Snowfall in Venice

Avalanche!

AVALANCHE!

As a skier, I knew we were in trouble. The avalanche probably was triggered by a lightning strike. It could be traveling at speeds as high as a hundred miles per hour, coming directly downhill behind us. I could tell from Gayle's frightened grip that she understood what was happening, too. Our only hope was to make it to the other side of the deep canyon before the tidal wave of snow and debris engulfed us. I went to maximum power and forged ahead.

The outline of the swinging bridge appeared through the densely falling snow. My heart was in my throat. I realized we wouldn't stand a chance if we stopped to cross the bridge safely, one person at a time, as instructed by Mario Fontana. Heavier pieces of snow were now hitting the machine, and the roaring in my ears confirmed the main thrust of the avalanche was only seconds behind.

I had no alternative but to go for it. I aimed the machine at the center of the bridge. My only hope was that our high-speed momentum would carry us across the structure before it snapped, throwing us to a violent end on the jagged rocks scattered across the bottom of the deep canyon far below.

Painfully aware of the scant few inches of daylight between the sides of the snowmobile and the bridge, I maneuvered the heavy machine onto the bridge. Gayle was holding on so tight I could hardly catch a breath. As soon as the treads hit the snow-covered slats of the bridge, the whole structure gyrated wildly.

I kept the throttle wide open, crossing at full speed. Only moments from safety, the avalanche struck the far side of the bridge, snapping the support cables like dry twigs.

The bridge started to collapse just as the front of the snowmobile touched the hard ground on the safe side of the canyon. With the engine screaming at high revs and the snowmobile treads clutching for traction, we hovered on the edge for what seemed an eternity.

Then the treads caught solid earth, and the machine bounded forward, taking us to a fragile safety. We dismounted, and I held Gayle tightly. She was shaking so badly it was difficult to stand. For several minutes we watched the avalanche cascade down into the depths of the canyon.

"C'mon, hon, let's get you back to the hotel and a warm bath. You sure look like you could use one."

I felt like I could use a stiff drink instead of a bath.

Although I was putting on a brave front for Gayle's benefit, my hands were shaking. I realize now just how close we had come to spend the rest of eternity as silent companions of the hermit, Antonio Fontana. We made our way cautiously down the mountainside until the welcoming lights of Cortina lay beckoning ahead.

The snow continued to fall around us.