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You Dead? Sherry was cold during the night again. Instead of lying still and freezing silently she thrashed, crashing around like a beached baby whale. She wriggled this way and that, slamming her backside into poor Sharon, who was caught in the middle. I would just drop off to sleep and Sherry would scrunch into a fetal ball and moan. She got up in the middle of the night, went to her bike, and put on more clothes. I asked her where she was cold. "Everywhere," she replied miserably. It was a long night. I could see the sun back in the valley, but it wasn't on us in the tight gorge. The girls were slow to get moving, but I couldn't wait to start climbing. There was no better way to get warmed up than climbing a steep hill. And the climb was steep through the first section of the gorge. It didn't take long before layers of clothes began to get stripped off. There wasn't much traffic, which was good because the road wasn't too wide. Later, the grade became less severe as we ascended a series of switchbacks. We wanted to get over the pass so we didn't have to spend another night at high altitude. Beside a lake we debated whether we should make spaghetti there for lunch. Sharon was hungry and wanted to, but Sherry and I thought it would take too long. We rationalized that if we pushed on to the next village we could buy something fast and save time. We finally stopped for lunch in Splugen. But first we had to exchange another traveler's cheque for a few Swiss francs. The bank next to the store wasn't able to change it because their computer was down. Sherry rode to another bank while I went into the store and picked out the items we wanted. It was taking much longer than making spaghetti would have. Sharon didn't say anything, but she had that "I told you so" smirk. We ate amidst the old wood buildings topped with slate rock roofs. The sky was a vibrant blue behind the church steeple and we were content to sit and soak up the sun's warming rays while enjoying the view. Everything seemed so much better when one's stomach was full. As the sun got closer to the mountain we realized we weren't going to make it over the pass before dark. We made it just past Nufenen, then decided to call it a day. Sherry was complaining of sore legs and we still had thirteen kilometers of climbing left. Better to start fresh in the morning. I looked for a spot down by a river, but it was exposed and the wind bit into my flesh. On the hillside were shepherd huts. Sharon went off to investigate. There was a flat spot beside the lowest hut. We pushed our bikes over the grass and up a steep slope to it. Sherry discovered the bottom door of the hut was open and wanted to stay inside. I took one look and declared it dingy and foul smelling. I voted to set up on the leeward side of the building. Since we were at fifteen hundred meters we decided to zip the sleeping bags together to conserve body warmth. We put Sherry in the middle so she would get the greatest benefit from Sharon and my body heat. As all three of us looked at the tent ceiling, Sherry said "If my mom could see us now!" Sherry thrashed worse than ever and being in the middle both Sharon and I couldn't sleep from all the kicking and sighing. I would never recommend sharing a small enclosed space with a kicker. Or eating chili for supper. That was a bad idea. Even with the sleeping bag scrunched tightly around my chin my eyes were watering. I considered shoving my ear plugs up my nose. In the morning Sherry said her body felt like it was eighty years old. I figured it was too. From the smell I figured it was decomposing. We were thirteen kilometers from San Bernadino pass. |
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