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.