The nights lodging at Berceto is refreshing. When I have these feet resting level with the brain, whether it is ten minutes or ten hours, I feel better. The rest and another breakfast with two yogurts, an orange, and coffee, get me ready.

The brain upstairs has always liked Thich Naht Hanh’s quote “Walk as if kissing the earth with your feet.” However, yesterday and today, I’m probably giving the earth a bear hug. The upstairs management does make a smart decision. No more unpredictable, and at times, crazily steep trail walking. These feet are going to stick to highway walking. Apparently, two postings by previous day pilgrims really stressed “avoid the trail from Berceto to Pontremoli.”

Control center knows the ascent and descent will differ between the trail and highway SS62; however, the mileage will be about the same, 17+ miles. Groan.

I leave around 8:30ish again. No dawdling today. The first 5-6 miles are uphill. Yet, besides not walking through mud and puddles on the highway, the grade on the highway is both manageable and consistent. No sudden jumping over muddy spots. No dramatic slowing down. Walking as if I’m walking up one of those slow access ramps to a building for wheelchairs.

The first two hours are actually enjoyable. I wave to a couple farmers; I say “bonjourno” to a crew pruning highway trees. I’m passed by 5-10 cyclists, and a few lone motorcyclists. It’s Saturday, so I don’t worry about trucks or frequent buses.

I do find the shoulder sufficiently wide most of the time. Because the control center wants to be able to see oncoming traffic, I’m always carrying the body on the left-hand side, into the traffic. There are times when I move to the other side, tight curves which may prevent a vehicle from seeing me is a case in point.

When I’m almost at Passo della Cisa, I see another pair of feet and then another pair.

Mateo and his father Giorgio are hunting mushrooms. Because the season is still early, they only have a few small ones, not the later porcini mushrooms. Since the father is fluent in English, when our control center responds by saying we are from Atlanta, Giorgio says “Oh, I’ve been there several times. My colleague and I build bottling plants. I’ve walked Coca-Colas halls several times.” The upstairs brain feels pleasantly surprised. I can tell that he could spend too much time talking with these other fellows so I send him a nudge “We got to get going if we want to reach Pontremoli by dusk.” Away we go.

Late morning, about an hour before the pass, traffic changes. Motorcycles rule the road. No more solitary riders. Packs of riders. Usually 3-5 to a pack. Sometimes almost 10 to a pack. Some are simply enjoying the ride. Others are out to prove something. The control center is now on high alert. Not only the eyes, but the ears are constantly trying to detect either the high-pitch or low-pitch roar. Because they’re speeding by only a few feet from me, the brain makes a smart decision. Full stop whenever the motorcyclists get close. I can tell upstairs management is really getting annoyed. The only thing that I can do is quicken the pace.

I finally get us to the pass. Yeah!

Straight ahead are several bars, one on each side. It seems as though there are a hundred bikers filling the bars and spilling out onto the road. Oh well…..

I stop, pick the closest bar, order a sandwich, and find an outdoor table. I tell the brain, get these shoes and socks off me. I need to cool down. Nobody seems to object to this shoeless and sockless guy, wiggling his toes, as he eats his sandwich.

Although I can tell that control center harbors low-level resentment toward these motorcyclists, he strikes up a conversation with a couple. Monica and Alessandro.

Amazing that these threatening motorcyclists have names! He even smiles when we have a photograph.

Back on the road. From here it is downhill. Gravity helps. I’m always one step ahead of control center. Whether my left foot or my right foot, the proud full control center can’t easily admit that it follows secondarily in this downhill hike.

Around one bend, and the eyes catch sight of our destination, Pontremoli.

Despite its being several hundred feet below us and still a mile away, and despite being tired, all of a sudden I have more energy. The leg muscles aren’t moving these feet any faster, but I feel an assurance that we’ll get to our destination.

I’ve arrived at the BnB. My soles are numb. I feel several “hot spots” on tips of my toes. The attached leg muscles have no spring. The shoulders are saying “Get this pack off.” We are definitely done for the day.

Probably 30 miles in these two days. The upstairs control center may be slow at times; however, he fully realizes a shower and a bed is what these feet and the rest of the body need. And, for the fourth time on this pilgrimage, an extra strength Ibuprofen.