It's 9:20am and I'm ready for the penultimate ride of my journey. I would like to stay a while longer with my hosts. The wife is making sure I have sufficient food and water for the day, while her husband tells me snippets of their life. So wish my French was fluent, it's frustrating to not understand all he is telling me. I did manage to grasp a few things: they are living in the house next to the one where he was born (which he now rents out). His wife is from Paris where he used to be a glass-blower. Then came the recession and he was made redundant so they returned to Corsica. There is a sadness in his voice. 

He changes the subject by telling me he is very keen sportsman and loves rugby, hiking and scuba diving. In his garage where he stored my bike there are all sorts of mementos and sports equipment. My eyes are drawn to one large picture frame. Behind the glass are loads of empty packets of Dunhill cigarettes! Such a coincidence as both my parents smoke the same brand. My host looks at me and smiles. One day I decided to stop smoking and this is a permanent reminder to me of how much money I wasted and, of course, the damage to my health. Reluctantly I say my 'thank yous' and 'goodbyes' and head off down the road.

Over breakfast I looked at my map which is beginning to show signs of wear from being constantly opened and folded away. The chosen route is the D330. I'm heading almost due North and running parallel to the T10 (N193), the main road along the East coast. The T10 (N193) hugs the coastline all the way from Bonafacio on the Southern tip to Bastia in the North. The road I'm travelling is approximately 300 metres above sea-level and winds its way along through the foothills. Such a contrast between to two roads even though they are only about 5kms apart.

The quiet and pleasant ride gives me time to reflect on my journey. I begin creating my 'Top 10 best moments':

1. Cresting that big climb and then free-wheeling;

2. A shower at the end of a long day;

3. That first sip of cold beer;

4. Finding that very special, out of the way refuge by a river, full of charm with the perfect host;

5. Finding that next river;

6. catching that first wild brown trout;

7. Discovering that cheap but excellent restaurant in the middle of nowhere;

8. Listening to music in the evening when the washing is done and the bike cleaned;

9. Climbing along the quiet wooded mountain road and not seeing anyone for hours;

10. The aroma of the pine trees and maquis.

The quiet country lane leads me to a tiny village where, somehow, I manage to lose my way. I could find any road sign for the D330. Luckily, a couple of the villagers pointed me in the right direction. Continuing on my way I encounter an elderly gentleman, on his mobile, driving a clapped-out van, on my side of the road! Thankfully, with a combination of my braking hard and his turn to the right, we both continued on our way!

It's 12:30pm and I've reached the junction of the D330 and the D506, but can't decide which way to go?! A large part of me wants to stay in the mountains and hoped to visit the region around Monte Saint Angelu. However, not easy at this stage of my journey as meant tough climbs and heading West rather than North. I'd always planned to be back in Bastia by Saturday, 26th. Reluctantly I head down along the D506, crossing a small bridge and keeping the river Alto on my right. Maybe I deserve a nice hotel on the coast and a swim in the sea?

I reach the the crossroads with the T10 (N193) and continue straight over and on to the Eastern plains towards the coast at San Pellegrino. There is a hotel there according to my map, which turns out to be true but closed! Disappointed, I head back to the T10 (N193), taking a right onto a small track which runs parallel to the main road. I was hoping this track would save me from having to cycle along the dreaded main road. No such luck; only a few hundred metres further on and the track finished. No other option but to grin and bear it.

Four kilometres further on - still in one piece - I turn left on to the D37, once more heading for the sanctuary of the hills! The quiet road climbs and winds its way to the village of Venzolasca then on to Vescavato. I pass the Convent of St. Francis of Venzolasca. Built in the late 16th century by the Franciscans on the ruins of an establishment dating from 1236. The building, now in ruins, still gives a glimpse of its U-shaped formation, its Romanesque church and the eight chapels.