Day 50 - June 28th: Code Red
Sassello to Francavilla Bisio: 51.4 miles / 1,351 total
Our mountain lodge last night was a welcome reprieve from the hustle of the Mediterranean scene. Christina and I had been growing weary of high prices for mediocre lodging, so we were thrilled to land somewhere quieter—with a big room, a veranda, stunning views, and a solid restaurant. It’s warmer up here than on the coast, but the lack of humidity made it feel comfortable in the shade and perfect once the sun started to set.
We were the first to open the restaurant at 7:30 p.m., claiming a table on the big porch. I started with a Peroni as Christina and I looked over the menu with Jax curled up at my feet. The arugula and Romano cheese sounded like a good starter since we like to split a salad, followed by stuffed anchovies and spaghetti al funghi. Christina went with the octopus ravioli.
But the “salad” turned out to be beef tartare—something neither of us had tried before. I tend to avoid meat on these runs since it is tough for me to digest, but, when in Rome… With olive oil, lemon, salt, and pepper, it was edible but not something I would have again —though Jax disagreed and polished off the third we gave him in a flash.
The restaurant filled up quickly, and we were the first to leave at 9:30 p.m. I passed out around 10:15 with the A/C on max. But around 1:20 a.m., I woke to the click-clack of Jax’s nails on the tile. He was pacing, then scratching at the front door—code red. I grabbed his leash and hustled him downstairs, only to find the lobby door was locked. In a fog, I descended another floor before realizing I was in the basement by the restaurant bathrooms. Back upstairs, the lobby was still dark and inaccessible. Jax stared at me like, “Seriously, man?”
Fear of an impending explosion cleared my cobwebs and I was able to lure Jax back up to the room by getting into the elevator. Back in the room, Christina was up and after I explained the situation, grabbed the keys, and together we tried again—but the lobby door was locked for the night. We cajoled Jax back to the room and with no time to lose, Christina got Jax out to the veranda where he promptly vomited twice and had diarrhea. Crisis narrowly averted. Maybe the beef tartar wasn’t a good idea…
The rest of the night was fitful. I lay awake calculating how many sheets and blankets I’d need to tie together for an escape if there was a fire. By 7:30 a.m., I slipped out to let Christina sleep. Jax didn’t even get out of bed—first time all trip.
I left solo just after 8 a.m. under pleasant mountain temperatures, though I knew it would be a scorcher later. Early trails meant I packed extra water and calories.
The day started on mountain roads—think Vermont. More cyclists than cars. At kilometer 5, Google Maps had me veer left onto a narrow lane, then right onto a steep, overgrown single track. Loose stones made me concentrate on every step in my road shoes.
Then came my own Code Red. A stomach gurgle, a frantic squat off-trail—and suddenly I hear a buzz, then two, then a swarm of large bees. Years ago, my brother and I stepped on a hornets’ nest and he ended up in the ER. This time, I stood up calmly, shorts at my ankles, and shuffled slowly back to the trail. Any onlooker I’m sure would have been doubled over laughing at me as I waddled calmly up the path trying to pick up my shorts and not fall at the same time. It was a miracle that I didn’t get stung as he bees had mercy on me and gave me an escort out of the territory.
Two kilometers later, the trail crested a plateau with sweeping vistas. I followed it to a mountain road that crossed Passo Bric Berton (el. 772m) at 8 km. From there, it was downhill.
At kilometer 10 I hit the village of Moretti—home to around 100 people. Immaculate homes, peaceful vibe. I met Alessio at his café who shared a bit about the area. P.s. he made a great capuccino!
From there, the day flipped from yesterday and today’s climbing to descending, passing through a series of picturesque hilltop villages:
Pian Castagna – A hamlet known for its chestnut forests (“castagna” = chestnut) and traditional alpine stonework.
Abasse – Sparse info, but likely an ancient Ligurian outpost before Roman times.
Cassinelle-Concentrico – “Concentrico” indicates the historic nucleus of the village, which in medieval times was a fortified center of agriculture and trade.
Campale – Another tiny cluster of homes that likely dates to medieval land grant divisions.
At kilometer 28 I reached Molare, a larger village with real energy. Its name comes from “mola” (millstone), reflecting its past as a milling and ironworking hub. In fact, in the 19th century, Molare became known for its ironworks and hydropower from nearby rivers. I stopped for a quick lunch—linguine with clam sauce and a cold sparkling water. I wasn’t feeling strong today because of the lack of sleep so I needed to make sure I didn’t screw up my hydration and nutrition and make things worse. That was my rationale at least for topping off my lunch with a vanilla gelato!
From there, the terrain rolled through open hills, little shade, and rising temps well past 100°F. This stretch was a grind, but I kept moving forward, step by step. Christina picked me up in Francavilla Bisio, a sleepy village known for its medieval castle and agricultural roots in wine and wheat. The final 22 km weren’t pretty, but I got them done.
Reflections on 50 Days
My route for crossing Europe is about 3,000 miles, and I expected 100 days—roughly 30 miles/day. Right now I’m averaging 27. I knew I’d need to ease in, but the early mistake of going out too hard almost cost me this journey.
Now, at the halfway point, I feel like I’ve climbed the first mountain and just need to come down the other side. That shift—mental and physical—matters.
Some recurring themes from the last 50 days:
Teamwork: Christina is a superhero. She keeps this whole thing moving—logistics, lodging, food, emotional support. Jax is resilient and loving, even when sick or blistered.
Adaptation: From rainstorms and shin pain in Galicia, to sweltering vineyards in Provence, to a GPS-blackout slog into Barjols—got to flexible.
Kindness of strangers: From a French mercenary in Gascony to a Ligurian café owner today, people along the way have been generous, curious, and open-hearted.
Lessons: No wine. Don’t rush. Nutrition and hydration will make or break. Some days are better than others but I’m generally really tired, just have to keep moving.
The second half lies ahead. Thanks for all the encouragement, perspective and wisdom—your messages are fuel, your council has kept me alive in this. Onward!
