One of those days best forgotten, starting with Nellie refusing to go over a narrow bridge and forcing a 3km detour for me. From here, the new VF signs that we had been following suddenly disappear and leave us floundering at the edge of Vercelli, with a murderous main road to cross. We manage and slog on through the city, too tired, too late in the day to appreciate its qualities and heading stolidy for Robbio where we hope to stay.
Five o'clock in Palastro and we have another 8km to go, I am exhausted, Nellie is fractious and the heavens are grey and threatening. Has He already forgotten my blog-prayer or I have committed an unwitting sin? The route out of Palastro (that would have cut the distance by 4km) has been sliced between a concrete drainage ditch and a paddy field, lethal for horses and cyclists and not much better for walkers. When Nellie has only a few safe centimetres to walk on I turn back and announce that I am going to look for a place to camp – no questions or suggestions accepted. We slog on and finally find a place behind a closed down bar, overlooking the river ¨Po as we have never seen it before. A vast, sleek mass of water grinding its victims – trees and islands of land - through a series of circular currents and finally hurling them and itself down a weir. The thundering drone is intensely threatening and induces a mild state of panic everytime I get too near. I wash in its jettisoned fringes, but hurriedly and superficially. By the time we have put the tent up the rain has started, by the time we have finished our food thunder and lightening is crashing directly over our heads. Another storm, the fourth since we started out and with exactly the same consequences – sopping sleeping bags, wet clothes and dripping shoes. The only good point being that, once again, Nellie has remained calm, benefitted from a good wash and also gained a few extra mosquito-free hours.
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