Satuation, Inspiration. . . Oh wait we are in France

There are some things bike tourers have to face that can put a damper on  a day of riding (literally), a head wind, a steep all day mountain climb, Sundays in general ( nothing is open on gods day, no food, no toilets...), bitterly cold weather, and RAIN (moister of any kind really). The day we left Florence three of these statements were true.
It stopped raining just long enough for us to pack up our damp gear, adding considerable heft to our pannier. We did our best to protect ourselves from the persistent cold Italian weather, and rain we knew was looming just around the corner. With our shoes wrapped in shopping bags and ducked tape we headed out of town, toward the port city of Livorno. Our plan was to ride to Livorno hop on a ferry( as soon as possible) to Corsica, then catch another ferry to Mersielle, avoiding the section of Italy and France Emma and I had already ridden through.  Within minutes of leaving the camp ground the rain picked back up, and would follow us the entire day . At a certain point we lost the battle of prevent the rain from penetrating our dry shoes and clothes. Fingers and toes numb we stop for lunch, feeding our weathered moral. This gave Georgia a chance to wrap her feet in unused plastic produce bags she had found in a garbage can in front of a closed supermarket. This time however the bags went  on the inside of the shoe, over a fresh pair of socks, a method we have decided is much more effective. We forced ourself back on the road, and continued on through the Tuscan country side.   Focused mainly on the slick road ahead, it made it slightly difficult to truly enjoy to landscape surrounding us. We were convinced though from what we did catch that it was beautiful. Riding along a stream, farm fields, and rolling hills in the distance; Emma and I turned a corner and were suddenly confronted with something looking strangely familiar. Like looking into a mirror, a wide rolling mass was approaching. "A bike tourer!" ( in fact two) we slammed on the brakes, the rider across from us radiated a smile. We shimmied to the edge of the road as we waited for our respective company to join us. The male (Sami) and female ( Sarah) duo had started there journey six months earlier in the U.K. Their goal: cycle around the word! I'm sure anyone passing by was extremely confused as to why people drenched in cold water, on bikes, on Sunday looked so happy ( giddy really). The answer, we found people crazier than we are! After exchanging contact information, checking out each others gear, and a few war stories it was time to get back to riding ( though we could have stayed at that spot chatting the rest of the day). Check out there excellent website at: www.2010tillwhen.com. The rest of the ride to the coast was some what a blur, having been blessed with a substantial tail wind ( heaven on wheels). When arriving in Livorno we made a beeline for the port, checking the next available ferry to Bastia, Corsica. We would have to wait until the next day at 1:30pm. Emma and I-inspired by our fellow tourers stories about stealth camping-decided no matter the weather, we were camping. Georgia and Lucy opted to stay in hotel nearer to the port, hoping to be able to dry there clothes and themselves. We separates at the port around 5:30pm, with only another half hour of day light for Emma and I to ride the twelve kilometers to the campground. Needless to say, we didn't make it there in the light. When we finally pulled in to the drive way of what we thought was the campground, I hear behind me a splash of water. I first thought that a car had hit the large puddle I had just avoided. No, it was just Emma. She had tried to navigate around it , but once hitting the slick patch of pebble that was the driveway, she fell side ways into the puddle ( "puddle, I was underwater!!" - Emma). Splash! If it hadn't been raining, and if we were not already drenched it may not have be as funny at the moment. After a quick recovery we were back to the task of finding the entrance to our home for the night. We approached the gate and quickly realized that either we were at the wrong place, or worse it was closed. Not wanting to ride back to Livorno, we continue on a few meters ( avoiding puddles), where to our great relief we find the blazing neon sign reading "villogio campeggio." After checking in and finding a somewhat flat surface to set up camp, we change from our riding clothes into our "off bike/ pajamas/ non- fancy pants" clothes. I had thought about taking a shower, but quickly decided against in when I put my foot straight through the linoleum floor of the shower stall. I decided it was a sign, that the entire day was one big shower without soap. I washed of my muddy foot and went back to camp. Emma and I, in a some what delusional and dehydrated state made a tarp shelter over our tent, making it more pleasant to prepare our gourmet meal of package soup mix. At that moment it was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten. We slept surprisingly well that night having ridden 115km, in the rain. In the morning, still rainy and cold, we made our way back to the port where we met up with our comrades. I think that is good to reiterate that when we go into public, we draw a fair amount of suspicious and funny looks. This was true for when we went into the port cafeteria. The room was filled with big rig drivers, they seemed to all have a special card when they paid (basically saying "I'm one of the guys") throught the course of the trip, having shared the road with so many of these monstrous vehicles, I made up a story in my mind that there is secret society to which these driver belong to. That the cards they carry with them allows the holder to enter the special clubs, which they form in the back of the cargo they trail along. Equipped with hang shakes, vending machines, and showers. I'm not sure of the clubs purpose, but I continue to have that day dream when I see them in large groups. I then realize that I have entirely to much time to think about things like this when I am riding... I snap back into the real world.
We catch our ferry to Corsica, saying our final goodbye to Italy. It was overall a wonderful country with plenty to offer to wandering traveler such as ourselves. 
The four hour boat ride seemed like nothing compared to our Greek ferry experiences. Without even leaving the port boundaries, we made quick work of acquiring our tickets. We had two options, (A)Toulon or (B)Mersielle. Having decided to return for a short visit to Lacoste, we went with option B, it would take only two days of riding as apposed to four from Toulon. Our hour visit to Corsica was wonderful, I recommend the toilette in the information center, and you can't forget to have a chat with the friendly gentlemen at the tourist desk. Goodbye Corsica, hello Marseille.  We arrived in the port at 7am, an hour earlier than expected. Emma and I, slightly caught off guard, were still in our "off bike" clothes ( which would never due for riding).  Unable to find a terminal, or building of any kind to change in, we decide to take turn changing behind a security bungalow. I felt like a slower, more   clumsy version of superman, one moment fleece pants and a teeshirt, the next I'm fully decked out in spandex. 
France was already proving to be warmer than the Italy we had just left. Riding though the French country side was incredibly pleasant on the almost warm day we had received. Our plan was to make a two day trip of getting to Lacoste, spending the night in Aix- De -Provence. Emma and I had explored the city before during our time in this area, we knew just where to have a good lunch. So while enjoyed my modge podge of organic treat from a local health food store, Emma took the carnivores to a  favorite burger joint she had come across ( no 'In n Out' but pretty damn good for France... So I hear) Over lunch we discuss our options ( yet again): do we head out of the city hoping to camp in the wood a little further down the road, or push to Lacoste in one day. We went with the latter, arriving over the mountain, just as the sun was preparing to set over the Bonnieux Valley. We could see the small perched village of Lacoste across from us, it felt like no time had passed since we had been doing this exact same thing ( only it was a tad colder then). We raced to the house of Emma and Lucy's aunt. They had been expecting us, but with minimal opportunities to find Internet we had never confirmed our exact arrival ("I told them that we'd be there with in the week" Emma kept repeating. We were a few days early)We decided to set up camp in the olive grove just about the house, on a terrace which looks over the valley we had just ridden across. Once camp was set up, we waited in the court yard of the house waiting for someone to come home. When their aunt arrived home she was surprised by four weathered bikers she exclaimed " I thought you might be coming, I felt it in the wind". 
So that is how you go from cold and wet in Italy to sleeping in a tent under a canopy of olive trees over looking one of the most beautiful landscape I think I have ever seen; all with in 48 hours. 

Genevieve Spellman