A Broad Abroad

After the snows that we encountered on our adventurous trip over the Alps into France, the white stuff just kept on coming. We went up today to snowshoe and man, was there snow. Half of the parking areas in our usual place were still under huge mounds and the town was in no hurry to clear them out even though the people utilizing them bring in big bucks because there is also a ski resort. Typically Italian style, with the reduced parking, people had to get creative and equally typical, the parking nazis were out in force to ticket them. Here is a tiny village that lives on tourism. They are in the Alps. It snows. But as mentioned before, plowing is not a strong suit here. So they don't plow the parking lots for the skiers and hikers and snowshoers. Then they ticket them for parking in the "out of bounds" areas! Nuts. You'd think I'd be used to it. But I digress. Back to our day and my decision once and for all that I HATE THE COLD, I HATE ALTITUDES. I've tried. I've given it my all but it is f@#%ing torture for me to climb mountains in the snow. It's bad enough when it's warm and I can at least take a break, lie in the sun, pull out a book and say, "Nope. Not going on.". But when it's fricking 10 degrees that is simply not an option. I'm a lowlander. Keep me at sea level. And preferably 60 degrees and over. It has snowed so much that the trails were indecipherable. GP and I started out on our own but ended up banded together with a couple in front of us and one that came up behind because the going was so slow. There have been small avalanches that brought down piles of trees and then covered them with new snow. We thought we were crossing hills when in fact there were large voids just under us. I stepped in one and had a good tumble. I had to take an alternative track to catch up with the group. It was also damned cold. I lost feeling in my fingers and toes and was thinking I'd end up like one of those frostbite victims you see on the news with no digits saying, "I'm just so lucky to be alive!". The going was so tough I was praying the hut would be closed so we could turn back before the final 1/3 that is all steeply uphill. We had heard rumors that it was and my frozen fingers were crossed. But no such luck as we passed a guy coming down that said all was clear. Ya, right. When we did finally arrive, the lone employee, a sad Romanian, said we were the first people he'd seen in a week. It was at this point that GP chose to tell me that the avalanche warning system was a 3 out of 5. Grounds for divorce? Me thinks so. Stomping back down, freezing, fearing for my life, I decided I'm done. I'm sticking to long walks along the sea.