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...