The Grand St Bernard Pass and there after. (3,245km - 206 hours saddle time - 24,403m climbed)
Sam- Oct 26, 2019
- 4 min read
It has been too long since I've had any inspiration to write anything. Too long since I had the drive to share anything. Since returning home, a cloud of darkness has started to linger above me.
A big sense of shame spreads within me as I have fallen into spiralling black hole of doubt about my own existence once again.
I feel so disconnected from everyone and everything since I've returned. I feel lost. I no longer have sense of wonder and curiosity. I am trapped by unnecessary comforts once again.
This is why I must find the motivation to write.
The original intention of sharing my story was to try spread a message of no shame for the dark moments. The ups and downs will occur.
So it's time to continue the journey of trying to discover the point.
Crossing the Alps was an amazing experience. I had my rest days in Chamonix with amazing people. So thankful for the "guided tour" I was given by Monica.
Mountains are not something I am used to experiencing. Especially not up close.
Being in Chamonix filled me with a strong sense of awe.
To be made to feel so small.
To remember that it is such a big and beautiful universe.
From Chamonix to Aosta was to be my longest day of cycling. 10 hours of saddle time.
128m of cycling.
3085m of ascent with my loaded bike.
Amazing scenery.
The weather was amazing throughout most of the ascent, and during the first few descents too.
Flying down the mountains was absolutely magical.
I found myself singing, shouting and screaming with joy as I felt myself flying down the mountains.
Just WOW.
Eventually it became a constant climb with no real rest.
I started to get tired both physically and mentally.
The weather started becoming dull.
The road took me through tunnels which I feared would be the end of me. Yet thankfully I made it through.
As I got towards the end of the tunnel, a sign appeared with an arrow directing me to the Col de St Bernard. I was fooled into thinking I was almost at the top..... damn was I wrong.
The worst was yet to come.
The climb got more and more steep. The weather got worse. Loud roars of thunder started to taunt me. Rain started to fall.
I started to get fed up.
I wanted to be done for the day, yet what choice did I have?
When I eventually got to the top of the pass, the weather was frightening.
I had no time to stop and take in the "achievement" of the climb, and the descent I was so eagerly looking forward to, was the worst part of the day.
About an hour and a half of rolling down the Alps in the rain. Without gloves. Frozen. My hands constantly holding the brakes to the point that they were basically stuck. My elbows where shivering, moving up and down, as if I was trying to dance the funky chicken or something of that nature.
When I eventually arrived in Aosta, my accommodation just so happened to be up another mountain. I basically started crying, swearing and raging. "WHY????"
Eventually I made it, and devoured 2 pizzas as a reward.
My time cycling in Italy kinda sucked. The roads were terrible, with almost no bike paths. Most motorists drove extremely close to me. Frightening the crap out of me. The warnings from many people to never leave my belongings unattended due to theft, kept me tense and stopped me from going to get food. Thankfully in the short time I spent in Italy, the 3 hosts I met, made up for the demotivating factors I encountered. They gave me some good memories of my time in Italy. Thank you Guiseppe & family for hosting me. Thank you Eva for storing my bike for the evening while I went to eat and rest before my 2am bus.
Thank you Bernd for showing me the most simple, self-sustained living I have ever witnessed.
It was on my way to Milan where I hit the wall.
I had not eaten enough.
I was miserable.
My buttocks were bleeding from saddle sores.
There was no point in continuing. No fuel left in the tank.
So I decided to transport my way back to Malta ASAP.
Milan to Rome.
Rome to Salerno.
Salerno to Catania.
Catania to Ispica.
Ispica to Pozzallo.
Pozzallo to Valletta.
Travelling and sleeping on busses and ferries. 3 days of nonstop travelling
The final day.
After waking up in a cave in Ispica, I had a 13km cycle to Pozzallo to catch the ferry back home.
An amazing sunrise appeared and there was a certain sense of calmness which came upon me. Soon home.
Approaching Malta by sea was rather inspiring.
I imagined what the Ottomans must have felt when seeing the fortifications of Birgu in the time of the great siege in 1565.
Even though I was absolutely broken, the cycle from Valletta to Birkirkara seemed like the easiest thing ever. A big adrenaline boost shot through me.
Let's go home and once again surprise my parents.
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