Day 21 – Monday 13th June 2011
After a couple of days’ break, I get back into the thick of cycling. As soon as I left the house in Kallithea, I cycled uphill for a few kilometres. It was no bother – I was fresh and the view was stunning! Nassos kept telling me how lucky I am: it’s meant to be one of the hottest months of the year for Greece and yet the temperature has barely hit 30°C! It feels like one of Britain’s hot summers. Today was a little hotter than the previous days... or so it seemed. Maybe it was because the sun was beating down and I was cycling hard that it felt that way.
My mountainous journey was slow going. I knew there’d be a fantastic downhill to come, but the miles ticked by so slow I almost wondered if it would ever come. With Andritsena long gone, I came to a major junction and faced a choice: down the hill to Megalopoli, then up to Tripoli; or continue over the mountains towards Stemnitsa, turning right towards Davia and then down to Tripoli. I postponed the choice-making and took a break at a service station a few yards from the junction.
As I enjoyed a can of 7-Up, the choice got made. At this point in the day, time was no issue and the question popped into my head: “Are you a man or a mouse?” Mountains it is then!
There was a long, gruelling hill to Elliniko and for a few kilometres beyond. A car came round the bend towards me and I got a glimpse of the shocked look, not just on the driver’s face but on 2 of the passengers’ faces as well. Yes, only a lunatic would bring a bicycle up these mountains!
Some of the downhills were hard work: nice, gentle descents are not good as the friction in the tyres, combined with the air resistance, means freewheeling is not an option. Even with pedalling, I struggled to go faster than 12 mph. If this was the downhill I got after all my hard work, I would not be a happy bunny!
Soon after Davia, the real descent began. Now this was more like it! I passed a campsite, but I was still high up in the hills and there were a few miles left to Tripoli. My map indicates a campsite at Tripoli, so I enjoyed the downhill and pressed on.
My knees were aching quite a lot at this point. The vast number of uphills, combined with me only taking short breaks (because I wanted to make the distance fast) is not the best. The downhills don’t help as I always take those opportunities to give my bum a break from the saddle, using my knees as a bit of suspension over any bumps. At least my foot no longer hurt (when I was at St-Laurent-en-Grandvaux, many days ago, I lowered the saddle and it worked a treat – just a few millimetres took the strain off as I pedalled).
I hurtled towards Tripoli, trying hard not to use the brakes unless absolutely necessary. When I reached the town, I realised I had no idea where I was going. I figured heading straight was the best option and soon I came across a supermarket. A few supplies, and I tried to ask where this campsite is.
“No campsite, only mountains in Tripoli.”
Ok, now I’m in trouble. My map has lied to me... well, maybe it didn’t lie: maybe when it indicated campsites in Tripoli it meant in a 15-mile radius of the town, which included that one up in the mountains that I had passed. At any rate, I wasn’t going back there. The man at the supermarket said there are campsites at Nafplio and south, down the east coast from there. That’s good since that was the direction I wanted to head; the downside was that there were 42 km (26 miles) between me and the coast... and it was 8pm. I could only hope I passed something suitable along the way.
The road started off pretty flat with only gentle ascents. I was riding faster than I had all day, about 14 mph. The uphills were no bother, my speed remaining above 10 mph. As the darkness slowly set in, my adrenaline was pumping and I was blitzing this road. The lights went on and the man upstairs was more alert than ever... well, for today, at least.
I cruised along a nice flat section and came across a little shelter by the roadside. Next to it was a little shrine with a candle burning. I’d seen many of these throughout Greece. The best I can figure is that they are there to commemorate the lives of people who have died in a car accident at that spot: some have photos of people in them; yet others have pictures of Jesus, so I’m still not completely sure. Anyway, bivvying in the shelter could be a good call, despite it being right beside the road... I could just hope for the best, like usual.
But it was too late. Whilst I was trying to decide, Ol’ Betsy kept rolling forwards, down the hill and far away. I couldn’t be bothered to turn back.
It was past 9.30pm, it was as dark as it was going to get and I found myself flying down a major descent. The road is reminiscent of the Alps: tight bends and lots of speed. Except this time I could only see about 3 metres in front. A little LED bike light does not make a very good headlamp: it allows others to see me, but does not allow me to see where I’m going. The point was well made as I sped round a hairpin and hit a pothole. The rack on the back took a jolt and one of the panniers took a hit to the spokes of the rear wheel. I had to stop.
My lovely needlework I did back in Avallon (O Avallon!) had ripped apart. It’s a miracle the rack was still attached: the little bolts holding it on at the base had slowly been bending under the weight. In fact, when we arrived at Kallithea I noticed one side had snapped off. I have no idea when it happened (it could have been the cobbled roads in Rome, the ferry crossing, or even taking it on the bike rack on the back of the car... I can only speculate) but with some help from Nassos we managed to replace it. Even so, it was slowly bending, and by the grace of God it was still hanging on! Everything else seemed ok, so I carried on down. If I’m lucky, I could get to the coast by 10pm... do I factor in a break to let the wheel rims cool down? No, I’ll risk it.
At 10.05pm I pulled up to a restaurant. “Is there a ‘camping’ here?” (Greek people seem to get a little confused at “campsite”, but “camping” is their equivalent, and it helps.)
The couple in the restaurant talked amongst themselves. It turns out that there is no campsite in this village, the nearest one is in Nafplio, over 10 km away. After more talking in Greek, the man said I could take the next right, follow the road round behind the buildings and camp in the trees, well out of sight of anyone. Wild camping is technically illegal in Greece but apparently people still do it (according to me little phrasebook – thanks mum!).
The man said that what I could do instead is to take the right turn, but then turn left and I would come to a restaurant which used to be part of the old campsite. He said that perhaps if I told them that I saw on the map that there was a campsite here and that I’m a little confused, they might let me pitch in the trees for one night.
I thanked the man and decided to buy a can of coke off him for his trouble... but he took pity on me and gave it to me for free!
I decided to ask at the restaurant first.
“This campsite closed 10 years ago! If you go up the coast 10 km, there is one there.”
That was no good. It was late, I was tired and I really didn’t want to cycle that far, especially if it ended up closed like all the others. I headed the other way to wild camp in the trees.
I got to where I thought I was in the middle of nowhere and took a left turn down a dirt track... with an abrupt halt. There was a car parked there! There were no buildings around, so it was blatantly a couple enjoying a bit of Smooch Club.
I went a bit further on and found a bunch of trees that looked overgrown and wild enough. It looked like an old orchard, but where the orchards either side of this patch were nicely kept, this part had trees with branches almost to the floor and longer grass in between them. I went deep in so I was completely off the road. Someone would have to come looking to find me.
I was still a little uneasy about it: I was only at the back of a village, not in the middle of the mountains. As such, I decided not to put the tent up. It’s bivvy time!
Bivvy bag, roll mat and sleeping bad. I put the handlebar bag (with all the important stuff) down at the bottom of the bivvy bag, pulled the drawstring and enjoy a nice warm night, trying to keep one eye open just in case.
With all the hard work of hills, annoyances of not being able to find a campsite and blitzing over 25 miles at 8pm, I can look back on it all and confidently say:
This is the stuff adventures are made of!
Stats
Mileage = 90.04 miles
Riding time = 9 hours 22 minutes
Average speed = 9.6 mph
Top speed = 38.7 mph
Total mileage since start = 949.0
After a couple of days’ break, I get back into the thick of cycling. As soon as I left the house in Kallithea, I cycled uphill for a few kilometres. It was no bother – I was fresh and the view was stunning! Nassos kept telling me how lucky I am: it’s meant to be one of the hottest months of the year for Greece and yet the temperature has barely hit 30°C! It feels like one of Britain’s hot summers. Today was a little hotter than the previous days... or so it seemed. Maybe it was because the sun was beating down and I was cycling hard that it felt that way.My mountainous journey was slow going. I knew there’d be a fantastic downhill to come, but the miles ticked by so slow I almost wondered if it would ever come. With Andritsena long gone, I came to a major junction and faced a choice: down the hill to Megalopoli, then up to Tripoli; or continue over the mountains towards Stemnitsa, turning right towards Davia and then down to Tripoli. I postponed the choice-making and took a break at a service station a few yards from the junction.
As I enjoyed a can of 7-Up, the choice got made. At this point in the day, time was no issue and the question popped into my head: “Are you a man or a mouse?” Mountains it is then!
There was a long, gruelling hill to Elliniko and for a few kilometres beyond. A car came round the bend towards me and I got a glimpse of the shocked look, not just on the driver’s face but on 2 of the passengers’ faces as well. Yes, only a lunatic would bring a bicycle up these mountains!Some of the downhills were hard work: nice, gentle descents are not good as the friction in the tyres, combined with the air resistance, means freewheeling is not an option. Even with pedalling, I struggled to go faster than 12 mph. If this was the downhill I got after all my hard work, I would not be a happy bunny!
Soon after Davia, the real descent began. Now this was more like it! I passed a campsite, but I was still high up in the hills and there were a few miles left to Tripoli. My map indicates a campsite at Tripoli, so I enjoyed the downhill and pressed on.
My knees were aching quite a lot at this point. The vast number of uphills, combined with me only taking short breaks (because I wanted to make the distance fast) is not the best. The downhills don’t help as I always take those opportunities to give my bum a break from the saddle, using my knees as a bit of suspension over any bumps. At least my foot no longer hurt (when I was at St-Laurent-en-Grandvaux, many days ago, I lowered the saddle and it worked a treat – just a few millimetres took the strain off as I pedalled).
I hurtled towards Tripoli, trying hard not to use the brakes unless absolutely necessary. When I reached the town, I realised I had no idea where I was going. I figured heading straight was the best option and soon I came across a supermarket. A few supplies, and I tried to ask where this campsite is.
“No campsite, only mountains in Tripoli.”
Ok, now I’m in trouble. My map has lied to me... well, maybe it didn’t lie: maybe when it indicated campsites in Tripoli it meant in a 15-mile radius of the town, which included that one up in the mountains that I had passed. At any rate, I wasn’t going back there. The man at the supermarket said there are campsites at Nafplio and south, down the east coast from there. That’s good since that was the direction I wanted to head; the downside was that there were 42 km (26 miles) between me and the coast... and it was 8pm. I could only hope I passed something suitable along the way.
The road started off pretty flat with only gentle ascents. I was riding faster than I had all day, about 14 mph. The uphills were no bother, my speed remaining above 10 mph. As the darkness slowly set in, my adrenaline was pumping and I was blitzing this road. The lights went on and the man upstairs was more alert than ever... well, for today, at least.I cruised along a nice flat section and came across a little shelter by the roadside. Next to it was a little shrine with a candle burning. I’d seen many of these throughout Greece. The best I can figure is that they are there to commemorate the lives of people who have died in a car accident at that spot: some have photos of people in them; yet others have pictures of Jesus, so I’m still not completely sure. Anyway, bivvying in the shelter could be a good call, despite it being right beside the road... I could just hope for the best, like usual.
But it was too late. Whilst I was trying to decide, Ol’ Betsy kept rolling forwards, down the hill and far away. I couldn’t be bothered to turn back.
It was past 9.30pm, it was as dark as it was going to get and I found myself flying down a major descent. The road is reminiscent of the Alps: tight bends and lots of speed. Except this time I could only see about 3 metres in front. A little LED bike light does not make a very good headlamp: it allows others to see me, but does not allow me to see where I’m going. The point was well made as I sped round a hairpin and hit a pothole. The rack on the back took a jolt and one of the panniers took a hit to the spokes of the rear wheel. I had to stop.
My lovely needlework I did back in Avallon (O Avallon!) had ripped apart. It’s a miracle the rack was still attached: the little bolts holding it on at the base had slowly been bending under the weight. In fact, when we arrived at Kallithea I noticed one side had snapped off. I have no idea when it happened (it could have been the cobbled roads in Rome, the ferry crossing, or even taking it on the bike rack on the back of the car... I can only speculate) but with some help from Nassos we managed to replace it. Even so, it was slowly bending, and by the grace of God it was still hanging on! Everything else seemed ok, so I carried on down. If I’m lucky, I could get to the coast by 10pm... do I factor in a break to let the wheel rims cool down? No, I’ll risk it.
At 10.05pm I pulled up to a restaurant. “Is there a ‘camping’ here?” (Greek people seem to get a little confused at “campsite”, but “camping” is their equivalent, and it helps.)
The couple in the restaurant talked amongst themselves. It turns out that there is no campsite in this village, the nearest one is in Nafplio, over 10 km away. After more talking in Greek, the man said I could take the next right, follow the road round behind the buildings and camp in the trees, well out of sight of anyone. Wild camping is technically illegal in Greece but apparently people still do it (according to me little phrasebook – thanks mum!).The man said that what I could do instead is to take the right turn, but then turn left and I would come to a restaurant which used to be part of the old campsite. He said that perhaps if I told them that I saw on the map that there was a campsite here and that I’m a little confused, they might let me pitch in the trees for one night.
I thanked the man and decided to buy a can of coke off him for his trouble... but he took pity on me and gave it to me for free!
I decided to ask at the restaurant first.
“This campsite closed 10 years ago! If you go up the coast 10 km, there is one there.”
That was no good. It was late, I was tired and I really didn’t want to cycle that far, especially if it ended up closed like all the others. I headed the other way to wild camp in the trees.
I got to where I thought I was in the middle of nowhere and took a left turn down a dirt track... with an abrupt halt. There was a car parked there! There were no buildings around, so it was blatantly a couple enjoying a bit of Smooch Club.
I went a bit further on and found a bunch of trees that looked overgrown and wild enough. It looked like an old orchard, but where the orchards either side of this patch were nicely kept, this part had trees with branches almost to the floor and longer grass in between them. I went deep in so I was completely off the road. Someone would have to come looking to find me.
I was still a little uneasy about it: I was only at the back of a village, not in the middle of the mountains. As such, I decided not to put the tent up. It’s bivvy time!
Bivvy bag, roll mat and sleeping bad. I put the handlebar bag (with all the important stuff) down at the bottom of the bivvy bag, pulled the drawstring and enjoy a nice warm night, trying to keep one eye open just in case.
With all the hard work of hills, annoyances of not being able to find a campsite and blitzing over 25 miles at 8pm, I can look back on it all and confidently say:
This is the stuff adventures are made of!
Stats
Mileage = 90.04 miles
Riding time = 9 hours 22 minutes
Average speed = 9.6 mph
Top speed = 38.7 mph
Total mileage since start = 949.0
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