Day 2 - Les Contamines - Col de la Croix Du Bonhomme - Les Chapieux

We set the alarm for 6:00 hoping to get an early start. I woke at 4:30, so I sat on the balcony, and read in the early dawn light. The moon was still shining full, mountains draping the landscape, I was in heaven. Jennifer got up at 6:00 and we quickly packed up and waited for a 7:00 breakfast call. Everyone was still sound asleep. Breakfast was light and quick. We were on the trail by 8:00. Boys and girls at home, do you remember Mr. Robert’s Neighborhood or at least Eddie Murphy’s Mr. Robinson’s Neighborhood?  Remember the word of the day? Well today, my word of the day was “GRADUAL.” It has such a pleasant sound. If you go gradually up or gradually down, life is good. With the exception of a pleasant start to our hike today, the makers of the TMB trail knew nothing about the word gradual. The TMB seemed to go insanely steep as you climbed or drop with such intensity that your quads felt like they were going to snap. Unlike Nepal where although you primarily go up, there are lots of ups and downs to give your legs a break. Here in the Alps, there is none of that! Nothing to give your weary legs a break.

As we started our hike, we bumped into our often lost Spanish friends. They were very animated, speaking way too fast in Spanish, and drawing with their sticks in the ground. After slowing down and simplifying what they were saying, we understood and all laughed. They were asking us to mark the trail for them. Talk about the blind leading the blind. After a brief gradual beginning, our climb stretched straight up. “Slap!” yesterday’s word of the day returned. We slowly climbed, taking lots of breathing breaks. Eventually we rewarded ourselves with a “snack” break next to a waterfall. This put us well behind the pack, even our Spanish friends.

Overall, today’s trail was marked much better. Still, our progress was slow. We continued to crawl up 4500 vertical feet (1400 m), braking every hour for a snack, drink, lunch, any excuse would do as we climbed. As we approached 3800 vertical feet the view was spectacular. We stopped for lunch and my vegetarian, I mean flexatarian wife, decided to try some of the local sausage I bought in town the night before. I certainly beat the over processed mass marketed sausage found in the U.S..

Along the way we passed a guy with skis. He apparently hiked up and skied down. Said it was worth it, but now he had to hall his skis all the way down. With 300 vertical feet left to climb, we caught up with our Spanish friends. We blazed ahead, at anything but earth shattering speed, until we reached the peak. We then took a break, a long break. Just as we do, the gentleman from dinner the night before comes waltzing by from the other direction. He looked fresh as can be, barely carrying anything. He claims to have round tripped since this morning, but we suspect a bit of a tall tale. We were the first to leave and he never passed us. We suspect he got a lift to a nearby refugio and was walking back. Who knows?

After the peak it was all downhill. Brutal downhill. We shortly reached the Refuged de la Croix and to our chagrin found out that everyone else was stopping there. It sounded tempting, but with the bad weather predicted, we pressed on and down. Of course, the word gradual never appeared, just down, down, and more down. At one point the snow covered trail dropped down, way to steep to walk. This turned out to be the best part of down. We sat on our butts and took a free ride sliding down.

Eventually, we got close to where the town should be, although there was no town. We checked the guide book and things appeared as if we were on track. Our illusion was shattered when we approached what should have been the last sign pointing to town. Instead of leading the way, it pointed directly into a fenced off area. We continued on the trail for a minute, but saw an X made out of the trail marker. Hmmmf, we were not in the mood. So after scratching our tired heads for a bit, we decided the trail behind the fence was correct and crossed it. Finally, joy. Great joy. The path was a soft switched backed meadow. Had we not already been well past out limit, we would have enjoyed the walk immensely.

The hostel we thought we had a reservation at no longer was open and the Gete (dormitory style hostel) that was there did not have our reservation. Having no idea where our reservation was made, Jennifer was able to talk our way into an already very crowded scene. The chaos of 20+ trekkers trying to get organized was maddening. I didn’t care. I looked like death. My shoulder was screaming as if someone had stuck an ice pick in it. It turns out that my pack was assembling incorrectly and the load lifters weren't laying correctly. It hurt bad enough that I really could lift anything with weight in my right hand. I couldn’t remember when taking my clothes off hurt so much.

The shower felt good and once cleaned up we joined two French men for dinner. They apparently arrived late as well, although it was there first day. You can tell, because they were clean and tidy. Dinner started well, a nice vegetable soup followed by cheese and potatoes. However, then when very tasty looking chicken was brought to the other tables, we were served some knarly sausage. Apparently, that was the price of coming late without a reservation.  Jennifer, did I tell ya how much I love her, was able to sweet talk us into getting a helping of cous cous. As dessert arrived, the folly of dinner was soon forgotten. A custard fruit tart made everything better. With that we went to sleep on the top of bunk beds.

The story continues...