Perhaps In Places Roads Might Correspond To This Track.
Certainly the
bulk of it would be mule-paths or rough gullies - how much I could not
tell.
The only way I could work it with my wretched map was to note
the names of towns' or hamlets more or less on the line, and to pick
my way from one to another. I wrote them down as follows: Fornovo,
Calestano, Tizzano, Colagna - the last at the foot of the final pass.
The distance to that pass as the crow flies was only a little more
than thirty miles. So exceedingly difficult was the task that it took
me over two days. Till I reached Fornovo beyond the Taro, I was not
really in the hills.
By country roads, picking my way, I made that afternoon for Medesano.
The lanes were tortuous; they crossed continual streams that ran from
the hills above, full and foaming after the rain, and frothing with
the waste of the mountains. I had not gone two miles when the sky
broke; not four when a new warmth began to steal over the air and a
sense of summer to appear in the earth about me. With the greatest
rapidity the unusual weather that had accompanied me from Milan was
changing into the normal brilliancy of the south; but it was too late
for the sun to tell, though he shone from time to time through clouds
that were now moving eastwards more perceptibly and shredding as they
moved.
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