Tag: greece

This is the third and final 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 15. Thursday 2 May. Arkoudi – Patras: 81k

I start with a detour past the Kastro Chlemonitsa. This ends up being a good idea as the road worms its way up the hill rather than the full frontal assault that I would have had to face on the main road.

After a nice descent, a mostly flat and boring day, following the main road to Patras through fields and non-descript towns. Hard to focus. Speed mostly constant. Heart rate low. Altitude flat. Road straight. Scenery unchanging apart from the odd ugly town. After all the hills, it is actually quite a relief, though the constant swishing of cars prevents it being relaxing. You have to maintain your concentration. It only takes one lapse or one idiot and the adventure is over. 

I am able to build speed all day and after 60km, I get a nice coastal road. Then into Patras. A beautiful setting with mountains behind and mountains across the gulf but what an ugly city, filled with equally ugly people. Hustle and bustle. 

Stats: Distance: 81.2kph, Total Distance: 723km, Climb: 418, Total Climb; 8,778m, Average: 19.4kph

Day 16. Friday 3 May. Patras – Agrinio: 96k

On paper, the second longest day of the trip so I set off early. As usual, a long trek out of the city before more and more suburbs. Finally the bridge over the Gulf of Patras that I flew over two weeks ago. I have to haul my bike over a fence to get on the pedestrian walkway, taking my bags off and pushing them over before the bike itself which feels surprisingly light. At the other end, I repeat the experience and try to continue through only to be barked at by the toll booth attendant who directs me to the side of the road where there is a metal staircase to go down. Luckily two Greek cyclists help me lift it down.

Then a long sweat along the side of the cliff. Beautiful but strenuous, before a delightful slide down into a valley away from the sea.

Then back to the sea but a dreary stretch along past Mesolongi. On another day I might have routed into the town with so much history but not today. 

Along the salt flats, edging away from the sea, to a lunch stop at Aitoliko. On the map, the town looks beautiful, stuck in the middle of a lake, radiating out in a circle to the north and formalistic in a bloc on the southern side. 

But sadly whatever it might have been, and the architecture suggests nothing much, today it is a shell of empty shops, a ruined and dusty old town. 

Then off over a slow but gentle hill to the valley in which Agrinio sits, past yet more barking dogs. I follow my GPS and take a detour off the main road, another rickety rackety, bumping my poor bike. To my horror, I see a herd of sheep being directed towards me and fear an encounter with the sheepdog. But it goes past without the faintest interest in me, tongue lolling and tail wagging. 

Then Agrinio. A boutique hotel. Supposedly an oasis in the middle of “the ugliest town in Greece.” that the very nice Greek man in Dimitsana mentioned. I go for a walk. It is indeed ugly. Not spectacularly ugly. Just totally lacking in anything of beauty. A mass of high rise buildings stacked along crowded streets with nothing else. As if nobody had bothered to add anything. Ugliness by neglect rather than design unlike other ugly towns that I have visited such as Pazardzhik and Shumen in Bulgaria. 

I go out for dinner, following the local Google recommendations. At the first place, which is still absolutely empty, the manager makes a big fuss before pointing me to one specific table. There is no menu in English. I am about to try deciphering the Greek lettering and words when the waiter says “What you want? We have meat. We cook you meat. “ I make my excuses and leave for the next recommendation which turns out to be a chain. Too bad. I end up with a nice starter of fried cheese balls stuffed with green peppers and then a less happy set of three gigantic meat balls in yogurt and on bread. Whether it is these or the two glasses of Fix beer which I have to avoid bad wine, I head to bed feeling bloated. 

Bed once I have deciphered the boutique hotel room. It is magnificently badly designed. The windows can’t open because of the curtains. The toilet is set in some weird frosted glass cubicle which is only accessible by obstructing the bathroom. Of course the shower is set to spray all over the bathroom floor. There is the common trick of having to stick your room card into a slot to activate the electricity but with a twist. This one has to be inserted in a particular way with the right way up. And you don’t know you have got it wrong until a few minutes later when the lights abruptly go off. 

But the real fun comes in trying to turn off the array of lights. There is no general switch, so it is a question of hunting around the room to find the right switch for the right light. The bathroom light switch is hidden behind a full size heavy mirrored door. It takes me a full fifteen minutes to locate the switch for the light above the desk. 

Even with the lights off, I discover more cleverness: a set of blinking power switches in the open wardrobe opposite the bed. Luckily my jacket is able to cover. 

What happened? Did the architect and the interior designer have an argument? Did the electrician feel neglected? Honestly, I don’t care as long as I get some sleep.

Stats: Distance: 96.1km, Total Distance: 819km, Climb: 728m, Total Climb: 9,306m, Average Speed: 16.5kph

Day 17. Saturday 4 May. Agrinio – Chanopoulou: 91k

Off as quickly as I can but not before suffering the hotel breakfast. It is not the food though that is not good. It is the soundtrack put on for my benefit: a relentless loop of guitar and piano. Again and again the same chords, every minute. There was more variation in the music to Space Invaders.

A rainy morning but I am soon into misty valleys, silent apart from sheep bells. 

As ever, there is the regular reaction of farm dogs to my presence. At one point as one gets too close within the fence, I scream at it to get back, only to get a rather stern look from the shepherd, the Greek equivalent of “What you screamin’ at my Bert for?”.

I descend to Amfilochia. Hard to believe that this is technically on the coast, albeit in a secluded gulf. The town itself seems rather unimpressive so I press on.

Some steep climbs inland and then back along the coast. Bumpy old roads take the shine off it all. I stop at an abandoned WW2 war memorial. Mosaic mostly gone. A roadside shrine and fountain. An abandoned restaurant though with a modern car parked. Another small sign of decay, a recurring theme in my ride through Greece.

Off through Arta, rather quickly because it is a one way system and I have cars behind me. I stop briefly to admire the pretty bridge.

My hotel is 10 km north, set on its own. Simple and rather nice. A simple dinner of trout and marinated pear salad followed by chicken schnitzel. Perfect but the weather threatens.

Stats: Distance: 91.3km, Total Distance: 910km, Climb: 506m, Total Climb: 10,013m, Average Speed: 19.0kph

Day 18. Sunday 5 May. Chanopoulou – Ioannina: 68k

I wake up to the threat of a storm: air close, trees rustling. But it just hovers. My two weather apps offer different diagnoses. I wait a bit and then decide to press on. The hotel manager reassures me and suggests a better route than the one I had planned, along the old road.

I head off. It doesn’t take long for the rain to start, so I am slugging uphill, hoping that that is as bad as it gets. After a while the rain eases and I descend into a sunlit valley. With ominous grey clouds at the end. Going along, I see a moving shape in the road. As I pass it, I swear it is a brown crab, claws up. 

I come to a tunnel, put my rear light on and dash. At the other end, there is a restaurant with a bus stop and it starts to rain more heavily so I take shelter, trying to wait it out. This works. For a while. I see successive waves of torrential rain pass over. And it does not pass. I am getting cold and the rain starts coming in. Decision time. I decide that things are looking better so I press on. For about ten minutes, this works. Then it doesn’t. I shelter in an old petrol station where an old man is sitting outside, smoking and not paying a blind bit of notice. But the roof is dripping and I am already cold and wet. 

The next 20 km are a nightmare, slowly and then at a consistent 5% uphill in worse and worse rain. Getting colder and wetter. No place to even rest, let alone shelter. At points, I am cycling upstream not uphill. Grim determination. And it does not stop, the climbing or the rain. My feet are buckets. My gloves have dissolved. My crappy rain jacket is actually collecting water and then funnelling it down my back. 

Stay in bed. Get a taxi. The gods are not pleased with last night’s offerings. I resolve to eat more bad food and drink more liquor.

Finally it ends. First the rain and then the climbing. After a brief descent, I am in the long drawn out industrial ribbon of Ioannina, slowly working my way in. Destroyed. Within minutes of arriving at my hotel, the bathroom of my immaculate and stylish hotel room is covered with wet clothes and shoes.

I open my Ortlieb pannier bags to see how much water they have let in. Not. A. Drop.

A long walk around Ioannina in the setting sun before an early supper.

Stats: Distance: 67.7km, Total Distance: 978km, Climb: 780m, Total Climb: 10,783m, Average Speed: 15.5kph

Day 19. Monday 6 May. Ioannina

My hotel room is perfect. Boutique in the right sense. Design that works. 

Good because I need to spend most of the day there, recovering from the ride and keeping out of the rain showers that go through all day. 

I find a bike shop and walk out with not one but two bike jackets, one fully waterproof and winter weight and the other summer weight. 

Other than that, a gentle lunch of souvlaki followed by a glass of warm rakomelo and then a snooze. 

I find time in the evening for another wander. I like Ioannina. You feel the Ottoman history and it has a beautiful setting. 

Day 20. Tuesday 7 May. Ioannina – Gjirokaster: 88k

Another mixed day of weather. As I come down to check out, the sun comes out. It continues for the first hour along the road. But it is pretty cold. I regret not bringing full length gloves.

The usual long drawn out departure from Ioannina, made even longer by a face-off with an angry dog, defending… a petrol station. The usual warnings do not work. GET AWAY! I swear I will kill you. I will rip your doggie balls off and fry them in oil. I will turn you into dog burger with special relish. For you, Captain Dog, I fear zat ze var is ofer. Begone dog! I am going to rip your skin off and use it for my next dog leather sofa. I will turn you into dog pate and digest you with fava beans and some Chianti. This is the end. The end of the end, my friend. I am the Terminator of Dogs, the Alpha and the Omega of your dogness. And the Ypsilon as well. EX-TER-MIN-ATE!

You know, the usual threats.

He keeps some kind of distance but not enough and is harassing me even as I get off the bike and walk along. This goes on for a good fifty to a hundred yards. Mmmmm… dog pate.

Then up into the hills, I hear some more telltale barking. A group of cyclists cruise past going downhill. As I reach the ridge, I see them: about 5 or 6 along the side of the road, hanging out by a parked lorry. I stop for some stones and steel myself for the worst, slowing down, taking as wide a berth as possible and looking at them fiercely. Luckily no problems but they do eyeball me intensely. All it needs is a bit of Ennio Morricone and you have The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. Or rather just the Bad and the Ugly. 

Up the road, a further commotion of dogs but on the opposite side of the road. Again I prepare for the worst. An oncoming driver sees this and slows down in case I need help. Another car comes along and is barked at and chased. A few of the dogs start to come across the road to me but another car gets in the way and in the confusion I see my chance and gun it. Good lord, that could have been nasty: thank goodness for the kindness of strangers. 

Then some rain. Brutal for a while but the sun comes back out and I dry off as I climb the long ridge towards Albania.

As I am having a drink of water at the top, a large bee lands on my left leg. Luckily I have running bottoms on. It sits there. And sits there. It starts cleaning itself. I gently move my leg to encourage it to leave but not annoy it. It takes no notice. Cars go past, creating a bit of wind that ruffles its wings. It settles down again. This goes on for five minutes. I gently move my sunglasses to it to give it somewhere else to explore. No notice. I then quickly lever it off with the arm of the sunglasses. It falls to the ground, either stunned or dead. I am afraid to say that I crushed it underfoot before it could decide. 

A nice descent and then uphill to the border. Not much wait and then into the Drino valley. Beautiful… but windy. Theoretically this should be the easy bit of the day, a gentle descent over 30km. But it is a headwind and I have done 60k and a lot of climbing. So the victory lap is a struggle in wonderful scenery, glacial hills climbing to each side of the valley 

Finally Gjirokaster and a horribly steep climb up to the old town. I feel like cracking but somehow make it. 

The old town is touristy but elegant. I rather regret not having more time to spend there. Houses perched at all angles and heights along the hills in grey stone and timber. It reminds me of old town Plovdiv if a little simpler and more uniform. I walk up to and around the castle, windswept and cloudy but all the more impressive. 

Stats: Distance: 88.5km, Total Distance: 1066km, Climb: 699m, Total Climb: 11,481m, Average Speed: 15.9kph

Day 21. Wednesday 8 May. Gjirokaster – Fier: 112 k

I set off early, sad to leave Gjirokaster but knowing that I have a long day ahead of me. The wind has dropped – mostly – and the clouds are scattered. It warms up very quickly.

On days like this, the early kilometres are difficult because you are daunted by the sheer length of the ride ahead. Best simply to press on. 

Initially I am wary of the many goat and sheep herds close to the road or crossing it, but the dogs do not even notice me and I give the shepherds a friendly wave. 

The landscape changes all day in 10-20 km stretches. First glacial valley, then twisting rivers through tight cliffs, then opening out again. And then after a steep ridge, snow capped mountains over to my left and a silted river basin with a thin streak of turquoise idling through it. It reminds me of Alaska, Montana and Idaho. 

I have been warned about the drivers and in the towns, it is indeed chaotic. In the country, though for the most part, I have a decent hard shoulder to play in. The odd angry toot, mostly from bus drivers or white van drivers. More Rarely a double toot of encouragement. 

A few towns along the way, mostly pleasantly ramshackle. In one, I saw a dedication to and quote from Lord Byron. He is everywhere in these parts.

After 60km, a bruising 300m ride uphill, feeling tougher than hills that were longer and steeper. At the top, a boy reaches out with a bunch of cherries. When I decline, he persists and steps out further into the road, getting in my way. I nearly go full Bernard Hinault on him and get off and punch him, but instead swerve around him. A good thing because his family are pestering cars on the other side of the hill. 

Usually the descent is sufficiently memorable to reward you for the climbing but this one is steep and distinctly boring. I try out the summer weight jacket that I bought in Ioannina, which the assistant had assured me would be great to unfurl for fast descents. The thing quickly balloons out so much, flapping furiously that it is like riding with a galleon attached. I quickly exchange it for the other jacket. 

Finally a more interesting section, cutting down through sandstone quarried cliffs to the turquoise river. I stop at a spot empty apart from a shop with the word Muzika on it. I cannot see much apart from old furniture stacked to one side. The owner is sitting round the back and slightly down the hill, enjoying the fine sunlit afternoon and not remotely bothered by me. 

On, on, still too much to go. At around the 70km mark, I hit a long and mostly flat stretch, farms and farmland on both sides, people out sowing, more shepherds and flocks and at a certain point, fruit stalls every 100m. No towns. Just fruit stall upon fruit stall. And a wind that is not fierce but is draining. Especially after 70, 80km. 

Onwards, onwards. The 80s take an eternity to pass. The landscape is boring and unchanging. At 90km, I feel that this might come to an end. I start counting every small milestone. 20k to go. 19.9, 18.9, 17.9, 95k… The energy returns especially once I clock 100, always a big moment. 

Finally I turn off the main road. 10k to go. A horrible narrow stretch, cars impatiently passing. A lot of hooting. A final slow hill and then into the multicoloured monstrosity of Fier. Mercifully it is a small town so I survive the “anything goes “ approach to driving and find my hotel, a new place located on the first floor of a block of flats, right next to a dental surgery. The next morning as I prepare to leave, I hear a young boy screaming in terror. It reminds me of my childhood. 

Google helps me find an empty restaurant located underground, where the owner and waiter are charming. I discover why it is empty at the end of my meal as they all sit down in front of the television to watch Spurs play Ajax in the Champions League. As I walk back to my hotel, every house and cafe is full of people watching. 

I review my video for the day, only to find that I had knocked the camera, so lots and lots of sky.

Stats: Distance: 112.5km, Total Distance: 1199km, Climb: 928m, Total Climb: 12,409km, Average Speed: 16.5kph

Day 22. Thursday 9 May. Fier – Berat: 46k

A much shorter day. I walk around Fier a bit before leaving. Very Balkan. Loads of people sitting and milling around. Two modern and very ugly brick and concrete minarets. Small alleyways with cafes. A big reconstruction of the river canal.

Off out of Fier on another narrow and busy road, this time with plenty of potholes. Gradually after the town of Roskovec, the traffic thins out, but the road gets worse and worse, especially in the town of Strum, where I have to get off and walk for parts. To complicate matters, as I enter the town, a sleeping dog wakes up as I go past and starts to come after me. I give him the usual “Back off!” which scares him appropriately but annoys his owner. 

Otherwise passing the towns is rather pleasant. The French cyclist had said that Albanian kids were really friendly and indeed they have been. They regularly call out “Hell Low”, occasionally following up with “Ciao bene” and are clearly delighted when I wave and say “Hello” back.

Then a tough hill peaking at an old war memorial, seemingly abandoned and a shrine to a young man, marked 1973-1997. Poor sod. 

After a 10% descent, being rightly careful because at one point, the road is strewn with potholes, along the main road to Berat. A late lunch, a quick walk and then a snooze. 

Stats: Distance: 45.8km, Total Distance: 1245km, Climb: 325m, Total Climb: 12,734m, Average Speed: 16.5kph

Day 23. Friday 10 May. Berat 

A day off, waiting for my friend and seeing Berat. It starts with a power cut across the town that lasts until lunchtime. No coffee, which rather disrupts an otherwise good breakfast. 

Up to the castle. A 10% hill, all the steeper because of uneven cobbles. 

It is full of school children, possibly because of the power cut. Impressive in size but lacking the atmosphere of Gjirokaster. These walled towns never do it for me. They get taken over by tourist shops and bad restaurants. This one has a few desperate sellers of woodcuts, lace, rugs and rather oddly small cups of fruit but is otherwise rather empty. 

I mostly manage to avoid the school children, who are more interested in kicking footballs against the walls than exploring. One bunch do take an interest. “Hell Low”. “Hell Low” “What do you think of Edi Rama?” (the Albanian Prime Minister)… I reply that I have never met him. 

After a late lunch and a bit of meandering about the town, which is beautiful but the old part is rather small and monotonous compared to Gjirokaster.

My friend comes and picks me up. Or rather picks up my stuff, leaving me to walk/cycle the bike up the 10% hill. And at the top, he waits for me and unlatches a gate with a gravel track leading uphill, with the scenery and views getting increasingly stunning: wide vistas down to the Osumi valley below. It is a converted army base and I see an old bunker with “Parti Enver” written across the top. 

There are animals everywhere: sheep, hens, horses, a solitary turkey, cows, a cat, two angry dogs. Happily on the other side of the fence.

We have a good evening, drinking wine, catching up, though his son is clearly frustrated to be there. A few times during the night, I wake up, a glorious starry sky. I wish I could stay for longer but I sense that he has to get back to his wife and daughter in Tirana.

Day 24. Saturday 11 May. Berat – Elbasan: 64k

After a leisurely start and a talk to the shepherd, a sunburnt and wrinkled figure who turns out to be only four years older than me, I set off, with my friend following me down the hill. Back along the main road and then, following his instructions onto a perfectly paved road that does not appear on the map. It rises and falls but the scenery is splendid: blue mountains on both sides, turquoise lakes, small towns.

And the weather is magnificent if a little hot: azure blue skies with a few wisping clouds. 

Finally it descends to the valley and a gentle but mostly well paved back route into Elbasan, meandering above the river and accompanied of course by the odd bit of annoyed tooting from buses and white van drivers. Then a short bridge, ignoring the river and then the usual bit of urban craziness before arriving at my hotel. 

My friend had warned me that Elbasan was ugly and he is quite right. Potentially endearing features like castle walls and palm trees jarring with tower blocks and ugly urban sculptures or metal arches and globes. 

My hotel room is perfectly nice but a bit dirty, scuffed and dated. Trying to work out how to use the over-elaborate shower, I see a control panel and innocently press the ‘on’ button. Not much happens. I see a light symbol and press that. A set of blue, green and turquoise lights above me come on. And immediately start blinking. I press the light button again. Nothing happens. So I press the ‘on/off’ button. Nothing happens. I jab it with more force. Nothing. I get on with the shower and try again when the water is off. Nothing. I try an hour later. Nothing. The turquoise lights keep on blinking. They are on when I go to bed. They are on when I take a comfort stop in the middle of the night.. I could have called the staff but they have already given a distinct impression of uselessness. And it is 5.30 on a Saturday. 

Stats: Distance: 64.2km, Total Distance: 1309km, Climb: 547m, Total Climb: 13,281m, Average Speed: 17.5kph

Day 25. Sunday 12 May. Elbasan – Tirana: 54k

My final day on the road.

The forecast is for rain and thunderstorms by late morning. So I am up at 7. I go to get some breakfast. The guy looks at me as though that is not something he wants to do but asks whether I want it on that floor: the veranda, or two floors lower, the bar. It is a little chilly so I opt for the bar and go down there. They tell me that the breakfast is served on the veranda.

When I get back up, the guy asks me what coffee I want: a cappuccino? I ask for an Americano. When it arrives, just a regular cup of coffee, I ask for some milk. “But that is a cappuccino …”  

I get going at 8.30, not before trying to pay and being told that the person to pay hasn’t turned up yet. Eventually I am able to pay in Euros, worth it to get out. 

I leave the hotel room with the shower lights blinking on into eternity. 

After the usual industrial wastes, mercifully mostly free of traffic on a Sunday morning, a turn right and onto the big hill: 750m of climbing. 

I pace myself: stopping every 80m or so of climbing to drink water and admire the views. And indeed quickly the views become very good indeed, looking back over Elbasan and the Shkumbin valley and then the mountains beyond. I pass a few dogs lying in the sun near the side of the road but whilst they watch me go past, they do not move or bark. I really notice a clear difference between dogs in Greece and Albania, with the former regularly working themselves into an impotent frenzy and the latter not giving a damn. 

I realise that we are only half way up, so after passing the village of Petresh, the road goes behind the initial ridge and starts working its way up a narrow ridge with regular views down on both sides. It is awesome. Range upon range of softly curved green hills as far as the eye can see. The visibility is excellent. 

There is almost no traffic: just me quietly and slowly working my way up a massive hill. But I know that I have to press on: the weather can change very quickly in mountains and there are few villages. On the western side of the ridge, I see ominous clouds forming or even raining in the distance. 

Then, unbelievably, I have done it and have mounted the hills. As I look for somewhere to stop and refuel, I see an upside down racing bike and bike gear in the middle of the road and a guy 20m further up, stretching his hamstrings. I stop and ask him whether he is OK. He says OK and we have a fractured conversation in the best that the two of us can do in English and Albanian which is not much, given that I have precisely six words of Albanian. He tells me that he is doing Tirana – Elbasan. And back. I salute and bow to him. Shum mir. He smiles and points to my heavy bags and salutes me back.

I cruise along the plateau for a decent 5k of gentle ups and downs. On an ordinary day, I would have hung around admiring it, blue hills dropping down on both sides. It is one of the great moments of my trip: the perfect example of how something that seems scary or impossible can turn out to be beautiful. The blue hills are draped with the threat of grey clouds so I press on. 

Postscript: a few months after writing this initial account and getting back, I read “Thunder and Sunshine”, the second volume of Alastair Humphreys’ account of riding around the world, and on his return to the UK through Europe, come across the following passage:

“In the morning the rain had stopped, the sun was shining and I rode enthusiastically on towards Tirana. Occasionally there is a glory that lights up a man. It is a welling deep in this body that flames all his senses, bubbling through his heart with an almost painful energy. At those moments he does not wish to live forever, he knows only complete satisfaction with that moment. I felt it that day on the high mountain road from Elbasan to Tirana. I climbed up and up from a valley dominated by an enormous and ugly factory, up the craggy limestone switchbacks, up and up until the air was cool and sweet and smelling of pine. A man standing by his moped and admiring the view kissed his fingers and gestured out at the world as I passed. Below me the hills rippled to the horizon in every direction, dark green with trees and interrupted only by rocky outcrops, pale squares of corn fields and very occasional red-roof hamlets. I was very aware of my good fortune.”

And I sit there with a mixture of massive envy at his writing ability and the thought: “Gender-specific nouns and pronouns? Thank god, I didn’t make that mistake… Al, what were you and your editor thinking?”

Then the descent starts. I pass a potential bunch of bike tourists: bulging saddle bags. Ordinarily I would have stopped and chatted but not today. The descent is twisting and turning but extraordinary: beautiful sights of the hills on both sides. 

Then I am down in the valley, 20k out from Tirana. For a short while I am joined by a guy on a racing bike. We chat for a bit before he turns off for home. 

Then the rain starts, gentle at first, but by the time I thread through the out of town shopping centres and commuter suburbs of Tirana, it is thick rain. Abruptly I turn a corner and my hotel is on the first corner and I am there.

All over and the usual sense of deflation. No welcoming party with champagne. No one there at all.

After showering and drying, I head out to a place that does meatballs and nothing else and quite terrific it is. The rain lessens and I find myself on Skanderbeg Square for the first time in 25 years since a visit as a postgraduate student in 1994, trying to find my bearings, the place unimaginably different apart from that titanic mural of workers, peasants and soldiers. I am lost. I try in vain to work out where our hotel was or the football stadium that I stumbled into but all has changed. I remember it being dusty and small. Now it is verdant and huge and filled with cars and people and shops. And the double headed eagle everywhere. 

I pick up a cardboard bike box from a small bike shop that my friend had telephoned on my behalf. Lovely old guy waiting for me. I mention my ride from Elbasan and the cyclist going there and back. “Oh” he says, “I have a friend who does that twice a week…”

Stats: Distance: 54.1km, Total Distance: 1363km, Climb: 860m, Total Climb: 14,142m, Average Speed: 15.3kph

Day 26. Monday 13 May. Tirana – Brussels 

And so it ends. I leave for the airport at 7am, pouring rain and driven by a guy from the hotel – the Stela Center – who insists on carrying my bike through the airport and waiting until I am in the right queue and then refuses a tip. 

The flight is on time. As we fly back, I watch the screen showing where we are and how far we have travelled. It isn’t until past Frankfurt an hour and a half in that we match my distance of 1363 km. 

The flight arrives early. A brief wait for my bike, which arrives, turned on its end with the top half of the box nearly destroyed. A fight to get a taxi, then home in glorious sun. And a quick change into my suit and back to the office. 

Bad things that I feared happening 

• Missing the flight by oversleeping
• The airline refusing to load the bike
• The bike getting left in Brussels
• The bike getting left in Athens
• The bike getting lost
• The bike box being destroyed
• The bike box falling apart in the rain
• The bike seat getting lost
• The derailleur getting crushed
• The bike not fitting in the rental car
• The bike getting stolen
• Hotels refusing to store the bike safely
• My credit cards not working
• My wallet getting stolen
• Getting zapped by a thunderstorm
• Getting drenched by rain.  Every day
• Cycling into fierce headwinds.  Every day
• My hips becoming too painful to ride
• My feet becoming too painful to ride
• Not being able to cycle up all the hills
• Food poisoning
• Getting a cold or the flu
• Getting dehydration
• Having an accident
• My bike puncturing
• My brakes not working
• Getting chased by dogs
• Getting bitten by dogs
• Getting bitten by snakes
• Getting run over or knocked over by cars
• Impassable roads
• Missing the ferry to mainland Greece
• Not being allowed into Greece because of a sudden no deal Brexit
• Not being allowed into Albania
• Missing my flight back to Brussels
• My bike box being destroyed
• The bike box falling apart in the rain
• The bike seat getting lost
• The derailleur getting crushed

Bad things that actually happened

• I got drenched by rain.  Once
• I cycled into fierce headwinds.  A few times.
• A few dogs started to chase me. But retreated quickly.

Things that other people told me I should be afraid of

• Cretan drivers
• Cretan bandits
• Greek drivers
• Albanian drivers
• The entire country of Albania

Other things that actually happened

• I met lovely people
• I had amazing landscapes to myself and was able to linger in them
• I slept beautifully
• I ate as much as I liked and still hardly put on any weight
• I had wonderful experiences that make me smile every time I think about them
• On the road to Dimitsana, I met a beautiful woman who inspired me to start this blog…

A week later…

Reality starts to dawn.

I get out on the racing bike with a friend. For most of it, I control it, setting a steady heart rate of 126 bpm. He races ahead where he can, pushing himself to the limit. 

But at certain moments, I feel the pleasure of being able to accelerate and close the gap on him and match him. At others, I just cruise along, holding it back as we ride through a cathedral of green. 

And on the final climb, he bonks spectacularly. And I do what any friend or fellow cyclist would do. I put my foot down and crush it, putting as much distance as I can on him and letting him feel it as I disappear into the distance. 

But I realise that my soul is still on that plateau above Tirana, cresting along with those dark blue hills dropping alternately on either side. 

I keep having moments when I sense the great moments of that ride. It is not just the spectacular scenery but the quiet moments riding through an empty valley to the smell of flowers, bonfires of olive wood and the sound of goat bells tinkling. 

And somewhere in the distance, a chained dog picking up the smell of a sweaty cyclist and barking its frustrated heart out. 

Stay in bed. Get a taxi. 

Not a chance of that happening.

To be continued….