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January 10 Tuesday Bicycle touring France from Ajaccio Corsica to a mountain hut on Corsica Cold. We disembark just as the sun is beginning to ascend the surrounding mountains of the harbour. We use the facilities in the newly opened maritime terminal and wait for the chill to be taken out of the morning air by the rising sun. We get on our fully loaded touring bicycles and follow the waterfront out of Ajaccio. Some workmen yell "touristas" as we pass. We pull our bikes to a stop and buy a baguette. We ride until the airport turnoff and then find a place along a sandy beach to eat breakfast in the sun. Lots of joggers and dog walkers come along this stretch as we are eating. Most are bigger people than the French. And we never saw French people on the mainland out jogging. We finish breakfast and cycle out of town. Once we are out of town the traffic is sparse. The road narrows as we climb on our heavy loaded touring bicycles, away from sea level and into the lush green countryside. The terrain reminds me of the coast of Oregon. Sparkling water far below breaks into foamy crashers on the rocks. The road descends to sea level and then arduously rises, punishingly, to scenic overlooks and then dips down quickly to beach level, only to rise ahead once again, the laborious metres slowly gained uphill are dashed in a few minutes of downhill thrill. Mountains with snow-capped ridges and cobalt blue water surrounds us as we cling to our thin ribbon of twisty asphalt. Thick growths of stunted trees and waxy leaf bushes adorn the mountainside over the thin layer of soil covering multitudes of granite. Cacti populate the lower areas; some cacti are the size of small trees. I climb a long steep section on my wobbly touring bicycle, then lean my bike against a shrub to admire a commanding view of sea and breaking surf. I down a 1.25 litre bottle of cola while waiting for Sharon. Amazing how warm it gets when an uphill push looms. I understand now why the travel book said not to consider cycling as a mode of transportation around the island. Strenuous indeed. Too bad we didn't listen. Bird song fills the air. The sun is shining. I drop my fully loaded touring bicycle onto the gravel and explore the pull out while waiting for Sharon. Directly ahead is an incredibly steep downhill path through the brush to the sea. I think I wouldn't even be able to push my loaded bike up the slippery grass if I ventured down there. There is a small ridge to my left, near where I left my bike, with paths running into the thick scrub brush. I look over the first one and am greeted with the sight of a dead goat with little more left than hide. A few flies are still being entertained. I look over the next path and see a colour television set in the middle of the path. Beyond this is a stone house with no roof left. I wait for Sharon to arrive, then I go to explore it. The path winds around the shrubbery to the site. I go in the open doorless entryway. The granite slabs are about one foot thick by a foot and a half long stacked together. Smaller rocks are chinked between cracks as the granite slabs are not uniform. The walls tower around me to a second story. Plants grow from the cracks. Another doorless hole leads to a second room. The door frame has a long two foot slab of rock on the top which is cracked on one edge. Tons of rock have been stacked on top. The floor is grass with scattered broken red clay roof tiles scattered about. Beside the house is a flat grassy area behind a large bush hiding it from the neighboring house across the valley. We decide this will make a fine free overnight camp spot and push our bikes through the tall shrubs that snag our panniers on the low sticks and brambles. We lean our fully loaded touring bikes precariously against the door frame while we spread out our bright orange drop cloth to sit on. So much for being inconspicuous. Our rock ledge overlooks a section of the valley to the seashore. As the afternoon sun wanes we assemble our little bike touring tent on a flat spot. Sunset goes on and on, getting brighter and fainter as the clouds on the horizon shift position against one another, looking like they are vying for the best viewing position. Finally, a surreal scene presents itself with dark clouds appearing as land with lighter clouds swirling amongst them resembling water while still faintly glowing orange clouds represent the sky. A dog appears out of nowhere. It ventured over to a rock nearby to check us out. Put its nose to the ground and headed off along the path. Our first day on Corse draws to a close. We love it. It has been a long time since we've been away from crowds of people and buzzing cars. We settle down, listening to the surf below, the leaves rustling and the faint hoot of an owl in the distance. |
