Day 1: Chasing Clocks

 If you find yourself in the position of taking an early morning flight from Gatwick South terminal, I heartily recommend staying at the Bloc hotel. It’s ridiculously easy, plus I had an upgrade to a room with a view. Of an airport. 

Situated less than 30 seconds walk from security I was through the other side 20 minutes after my alarm went. I know what you’re thinking - yeah I had a shower…

Jimmy Lye, this has got you written all over it. 

So far so good then, but the mighty smug look was quickly wiped from my face when I looked at the boards to discover that my flight was running over an hour late. Not sure how EasyJet manage to delay the first flight of the day but there we go. 

The only slight drama that this caused related to my ability to eat pizza that evening. Let me explain. I have 100km (ish) to ride when I land in Bastia. I’m reasonably unfit and riding a bike which will be loaded up with all I need to survive for the next 4 days (pizza excluded). 

My planned route follows the coast, that is to say; it’s “undulating”.

The campsite which I’m staying at has a pizzeria but that closes at 7pm. I have been assured by the campsite owner that if I arrive after 7pm I should still be able to get a take away pizza, but this is Corsica. A sort of cross between France and Italy with a splattering of Spain thrown in. The Austrians, who may have added some order, were kicked out long ago. So, in short, if the campsite wishes to change its mind, it jolly well will. 

The other (lovely) trait which Corsica boasts is that it is a fairly desolate island, with eating and drinking opportunities few & far between. My campsite, for example, is around 10km from the nearest village. 

With that thought in mind, and with 90 minutes to kill in Departures I sent an email to a hotel near Bastia airport. I had previously arranged to leave my bike bag in said hotel for a few days whilst I rode around (the top half of) Corsica, and collect it on the last day, staying with them before flying home. 

Knowing that the bike drop off process would need to be fairly slick since a further delay would do nothing for my nerves, my email was to remind them of our arrangement, check that it was all good, and that fingers crossed they could expect me around 1pm.

An email came back: “are you staying in our hotel? We cannot find your reservation”

Hmm. Looks like nothing’s going to be certain for the next few days. 

All was well with the flight and my bike appeared in Bastia airport. Finding a quiet spot (not difficult in that particular airport) I put the bike together and set off in search of the hotel, riding my bike and pulling my bag which worked surprisingly well. 

The hotel welcomed me with open arms, deposited my bag in a cupboard and filled my bidons. I was off. The sun was shining (in fact it was already 25 degrees) and I was in my happy place. 

A few miles down the road I noticed a “squish” in my tyres. Fearing the worst I then remembered that I let some air out of them before the flight and I hadn’t pumped them up again. I found a shady spot and duly put some air in. 

Turning to leave, I was about to pull out when I thought I heard a car coming. I stopped and turned to look; no car, but on closer inspection I saw my phone lying on the ground. That was close..

Bastia which was the Capital of Corsica until Napoleon decided that Ajaccio should take that particular glory and whipped the Capital status away, for no good reason that I can see. Anyway, since I plan to come back to Bastia at the end of my tour I took the direct route which avoided most of the town, sharing the road with some industrious Red Kites who were keeping themselves entertained foraging roadkill from the hot tarmac. Yummy. 

I soon left Bastia behind me and headed north towards the Cap Corse: a 40km x 10km 'finger' which extends up the north east corner of the island. 

The route followed the D80 which snaked its way along the spectacular coastline. 

10km out of Bastia I rode into Erbalunga and its very pretty harbour. Now all but deserted, Erbalunga used to be a busy trade hub for exporting copious amounts of wine and olive oil. 

I carried on past Sisco, then on through a glorious few miles of remote coastline with some stunning views of the coastline, through the Marina port of Pietracorbara and on to Santa Severa where I stopped at a petrol station and bought 3 litres of water, a bottle of coke, a sandwich & a chocolate bar then crossed the road and sat under the shade of a large chestnut tree to devour it. 

Leaving Santa Severa I headed away from the coast for the first time, heading inland past the village of Luri and it's tremendous but very small wine museum, then on to the Col de Santa Lucia. 

At the top of the climb, having risen some 400 vertical metres since leaving the coast, I'd been recommended a visit to the Tour de Seneque; a tower with panoramic views a further 1km up a gravel single track. Yeah, that's my kind of thing...

Once I arrived it was another 500m scramble up to a crumbling tower; my hard work was rewarded with a mighty fine view from a plateau beneath the tower; unfortunately the tower itself is now inaccessible. 

Unsure if the detour was really worthwhile in terms of how much energy I used and how much time I took (I was chasing clocks after all) I carefully made my way back down to my bike and descended to the village of Pino and set off down undulations of the west coast of Corsica's magic finger. 

The next 20km were some of the finest riding I’ve done, ever. Hugging the coast, the road swept round bend after bend first down, then up in a washing machine on steroids kind of way. The scenery was incredible. 

The constant up and down was taking its toll on my legs and my speed slowed to a crawl by the time I reached the campsite.

And those clocks? Well I missed the 7pm deadline by 5 minutes, but the pizzaeria was in full swing. I’d made it. 

I was assured, then, of a fine meal and an even finer sleep…