. This is probably the most stressful thought of all. It is not the idea of loosing the phone that bugs me much, it’s more the GPS in it and the record of all the fast km that I have done until there. Anyways. I do not want to stop, and I continue.

So does the rain too. The storm stays with us until the end. But when we arrive to Sieci we know the most stressful part is over, because we have to climb up again. On a ascent the water is less annoying for a rider, because you go slower so there is less of a squash in your face and in your eyes. The ascent from Sieci to Olmo is long and steep and my large group explodes. Some riders loose pace, some others go up faster than I do. I stay pretty much in the middle; and then on the descent from Olmo to Firenze I gain terrain, coming down very fast again. This time it is mainly the fact that I know the roads extremely well and I am taking some risks, in spite of the wet surface. In the last ascent to Fiesole I feel I am completely wrecked because of the water coming into my bones. I arrive on top with a time of 3 hours and 12 minutes with an average speed of 29KM/hour and something like 150th.

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Three days later I still haven’t fully recovered from the fatigue.

 

Ecco come si sviluppa una dipendenza

Premessa: quella per le biciclette non è una dipendenza del tutto nuova. Già da bambino c’erano periodi in cui andavo in bici ogni giorno e passavo lunghe giornate di sole incollato davanti alla televisione a guardare Giro d’Italia e al Tour de France. La colpa è principalmente di mio padre, che a sua volta ha sofferto di questa patologia per lunghi tratti della sua vita e come lui pure diversi zii. Come altre dipendenze è dunque una questione ereditaria. In questo caso poi si è trattato di una ricaduta, perché tra il 2009 e il 2015 non sono quasi mai andato in bici e non ho perso tempo guardando le corse professionistiche in televisione.

Settembre 2015: ho portato una delle miei due bici da corsa Bianchi a Firenze in treno. Quest’anno avrò fatto sì e no tre uscite, inclusa quella follia di mezza estate con Giallu e Niccolò. Spero di poter pedalare un po’ con loro questo autunno.

Ottobre 2015: non ricordavo che fosse così divertente andare in bici. Ho fatto le prime uscite con Giallu, tra Fiesole e Pontassieve. Pedalare in Toscana è diverso dal Trentino, come immaginavo. Le salite sono più brevi e ombrose, le strade strette, le campagne bellissime.

Dicembre 2015: fa freddo, ma continuo a pedalare. I paesaggi sono splendidi, soprattutto al tramonto. Sto scoprendo una geografia toscana che non conoscevo. Mi sento arricchito, in un certo senso. Ho smesso di bere alcool e di uscire la sera.

Gennaio 2016: ho deciso di iscrivermi a una Gran Fondo. E’ nel retro dei miei pensieri da diversi anni. Penso sia giunto il momento di mettermi in gioco.

Febbraio 2016: ho pedalato 1000km in un mese, quasi sempre da solo, all’alba, al freddo, e sotto la pioggia. Non è stato poi così orribile come sembrerebbe. Mi piace studiare le mappe, prepare un percorso, scoprire nuove vallate, rivedere gli stessi luoghi in momenti diversi della giornata, in condizioni completamente mutate. Apprezzo di più il caffè caldo, le docce, le lenzuola profumate. Sto più attento alla qualità del cibo che mangio. Continuo a non bere alcol.

Marzo 2016: ho finito la Gran Fondo in brillantezza. I miei amici pensano sia la fine di questa mia ossessione. Illusi. Questo è solo l’inizio.

Aprile 2016: sono stato tre settimane in Spagna e ora mi sono trasferito a Neuchatel. Sono fuori allenamento e senza bici. Maledizione. Però appena arrivato qui ho scoperto il Black Office. Questo posto è meraviglioso. Ho come la sensazione che ci passerò molto tempo.

Maggio 2016: ho comprato una bici da corsa usata alla Bourse du Velo di Neuchatel e poi, non pago, ho portato dall’Italia una delle due bici Bianchi – grazie al mio impagabile babbo e a zio Paolo. In un mese ho pedalato per 600km, esplorando in lungo e in largo il cantone di Neuchatel. Ho anche passato diverse serate facendo il volontario al Black Office e inizio finalmente a capire come si ripara una bici. Continuo a non bere e a non uscire la sera. Inoltre, vado al lavoro alle 8 di mattina in modo da poter smettere tra le 16.00 e le 18.00 per guardare la tappa del Giro d’Italia – ho fatto un abbonamento speciale su Eurosport a questo proposito. Oggi ho partecipato alla Critical Mass qui a Neuchatel: eravamo venti-venticinque e a un certo punto mi sono ritrovato a pedalare in una rotonda accanto a una madre con il bambino che urlavano ‘Woooohh! Le velo c’est cool!‘ scampanellando come i pazzi. Ecco: lì ho capito che questo mio rapporto con le biciclette mi sta portando un po’ oltre. Intanto però ho deciso di partecipare alla Gran Fondo di Fiesole, che sarà domenica 29 maggio, dopodomani. Domattina alle sei prendo il treno e torno a Firenze. Ci vediamo lì?

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Yellow and blue

Alright – one more post about bikes because this year cycling is the thing that keeps me going – quite literally. So upon my arrival to Neuchâtel I bought a second-hand race bike from the 1990s, a Scott that I could not use right away: it had some mechanical issues and had to be fixed. Last Sunday I brought here my old Bianchi that I had used until 2013. At the same time I also fixed the Scott, thus passing from having zero road bikes available to having two. And I went nuts, biking every single day and riding up to over 100k.

On Thursday afternoon* I decided to take a tour of the entire lake of Neuchâtel, which is – surprise, surprise – the biggest lake of Switzerland. I took a few pictures on the way; unfortunately I could not, however, take photos of the kids waiving on the street and of the cat that had a funny look after I got lost right in front of him – or her?

Today I decided I would go up on the mountains, so I climbed the Chasserat, which at 1.600 m stands as the highest peak of the area. It felt like travelling back in time, when I had an old bike and I used to ride alone in the mountains, surrounded by snow, pine trees, and bees. It was a pretty emotional ride.

With these two improvised rides I sailed through the cantons of Neuchâtel, Vaud, Fribourg, Jura, and if I were brave enough to ride 30K more I could have crossed the border with France. So many invisible frontiers all together.

* it was a bank holiday, here. This is something which keeps happening to me:in the last few years I managed to be in the UK for the UK Early May bank holiday, in the Netherlands for Queen’s Day, in Spain for the Semana Santa, and now here for whatever it was vacation of May. Too many undeserved days off.