August 14th, 2018 - The weather forecast predicts rain for the afternoon, which means I will have to hurry if I want to avoid it. I leave Circello to rejoin the path of the tratturo. In the cool of the early morning, the walk along the dirt road is pleasant... until I spot a flock in the distance, accompanied by many dogs. There is no sign of the shepherd, so I leave the tratturo and walk onto the road: better to be cautious. For a while, the dogs don't notice my presence, but just when I think I've passed the obstacle, they start chasing me. Fortunately, the Abruzzese sheepdog is old, so he struggles a bit but then gives up, while the other dogs follow me all the way to the road, requiring me to exert effort to keep them away. Nonetheless, they eventually realize that they have wandered too far from the flock and retreat back.

I continue along the dirt road, which climbs up offering beautiful views of the surrounding valley. Rare signs indicate the tratturo... leading me along paths sometimes completely overrun by vegetation. It's possible to pass, although with some difficulty.

The path crosses the SS212 for a few hundred meters. An old and worn-out car pulls up alongside me, coming to a stop in the middle of the road. The driver, who is also elderly, rolls down the window to exchange a few words, by disregarding the honking of other vehicles: he really stopped in a bad spot!

After inquiring about my journey, the driver shares with me that in the past, a group of horse riders used to travel the same route every year, and in each town they stopped, there was a grand celebration. I also have memory of a website that told the story of these trips. I searched for it upon my return, but there is no trace of it anymore: and someone says that the internet never forgets! The man claims that the tradition has been lost due to the death of one of the organizers, but adds that other similar local initiatives are still ongoing.

After a final exchange of greetings, I head towards the first stop of the day: the town of Reino. A pedestrian footbridge once allowed to cross the stream that runs alongside the town. This has also been taken away by the stream and has never been restored.

I enter the town and take the opportunity to have breakfast in a bar. The lady who runs it inevitably asks me questions. She also remembers the party that was held every year for the passage of the horse riders and claims that everything ended due to lack of funds. The town used to rely on the cultivation of tobacco as a main source of income, but due to a crisis in production, the economic support for certain events has disappeared.

I leave Reino and face the hill beyond the stream, trying to stay on the dirt roads as much as possible. I pick up my pace as I see the clouds starting to gather, but haste makes waste. Along a downhill stretch on a rough surface, I lose my footing and fall to the ground, seriously scraping myself: good job, genius, now you will waste even more time. Cleaning and disinfecting the wounds force me to take a long break.

Furious with myself, I resume the descent. The dirt road passes by a farmhouse where tobacco leaves are hanging to dry: evidently someone still cultivates it.

After another climb, the descent towards the Tammaro stream begins. Unfortunately, I encounter a serious problem here. The area I must cross has collapsed, but due to the tall shrubs, I only notice it when I'm already in trouble. The cracks in the ground are so deep that they could swallow a leg, and the plants have stems taller than me, preventing me from seeing. I have no idea where I'm going, and I'm afraid of falling badly: twice in the same day would be too much! I blindly follow the GPS track, hoping it will lead me out of trouble. It takes a while to find my way out, but eventually, I see the light again. What a scare! In the GPS track of the day, I left my messy wandering among the plants very visible. The critical point can be avoided by entering a field to the right of the path and reconnecting to it downstream of the landslide area. Be careful, especially those on bikes!

At the bottom of the descent, the track runs alongside the Tammaro stream for a while. At the beginning of the last climb of the day, I pass by one of the taverns that used to be a refuge for shepherds.

The thunderstorm clouds start to thicken. The delay accumulated won't allow me to reach my destination on time: this time, I'll get soaking wet. But no, halfway up the climb, I come across a road... and a gas station. I have only the time to enter the bar and all hell breaks loose. If things are like this, then it's time to sit down and calmly have a beer!

The wait lasts longer than expected, but eventually, the summer storm dissipates, so I can resume the climb well-rested. There's still a long way to go to my destination, but the last stretch is flat. The last memories of the day are the greetings from a farmer on his tractor, the chat with a lady on a walk,... the final climb to the hotel that will host me. Yes, because I geniously managed to book accommodation on the hill overlooking Casalbore.

It was a tough day: 30 km covered, lots of altitude difference, and various setbacks. Let's hope for a better tomorrow.