During my first visit to Corsica, on the road between Auddè (Aullène) and Zìcavu (Zicavo), I was on the Thruxton, tanking along in formation with a bloke on a Multistrada 1100 (the red rag in front of me) and a bloke on a BMW 1200 RT (playing the role of tail-end Charley/packed lunch wallah). I was itching to get past matey on the Doocardee, and as the road was pretty much empty apart from us, I was often using the whole width of the - narrow - road (gives you an idea of how fast Ducati man and I were going). At one point, as I dropped towards the apex of a blind left-hander, I suddenly discovered that the precise patch of tarmac I was aiming for was about to be occupied by a local coming down the hill at a fair rate of knots (everybody drives fast in Corsica) in a lowered Peugeot 207 GTI. Luckily we both kept a cool head: the guy in the Pug stood on the anchors, and I did the mother of all counter-steers while giving it the berries. I managed to avoid him, but you couldn't have slipped a cigarette paper between my left knee and the left front wheel-arch of the Pug!
Epilogue: After the close call, I looked in the mirror and could see that the guy on the Beemer was whitish-green with eyes the size dinner plates. So I decided that at the first possible moment we'd all pull over, have a smoke, and calm down. Of course, I just had to stop - unwittingly - in front of the local graveyard...