Day 23: Stylida to Litochoro

The first hour of today's ride is through miles and miles of olive trees. As far as the eye can see, they spread over the hills and valleys; all seemingly cultivated and well kept. By the roadside, cacti and walnut trees appear. It's a cool and relaxed start to the day: and then...

Satty takes us down a slip road. The green sign should have rung  huge alarm bells. Greece  is the 'wrong' way round. Blue signs for highways, green for - motorways!
I'm  on a Honda 90 on the main motorway to Thessaloniki. It's big, it's fast. There's no turning around. No stopping to check the route.  I twist the throttle hard, grip the handlebars and ride as fast as possible, looking for the first exit - any exit as long as it's not motorway. 90cc is too small for Greek motorways. 125cc is the minimum. I scan the mirrors for any approaching blue lights. I'm way too tense. You need to be relaxed to ride well. Tense up and the bike feels less stable.
I give myself a pep talk. Pull yourself together man, it's only a motorway.  I've done miles on them on the R-1150 RT. That's the difference 1060cc missing.
After about 15 kilometers I see an exit sign but cones and an illuminated sign shows it's closed. Another twenty minutes and I'm getting desperate. Another exit sign. 'έξοδος'. Again, cones and illuminated sign. Is there no way off this motorway. A tunnel ahead. It's six and a half kilometres long; through the mountain. At least it's lit, unlike Albanian tunnels. I ride on, lorries hurtling past, the slipstream from them hits hard and pushes me off my line.

Light. The tunnel ends and I'm out into the bright sunshine. Another few kilometres, another tunnel. I ride on for forty four miles before I see an exit that isn't closed. I signal, take the slip road and start to breath a bit more deeply. There's a toll station. The cashier looks at the bike with a frown as I pay. I know, I know. I shouldn't be here.

I find a spot by a brook for lunch. I stare into the water. There are lots of fish. A frog jumps in as I peer in. Something larger moves the reeds beside me.
My reverie is cut short by the barking approach of two farm dogs. They're still a way away so I have time to throw my helmet on, my leg over the saddle and ride past them and away. I throw a little of my salami at them as I pass. They turn towards the smell of meat and leave me alone.

I turn onto the old service road towards Thessaloniki. It follows the motorway, occasionally, dipping underneath and to the other side. Many road signs are riddled with bullet holes. Not small air-gun holes like I sometimes see in Britain. These are big enough to put your finger in. 303 maybe. They have guns here then.

I'm back in agricultural territory now. I see a grey heron and a stork standing together in the cooling mist of an irrigation spray.  The trees are in full leaf, still pale and fresh in the Spring.

Satty turns me left off the service road. Towards the mountains again. I start to climb towards to snow still clinging in the shadows. It's extraordinarily wild up here. There are a few goats and cattle. Lizards scurry away as I approach. I see my road winding ahead, zig-zagging up towards the snow. Surely not Satty? There's no other road. The climb is so steep I'm in first gear most of the time. The hairpins are at forty-five degrees. I need to keep the speed up or else the engine will stall.  Around one bend, cattle ...and dogs. There's no chance of escaping at this speed. Should I turn round?
No, I need to carry on. I swerve through them, kicking out and yelling. I didn't have time to reach into my pocket for the meat.

I enter a high plateau. There are a few fields and a small village here. My fuel is running out. The needle has dipped into the red and the tank is almost dry when I see a sign nailed to a telegraph pole. There's a petrol station in five hundred metres. At last. I pull up to a pump. It's not turned on, the blank display staring blindly back at me. My moment of dismay is cut short by the growling of another dog. He's big, brown and guarding this abandoned petrol station. I race away, just accelerating fast enough to stay ahead of the beast.
I leave the village and continue my climb to the peak and then begin the long descent to the sea.  I coast for a while and when I see a level bit of road in the shade, I stop and fill up from my spare can.

Walking down the hill I pass a group of what look like Romany women, herding a few cows with their wispy sticks swishing in front of them. Their dogs turn towards me and they start to attack - three of them. The women simply watch.

Half a kilometer further down, another couple  of dogs chase me... and again another pack chase and snap at my legs. My throat is hoarse from yelling at them.

I lose count, but on the rough road down from peak to the sea there are fifty hairpin bends at least. I'm getting the hang of them. Brake...drop to second. Release the front brake, feather the rear brake then accelerate gently through curve, back up to third: Repeat for the next bend that turns the opposite direction.. left, right left, right... A slow return to civilisation, warmth and the sea.

A final left turn from the old coast road then a gentle climb towards Litochoro, which lies in the foothills of Mount Olympus.
Fourth exit off a roundabout and I'm here. This is our apartment for a week. Sian arrives by plane tomorrow and I'm to pick her up from the station. Yes...on the Honda C90.
Now for a week's break from my travels and therefore, I'm signing off for now. I'll let you all know how it goes when I'm back on the road - to Bulgaria, Romania and beyond!

Chris

Day 22: A second day in Stylida

For the first time on this journey, I'm going to stay two days in the same place. It's so good not to have to pack and move on in the morning.
I can lie in, chill & plan the day.
There's a shiny coachload of children from a Montessori school in Thessaloniki staying  at the campsite overnight. As I expected, a few children were crying in the night. The camp owner is confident that they'd be fine because their parents are with them, but as it turned out, the parents were in the bar until three in the morning and a few of the children were wailing "Mama!" with no-one ready to comfort them.  That Nightbeep bird was back as well.  I expect it's following me. Why don't birds sleep at night in this region?

The sun rises above the trees. I'm waiting to get my stinky clothes into the single washing machine that this site has.  Not reading Greek very well, I managed to mess up the cycle of someone else's laundry in an attempt to open the door. I couldn't see the washing already in the machine  as the room was pitch black.

Now, there's an odd juxtaposition of sounds providing a backdrop to my relaxation in the shade. There's the Greek Orthodox priest's amplified chanting from the nearby red-roofed church, reminiscent of the Muslim call to prayer I heard earlier in Albania, intermingled with the disco tunes played for the Montessori children, overlaid with the incessant Greek rambling of the DJ.
"Everyone's a winner!",  "Pamé!" "Shake your booty!" "Maria, Spiros, Theo, Mario...", "Okay!"

Greek orthodox dub dance music. I think I've discovered a new genre.

I check over  the bike. The plug is a little black showing it's running a bit rich. Too much fuel, too little oxygen. It may be due to the altitude, but now that I'm now down at sea level it should have cleared to a light grey. I'll clean the plug and adjust the carburettor.  My MPG is down a little - to 120 from 130, so maybe that's a symptom. I'll see how it goes tomorrow on the run to Litochoro.

Our fuel stats so far:
Average economy: 130.34 mpg
Min.  MPG:  110.69 mpg
Max:  MPG:  172.97 mpg (long descent from mountains)
Distance driven: 2632 miles
Fuel purchased: 91.8 litres
Fuel cost: £123 (roughly...converting between a few currencies)

Grief... this Honda is cheap to run. 

I  walk to the shops. The same dogs stare at me. They seem to be guarding a minimarket. Well  done dogs. I won't be going there.
At another shop a few streets further on, I bought squid, tomatoes and ouzo. They didn't have bread. That's my excuse.  They only had dry stuff which is like cardboard.

I buy a large pack of cheap salami.  On the way back I wait, almost hopefully, until I meet the dogs from yesterday. I bite a chunk of the cheap salami off and throw it towards the gutter. The dogs rush towards the meat. They're hungry.  The bigger one looks at me. There's a feeling that we have an agreement. I throw a little more just for him - or her. Many of these feral dogs show the signs of raising pups. More problems for the future.

In the low sun. The last of the yummy mummies drink their cocktails from jam jars with green plastic straws and watch in a disinterested way, their increasingly bored children, now tended by weary fathers with sunglasses pushed back on their shaved foreheads.
Slowly,  they slip out of the scene, leaving the stage.  They head home. The shadows engulf  me and the few hangers-on who remain for the evening.

Day 21: Athens to Stylida

It's still cool. I drag my bags out of the apartment door, check I have everything and let the big glass door click behind me. I release the Honda from her olive tree shackles.

Out of the suburbs, Satty finally decides where we should go and we head South, through the rush-hour mayhem of Athens. Despite the insane, suicidal Greek driving, I end up near the outskirts of the city beside the same pick up truck that passed me back in the suburbs. Schadenfreude.

After maybe fifteen kilometres, the traffic eventually thins. Four lanes turn to three then two, then I'm on to rural two-way roads. This feels better. More familiar to a country lad like me. I pass through well-tended stands of olive trees. Jealously guarded, they have the owner's initials daubed on the white-painted trunks. I'm relieved to head into the wilds again after the baking chaos of the city. I slowly climb into the pines.
Well out of civilisation I pull over for bread & marmite.
It's cold.  12 C.  I pull a fleece over my head and fish the gloves out of the panniers. I haven't used them since Croatia.

A long rising road. I see a small motorcycle in front of me. It swerves to avoid the dogs circling from its left; he, or she, kicks out at the snarling animal.  The bike wobbles, but gets past and accelerates up the hill. My turn.  I'm stiff with anticipation. I turn away from the pack.  They're on my right, maybe ten or more of them. Only two or three are coming towards me. I speed up and bank away to the right. It's a half hearted attack. Maybe it's too hot, maybe they're not hungry enough. They let me go.

I pass a couple of cyclists slowly climbing the long hill. I worry for them. How will they fare with the dogs?

Another mile or two, another group of dogs, maybe fifteen, large, rough looking beasts. I speed up and take the opposite lane to keep clear.

I'm tired today. Time goes slowly. The miles go slowly.

I stop in a layby. I drink water and nibble a little bread and paté.  Time to check the bike. Oil, front spindle bolt, swinging arm bolt, tyre pressures. The brakes and lights are still OK.  I adjust the luggage a little to narrow the stepthrough bag. My knees have been struggling to get around them.

All along the road in Greece, there are small shrines. Some seem to recall people who have died. Often young men. They could be shrines to reckless driving; there are more of them in the twisting mountainous areas - sometime just a few hundred metres apart. Others seem to be simple religious shrines. Small chapels sit in the middle of wide flat fields: no sign of habitation for miles. A voice in the wilderness.

I'm in the flat, high plains now. Great wide fields spread around me, circled by blue-grey, snow dusted mountains. This is fertile, agricultural land.  Wheat, grapes, vegetables, red ploughed fields waiting for their seeds. Tiny tractors raise clouds of dust in the distance. Sprinklers spray droplets onto my insect-spotted screen. They dry within seconds in the bright heat.
The engine note rises in pitch. The climb starts to level then we begin a long descent. The smooth tarmac runs in long straights with hairpin bends taking us down to a lower level. A change of direction and a change of view. Awesome distances spread before the eyes. Wide patchworks appear in the hazy distance: toy fields for toy farms and even tinier buildings. Tractors are too small to see. The land gives way to azure sea, reflecting the opal blue sky, now clear of the clouds that had chilled me this morning.
The temperature rises as I descend to Stylida and the little coastal village at Paralia Rachon.

Tired after a long ride, I pull in to the campsite to a wonderfully friendly welcome. They are so kind. I think they see my overheated fatigue and show me where it's cool to pitch my tent. The ground is soft. I use a thin plank to put under the centrestand so that the bike doesn't tip over.
A change of clothes, food, a tin of beer and then I walk into the village for supplies.
Yet again, two dogs attack me as I walk back. I'm too tired for this. I growl and shout at them. Don't mess with me. This isn't the time. They back off.
Back to the campsite. I make dinner: bread, taramasalata, tsatsiki, cucumber and huge red tomato washed down with Mythos. I head to the outdoors bar.  The children play on the trampolines while happy parents mingle in the shade.  Another Mythos for me. I watch bicycles with huge tyres weave around the crowd, while beside me, a young man sends a camera drone into the sky. Up, down, banking here and there, capturing the moment, (for the parents - at a price) from its eagle-eyed perspective. The hum sounds like a giant insect.

I decide to have an early night.  9:00 local time... that's 7:00pm UK time. Times change on the road. Sleep when you're tired, ride when you're ready.

Theres no pressure to get going in the morning. That's a change. I relax, make a few phone calls home. The Nightbeep bird fades into the background...

Day 20: Delphi to Athens

It's hot. Even in the shade it's heading towards 40c and it's only 8:30am. I pack quickly and once my jacket is on I'm desperate to get riding so the air will cool me down. 

I wind along the road up and out of Delphi campsite and through the pass where the ancient monument - home of the Oracle is situated. Tourists line the roads. Already, a queue of them snake up the path to the visitor centre with its displays and tat for sale. Coaches line the road. Thirty, forty, maybe more. Even this early in the morning. Coach drivers stand in the shade of their vehicles, smoking and chatting. Plenty of time before their passengers return. 

I ride on. This is not for me. I climb out of the gorge and in the open landscape bugs start hitting my visor. Big bugs. They hit with a loud 'click', sometimes leaving a smear which only spreads and dries in the heat when I try to wipe it away.

Braking sharply for a tight bend,  I notice that the rear brake pedal is travelling further than usual. I look for a suitable stopping place  - a  pull in at a viewpoint overlooking a village, and tighten the adjuster a few turns.

The bike's not happy. It's feeling sloppy again and on a long uphill section, doesn't seem to have enough power..at least, the little power it usually has. I may have over-adjusted the brake. It's probably binding. I pull into the entrance to yet another abandoned building. Sure enough, the rear hub feels hot. Friction. The brake is rubbing. I back it off a couple of turns and test that the wheel turns freely. Now I turn my attention to the sloppy feel to the steering. I check all the nuts. Once again, the  swinging arm pivot nut is loose. I tighten it and resolve to find a permanent fix for this.  The tyre pressure's down as well. Why? The heat? Shouldn't that increase the pressure? I pump them up: quite high this time. Thirty front, forty back. There's a lot of weight on that rear tyre.

As I travel, it's hard to know what to photograph. Every corner, every bend reveals another gasp inducing vista.  Mountains, gorges, villages, sea and coastline. Greece really is stunningly beautiful. So much so that you become accustomed to the dramatic views. It's just too much. For the next few kilometres the roadside is painted with bright yellow broom. Soon,  the fields are yellow too, with a strong musky odour. Blue and yellow painted beehives are dotted around the olive trees. Bees bounce off my visor, too slow to avoid me as I fly along on my duck. That's what the Greeks call the Honda Cub - a duck. It does have a certain duck-like quality now that I think of it.

The bees are busy pollinating. Honey is for sale at the roadside all around here. Poppies mingle with wild flowers lining the road; staccato red notes in a symphony of yellow.

Fifty miles to go and I take the old 'National Road' to Athens.  It rises again into the hills. I stop in a little shade from the pine trees for lunch...the remains of the breakfast loaf and a tin of paté, washed down with water. I'm thirsty in this heat.

I hit heavy traffic more than fifteen miles from Athens. Two lanes become three. Yellow taxis appear, darting between lanes. Three lanes become four then five. Lights stop and start the traffic. Many drivers seem to ignore the lights. Horns blare. Motorbikes and scooters ride at breakneck speed down the smallest of gaps between lanes. Cars stop and park mid lane. Traffic oozes around them. Chaos. My heart is racing. Fingers tight, eyes darting from mirror to mirror. Safety check left, right. Tap brake lights to make sure car behind sees that I'm slowing. I indicate to change lanes. No one indicates in Athens. Satty wants me to take the leftermost lane but I'm in the right lane. I start to ride like an Athens delivery bike, weaving and cutting until I get to the left. Now Satty has lost herself. Perfect - right in the middle of this unholy mess. I make a guess and head where the main flow of metal and noise seems to be heading. She's happy. I'm still on track. 

I turn and the road is only two lanes, then one. One way. It heads up towards a tree-lined area with old white apartment buildings. Next turn - my street. I find number 55 and stop. I breath. I feel the sweat cooling as I finally start to ease the tension that this crazy city driving has wrought in me.

I thread the security cable through the rear wheel and pass it around an olive tree.

The bike needs to cool down. I carry my luggage up marble steps to the apartment I've booked for the night. It's a long ride tomorrow and I'm grateful that Vasilis, my host, is happy to leave me to myself for the evening. A simple meal of salad and cheese and I'm ready for sleep.