The kitchen light is off. Sitting in the darkness, I sip attentively at a steaming cup of coffee as I peer out of my window. The aurora casts a dark silhouette almost 3000mt high, and I can just distinguish the shapes of the Lamb’s Head, the Vajolet Towers, and King Laurino’s Croda set against a sky of rich, purple hues.
I live in Val di Tires, on a farm at the foot of the western slope of the Catinaccio. I like it here. I like the mountain; its presence, its physicality, so pervasive in nature that it almost feels as though it is inside the house. The mountain is so big and the house so small that at times, I am surprised it has not engulfed us entirely. Vertical dolomite walls enclose the upper half of the window. On the lower half, the valley narrows right at the confluence of two streams while a slice of wood enters from the corner on the right.
I work in a bike shop in the center of Bolzano. For 8 months a year, I travel by bike exclusively. I ride it to work in the morning, and within half an hour, I am at the shop. At the end of the day, I get back on my bike, and in just over 1 hour, I’m back home. The remaining months are those of ice and snow, which make the asphalt road too dangerous for cyclists.
Work is a tedious yet necessary part of my life that, otherwise, would be spent solely dedicated to wandering among the mountains. I love backpacking on my bike, it gives me the opportunity to see new things, to explore distant valleys, to spend my days venturing up and down the mountains carrying only the essentials. Sometimes, my bike is abandoned and hidden behind a tree as I continue on foot. I ensure that I always have a tent and a stove with me, especially when the weather gets colder. Even in the dead of winter, spending my nights sleeping peacefully beneath the stars is food for my soul. Knowing I don’t have to return home feels reassuring somehow. I often share these adventures with my dog
