top of page

Oct 17th, 2024: The Long Ride Home Complete

P1050393-edit.jpg

Alpine Indian Summer

 

​Aka, rain.

 

Alpe Selle must be beautiful, but we only catch glimpses of that beatuy, snatches between the clouds that roll over the pass. With a weather forecast that annonces a full day of steady rain, we’ve pushed our way into the only unlocked space at the high mountain hamlet - an old stable that’s mostly clean and out of the wind. The horses are also out of the wind, but we decide to picket them so as not to lose them in the fog. The pass is more like a crossroads, with the possibility to descend down into four different valleys; if they decide to go exploring, we’d be hard off to find them again. For us, the day is spent in the grimy stable, drinking coffee, reading, writing, repeat.

​

A few days later, it’s raining, again. After some clear days in the Piedmont forests, listening to the bellows of rutting deer, the clouds have come back. It's Quentin’s turn to empty the bucket that is rapidly collecting water. Every 3 minutes at this point. What was meant to be a morning of steady showers is instead a deluge. Tiny rivers of water break through the canopy of the trees we’re camped under, quietly conspiring to create lake under our tent. Chai leads a rebellion, slipping under the fence I haphazardly taped up just before the storm began. From the tent, we hear the hard thump of the horses galloping, and then horseshoes on concrete - they’ve run up to the (empty) road. Soaking, Ashley corrals them back, abandoning any hope of keeping dry.​​

​

After a sad lunch of tortilla wraps with tuna, and nothing else, we tack up the horses and leave. A stop in a village a few kilometers away fills back up our saddle bags and we treat ourselves to two cans of beer. The horses, we treat to a beautiful fenced in pasture below an empty church. Here we hang all our gear out to dry, and by the next morning, we’re no longer sopping wet, just simply soggy.

​​

 

 

Paradise Near Mont Blanc

​

The snowy peaks deter us from pushing deeper into the mountains, and we go the long way round towards Aosta. Edible mushrooms are everywhere, and supplement our dinners, as shops are a one-every-five-days type of occurance. Cycling routes and panoramic roads that must have been teeming with visitors over the summer are now abandoned, and we work our way down to the valley.

​

The Via Francegina was touted to us as a wonderful way to reach Upper Aosta, but at each part where the valley narrows, the planners direct this pilgramage route to the main road, full of heavy trucks and speeding cars. 200m of national road might be fine for a pilgrim on foot or bike, but not for horses. We opt more often to follow the canal, on the valley floor, or to climb up 4x4 paths above the valley.

​​

One morning after another rainy night, we spot something we recognize: Grivola peak! It’s not just another mountain, but one of “our mountains,” one we’ve visited on a day trip from home. And then, finally, a glimpse, still far away, of the Mont Blanc. We are almost home. ​

​

Passing through Courmayeur, the kilometers seem to drag longer and longer; we just want to reach Val Veny, the last Italian valley before France. And then, all the kilometers and months of travel melted away: we reached the mouth of Val Veny and began our own horsey Tour du Mont Blanc.​​

​

 
 

 

Tour du Mont Blanc to Home

 

On familiar terrain, our goal is Col de la Seigne. A land of fire and ice, Val Veny is empty of humans, the summer green swept away by the yellow leaves of trees and the icy puddles reflecting back the snowy mountains. Here is where we’ve dreamed to ride, here is our path home. Up a muddle trail, and under a grey sky, I show Chai, Fidel and Brando France for the first time. We cross the border together. The horses know something is up, and perk their ears forward. The end is coming, we tell them.

​

Throughout our journey, we received help and hospitality on a daily basis. Would the rule hold true in France? Of course! In Les Chapieux, a pair of pizzaiolos offer us beers and welcome us home. The next morning, we idle around, waiting for the weather to clear. The two Cols du Bonhomme await. Our excitement is transmitted to the horses, and we climb to the pass with smiles on our faces.

​

Despite the technical weaving needed to cross the rocky sections between the two passes, we arrive in one piece: Val du Mont-joie. The horses stand with their ears perked in the direction of home, looking back and forth at us. We’ve made it! A journey we dreamed of for years is nearly complete, to begin a life together as a family is complete. A cloud blows over the pass, blocking all visibility. A rush of energy, and the cloud is gone as quickly as it arrived; Tian is saying his goodbye, after helping guide us here. Despite it all, we made it home together. ​​

​

The next afternoon, in the center of town, our family and friends are holding vigil, waiting for our arrival. In a flurry of tears, laughter, carrots for the horses and a celebratory glass of wine for us, we’re reunited with our community. Our promises to the horses to stay with them forever can be fulfilled: our new life starts now.

​​​

 
bottom of page