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DATE: 14:07:2010
Finally Constance. Or not?
The Bodensee-Königssee today is down overall, with some little ascent that can not ever miss (we are still in the Alps .. I think). I haven't memories of the 70 km covered before arriving at Lake Constance: might have been a bit anonymous, or maybe that was the expectation of the famous Lake Constance to have absorbed the previous memory. In the on-board agenda, however, I scored 'false descents - much fatigue'. I think we suffered a little ...

In the last downhill before Lindau I would expect a nice view of the lake that is finally coming ... But no, we do not merit it. No panoramic point.

Lindau city remains a bit out of the way; we prefer not to visit, privileging the ride to Immestaad, where a fourth traveling companion arrived by train from Lombardia expect us. Curiously, the arrival of tonight is a town called exactly like the start of this morning, except for a little letter of difference.

Of Lindau we know, however, the pleasant park on the shore of the lake - very fresh fountains are not absent, to dip your arms [feeling great!] and do the footbath. There are also opportunities to swim in the lake. The effect is sometimes curious, it seems that some bathers walk on water while others swim comfortably on their side. There is probably a bridge underwater to get away from the shore without walking on slippery algae.

Lake Constance, presented as a cycle paradise with bike trails everywhere, is for me, from this point of view, a disappointment. The trails are often just road signs on ordinary roads, though with little traffic. Nothing to do with Trentino Alto Adige: yes that is a paradise for cyclists, indeed at this point I could probably call it the best place in the world to make cycling.

The evening is worthy of a film. The arrival at the campsite is close to the time limit, I mean the famous closure of kitchens; shower running without even pitch the tent; running to the restaurant, ordering a first course... and then the drama. I order a cup of ice cream and a little Radler beer, there is time for a drink and a spoonful and doomsday comes. Thunder, wind, black sky. It prepares a cloudburst. I run towards the camp of tents, where my luggage was wide open on the ground unprotected, alerting Lorenzo if he can keep the glass and ice cream: I will return back just after having thrown everything into the tent of Samuele. Arriving breathless at the tent, I arrange everything, I run again at the restaurant... and there are no more neither the outdoor tables, nor Lorenzo, nor beer, nor ice cream. By now it was drizzling and Lorenzo was gone, in the hurry I had said badly and he had misunderstood, he had not understood that I would be returned back. Too bad!

But the worst was yet to come. In the heat of the moment a local (or tourist) asks me if we are Spanish. No, we are Italians. I'd like to tell him about our travel plans, but I have to run back to mount the tent: if cloudburst arrives it's not a pleasure mounting it. So I leave and run to pick up my bags from Samuele. As soon as I open my tent to raise it with poles and stakes, a sudden storm of wind comes. I realize I'm not holding a tent's skin but a sail or a kite or an aquilone, if you prefer. Keep it on the ground is an enterprise, it rises from all sides. Then I put a pole where it happens, then another, then another ... maybe I can make it. It starts raining stronger but now it lacks only a few ties on the upper cloth... it's made, all away indoors. I go inside into my hole and go out only tomorrow.

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