Day 16 starts with a church bell enthusiastically declaring “something big is coming” (spoiler: it was right), followed by a loose-gravel descent that tries to turn Wim into a stunt double. Then comes the SP465, a road so battered and beautiful it feels like it was held together with optimism, leftover asphalt, and the memory of Storm Vaia. Fourteen hairpins later, we’re still not done. Because the mountain, naturally, has notes.
The Forcella Lavardet summit itself? Surprisingly shy. No postcard panorama, no brag-worthy sign, just a quiet “congrats, now leave.” Which we do, just in time for an alpine thunderstorm to drop the bass right above our heads. Thankfully, a bridge appears on cue, like the universe knows we’re not waterproof.
We roll into Tolmezzo aiming for our hotel, only to be politely redirected by roadworks into a tiny detour. And later, over pizza, we get one last cultural plot twist: Italians turning the volume up to ten, while two Belgians sit there chewing at library level. Travel is funny like that.
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