We awake in the dawn light at about 5:30 on the deck of the ferry and find quite a lot of people already up and milling about. The light is tinged with pink and off to the right (port? starboard? do I care?) is land. The ferry is cruising past the north end of Corsica towards the port of Bastia. It seems as though we will be docking any minute, but the ferry company know their business and it is about 7am before we actually touch tyres to the tarmac of Corsica. There's only about 170 Km's between Bastia and Bonifacio, the port we needed to reach to catch the ferry over to Sardiinia, and we had got all morning to get there.
 |
| Up at dawn on the ferry |
We decided to initially travel down the coast with Jeff / Geoff as he was looking for a coastal campsite on our route, but that plan immediately fell apart as Malc and I needed to stop for fuel. Our guide out of town and his satnav failed to see our furiously flashing lights, or hear the tooting of the bike horns as Malc and I pulled into a tiny street side petrol station. Jeff / Geoff was long gone. It was shame to lose contact with him, especially without having the chance to wish him well, but we were both running with our petrol warning lights on and there wasn't much choice. Fortunately for us, it was easy to find our way out of Bastia. Just head south. Before long we were out of town, the surroundings were becoming more rural. It was very odd to suddenly be back on French roads having been in Italy yesterday evening. Somehow Corsica felt both Italian & French.
Since first
coming coming up with this wheeze to ride to Sardinia and realising Corsica was
the best route, I had the idea in my head of croissant and fresh coffee for
breakfast, relaxing in the sunshine at a sea side Corsican cafe. By 8am, the
temperature was hurtling upwards again and we were starting to gently simmer in
our bike kit. We ended up stopping at a road side cafe in some small town or
other. It wasn't by the sea, but it would do fine. The cafe owner was just
opening up as we arrived and very kindly hurried to provide us with espresso
and fresh croissants. We were in the shade on a very sunny morning, with a very
French breakfast and that was close enough to my imagined scenario for me! As
we fuelled ourselves up, the missing Jeff / Geoff rocked up. It was a great to
see him. We just had a quick chat and then he went on his way, continuing his
search for a suitable campsite. The chance meeting gave us the opportunity to
bid him a happy journey and wish him well on his travels, which was the most
important thing we hadn't managed to do.
 |
| Breakfast stop in Corsica |
The trip down Corsica was excellent. To be fair, the speed limits on the Corsican roads were as difficult to guess as the ones on the Italian roads, so we just didn't worry about them too much! As long as we were being sensible and not travelling too much faster than the rest of the traffic, we considered that we would be ok. The roads were fun, lots of overtaking opportunities and enough twists and turns. The countryside and the views constantly varied, from arable farm land, to forests and of course, beaches, coves and blue green Mediterranean Sea.
As we
neared Bonifacio, the traffic density increased dramatically, not helped by a
road accident which was being cleared up. As everyone knows, huge queues of
traffic do not have the same meaning for motorcyclists as they do far car
drivers and delays were minimal. The same can't be said for finding the ferry
port in Bonifacio. The main marina is almost impossible to miss, but that is
not where the ferry leaves from, oh no, that would make it too easy. To
increase the challenge in finding the ferry dock, there were no discernible
signs directing travellers. In the end we had to ask for directions to the
Sardinia ferry. Twice. Although Corsica is French, there has to be a hefty
Italian influence, as it is typically Italian that the town is easy to find,
but then the ferry port is not signposted at all!
By now, we
had progressed from simmering in our biking kit to full on boil in the bag.
Parking up at the ferry dock, we signed in before grabbing a spot to wait which
was shaded and relatively cool. It was pleasant enough but was trumped easily
by the air conditioned interior of the ferry. Having watched in amazement as
the ferry executed a three point turn where it seemed suicidal to do so, we
were soon lashing the bikes down before heading straight for the refrigerated
indoor lounge. Settliing close to the bar ensured swift access to fizzy drinks
and cold bottles of water. It's not a flashy ferry, but it felt like the height
of luxury. The overnight stop in mid France by now seemed a fair few days ago
and setting off from Bristol must have been weeks ago, surely.
 |
| Waiting for the ferry at Bonifacio |
As the
short ferry journey neared northern Sardinia, we had cooled down enough to
venture up on to deck. The breeze was perfect, taking the edge off the early
afternoon sun. We could clearly see Santa Teresa di Gallura, the Sardinian
ferry port, but looking north the Southern Corsican coast barely looked much
further away. We knew now that the journey was basically done. There were only
about 30 Km's to complete from the ferry port to Porto Rafael, our ultimate
destination, where Malc's family would be waiting for him, and hopefully a cold
beer would be waiting for me. Not only was it not far, but we knew the route having
travelled it before, Malc far more often than me. That meant that my route
finding duties were over until the journey home as well. However, all bikers
know it to be true that the start and end of any journey are always the most
dangerous. At the start of the journey, you have not got into the swing of it,
not settled down, not got your awareness working properly. The end of the
journey, your mind can wander to the journey being over, to you destination
having been reached. It is vital to stay in the present and to keep
concentrating. As Malc and I kitted up to get off the ferry, we looked at each
other and said "last 5 percent", meaning, 'we're nearly there, don't
do anything daft and spoil it now'. We would be taking it nice and easy on this
last stretch.
With my
leather jacket stowed on the back of my bike, we headed off for the very last
leg. Now I know it's not a good idea to be riding around a Mediterranean island
on a 1000cc motorbike with only a t-shirt for protection (apart from the
helmet, gloves, Kevlar jeans and boots of course), but I'd had enough of
overheating. It was much cooler pootling along without the jacket on, but it
didn't take long for me to feel the sun burning on my arms! It was worth it
though.
The
familiar views as we rode up the small road which crosses the hill hiding Porto
Rafael were very, very welcome. It was lunchtime - exactly when we had expected
to arrive. As we sat down for a cool beer at the local bar with Sarah, (a
local, a business partner of my sister in law and also a family friend) we
had done what we set out to do. Home to Sardinia in two and a half days. A
shade under 1,100 miles including the Eurotunnel and two ferry crossings - on
naked sports bikes with no satnav and no touring luggage. On the way, we had seen
plenty. We had met new people. We had seen the countries and the sights. We had
experienced far more than anyone would jumping on a plane and flying over. That
was the point for us. We were going to make the journey anyway, so why not make
the journey an event in itself?
No comments:
Post a Comment