Week 2
Week 2 - Stage 7, Sunday 13th May
Porto to Tiuccia, South of Sagone via Evisa, Cristannace and Vico (79kms.)
Total Ascent - 3,638 metres
Total Descent - 3,670 metres
I left the campsite at Porto around 9:20am but not before enjoying another half hour's fly-fishing, followed by yet another hearty breakfast and then head back down the lane to the main D81. I'm still in two minds as to which way to go. Shall I continue along the D81 via Les Calanches de Piana Cargese and Sagone or head inland to Evisa? Once at Evisa I would have to return to Porto or continue on to Vico, resulting in more climbing. Evisa it is then!
What a beautiful climb! Several cyclists passed me en route. One couple I passed several times on the climb as we each stopped to admire the view. Also on the road I was passed by about twenty vintage cars all heading for Porto. The cars included; Porsche, Lotus, Aston Martin and many more makes and models I didn't recognise. After 2 1/2 hours I arrive in the town of Evisa having passed the couple on their bikes for the final time only 10 minutes out of town (competitve...moi?).
On the main road into the village I re-fill my water bottle and Camelback at a public fountain. The cold water is so refreshing on my face. A quick halt for lunch, comprising a glass of freshly squeezed grapefruits, a jambon et fromage crepe and a slice of gateaux à la châtaigne. Delicious! Back in the saddle by 1:45 pm and at 3:00pm - still climbing! Stopped occasionally to take some photos and finally arrived at the Col de Sevi (1,101m) at 3:20pm with 33 kms on the clock.
A lovely ride downhill to Vico with changing scenery along the way. Turned on to the D1 towards Ambiegna and Casaglione. A lovely winding lane - very 'English countryside' in places and so unspoilt and quiet. So glad I decided to take this inland route rather than the busier coast road. I speak all too soon...the tranquillity is sudden shattered by the sound of a car's engine. Not just any engine but the distinctive sound of a Suburu Imprezza's engine - and the driver is clearly in a hurry! No sooner have I pulled over to the side of the narrow lane, when said vehicle hurtles passes me at a suicidal speed. We are both travelling along a single track lane with about 5 metres high of sandstone rock on the right-hand side. On the left is a steep, tree covered bank, to a stream. Insane driving but he is not alone. No sooner as the dust settled and tranquillity returned when another Subura Imprezza repeats the actions of the first! Madness!
Finally arrived at a beautiful Genoa bridge over the River La Liamone. The river looks absolutely gorgeous. After crossing the bridge, the road climbed up and away from the river. I begin to doubt if this is the best route to the coast. Therefore, after checking the map again, I notice a small lane off to the right just before the bridge which hugs the North bank of the river. I turn the bike around and retrace my route back to the bridge.
Not long after crossing the bridge I see a tiny road on the left. Is this a route to the coast or does it simply lead to a private property with a large dog waiting to greet me?! Which way do I go? The road on the South side of the river climbs away from the valley and inland, whereas this way definitely follows the river down along the North bank. I'm still deliberating my options when a local driving a tractor appears along the track. In my best Franglais, I ask if this track will take me to the coast road. With a broad smile the tractor driver says, "Yes". All attempts to extract any further information results in the same smiling affirmative. I thank him profusely and we both head on our ways.
To say the following 45 minutes concerned me would be a gross understatement. The lane soon turned into a path and then into no more than an overgrown, rutted, boulder-strewn track. The river, although out of site, I could still hear off to my left and this was the direction the track appeared to be heading - and downhill which was a bonus. To turn back now would mean an uphill struggle and about an hour of lost time. Deciding to carry on, the track soon got even harder to navigate. I became increasingly concerned for the bike's welfare as well as my own. The bike was not designed for full off-road duties, especially with 30 kilos strapped to the panniers. It was now well into the afternoon; a puncture here and now would be bad news. A broken chain or buckled wheel...well, then I would be in some very deep 'doo-doo' and wearing the wrong footwear!
Peddling slowly and carefully onward, I came to a small fork in the track: the more used of the tracks headed away from the river. The other continued roughly parallel with the river. Opting for the latter soon brought me to a disused farm building and a couple of grazing cows. Giving the cows a wide berth, I arrived at a locked gate. There was just enough room for me and a 'pregnant' bike to squeeze between the gate and a fence. I was now back on a proper dirt track, although still rutted and strewn with puncture inducing boulders. Eventually the track joined a tarmac road which finally lead me on to the main coast road.
Never have I been so pleased to see traffic! I even patted the crossbar of my bike like you would a trusted steed. I'd asked more of my bike than the manual guranteed and she'd come through the ordeal with flying colours. I, on the other hand, was beginning to feel I'd had enough excitement for one day. With just South of 80 kms on the clock, including 3,000 metres of climb and an hour of off-road riding was ready for a beer and a shower.
A quick check of the map told me right for Sagone, left for Tiuccia. The Lonely Planet Guide told me right for a hotel on the beach, left for something similar in Tiuggia about 7 kms South. I headed South. My brief pleasure at seeing traffic soon wore off. Therefore, when a sign for a 3-star campsite appeared by the side of the road, I immediately headed off the main road and once more back on to a quiet lane. It's 3-star rating seemed a tad generous. However, the campsite also had a number of small chalets - actually they were more like beach huts. I couldn't be asked to pitch my lowly one-man tent, so enquired as to the availability and cost of a beach hut.
Sitting on the end of the bed inside my hut, I'm almost too tired to write in my journal. I've brought my bike into the hut instead of chaining her to a tree. It's the very least I can do after all she has gone through today. Tomorrow I will feed her with GT 85 and chain lube.
