Recommended Painkillers Before Waxing

cross the deep cutting of the Valle dei Mulini

17 June 2009 Mill Valley, or the chronicle of a day that could have been worse, but much better .
The premise is linked to the sun and the mega-hot in recent days. The forecast for Wednesday is our so-so (rhyming poetic license): cloudy, isolated thunderstorms possible, from the afternoon sun.
In fact we leave the chaos of Milan under a nice layer of clouds, which thickens right in our direction. Midway, having discovered a new interesting breakfast bar, it starts to rain, but little rain. We get to the trail and the music does not change, even the volume increases, especially that of thunder.
The bar is open and the stream does not take much to convince the rest of the gang to enter. While I think about what to do (go or not go? If going to go? Keep the original around or follow a more suitable time?) Throws me a burst of water into the blackest depression.
'E' impossible to go in this weather "I think, and I share my thoughts with others. Obviously the mood is under the heel to the nuts and dates await the outbreak of other thunder.

Pampered in the dry bar, drink coffee, taste samples of cake and make conversation, as a group of sprightly grannies British. Meanwhile, the Valley of the Mills River that passes right next to the bar, it was swollen badly, with muddy water color or light brown or dark brown (I got up the ball, see if there is anyone ready to make the cake of the bar).
What to do in these situations? is expected, expecting better times.
come news that it's raining in Milan, This does not comfort us all, even though each of these 15 people is far of the daily duties of a normal Wednesday.

But because here there is nothing normal, that it stops raining here, even the rumble of thunder are quickly receding. Talking to the bartender, tells me that if the Presolana is under the clouds, it is not hopeful ... Presolana and is under a mass of impenetrable clouds.
E 'in these times that it's my turn to make a decision, while not knowing what might come down to half an hour from here. But the weather gave improvements for the apple, also the sky has become much lighter, so here's the decision: "The Party" knowing that if necessary we'll come back, we have already accumulated quite a delay and more delay to make beautiful swollen fords.

We enter the valley and soon experience firsthand what lies ahead. It's easy to say "ford": those of today (at the end will have been a dozen more or less mica ... I counted them), eyes were swollen like a boxer after the match and pull of a slippery banana peels: however I've never seen the valley in these conditions.

Armed with sticks and patience, we begin to cross the first delivery and I both set a good example. The result is "rognosetto, but not difficult." The others go by and the only psychological resistance the boot is dipping into the water. Passed this all be easier.
The second ford is much more challenging: the stones used must fall and stretch your legs, but how does someone like me, extendable legs does not? It arranges, however passes. It 's a bit like a game without borders: you pass the stream several times, you have to climb on slippery rocks, we move on platforms suspended over the void, is then asked to belly crawl on the ground and finally the common thread, namely the overcoming of the wood ... if we were in the wet before, after the transition between the lower and upper branches are full of rain water wet well above. Along the way
accompanies the observation of some flowers typical of the area and period: dall'aquilegia, various orchids, flowering laburnum, concluding with wild garlic: the wood is impregnated with the scent and if only I had a piece of toast, a little 'fresh tomato and extra virgin olive oil, you know that I would serve bruschetta!

Finally we leave the embrace of the humid forest and we do a short break. And 'course, putting us 3 hours to get through this stretch, but we have many more interests in front of us and I think it will be a bit' too late. The final answer my last question before I receive the arriving at a crossroads: not even the shadow of Presolana, everything is still capped below educated gloomy fog.
"What sense does it go up the hill to see nothing?" Other
decision: Shorten the path to cutting Rusio. We are in the Hills
Presolana, well loaded with tender calves, that make me think of the hunger that seethes in the stomach. But the grim-eyed watchdog of ice makes me desist from any attempt at cooking, even if only imagined.
Take the wide track that descends to the valley, passing a second pool of water, pasture with cows, calves, horses and the ever-present dog. Place in the Hills Well, our shelter a few years ago. A girl of the cabin allows us the use of the outdoor dining area, where at last lunch.
The only surprise was the sight of a chamois that is toying following airy ridge. Not like us, who until a few minutes ago we stumble over the spray of the stream.

From here onwards there is no story. I went down to the base, recover the car and give us drinks: known to have served more hot chocolate and beers, an unequivocal sign of the day.
Not content with the fords of the fight, someone is delighted with the move, even with closed eyes, the river, which has now recovered its original size Microbial.

What about this tour? Gorgeous game of the fords, the beautiful Pratoni above, a disgusting the view and the narrow road downhill. But then some people said: "This year I do not need to go to Gardaland" and with this smile I greet the entire band of acrobats.

It starts with the first Ford ... from easy ;-)