Over three trails into desolation

After two days of rest, it was time to continue with my luggage. I had been eyeing the next leg for a while. Three trails line up like a string of pearls from south to north over the southwestern side valleys of the Valle Stura. I had long envisioned combining this with an overnight stay in the mountains. To be precise, since I passed through here on my grand tour five years ago and had noticed it then. So now it was finally time to implement it.

So I had a quick breakfast in the morning and stocked up on supplies at the local alimentari before getting back in the saddle. Thanks to the military infrastructure, the ascents were quite pleasant, as these were all former military roads leading up to the passes. They were steep and gravelly, but actually quite manageable and easy to push. It was almost like a leisurely stroll with the bike in hand. First came the Passo Scolettas. A broad ridge with a bivouac hut and, of course, a crumbling fortress. It started flowy, then steep and partly exposed into the Vallone di Pontebernado. I had already been here yesterday on my day tour, and to my great surprise, the rifugio suddenly accepted card payments today. So stopping was possible.

It was nice that I had already made the further ascent yesterday. I knew exactly where to find water for the overnight stay and could take it easy. Combined with the well-trodden military roads, it was almost turning into a pleasure bikepacking experience.

The second pass was the Colle di Stau. Significantly higher, and I actually wanted to stay overnight up there. But since thunderstorms were predicted for the next day, I thought it might be better to head down to the next side valley so I could get through quickly the next day. When I got to the top, I began to doubt my decision. The distant views were simply magnificent, and there were some really beautiful and flat camping spots. Well, I didn't have enough water with me anyway. So I plunged into the descent.

Well, it was more of a plunge downward than a descent. It was so steep and gravelly that during attempts to roll down while balancing on the bike, it simply flung the front wheel away. This went on for about a hundred vertical meters. Just as I was about to make more promising riding attempts, I noticed a fall-colored green-red glowing hill to my left. A little oasis amid the rugged mountain giants. And there was flowing water too. I had to stay here; there was just no other option. The thunderstorms tomorrow would take their time.

After a wonderfully clear night over the fluffy fog fields that had settled in the surrounding valleys, I tried to continue on this unpleasant trail. With moderate success. Eventually, I reached Ferrere. A nearly surreal little village embedded beautifully in the mountains, which seems to have completely missed the passage of time. From there, a road led deep into the furthest valley towards France to the Bassa di Colombart, the last pass of my leg. The weather held up even better than expected, and after I had feasted my eyes on the fantastic distant views, I tackled the final descent which would take me back into the Valle Stura. Excellent technical flow all the way down to Bersezio.

I had been really looking forward to this village. There should be a (relatively well-stocked) supermarket, a campsite, a bakery, and several restaurants. It sounded like a true paradise. The reality, however, was quite sobering. The supermarket just happened to have its day off today. The campsite was functional, a desolate small colony of permanent campers with a small patch of grass for me in the midst and rustic sanitary facilities. And nothing else. At least the owners were very friendly. The nice-looking trattoria in the town center was only open on weekends for dinner. The other option for dinner was a dark cubby next to the parking lot of the lift for winter skiing operations. And opposite two skeletons of half-dilapidated hotel complexes. Then there was the bakery. It was indeed open, but the selection was limited to two variations of dry cookies and apple strudel. Hmm. Not really impressive. But at least there was a basic supply. And probably it can only be maintained because of this small, ugly ski resort. The neighboring village Argentera, while beautiful to look at, had no infrastructure and was hardly inhabited. Most of the houses were left to themselves. So the relative desolation is likely the basis for survival.