Notes from slow trips on small roads.
September 2026
The forecast said showers. It meant one shower, lasting the whole day. The ridge road leaves the valley just after the church and climbs in long, patient switchbacks that were clearly built for carts rather than cars.
Past the second farm the asphalt gives up. What follows is the washboard kind of gravel, the sort that rattles the bottles out of their cages if you forget to tighten them, which I had.
At the top there is a bakery that opens at seven and closes when the bread runs out. I arrived at half past one, wet through, and there were two cinnamon rolls left. I bought both.
The descent on the far side is paved and fast. In the rain it was neither, at least not the fast part. Forty kilometres, six hours, no regrets.