Based on existing maps, it seemed simply impossible to take a coast road all the way to Monemvasia, so I was steeling myself for a brutal day of sustained inland climbing in oppressive 37 degree heat.
I was a little annoyed with myself to have woken late on my make-or-break day. I dropped in to the campsite reception to have a strong coffee. The owner, Vassilis, was sitting outside smoking rollies, doing his accounts. We struck up a conversation that kept me there until 11am. It was more than worth it.
A riotously funny, well travelled man, he told outrageous tales about his time working the Saudi oilfields. We laughed at our mutual experiences working in bars in the US, and the generally messed-up state of world affairs.
He gave me a lot of recommendations for places to visit, and told me not to rush to Monemvasia. He advised a stop on the beach at Poulithra. Crucially, he pointed me to a new coast road between Fokanios and Kyparissi that is not yet marked on any maps – including Google. Brilliant! This will save me a lot of sweat, while allowing me to visit Kyparissi, reputedly the most beautiful village in Greece, which was otherwise only accessible by sea. I thus started my climb into the hills with a great deal of optimism. Also, the traffic was much lighter, it being Monday, and the Athenian day trippers back at their desks.
After the initial ascent I was greeted with a long, gently descending twisting road to sea, with gorgeous scenes. I wanted to stop and take snaps, buy I wasn’t about to waste that momentum, and the cooling breeze it afforded. When I did stop, it was to redistribute weight – mostly the 4 litres of water – which was causing a slight wobble. I gave the bike a once-over because I needed to place my total faith in it today.
Just then a work call came from Brussels, so I had to whip out the laptop and hold an impromptu teleconference outside a roadside garage, much to the amusement of the two auld lads slouched nearby.
Everything was going nicely, the climbs were not too bad, and there were a couple of exhilarating downhill stretches:
On one of these, as I was cruising at over 50km/hr, I felt a sudden skid and a wobble. I thought it might be an oil patch; the road was hot and I had noticed that my tyres sounded quite ‘sticky’ in some sections. But this was more serious: my first puncture. Hooray!
Far from being upset, I saw this as a right of passage for any tourer, and a chance to implement my repair skills honed months ago on the kitchen floor. But first I needed to properly assess the damage, and for this I would need to get off this narrow road. So I started walking with the bike to the next sign of habitation and safety. Then the phone rang, Brussels again, and I spent 30 minutes talking to a colleague who believed I was sitting at my desk in Prague. If only she knew 😁
Off I pushed to the next town of Leonidio, visible 5km away and, tantalisingly, downhill. I chanced sticking my thumb out at passing pickup trucks, while pointing at the flat tyre. No sympathy was forthcoming. This was still a dangerous road so I spent my time lugging the bike to opposite sides at the many bends. After a while I came to a shaded lay-by and decided to bite the bullet: begin the repair and hope that some saintly van driver would spot my pickle and offer a lift.
Pity wasn’t needed though because I had the wheel off and tube out in seconds. Inspecting the tyre I found 7 embedded thorns. Another hazard to watch for! Some had completely entered the cavity, so I spent several minutes carefully ensuring they were all accounted for. I replaced the tube and flicked the tyre back on, using my bar of Palmolive and the last of my water to lubricate the rims. Pumping until I heard that satisfying ‘pop’ that signified all was nicely seated, I reloaded the bags and glided down to Leonidio for lunch, including a celebratory chocolate milk.
Leonidio is a quaint looking town with narrow streets, lots of locals perched outside cafes passing unintelligible comments as I sailed past. But the town suffers from the common Greek inability to sweep up, and the stiff breeze blowing through the streets only served to widely distribute the horrific stench from open bins. Such a pity!
Poulithra was only 10km away though, so I popped over at a nice pace, to set up camp on the beach outside of town. I met a couple of friendly elderly Germans who were curious about the bike, and I swam on the amazing beach nearby.
So, not much distance today, about 40km, and still some way from Monemvasia by road, but Kyparissi is close by and yes, I could confirm that there is a spanking new coast road all the way there. I also broke my touring cherry by fixing a flat under challenging conditions, so all is good.
I may be a few days behind schedule but, as I see it, it just means more time to spend in Greece. Fantastikós!
