Aullène

Our designated destination was Zonza, which we understood to be a prototypical Corsican town. The route, of course, headed uphill.

After the first 14.5 miles, we were only halfway to Zonza and had already climbed 3,200 feet. This did not bode well.

There were a couple of bail-out points along this route. We faced our first decision point after crossing the Col de St. Eustache. We could see a significant descent, followed by a climb to the next town.

What terrain would we face after that, if we continued to Zonza?

One rider favored turning back at this point, but we had ascended for miles on a road that was in poor condition—the rest of us had no wish to descend it. With a chance of rain in the forecast, there was anxiety about the weather. Clouds were rolling in, and the winds were strong on the far side of the pass.

We continued to Aullène, and then agreed to bail out. I suggested that we find lunch here, since it was already 13:00, but our leader promised we would have lunch at a nice restaurant. We conferred on the route and headed downhill: D69 to N196.

Once I lost my downhill advantage, a paceline formed. I hammered along at nearly 17 mph, but the group pulled away from me; I faced the headwind alone.

I reached an unexpected turning point—the intersection of D69 and D268. Proceeding straight onto D268 seemed like the right direction. To stay on D69, I would need to turn left. An arrow for D69 pointed to Sartène. An arrow for D268 pointed to ... Sartène. I did not want to head toward Sartène, which was clearly not along the direct route toward the coast.

At this intersection, it would have been nice for the group to wait for me. Or for one person to wait for me. That is what I would have done.

I pulled out my map and studied it. Carefully. Then I studied it some more. I chose to proceed straight onto D268, and found the group at a nondescript restaurant less than a mile later—at the intersection with N196.

We ordered our lunches at the same time; everyone had finished (pizza) before I was served (salad). Their impatience was palpable.

I released them. "I will find my way back," I told them. They offered that we start together, but what would be the point of that? I would fall behind immediately.

Biking on the national road was not fun, especially when I was adjacent to fast-moving traffic on uphill sections or contending with construction zones. I pulled off the road a few times, just to get a break from the traffic. I studied the map, looking for alternatives; there were none.

Sixty miles, 4,545 feet of climbing.

On the plus side, it didn't rain.