cycling – A Touring Bike, a Comfy Bed, and a Glass of Wine

Cycling across a map of Tiny Perfect Moments

A few months ago, I read a review of a new film called “The Map of Tiny Perfect Things”. Judging by the review and the trailer, it appears to be about two teens who find themselves reliving the same day again and again, Groundhog Day-style. In an allusion to the conclusion of the earlier film, they start looking for Tiny Perfect Things: moments of serendipity or quiet beauty in the course of an average day.

Now I confess that I have not actually seen the film, so maybe I am reading the wrong thing into it, but the idea of Tiny Perfect Things or more specifically Tiny Perfect Moments resonated with me.

Because there are these moments in almost every day that can be appreciated.

They can be moments of physical beauty: mist rising from a field or lake, the play of sunlight through leaves, a beautiful house, a pretty woman walking along, the sight of poppies, forget-me-nots, daisies or cornflowers, an old barn with a red roof, a church spire.

They can be moments of sensory beauty: the unexpected smell of a log fire, the waft of freshly ground coffee, the sound of birds in the trees or a cockerel on a farm, the taste of fresh cherries, the feel of wind in your hair.

Or even moments of near silence: floating through a cool forest on a spring morning; the meditation of riding up a long hill, listening to your breath and the spinning of the pedals; the silence of a lonely farm road.

But they can also be strange and sudden moments of companionship from strangers: the words of encouragement as you ride up a hill “Allez! Allez!”; a dog bounding up to you and the friendly smiles with its owner; the often unspoken bond with other bikers, joggers, hikers out on a beautiful day.

Just a few weeks ago, I went out on a 50 k ride – a completely improvised and slightly random connection of different segments of rides I had done before – and stopped after about 15 k for a drink of water. Across the street, I noticed a couple also out riding and also stopped for a drink, the girl in a bright pink top. We all moved on. About 10 k later, I passed them by the side of the road and again kept on my random route. Then about 15 k further along and many turns later, they passed me again. “Wow! Them again” And then five minutes later, as I was riding up a hill, I saw them coming down the other way, and the girl laughed and said “Hey!”. They had also noticed me…

Now this was a tiny moment and I am pretty sure that I will never see that couple again or if I do that we will not recognise each other, but that moment of companionship had me buzzing for a week and still makes me smile.

And this is part of why I ride a bike week in, week out. Because my rides through the Belgian countryside may not be filled with stunning landscapes or architectural marvels (and my photographs are usually underwhelming), but they are populated with tiny perfect moments that keep me going for the rest of the week and sustain me through these exhausting times.

There is something about the pace of cycling that makes these moments come: fast enough to see a range of sights and experiences but slow enough to appreciate them and stop to take them in.

So please be alive and alert to these moments. Don’t look for them. Let them find you by getting out and seeing the world beyond your front door. “The Doorstep Mile” as Al Humphreys calls it.

You can help engineer them, by being spontaneous, creative or just fun. creating a space or a moment for yourself or others. On Friday, in the middle of our weekly walk through the forest, my friend E pulled out three glasses and some cans of Jupiler beer and three of us sat there at a wooden table in the fading evening light, laughing, chatting and being in the moment.

But above all, watch the world around you and to be alert for the beauty. Stop. Watch. Appreciate. It is so easy to miss these tiny perfect moments when we are hurrying along or engrossed in a conversation or ruminating on our own lives.

And when you put those tiny perfect moments together? A few hours of blessed escape, of sanity, of freedom in these troubled times.

Live your life. Live your life. Live your life.

July 11, 2021July 11, 2021

CrispLeave a comment

Seven simple tips to get you back on your bike

OK, so you got the bike and you got the gear. Now what? Here are a few tips for getting you riding again happily.

1. Build it up slowly

A few years ago, I went out riding with a friend who was out of practice. For the first hour, she was sailing along, amazed at her own fitness and ability.

But as we hit the second half of the ride, she started to struggle more and more and by the time we got home, she was exhausted.

This is entirely normal. When you start, your muscles will be unfamiliar. So take it easy for the first few rides, say 10-20 km (6-12 miles). A few hills (see below) and with a low gear (see below). Let your muscles adjust and take at least 3 days between each ride. Very soon, your muscles will feel fine and you can double the distance to around 30-40 km. Again, hover at that for a while until you feel like going for a longer ride. Find out what you enjoy and stick to it. A lot of that will depend on the terrain and how much climbing you do.

After a while you will find that you can easily go much further.

2. Bring plenty of water

This is really a common mistake made by those getting into cycling: underestimating the amount of water that you will need to drink.

Cycling is thirsty work: all those hills and kilometres take a toll and one of the worst experiences is running out of water on a ride.

Make sure that your bike is fitted with two bottle holders. As a rule of thumb, in ordinary conditions, I drink about a 750ml bottle of water for every 20-30km. In hot weather, it is closer to double that. The important thing is to come prepared or be ready to rush into a café or knock on someone’s door to ask to fill up your water bottle.

For those of you brave enough to ride in winter – and I recommend it – you could pack either a thermos of tea/coffee or a thermal water bottle.

Just drink…

3. be happy in low gears

One April, I lent a friend one of my bikes to ride out with me to see the marvellous bluebells in the Bois de Hal. She had a good time… until we reached the not very steep hill that takes you up to the plateau where the wood is. I saw her straining away and getting further and further behind. The following week she complained of muscle pains.

The next time that I rode the bike that I had lent, I found out why. She had switched to the second largest chainring – the big gears you pedal over – for pretty much the whole journey. No wonder it hurt! It would have killed me.

Gears are the most wonderful invention in cycling: use them to the full, especially the lower ones. It is better to ‘dance’ in the lower gears than straining your muscles by pushing in too high a gear. Many is the friend who has surged off ahead of me in a high gear at the start of the hill only to find me dancing past them in a much lower gear half way up the hill and quietly receding into the distance. Don’t be afraid of slipping into low gears when you start: you can always go harder later.

4. Learn to love hills

Pretty much every cyclist begins by hating and fearing hills, and as we saw above, if you approach them in the wrong gear, they will be a torture.

But approach them with the right mindset, the right gear and a decent bike and hills take on a form of pleasure, be they the short and brutal ones, the slow and long ones or those whose characteristic shifts all the time.

Hills are wonderful. Hills are beautiful. Hills can become a form of meditation, concentrating on your breathing and heart rate and not looking up.

Hills are like glasses of hard liquor: the first is a shock, the second is warming, the third, fourth and fifth are quite delightful… and have too many in too short a period of time and you will feel dizzy and sick…

Relax: you will learn to love them. They will show you how far you have come. And occasionally, how far you need to go.

5. Don’t be afraid of the weather… up to a point.

You look at the weather forecast for the weekend: 50% chance of rain showers. Do you plan to go out?

Yes*, though you keep your plans flexible so that you can adjust the time if there is a gap in the showers.

For a start, that’s only 50%, so there’s 50% chance that it won’t rain. Even if the probability is 70%, it is still not certain. One evening, I set out, certain of rain. Not a drop and instead a glorious sunny evening, with no cyclists around.

For a follow-up, that’s showers, rather than a downpour, so even if it does rain, it is not going to be for long. Today I went for a ride and got rained on three times. Thanks to the lycra that I was wearing, I was fine and was dry a few minutes after each shower.

Many beginner cyclists worry that rain will make the roads unstable and dangerous, so you will skid. Yes, there are times when rain will create danger: when it rains after a long period of dry weather, there will be dry oil left on the surface from car exhausts. This will make the road more slippery.

But if it has been raining for a while or has rained in the last days, this gunk will have washed off. Granted, you need to increase your braking distance, but you can still ride safely. If anything, the rain will create more friction with the surface, slowing you down. What is critical in rain is having good tires with good treads that will give you control. Bald tires are dangerous.

Don’t get me wrong: you don’t want to spend the whole of the ride in a downpour. But a little won’t hurt you.

And don’t get put off by cold weather: just wrap up and consider getting some rubber foot covers for when the temperature gets to around freezing and below. I have had some glorious winter rides in sub-zero temperatures.

No, the four weather conditions that you do need to be careful about are:

Thunderstorms: difficult to completely avoid, but if one breaks near you, start using the distance counting technique and if it gets closer than, say 4-5 km, seek shelter.
Snow/sleet, unless you have appropriate tyres
Extremely high temperatures, say over 35C, which can dehydrate you very quickly
Winds.

And this is where I come to the asterisk. When you look at the weather forecast, don’t just check for rain and temperature: also check for wind speed and direction.

Speed. If the wind speed is below say 10 kph, there may be the odd flutter but basically it is not going to interfere with your ride. If it is in the region of 10-25 kph, it will still be rideable but could be annoying particularly if you ar riding into it.

Above that, and things start to veer towards being dangerous especially once you reach 35kph. Twigs and branches will start to come off and you will be vulnerable to sudden gusts that make it difficult to control the bike.

Personally, when I can, I avoid riding in these conditions. I had to ride in them when touring recently and they made what should have been a lovely ride very very difficult.

If the wind is gusting but acceptable, it is worth looking at the direction and adjusting your ride so that if you do a loop and have to ride into the wind, you do it in the first half of your ride when you are still full of energy, rather than on your way back.

6. Ride with conviction…

A friend once advised me to “Ski with conviction”. What he meant was that if you ski as if you mean it, you are much more likely to take a firm line and avoid accidents. I think that there are many similarities in the attitudes needed for good skiing and those for safe riding: if you are a good skier, think about your rides as a slightly flatter version of pistes and ride accordingly.

Riding through gravel or sand? Go hard and go straight and your momentum should carry you through just as if it were powder snow.

Riding over cobbles/ rutted road? Think of them as tiny moguls and go as fast as you can, with your hands loose on the handlebars but close to the breaks. My hand position often resembles one of the Playmobil people: a slightly cupped U-shape.

Riding downhill? Keep an eye on the slope: if it is a reasonably straight road and see an uphill coming up (or you have followed my advice and bought a GPS which warns you), let it go and use the momentum to get you as far as possible up the hill.

Dealing with dogs? A bit of alpha aggression usually scares the buggers off.

Another area where assertiveness and conviction come in handy is in towns when you are on a narrow street. If you stick too much to the side of the road, there is a risk that cars will see a gap and try to squeeze past you… at the very best a scary experience. Take the centre of the road and if necessary, move around a bit on the road so that there is no temptation for the car. Yes, you might annoy it and delay it, but not as much as a court appearance for dangerous driving. By the way, this approach is totally within the Highway Code in most countries: it amounts to defensive riding.

7. and Finally: Be nice…

This might sound odd and/or patronising but speaking from my own experience, the adrenalin that pumps through your body when you are riding can turn even the nicest person into a raging monster. You can get so fired up in anticipating obstacles and dangers each of which could send you flying off your bike and into a hospital, that you react strongly, especially when riding through cities. The primal response: fight or flight? FIGHT.

And there is a kind of moral righteousness that can come over you: feeling healthier than pedestrians and more environmentally friendly than drivers.

I think that it happens to all of us, but let’s admit: more to the male of the species who can be driven to react to any pedestrian threatening his progress like a caveman being chased by a bear only to be held up by a sheep. Or to a driver bearing down on him like the caveman in a life or death struggle with the bear. Having been held up by the bloody sheep.

I am far from perfect on this front, so do as I say, not as I always do, but try, please try, to stay calm and be nice when you are on a bicycle. Think of yourself as an ambassador for cycling and act accordingly.

Be nice to drivers. If you have a car behind you and you can find somewhere to pull in and let it past, do so. If you are riding with a friend and a car is behind you, go ahead or behind them. Behave predictably: signalling any manoeuvres. And above all, when a car gives you a decent space in taking over, lets you through or is in any way accommodating to you, acknowledge it with a wave of the hand, a thumbs up or at the very least, a nod of the head. This is simple courtesy and it will make the driver happier to do it again.

Be nice to pedestrians. Warn them with your bell in advance that you are coming through and be aware that they may do something odd, especially children. Don’t use the pavement unless absolutely necessary. Slow down.

Be nice to other riders. Give them space. Give them warning, especially when coming round a corner. Offer to help them if you see them broken down at the side of the road.

But don’t be nice to people on scooters. They have it coming and eternity in Hell awaits them in the afterlife.

See you out there!

October 31, 2020October 31, 2020

Crisp1 Comment

Why Autumn is the best season to ride a bike. REALLY.

A few Sundays ago, as I had breakfast, it was cold and the brief glints of sunlight that got me out of bed had been replaced by grey skies and pouring rain… Yet I couldn’t wait to get out on the bike.

Maybe it’s because I was born in Autumn, but it is my absolute favourite season to ride.

Let’s start with the colours. Bit by bit, the monotonous green of summer gives way to yellows, oranges, browns and if you are lucky, spectacular reds, a varied and vibrant palette that transforms the landscape and lights even the dullest of days. Looking out of my dining room window just now, the greyness of the sky was offset by a brilliant splash of colour in the distance. And like Spring, the colours change from week to week. Leaves gently falling to the ground are like a golden snowfall, leaving a magical carpet on the ground.

Then let’s talk about the light. There is something quite wonderful about the sunshine of an Autumn day: a paler gold that strokes the landscape.

And as dusk falls, the light becomes gentler and is complemented by pinpricks of light from houses, shops and inns. There is something magical about the transformation and the emotional warmth coming from those lights, especially in a year as hard as this one. And when one is lucky, a bonfire or the flickers from the fireplace in someone’s home. Don’t be afraid to ride at dusk and night: it can be wonderful.

Which takes us to the smells. Those rain showers liberate the scents from trees, plants and the earth: a gorgeous smell of life amid the slow decomposition. And how lovely to catch the smell of a wood fire as you pass people’s houses. There is an intensity that is hard to beat.

And then the sounds: the crackle and rustle of dry leaves, the swish of wet ones, made more audible by the relative silence around. The crowds of summer have gone, leaving nature to the more determined cyclists and hikers. To cycle through a forest in moist silence is very heaven. It becomes a meditative, contemplative experience in which the senses are sharpened and the mind becalmed.

And finally, the feeling of the air. I love the crisp temperatures of Autumn: the slight chill in the air but with some remnants of the warmth of summer. Autumn is also about mist and fog. Riding on a misty autumn morning with the sunlight caught in the rising mist can be mystical. Afternoon or evening fog can be equally magical.

When you get home, a warming shower and cup of tea, all the better to round off that feeling.

So with the rain lifting, I set off and it was wonderful, whether through the forests or in farmland or small towns. OK so in all honesty, in the final five minutes, a storm came through and I was soaked to bits, but by then I was close to home and could rush indoors, strip off and get under the shower.

Get out there! Treasure every minute, even the rain!

A few practical tips

Autumn and spring are about layers of clothing, being ready to adjust as the day develops. I often start with a long-sleeved jersey or a short one accompanied by arm warmers, covered in a luminous rain jacket. As it gets colder, I also start to wear or pack a lightweight fleece. I wear bike shorts covered in long leggings.

As it gets colder, foot covers can also come in useful. Again, I start with something basic, like luminous rain covers and when it gets really cold, move to full rubber covers which are a torture to get over my shoes, but keep my feet relatively toasty.

I often take different types of gloves and adjust according to how warm or cold I feel: fingerless if it is warm; full if it is cooler. Also good to pack a bandana or muff to protect your neck against the cold.

I also pack different lenses for my sunglasses, able to adjust according to the light. Yellow lenses can be good for dull days.

In terms of the bike, this is a good time to check that your tire treads are sufficiently thick to handle riding over leaves or the wet, and to check the brakes.

Finally, I ride with plenty of water and as it starts to get cold, often pack a thermal water bottle or thermos filled with mint or other herbal teas, great for a mid-ride cup of tea to warm up.

October 28, 2020October 30, 2020

Crisp3 Comments

Spring 2019: Crete – Tirana Part Two

This is the second part of my account of my trip in April and May 2019 through Greece and Albania on the first leg of my planned multi-year ride from the southernmost town in Europe to the northernmost.

Day 7. Wednesday 24 April 2019. Kissamos – Mavrovouni Beach 8k

Up at the crack of dawn to catch the ferry after a typically tortured nights sleep. The poor old hotel manager at the Galini Beach Hotel up at 6.15 to make me breakfast and check me out – what a star. And then over to the ferry by around 7, only to be told that I could not board for another hour. And indeed could have easily turned up an hour later. The kindly manager would have known this but still humored me, which makes me even more grateful.

The ferry itself is smallish but solid. Inside most of the rooms have the windows blacked out and TVs blaring. The choice is that or going on deck with the chain smokers and wind. I alternate, watching Crete sadly and slowly retreat into the mist.

I meet my first bike tourist, an Oregonian called Bill, cycling from Crete to Barcelona by mid-June, doing a mixture of camping and hotels with a trailer dragging behind. A bit stand-offish though we had plenty of chats during the trip. He reminded me of the way that Brits abroad used to be before June 2016 and The Thing: aloof and vaguely threatened by the sight of another Brit as if that threatened their unique selling point as “the British person”. (These days meeting another Brit abroad is like a funeral wake: “Were you close to the deceased?”, “Yes, very, though you know he was a total shit”.)

Despite Bill’s disdain for wild camping “What’s the point if you don’t get to meet people?” I wondered whether he was really touring to get away from other people and to resolve some demons. As the ferry docked in Gythio and we spotted a pair of cyclists about to board for the next sailing, we reflected on the slightly odd mindset it took to be a bike tourist especially in the less bike-friendly countries.

Into Gythio and our paths part. I head over the headland for the delightful Mavrovouni Beach, pretty with the spring flowers and the smell of burning olive wood which infuses much of this trip.

Dinner of Greek salad and the best grilled chicken livers I can remember. No complimentary raki. Things are different on the mainland.

Stats: Distance: 8.2km, Total Distance: 297km, Climb: 76m, Total Climb: 3311m

Day 8. Thursday 25 April. Mavrovouni Beach – Agios Nikolaos – 53k

Back in the saddle. A tougher ride than expected across the Mani. A very steep ride out of the valley – gradient reaching 12-14% at parts – with mercifully hardly any traffic. As with the ride up out of Heraklion, a quiet mountainous beauty once you are up, the fierce rocky slopes of the Taygetus on all sides.

Seemingly deserted towns until I reached the coast again, no sign of the two castles of Passava and Kelefa. I hit the main road again and meet an elderly French couple going south, complaining about the rain and the head wind, envying me having it on my back but warning me of the climb ahead.

And the warning was worth it. I feel out of puff, despite the gentle wind in my back. Mile upon mile of olive trees and the mountains rising away to my right, a steady uphill aggravated by not taking enough water. 870m of climbing in 50k and you fritter it away on the hairpin bends on the way down.

A grey old day, which takes some of the charm out of the otherwise lovely spot of Agios Nikolaos. I have dinner of marinated anchovies and grilled octopus overlooking the water. It almost immediately starts to rain. The awning is pulled out further and further. I persist, as do a family, and the local squad of cats. It is quite delightful though cold enough for me to ask for a glass of tsipouro to end the meal.

Stats: Distance: 52.8 km, Total Distance: 352km, Climb: 862m, Total Climb: 4173m, Average Speed: 15.0 kph

Day 9. Friday 26 April. Agios Nikolaos – Kalamata: 47k

A supposedly easier day but having picked up speed every day in Crete, I am slowing down. Possibly because the climbs get stiffer and stiffer.

After a beautiful ride along the coast to Kardamyli, I turn off down a steep hill and find the house that the great writer Patrick Leigh Fermor built and wrote his books “A Time of Gifts” and “In Between the Woods and the Water” in (and struggled with what became “The Broken Road“). Before his death in 2011, he had bequeathed it to the Benaki Foundation, who set about restoring it. It was initially due to reopen in March 2019 but then got delayed to the summer. I had written to the Foundation, asking if I could stop in on my way. After an initial reply indicating that this might work, I had no reply to my suggestion of a specific time.

So I went there anyway, peered through the door, saw someone inside it and hailed him. He was initially suspicious and said that it was closed, but did not object too strongly when I asked if I could have a look outside for two minutes. “Ok but no photos”.

Two minutes was all it was, but enough to see inside the dining room – completely empty with windows open – and see the two outdoor areas where the Leigh Fermors would sit: both sunken gardens. One looking out to sea. The other abutting the house. It was something magical. I could feel him there. I could also feel him on the beach below, where he would go to swim.

The view to the Leigh Fermor house from the beach

Then off past Kardamyli and up a very long, steep and snaky hill. 500m of climbing. The reward was a stunning view back along the coast. But also another tricky descent, screeching my brakes down a severe farm road to the coast.

On the coast, I hear my phone ringing. While I take the call from the guest rooms that I am heading towards, a small dog behind a fenced garden starts to yap and bark furiously. This goes on throughout the call and while I prepare to get back on the bike. I lose my patience and start to shout back at the dog and aggressively move close to the fence. The dog cowers and starts barking pathetically.

And then the owner comes out.

So I head off quickly… It was heating up. When I reached Kalamata, it was 28C. I grab some meze nearby. A delicious crab salad and an equally delicious aubergine salad.

I walk around the old town. Perfectly nice but nothing extraordinary.

Stats: Distance: 47.4km, Total Distance: 397km, Climb: 775.3m, Total Climb: 4949m, Average Speed: 14.3kph

Day 10. Saturday 27 April. Kalamata – Dimitsana: 93k

The day I had been alternately looking forward to and dreading: 93k to Dimitsana: 1650m in climbing, largely composed of a 600m climb and an 800m climb.

I get going as soon as I can, which thanks to a lazy and inept waitress at the cafe across the road, is 10. It is already hot. A long and flat ride out through the suburbs of Kalamata before the climbing begins 25k in. Again, little traffic but this time the scenery hardly varies as I climb so I am just monitoring the altimeter, stopping every 80-100m of climbing, only enlivened by nearly crushing a tortoise, seeing a large green snake slither across the road ahead of me, and near the top, three boar. But it is beautiful.

While I stop for lunch over the summit at the beautifully named Paradiseia, two elderly Dutch cyclists come over, Garmin, fresh Ortliebs both front and back. Despite the friendly talk of all cyclists about how wonderful it is to be out there, they soon start emphasising their superiority. “Oh yes, we cycled 80km this morning from Dimitsana. Better to go downhill.” I tell them that I take it easy on hills, stopping every 80-100m of climbing. “Oh we don’t need to stop. We just find a steady pace and keep on going.”

Twats.

And off they go, clearly annoyed to have had to stop their relentless progress for a few minutes.

After a leisurely ride downhill and a gentle meander through meadows dominated by two cooling towers, I am about to hit the great hill when I come across another cyclist: a French woman mid thirties going in the opposite direction. Much more friendly. “You have the same colour bags as me!” She exclaims though she has a lot more. We get talking with the annoyed dog in the yard next door barking at us solidly for 15 minutes. She sees the doggy-whacking stick that I carry on the back of my bike in case of problems. I tell her that I have never used it but carry it after some experiences in Serbia. She points to a scar on her left leg. “Tell me about it. I got that last year in Peru. The dogs there are really crazy …”

She has taken a month off, doing a loop from Igoumenitsa round the Mani. She consoles me about the hill to come. “Vous allez vraiment chauffer…”. We linger but I know that I have to get on. So we split and afterwards I wish I could have exchanged contact details. A pretty girl underneath the sweat.

Off up the hill, stopping every 100m. I’d love to say that I enjoyed it but 800m is a lot especially after 65k and an already hard hill. It was one slow grind with very little to show in terms of changing scenery until the end when I am too tired and desperate to care.

On the way up, with the cooling towers in the background.

A glorious descent through Stemnitsa to Dimitsana in setting sun.

But I am wiped. I nearly fall asleep over dinner. When I arrive at the guest house, the owner shows me to my suite of rooms and spotting the flask of tsipouro, says “but of course you won’t be wanting that”. “Leave that right there” I snap.

I have been told by my colleague Argyro to be up for 11pm for church but I am well in bed. I am woken up around midnight by half an hour of fireworks and explosions. It turns out that a local habit is dynamiting rocks. Actually very few fireworks in the air. Mostly people lighting a cracker and dropping it into the valley below us.

Stats: Distance: 93.3km, Total Distance: 490km, Climb: 1695.4m, Total Climb: 6644m, Average Speed: 13.6kph

Day 11. Sunday 28 April. Dimitsana

Orthodox Easter Sunday. A much needed proper rest day, enjoying the luxury of the Xenios Tower, where I am staying. It might be a bit expensive but it follows the philosophy of BB&W: enjoying a bit of well-earned comfort after a hard trek and is really terrific, helped by the great hospitality of George.

But I am tired. I feel out of puff the whole day.

Delicious breakfast at the bottom of the tower. Pastries, bread, fried pies. A nice Greek-Swedish couple living in London. both economists working for the EBRD. Again The Thing goes unsaid. Again I think “what a waste”.

I tell the Greek husband the rest of my route. “Agrinion? That’s the ugliest town in Greece…”

I have a few brief walks around the town. Lamb being roasted on spits everywhere, everything on show.

Dimitsana. The Xenios Tower where I stayed is the three-storey tower in the centre of the picture.

I spend a large part of the afternoon in bed and happier for it. A lovely room.

Day 12. Monday 29 April. Dimitsana – Ancient Olympia: 69k

Back on the road delayed but fuelled by another delicious power breakfast from George. A steep climb for 4km to wake me up before the most glorious downhill imaginable, floating along the side of the mountain, with the blue mountains stretched away from me in the distance. Sunny but a bit chilly on the descent.

Gradually down into the valley albeit with the usual collection of hairpin bends. And some truly awful potholed roads.

A long ride through the valley before I stop for a brief lunch over the river. A mistake because the ride up from the valley floor involves an average 14% grade. And then more. It is always a bad sign when you sweat your way up a horrible slope only to find that it is not the horrible slope, it is the foothill before the horrible slope.

I finally hit beautiful road and know that I am on the tourist road to Olympia. Freshly tarmaced and painted, a joy to ride on. I sweep along it. All is well until I reach a tunnel and then another and then another. And then a really long one. Luckily they are wide and illuminated. I still put my rear light on and pedal like Mark Cavendish.

The tourist hole of Olympia. The main road is one long tourist drag but by the time I get to the site, the crowds have gone and I have the place almost to myself on a wonderful sunny evening. Magical.

A nice dinner disrupted by the woman at the neighbouring table who talks loudly throughout, dominating the conversation. I hope that the food will shut her up but she is master of that, taking small mouthfuls and talking through them.

Stats: Distance: 69.3km, Total Distance: 561km, Climb: 872m, Total Climb: 7,516m, Average Speed: 16.6m

Day 13. Tuesday 30 APril. Ancient Olympia – Arkoudi: 81k

A quick visit to the archaeological museum. Magnificent stuff. A sense of how amazing it must have been.

Then back on the road. Supposedly an easier day. Along the main road for an hour and then another 14% climb into the hills, snaking up to the village of Chimadiou, or Chlamydia as I thought of it. All good. Beautiful hills and vineyards.

Then I reached a moment that I had known would be tricky. A decision between whether to turn left off the main road and off Google Street View territory, cutting off a large chunk of riding but possibly along rutted farm roads for 3km and with another 50m of climbing and a possibly crazy descent, or to take the long route along the main road, adding possibly another 10km.

I get off the bike to take a look. It is indeed rutted farm track. There is a sign to it calling it “The route of truth”. While I am mulling, an older man on a racing bike comes along and stops to help. I try to explain my decision. He looks at the farm track and says “That road not good “

So I take the longer route and for a while, it works spectacularly. I sweep along a well made up road with fantastic views to my right. I congratulate myself for adjusting plans in the light of new information. Until I get to the point where I have to turn off onto another main road to reconnect with the short cut. I remember checking on Google Street View and it does indeed rejoin at a main road.

The problem is that the turning is onto a farm track no better than the one I had scorned. I mull it and decide that it is better than turning back and must clean out.

It does. After about 4km of rutted track and a ruthless descent and then ascent up a track that alternates between vaguely rideable and totally suicidal. Most of which I walk. Cursing myself. These are the moments when you realise that you really should have done further work researching the route and seeing what other riders do.

Finally I hit tarmac. 20% vertical tarmac, which shortly returns to being rutted track and then after a lengthy humming and hahing becomes tarmac again. By the time I pass the point at which the track I would have been on rejoins the road.

It looks beautiful, but it was hell to go through

And then it is a lengthy descent. With the wind in my face. Conifers followed by ugly towns, followed by farmland.

And just as I am closing in on my destination, the road becomes rutted again. So I turn off and head for the main road, adding more distance.

And then the road gets worse again and I am passing through a camp of travellers. Or whatever one calls them these days. And there is first one unchained dog coming at me and so I am warning him to back off. And then this attracts the attention of children so I am alternating between waving at them in as friendly a way as possible and telling the dog to back off in a very unfriendly way. And then they are coming round the bike and waving beads at me and I see that there are more dogs and more people. And suddenly my synapses are firing and I am fearing trouble.

So I get off the bike and walk it through the encampment, making smiles at the children and adults in a trusting way but desperate to get out of a situation which is almost certainly not dangerous but where I do not feel fully in control. To my relief, nothing goes wrong and I am on the bike and struggling uphill against the wind again. On days like this, there should be a Lowlights reel.

Finally the descent to Arkoudi. And I go out and get a beer and crisps and sit on my balcony. And then a short walk on the beach with a lovely sunset.

And it all ends well in a restaurant where I am the only client, sitting outside under the awnings as a gale goes through and eating anchovies and grilled squid and vinegary wine , but I don’t mind as I feel at home in the sea wind. Such nights have a majesty to them.

Stats: Distance: 80.7km, Total Distance: 642km, Climb: 844m, Total Climb: 8,360m, Average Speed: 16.3kph

Day 14. Wednesday 1 May. Arkoudi

Another day off. Good because I am tired again and the weather is grey and rainy.

Arkoudi is nothing special but the coast around is beautiful.

I cycle over to Glyfa Beach. A pleasant enough spot.

Then back to Arkoudi for a simple but indulgent – and totally deserved – lunch of gyros, chips and beer, followed by a nap. My body is a temple. The gods will be well satisfied at my sacrificial offerings.

Then, having seen others laboriously try to swim in the sea, only to give up quickly, I walk over to Loutro Kyllini and take a swim on a beach full of sun loungers but not a soul around.

Initially it is freezing and reminds me of a Labor Day weekend on the coast of Maine when I foolishly attempted to swim in the entrancing – but bizarrely empty – turquoise waters, ignored the freezing current as just being a sign that I needed to immerse my body fully and start swimming – and lasted less than 60 seconds before fleeing at great speed before I had a heart attack.

But this time the gambit pays off handsomely and it becomes glorious, with the sun glinting off the sea and the island of Zakinthos in the distance. Admittedly afterwards I still feel like I need to stick my knackers in a microwave to defrost them, but that is all part of coastal swimming.

And with the thought of me defrosting my knackers in your mind, I think that this is as good a moment as any to end my account of this part of the trip. Sweet dreams.

January 28, 2020January 29, 2020

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