This is it. We're on our way to Corsica... or Corse as they say here.

Dave and I leave our rather snazzy villa B&B at the top end of Nice after a breakfast of fresh fruit salad and lovely eggs on toast.  We cruise down towards the historic seafront and hastily explore the Old Quarter's narrow streets like a couple of manic, camera-toting sightseers before making a left towards the ferry terminal.

This isn't the real tour. Not yet. We both know it but say nothing. There's no need. There's that ferry ride to do first.

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It's hot and around mid-day when we spot a couple of cyclists are on the wide prom, taking in the super view of the ridiculously blue sea. We all chat and we find out they're also Brits. 

They're heading east to Italy and beyond, on a long tour, riding their new Thorns. 

I suggest fitting in Corsica; the ferry leaves for Bastia very soon; it's just 20 euros each; perfect timing; the island is one of the world's best places for cycle touring; they'd love it. 

Maybe I sound too much like an evangelical tourism officer. Or a crazy bastard on a bike. They seem to think I'm bullshitting.

They decline. Their loss.

It's 7-ish when the ferry eventually docks. By then we're bored of looking at the sea. 

It's dusk as we ride to Bastia's crowded center and quickly find a hotel for 50 euros. Our bikes get locked in a nearby garage and Dave and I then  wash and go in search of a bar, which doesn't take us long. We're pretty good at things like that. Pure, natural talent.

It's right on the waterfront of the Vieux Port (Old Port)  and we sit and watch Chelsea get beaten by Barcelona in the second Champions League semi while trying local Pietra beer.

Pietra. Oh yes!

This six-percent brew goes down really well and becomes our evening drink of choice on the trip.  The island's very own beer - the name means 'Stone' - is made by Corsica's sole brewery and its splendid golden hue is due to chestnut flour.  Nice, and a bit nutty.

We have a few.