Refuge des Arolles to Queige (16.2km, +350, -1739)
The wonderful trail continues today, with a short hike to Col de Bathie. The draught and end of summer is even more visible here, with the meadows a light, wheat colour. The small lakes that give the next col it's name - Col des Lacs - are nothing more than pools of mud. The ascent to the col is deceptive, somehow more challenging than it should, and with at least two false finishes. I stop for a break at the col, a heavily populated valley below me, and cow bells ahead. When the chilly wind becomes too much, I start the long hike down into the valley.
And then it happens. I meet a guard dog and lose my shit. And also fall into cow shit.
Looking back at it, I have a funny story to tell. At the moment, I was sure I'm going to be mulled to death by a dog, the cows staring at my mutilated body as they lazily munch the grass.
There was nothing special about this gazing meadow. I've cross dozens of these in the past few years. I even learnt how to sho the cows away from the trail. At first, it was as it always is - a thin, plastic fence, perhaps electrocuted, perhaps not. I thought nothing of it as I stepped over the fence, shooing the cows away from the trail. And then the dog arrived, out of nowhere, barring its teeth, crouching low, barking as it circles me.
It was in that moment that I completely lost my mind, forgetting everything I’ve ever been told about the Pastou, the Alpine guard dogs: move away from the herd, show them you are not a threat, don't stop, don't do any movements that might be perceived as threatening.
I think they forgot the third option in Fight or Flights - Be Stupid. My (false) instinct kicked in, and I find myself raising my talking sticks to create a perimeter around me, walking as quickly as I could, keeping the barking dog away from me. I can't imagine what I looked like to the people at the Col above.
And then, in my hurry to get the fuck away from the dog, I slip in fresh cow shit. As fresh as can be.
Reaching the fence after what felt like long minutes but was probably less than one, I throw my backpack over the fence and hop it myself. Immediately the dog stops barking, completely loosing interest in me.
It takes me another 10 minutes or so to calm down and tell myself off for my foolish behaviour, and another 10 before I could laugh at myself.
But now I have another challenge to tackle - a hole has started developing in the side of my right show in the past few days. Every day I offered a prayer to the God of Hiking for my show to survive the trail.
My prayer was not answered. I can now feel the cold wind on my foot, and see all the layers that make up a sturdy hiking boot.
The descent to Queige is long, and it feels longer than it is. Perhaps because my head if full of decisions I need to make - do I try to complete the full hike? do I stop? do I try and buy new shoes?
The several hours that it takes me to complete the descent allows me to make a decision. I'll go down to Queige, catch the bus to Albertville, go to Decathlon, buy the cheapest pair of shows, and return to the trail tomorrow.
And that's what I do. I sit in the scotching sun waiting for the bus, comforted by a pack of biscuits and cold beer I got from the small road-side general store next to the bus stop. The bus is free, the journey is short and beautiful, and Albertville is sleepy. I check into a hotel next to the train station, take a much needed shower, and buy a new pair of shows. I fall asleep crossing my fingers that they will work for me for the remaining two days.
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