Some other sort of hysterical pun.

Day 6 (the road to hell).

I had intended a rest day, so instead bolted my breakfast, opted for a two roll lunch, and beetled to the Landplatz for the first bus to Ursprungalm. As usual we shoot up the hill to the Hochwurzen lift, but then, instead of turning round and plunging up Uber- or Ober - Tal valleys, we continue up the road before a left turn up the Ursprungalm valley. "Up" is now the order of the day buswise, the tarmac disappears, firstly on the right hand side just next to my window, disappears in order to turn into a drop, then from under the bus completely as it turns into a track. Our cloud of dust rolls back down the hill behind us (under gravity) enveloping the following car. As the bus ascends through a series of hairpins, the murmur of conversation stills, and then is replaced with a series of very loud staccato exchanges until, after a final corkscrew, we arrive at the alm. The bus driver attempts to make an announcement but is drowned out by cheering and cries of "Bravo!".
The entire bus decamps to walk to the Ignaz-Mattis hut an hour away up the steepest hill in the world, I follow watching them disappear until there is only an eighty year old in my sights, I lengthen sticks and power walk him to the rear, until I have sufficient distance for him not to be able to catch up while I pant. On the right there is the old road, I later learn that this is, in fact, the Roman road - cor. At the top of the hill I emerge onto a flat plateau stocked with lakes and a variety of huts stocked with Austrians drinking beer.
The walk along the top is a joy, plashy streams, snowbanks, flowers and balmy sunshine. As said, it is an absolute joy until it turns downhill following the route of a 10,000 year old tongue of ice, tongues of ice 10,000 years ago were, as are all things subject to gravity, consequently the road dives into the corrie like a celeb out with a non-spouse when confronted by papparazzi. I lengthen sticks  and set off, my cruciates creak, after a couple of hundred feet, I meet people coming up, they launch into a torrent of German,  I explain, "Englander" but from the haggard look on their faces (and the descending view behind) anticipate the question, "Fumpf minutes". Transitory scorn is replaced with hope, the aforementioned view replaces my hope with despair, and I continue my descent for another two hours and 1200 metres, until I arrive at the thirteenth ring of Hades, the one reserved for sinners with dodgy knees. I consult the bus timetable and realise that I have 55 minutes to travel the 45 minutes to the bus stop, otherwise I have to wait another 2.5 hours for the next bus! "Ten minutes to spare - easy peasy you think." Please bear in mind that my legs have just gone through two hours of muscle-wilting descent, and that my lactate levels are now up somewhere in the region of Wensleydale cheese. I bravely soldier on, fighting through the pain and arrive 8 minutes before the bus. This puts me back at the hotel with an afternoon to spare, I limp to the swimming pool and jet various muscles while trying not to look like a pervert. The pool is (somewhat  mysteriously) packed, on the way home the supermarket and all the shops are (somewhat mysteriously) shut. I peruse Google, it is Corpus Christi, a national holiday. During the evening it begins to rain.

Day 7.
The day dawns grey and drizzly, rather like my hair, after a leisurely breakfast I decide to have a leisurely day. The Hochwurzen has opened post Corpus Christi so I decide to go up mountains new. At the top, I head to the summit through squally rain and the nature trail which has poster boards displaying pictures of things you'll never see (apart from the trees), and then lose my presence of mind; I extract the map, " If I go to the col, then I can go down that path and contour back to the top along that one." This I duly do, bravely ignoring the screaming agony of my quads, after the col I realize that "that path" appears to go about halfway down the mountain, but I persevere, this may be a mistake, as I had forgotten basic geometry, the circumference of a cone increasing the further away from the apex you are, I am now a considerable distance down from the apex of the mountain, so that my half an hour transit of the summit has become a two hour plodding return.
Once again there is a race for the bus - I win!

Day 8 (the last).
After a late breakfast during which I allow myself coffee, something I normally avoid due to its diuretic properties I walk to the Planai lift, watch a bit of the World Cup Mountain Biking and then ascend to have a last stroll around and over the summit. After I come back down there are still some hours to kill so I walk back up the Talbach gorge. At this point the coffee makes its presence felt, so that I arrive at the top rather hoping to see a dearth of people ( or rather not see any people ) - failure. I walk further up the valley, past several people cutting hay, some children go-karting, wide open spaces with not even a tree for cover, eventually a woodland hoves into view, I accelerate past an Austrian tourist and insert myself into the wood behind the nearest shrubbery. A few moments later, much lighter, I return past the same tourist who informs me that I should have turned right at the wood, my internal dialogue responds with, "Ha!". I arrive back at the hotel two minutes before the cab, bid farewell to Rita and Peter and am removed back to the UK.