Porto

As I was climbing out of St. Florent, a fighter jet swooshed overhead. That confirmed it—we did hear a sonic boom yesterday in Nonza!

I met the first raindrops twelve miles into the ride. I donned my rain jacket and did the only thing I could do: keep moving forward. I prefer not to ride in the rain, but today it was necessary.

When the rain became steady, I took shelter under a tree and pulled a shower cap over my helmet. As soon as I got back on the road, the cap slipped and flew off.

Water pooled in my shoes, as I had regrettably elected not to bring my shoe covers along. On the outskirts of L'Île-Rousse, I found an overhang for another break from the rain. I poured the water out of my shoes, squeezed what I could out of my socks, and ate the demi-baguette I had saved from breakfast.

Oddly, I did not feel miserable—cycling makes you wet, rain makes you wetter. If the weather injects "cold" into the equation, that adds up to a different result.

As the traffic in L'Île-Rousse inched along, I considered dismounting and walking on the sidewalk—it would have been faster. As I approached the far edge of town, traffic began to flow and I pulled aside to let the vehicles pass.

Then, just as I reached the end of town, I heard a voice ... the voice of a guardian angel, calling my name! Our host knew that I would call if I got into trouble; his wife was more pragmatic. She also knew to utter the magic words: that she had already sagged two of my friends forward. (No need for me to be stoic and ride the whole distance.) We loaded the bicycle into the car, and she boosted me forward 16 miles.

The Up Side: I was out of the rain for a while, and now ahead of the rest of the group.

The Down Side: I was transported forward along the flattest part of the route, through the only towns where I could have found lunch.

The rain let up, and I soon entered a wide, beautiful valley. The Corsican countryside is a very quiet place. Miles later, when I reached the summit of the pass, I paused for some photos. Just as I prepared to descend, the first riders from our group came around the bend.

Continuing ahead of them was a lucky move; a few miles down the road, the silence was suddenly broken. Pffft...BAM! Fortunately, I was not on a curve. Fortunately, I was not moving all that fast. I came safely to a stop; my front tire was flat. I edged it off the rim and started searching for the cause; my pit crew caught up to me in no time.

Did you find the hole?
Where's your tube?
Forget the pump, here's a CO2 cartridge.

The tube had poked through a slice in the tire and blown out; I had clipped a rock miles earlier but thought no harm had been done. I supplied a tire boot and we were soon on our way.

Opinions on the repair ran the gamut from "you need a new tire" to "looks completely rideable, don't worry about it." Now that we were heading downhill, I backed off on aggressive cornering, and speed. I lagged behind the group, but arrived in town to find them backtracking in search of our hotel.

For the day: 4900 ft of climbing and 69 miles (16 in the rain). No regrets about the additional 16 (rainy) miles I skipped.