Bike Touring Journals by Neil Anderson and Sharon Anderson

Lead Goat

Bicycle touring Corsica

Black Olives Affluence without simplicity is a giant trap. Every saint who ever lived, lived simply -- not because he was holier, but because he was smarter. ~ Christian Science Monitor   The foam-flecked sea crashed far below and a shrieking wind entered our hitherto sheltered alcove. Not wanting to be discovered by early morning traffic (there was none) or by the occupants in the house across the valley, we rose and hurriedly packed, then pushed our bikes back along the twisty path to the roadway. Back on the gravel pull-off we high-fived each other. Our first night of free-camping on Corsica had been a success. The road, carved out of the mountainside, continued its ascent. We climbed, assisted by a howling wind, until we were overlooking the neighbouring house I had worried about the night before. I quickly realized my fears had been unfounded. The stone walls looked completely normal -- even the windows had shutters. But the house was abandoned. From the roadway above, we could see the roof had long since caved in. The wind stayed behind us all day, and by late afternoon it had blown us into Propriano. We pedalled on, looking for a camp spot alongside the river. I took pleasure from the challenge of finding the perfect campsite. Flat, sheltered, a great view, but at the same time hidden from prying eyes. Unfortunately, the perfect site didn't always materialize just when I needed it. Perhaps that was part of the thrill? A recent fire had swept both sides of the valley. Shoots of green grass sprouted plaid-like in blackened patches. Passing a burnt olive grove, I spied an open iron gate. "Practically an invitation," I said to Sharon, and pushed my bike through the open gate and into the grove past the charred trunks of the still-growing trees. "Could this be where black olives come from?" I wondered. In near darkness I slid down the riverbank to an almost flat spot. We setup our tent under the stars while headlights high on the mountainside appeared as moving constellations.

"Love your book [...] I just wanted to say hello and let you know that the book is wonderful. I hope that we can meet some day, if not in Edmonton, maybe you can visit us in Sardinia. My parents still have a home there, which means you could sleep in a real bed!" Cindy Puddu "a very impressed Sardinian"

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