Things started off pretty well I thought. The ride from Lozzi through the gorge was, admittedly, all downhill…we knocked off a good 20 kilometres doing not much at all. The scenery was among the most spectacular we’d experienced, which is saying something. Check this video for a quick look:

 

A quick coffee stop at Pontu Lecciu was in order, so we could pedal our way to Santu Fiorentu for lunch and a swim. Sounds simple enough? Were it not for the most extraordinary raspberry tart in the history of humankind (the boulangerie at Pietralba in case you’re ever in the area) the whole trip from Pontu Lecciu would serve as nothing more than a footnote to the whole trip. I mean it was hot, dry, hilly and involved our only real stretch of highway-like riding. All in all it was a pretty un-fun ride, as far as Corsican bicycle touring goes. If you can avoid it, do so. If not, stop for a raspberry tart at Pietralba.

Santu Fiorentu was a fine place for a break, but we were thankful to move along after some galettes and beers and coffee and a swim and a snooze in the shade of the pines on the beach. We were advised to make the most of the supermarket between Santu Fiorentu and San Pietra di Tenda, so we did. Stocked up on way too much of everything, adding an extra 10 kilos to our ride for the final, tortuous 20 kilometres.

A big climb up to the turnoff meant that despite our weariness, the village was in sight. It looked no more than a few kilometres away, the white church that was to be our guiding landmark there before our very eyes! But between us and our new home was a winding road of some 15 kilometres, up an incline of a not insignificant measure of degrees. For the first time on our trip we dismounted, and pushed…and pushed. Crawling our way up the hill, the white church taunted us at every bend, disappearing and then reappearing, with no apparent change in size to indicate closeness.

Finally, after 120 kilometres, we arrived, exhausted to the beautiful village that would be our home for the next two nights. Our lovely host Francoise met us in the street, calling out to us and the locals who had gathered to applause the first fools to ever make their way, by bicycle, to their village. Her home was tucked away at the very end of the village, meaning an extra kilometre of pushing beyond the white church…but that’s ok, because there was a shower, a change of clothes, and an extraordinary home-cooked meal waiting for us.

Francoise felt terrible that the town’s one eatery was closed for the night, so assuaged her guilt by cooking a tomato tart, baking bread, gathering grapes and figs fro the garden, preparing a charcuterie plate, assembling a plate of Corsican fromage, and uncapping two bitterly cold Pietras for us. Well, if it makes her feel better…ok.

This was a mighty ride by any measure. And we made it. Goodnight.