After a really enjoyable meal at Poulithra harbour, I headed back to the campsite, intent on a good night’s sleep. But I got very little. Of the majority German caravaners, several had brought large dogs for the journey, and these spent most of the night barking. At 4am I could take no more, pulled-on my hoodie and went to the beach. I happily slept there until just after sunrise, being woken by the heat of the sun.
I had some work to do before setting off – a teleconference at 9am – so I prepared for that, went for a swim, then patched-up the inner tube from yesterday’s thorns. It was also a chance to wash my clothes. Efforts were fuelled by several double espressos, both warm and ‘freddo‘. I finally got away from ‘die Hunde‘ at 2pm, and went looking for the road to Kyparissi.
I consciously decided not to look up any details on Kyparissi before travelling. Vassilis had waxed about how Lady Di and George Bush had found solitude there, due to its inaccessibility by road until recently. But all he had to say was that it was worth the effort to go there; enough of a recomendation for me!
But first I had to negotiate the mountains over to Fokiano, and there were two posible routes. I canvassed for opinion from a group of local lads, who promptly formed a committee. Their adjudication was to take the longest route because, although both involved significant climbs, the shortest way was far too steep for a bicycle, even though they didn’t know anyone crazy enough to go either road. Also, there would be far less traffic. I put my faith in them, loaded-up with water and headed off.
I was immediately climbing and could see trucks above, slowly coming downhill in first gear. Gulp! I put the head down and tried to get a steady pace going. Then: pssssssssst. Oh crap, another puncture! Same wheel as yesterday. Again, I was resigned to my fate and parked up to begin repairs. Thankfully, changing to the re-patched tube wasn’t too much trouble, but I could now only hope that I had found all the puncture holes. I was unable to find an obvious cause of today’s puncture. I was looking for thorns and found none. After carefully listening out for air seepages, I concluded it was a damaged valve. Bummer.
Passing truck drivers all gave a friendly wave or honk when saluted. Most of them were laden with ore of some kind, from a quarry uphill. Several passing locals stopped to ask if I needed help. Heartening! By now it was 3pm, so I resigned myself once again to a day of little mileage, hoping instead to cover the 35km to Fokianos before dark. Touch wood, I would have no more bike troubles today 🙏
Long story short, I climbed for 25 solid km along the mountain ridges, and it was exhausting in the heat. But the higher I went, the more spectacular the surrounding scenery. I had the road almost to myself, so I could maintain a momentum. Glacial pace, yes, but momentum nonetheless, for three solid hours that tested me physically and mentally.
At one point I cursed the sadism of the road builders, and even considered turning around and gliding back down to Poulithra. But I knew that a reward would eventually be on the other side, in the form of a glorious descent back down to sea level. It did, and it was worth it.
It was dusk when I first saw Fokianos. An incredible sight, no camera could do it justice in the poor light. I parked at a bend in the road and sat there for a while, drinking-in the glory of it. The road to Kyparissi was visible, newly cut into the mountainsides, stretching into the distance.
I allowed gravity to bring me there. My back tyre had by now noticeabley deflated and needed a shot of air to finish the day. It was completely flat when I arrived at the beach, and by then it was dark.
Fokianos is a beach with a couple of bars, only one of which was open. The barman looked me up-and-down when I asked for a menu, then consulted the owner about my suitability. I must have looked a state: parched, hungry and covered in sweaty bicycle grease.
But they served me; two chunks of beef smothered in spaghetti. Tasteless really, but I didn’t care as I made light work of it.
By now it was pitch black. I dragged the deflated bike to the other side of the beach, flung the tent up on the shingle, and collapsed outside it. A cute kitten appeared looking for food. I didn’t have any, but it stayed around anyway.