We hold certain esteem to islands as places of escape. The reasons are numerousm but thery can all be reuced to the idea of less, of simpliciation. Less land, less built up, less busy, less chatoic. Add the pleasure of the vacation style life, the warm weather and the overall augmentation of isolation, and what remains is quite near to paradise. Blue skies above, a soft yet bold hue, unyeilding semmingly until inifinity when it reach gently but ever so distinctly caresses the deeper blue of the sea. To my right, towards the shore are crashing waves capped in a ferocious white that break the stillness, but beyond this movement stretching towards the inifinite horizon they seem to dissapate, revealed only by brilliant reflections of the grand sun above. The white caps break against steep cliff, jagged rocks of a shoreline that twists and turns as a careless doodle. Only the occasional beach breaks this savageness, the crystalinnes golden sand inviting and glowing in the sun, touched upon by clean and green water given way by the deep blue.
While, save for the breaking of waves and jagged cliffes, consistency and platitude rules my right side to the distant forever where the sky meets the sea, the lack thereof, in splendid creative fashion, govern the left. Hills roll, and occasionally become mountains. Many wear a lush green of healthy forest, but there are those who are more decorative and sport wildflowers as far as the eye can see in majestic purples, and sweet whites and yellows, the epitome of a summer day.
Below me, in contrast, lies the mark of man, in his pride and dominance he has chosen to cut in two this magnificent scene, to force the distinction between left and right. He does this with something so radically different that not even the contrast between see and land can compete with that which separates themselves. It is artificial, black, smooth and straight. White and yellow adorn this as they do the left, yet without any grace of the latter. Instead, the paint is as uniform as the road itself, reeking of artificiality. Yet in the landscape, it can be seen as a thing of beauty with the right set of eyes and proper mindset.
If pride created the road, it in turn urged success, progress and a certain passion. For the only thing that seperates myself and the road is perhaps the most majestic creation of man, a bicycle. Fast enough to avoid boredom, but not too fast for the sea and sky and hills to fly on by unseen, the bicycle is the perfect vehicule with which to see the world. Pedaling is an addiction, an incessant rhythm, less natural but more pleasing than the beat of a heart. Its a rhythm to learn, fall in love with and never let go of, rather, to bring with you on all endeavors.
And so I roll, not just as a tourist, but as a cyclist, the escape of Corsica mine to savor.