3 minute read
Riding high in a Mediterranean winter
by Audax UK
Readers will be familiar with veteran rider Paul Harrison’s descriptions of cycling in Corsica – the rough terrain of the island challenges and delights in equal measure. In this essay, Paul describes Corsica’s high mountain roads in winter…
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THE BEST CYCLING roads in Corsica twist and turn aimlessly through the mountains. They’re single-track, and consequently traffic free. A good example of such a road lies between Ponte Leccia and the Col de Bigorno.
Ponte Leccia is 193m above sea level and the summit of the Bigorno is 885m. You might assume that this is a straightforward climb of about 700m, but that is far from the truth.
The road heads north-east, high above the Golo valley, and there are four tributary river valleys to cross before the final ascent to the col. On three occasions, the road does a hairpin loop to cross the tributary at a high point, thus avoiding losing too much altitude.
The first of the valleys, however, is a ravine and the highest usable crossing place is far below; disheartening when so much climbing lies ahead. The road out of the ravine is a dizzying series of hairpins, like a mini col in its own right. It is one of those occasions where the terrain is so steep and rocky that it seems miraculous that there can be a road there at all.
I am doing the route on a clear sunny January day which sounds marvellous, and it is, except that it’s seriously cold in the valleys where the sun doesn't shine' at this time of year. Here, the surface is sometimes icy, sometimes mossy – and slippery.
Then there are what I call the “fake mechanical” sections which cause horrible rattling noises from below, suggesting a grumbling wheel bearing, a flat tyre, or some similar catastrophe. I stop and check the bike over – nothing! So on I go, and then it happens again. Eventually, I realise it's the tarmac itself. Sections of road have become detached from the substrate and when you ride over them it makes a mechanical noise.
Then there are the climbs up the southern slopes facing the sun. I'm soon shedding multiple layers. It’s essential in these conditions to have plenty of warm clothes and some way of carrying them when not needed, as well as being able to carry sandwiches, tools and other necessities for surviving in places where there are no cafes and few people.
A Carradice Camper Longflap saddlebag is about the right size. I stop for a breather in the village of Bigorno, at the foot of the col. An ancient farmer is hobbling along the road with a bucket full of something to feed his hens/goats/pigs. Feeling brave, I wish him good day in Corsican. This is a mistake; he assumes I speak the lingo and replies accordingly. At least I think it's Corsican, but it may be French with a strong Corsican accent. I
guess that he's saying: "It's nice to be out in the sun" and I reply "Oui”, and nod.
Then there's the final couple of miles to the top. Apart from one or two hairpins, it's a straight steady climb, so much easier in the mild winter sunshine than the heat of summer. The terrain is once more inhospitable and steep, with crumbling rock and some stretches of partially collapsed road.
From the top, the views south are incredible; ranges of hills with mountains behind, olive green in the foreground, then silver grey merging into snowy peaks dissolving into a shimmering blue haze. To the north, Cap Corse hangs ghostlike, an apparition in the Mediterranean Sea.
The tarmac is lumpy, and much trickier on the rapid descent than on my slow climb up. The road has been repaired and resurfaced since my ride. This makes the climbing easier and the descent faster, but I’m left wondering if it’s quite such an adventure as it was before.
