Plan B

Whenever Plan A falls apart, Plan B is implemented. In this case, Plan was to visit Ancient Corinth, then Delphi. Plan B is always to ride on. 

Plan A was in jeopardy from the beginning. I needed fuel and cash to start. It took me an hour to find both, and by then the wind had come back up. Now the wind was even stronger than the day before, and out of the Northwest. I decided not to ride up the hill to see Corinth in a wind and dust storm, and headed across the isthmus of Corinth towards Athens then Delphi. 

The wind howled across the isthmus and pushed the moto all over. I would lean on the left handgrip to get to the center of the right lane, then a gust would push me over to the fogline and onto the shoulder. I struggled and struggled, and finally got some relief in the lee of the mountains on the southern shore of the Greek mainland. That was short lived, as the mountains give way to the plains again. I struggled on around to the west of Athens, but I could see, off in the distance, the Parthenon sitting on the acropolis. It was splendid even from afar. 

Delphi now lay directly upwind of where I was. I have up on going there, and thought I would just ride to the north and east, and maybe get to Thessalonika the next day. 

It was a struggle. It started to sprinkle, so I stopped and put the rain liner in my riding jacket. It stopped raining, but kept threatening along with sprinkles, so I left the liner in. I steamed slowly inside it. By the time I got to camp, I was wetter than if I had ridden naked through Niagra Falls. 

So I camped, pitched my tent, took a shower, and had dinner. By now, I was really feeling that fall. 

Soon, another day, another plan. 

Mystrás

My plan for the day was to visit Mystrás for a few hours, then ride to Corinth and visit that site. Two out of three, okay?

Mystrás is a Byzantine fortified city, with the castle at the top of the hill and the walled city with its churches and monasteries and so forth descending the hillside. I can't do it justice. I took many many pictures, and here are just a few. 

These little churches, and the large ones as well, have the remnants of ancient frescoes in them. When I get a chance, I will post some of those. 

While I was there, youth groups ( or groups of youths) were there as well. The only thing noisier than a busload of senior citizens at an AutoStop is a group of Greek kids on a day trip. They are hilarious. They ran up and down that mountainside like it was flat as Kansas. I had my riding pants and boots on and thought I would drop over from the heat and the humidity. Plus the banging around I took in the fall asserted itself only right side. I wasn't running anywhere!

There was also a celebration of a feast day or saints day or something, because the Metropolitan was there conducting a service, with several high rank Greek officers, plus what looked like VIP citizens. Another clue was the police all over the place. The Metropolitan and I exchanged nods, as if I were someone he should know. 

After several hours at Mystrás, I got on the road to Corinth.  I rode through Sparta for a look. Pretty nice town. Not many traffic lights, but the traffic flows pretty well. Double parking is the norm. In fact, on a two lane street, there is usually only one lane being used for traffic and there are two lanes, side by side, of parked cars. A beautiful system that works!

I made it to Corinth in due course, but a key overpass on the route to my chosen campground (the Blue Dolphin

If it matters) was closed for reconstruction. This caused a lengthy detour in the face of increasing high winds and blowing dust. But I made it. 

Weather was coming from the north and west, and it looked like this. 

Low on cash again, and not wanting to ride into town in search of an ATM, I had a loaf of bread, some awful cheese, and water for dinner. 

I went to bed planning to visit the Ancient Corinth site, then ride to Delphi the next day. 

Olympia, Kalamata, Sparta

The next morning, I headed to Olympia. I stopped for coffee and some strudel, and to study my map. A bus of Germans on tour happened to stop there as well. The bike attracted the attention if a few folk, and then others joined in. One couple called their son, Philipp, over, as he had just received his moto license. He was pretty excited about the trip and the bike. I promised I would write to him. 

I went to ancient Olympia, and it is very impressive. The museum is incredible, with treasure after treasure from the site, and all explained in several languages, English among them. 

I took too many pictures. Here are just a few. 

There are acres and acres of these ruins. The history just enveloped me. 

I rode down to Kalamata, as that was on the way to Sparta and Mystrás. Mr. Garmin took me to the beach there, and then through downtown and past the old Cadtle, then up the hill towards Sparta. I topped out the first ridge, then stopped to take these pictures. 

The highway between Kalamata and Sparta is, hands down, one of the best motorcycle roads in the world. I don't think there is a straight section more than 500 meters long the whole way. It is all curves, ups, downs, hairpin right ascending, hairpin left descending, then back, I mean it is just great. Down into steep, narrow valleys, then back up climbing huge ridge lines, over that top, then down into another steep valley. Along the way you ride through a village way up on the shoulder of the ridge, a small place, and the road takes you past the church. 

In the last valley, the road is cut into the side of the mountain in a few places, with the rock hanging over the roadway, and in one place a tunnel cut through the rock with "windows" to the valley. I've seen photos of similar roads in the Himalaya's but never thought I would ride on such a wonderful road. 

Not too far below the rock overhangs, I was coming downhill and saw a bike with two up stopped in a corner taking photos, or maybe just looking. They started uphill, and yelled something in passing, and I waved, yelled something, entered the turn, hairpin descending right turn, looked down at the road, and stopped riding right at the apex if the corner. Boom!  

Fortunately, they saw the fall and turned back to help. Frank, a Greek living in England and taking his 50th birthday victory tour of Greece, helped me get the bike up while the woman with him, whose name I didn't get, salt with the little bit of traffic in the corner. Frank was delighted to hear about my trip, and took many photos which he immediately posted to Facebook. He is a guy you would like to be friends with, full of vitality.

A word about why I fell. The basic rule of riding is you have to ride the bike until you put the kickstand down. If you stop riding, you fall over. Boom. To ride the bike, you look to where you want to go. In a curve, or a corner, your eyes must be looking for the exit from the corner. If you look down in front of the front wheel, there is a high likelihood that you will ride to that spot. In essence, that's what I did. I rode to that spot and quit riding. I didn't have the presence of mind to look up, keep adding throttle and push the right handgrip. In fact, I'm pretty sure I exacerbated the problem by pulling the clutch, thereby losing any power I had, leaving me only momentum. Since I was leaning hard right in a tight right downhill turn, the momentum was down and to the right. Boom. 

I looked for a place to camp, and found the Castlevuew Campground in Mystrás. I was greeted by a gentleman maybe ten years older than me, speaking English well, who opined that, since I asked, yes, the kitchen was open. I had tzatziki sauce and lamb chops. Deelishus as Oskar would say. 

Why they call it Castleview:

I was ready for bed. 

Greece In Three Words

I like Greece. 

Rugged mountains, beautiful beaches, cities and villages, white from afar, stepping up from the beaches and ports on the green mountains. Generally friendly people. Drivers in Greece are much more considerate than anywhere else in Europe (they drive to the right of the lane, and move over onto the shoulder to let overtaking traffic pass. The truckers are very professional and do not hold up traffic), and when you stop to fuel, a man (so far always a man) who has been sitting outside the station appears and pumps the fuel for you. It was also less expensive than Italy, but so is everywhere else (Italy charges more to pay for the paint on the highway that everyone ignores).  But you want specifics. 

I spent the first night in a campground on the lake in Ioannina. It was the site of a former rowing club, and I awoke in the morning to the sound of young people doing laps in the drive and parking area. Apparently the owner still trains young people in the sport. It was a pretty nice place, but the WC was a long ways away from the tent!

I had breakfast and coffee here. 

Yes, that's baklava. But the selection was  overwhelming. 

I then rode to Igoumenitsa, and had coffee downtown on the water. 

From there, I rode down to Préveza, where I took the tunnel under the Adriatic to Vonitsa. Along the way I was often by the beach. 

My goal was to get to Patra, and find a campground. To get to Patra, I took the bridge, another beautiful structure similar to the one to Dubrovnik. I tried to get a photo, but none turned out. Basically, it is a four tower suspension bridge, but each tower has four legs that all meet at top. From the top, there is one row of cables that come down to support the road deck in the middle of the deck. From the side, you see the towers and the cables look like a fan, reaching down from the tower top to support the road. Great engineering combined with beauty. 

So I found a place to camp, had a good hot shower, and a good meal. 

No words to describe

Today, a young woman in a small blue car went through a toll booth one car ahead of me. At the next toll booth, an ambulance raced onto the freeway, siren screaming. A few minutes later I came on the accident scene. The little blue car had smashed headon into the guard rail. An EMT was doing chest compressions on a person laying on the roadway. 

I had noticed the grace of the movements of her arm and hand as she paid the toll and received her change just twenty minutes before. 

So, Albania?

The first evening, as I rode into Albanua, the sky was clear, the air was cool, and people were working in the fields, primarily cutting and stacking hay, women working alongside men. In the smaller fields, it was all being done by hand, cutting with a hand scythe, raking with wooden rakes, stacking with hay forks. But larger fields were worked with tractors and balers. It was a pattern I saw: the smaller and poorer fields were worked by hand, larger farms were mechanized. 

Yes, there are still horse and donkey carts on the roadways, and cows being tended by their owners as they grazed them in the ditches by the road. I also saw a woman with a small flick of sheep grazing them next to the highway that first evening. 

But where to camp?  I spotted a sign by the road advertising Lake Shkodra Resort just a few kilometers ahead. I figured I would take a look, as the town of Shkodra was just beyond, and if the resort didn't work out, I could try the town. As I approached the turn to the resort, I saw two policemen standing in the road, looking at oncoming traffic. I ducked quickly onto the road to the resort. 

Road is not the best way to describe this piece of transportation infrastructure. Country lane doesn't fit it either. How about "single lane, ditch lined, rock and dirt track." That's better. And when I say single lane, I mean I had to get on the edge of the ditch for the oncoming cars, and I had hay on my helmet from the horse drawn hay wagon I met. 

But when I got to the end, I found a lovely new campground with small restaurant, friendly people, and wonderful clean showers and toilets. And they took my dollars!  

A "small salad."

But a wonderful part was the sound of goat bells, followed by the sounds if the goats bleating, followed by the goats themselves, followed by the little boys herding the goats. Incredible fun. 

To get where I wanted to go, the capitol of Albania, Tirane, was a short side trip, so I went there. I had to get some cash anyway, and that was so I could get fuel. So I rode to Tirane. As I was riding on, I spotted a bank, and exchanged $65 for a bunch of Albanian notes. 

I rode further into town, following Mr. Garmin's instructions. Traffic was a little hectic, one reason being Albania doesn't waste their national resources on painting lines on roadways that no one would follow anyway (Get a clue, Italy!! Albania is ahead of you on balancing their budget!!), but civil enough. One street was like a long market, with goods spilling out of store fronts and onto the sidewalks. There were goods of all kinds, and it was very colorful. 

My routing took me through some poorer parts of the city, and finally back on the roadway that leads, eventually, to Greece. I say eventually, because Mr. Garmin, possessed once again by that imp of the perverse, took me over a road that only the locals know about, and that most are too smart to use. The latter I figured out when, upon leaving Fier (Fier the town, not the fear I was soon to meet), I was following a tiny little Ford up a hill. When we for to the top of the ridge, the Ford pulled over and stopped. I gave a jaunty little wave as I rode past, and received a look in return that was kind of "Whete do you think you're going, buddy?"  

The look was explained around the next corner where there was a sever pavement break and washout for about 50 meters. But so what, right? I'm riding a BMW Dual Sport moto with off road tires and skills! Pop me on the fanny and call me Jack, off I went!

There were several more of these breaks, and finally the Grand Daddy of them all: a mudslide had covered the roadway, and there was a 200 meter or so detour. 

But the country is beautiful. 

The ride seemed to go on forever. But I finally made it to the border, where there was a line of people waiting to get out of Albania. Getting out was easier than getting in, although there were some line jumpers. In the line I met two bikers from Croatia on VStrom 650s. Really nice guys, they asked if I would have a drink with them in Greece. I said sure, I only drink coke. We had a coke and coffee together, and pictures, too. 

These two young men are super nice. They were on a two week trip through Greece. Last year they were in Morocco. They have done some great rides, and I expect they will be headed to Mongolia soon. I'm the same age as the father of the guy on the left. He said he will use me as a bad example for getting his father to ride with him. 

So. Two final thoughts about Albania: police and expansion joints. 

There are police on the major roads leafing in and out of every town. I don't know their purpose. But they are there, and often in between as well. To play it safe, I was very careful, if somewhat frustrated by often not knowing what the speed limit was. But I was never stopped, for which I'm thankful. Without Joe Bottini to interpret . . . Wait! Joe doesn't speak Albanian either!

The issue with the expansion joints is this: on the bridges, they are failing or have already failed, leaving huge gaps on the bridge decking. You can't cross many Albanuan bridges at speed. If you did, you would bend or break wheels. Perhaps that's a national defense strategy, as any invader could not move very fast on the roads. Hmmm. Always thinking, those Albanians. 

Croatia, Montenegro, Albania

I really didn't want to leave Croatia. It was very pleasant there, good roads, food, people and things to see. But I did. The border at Montenegro was no problem. I bought the insurance to be on the safe side. The guy said 10€, but I only had dollars and Kuna, so he took 100 Kuna, about 14€. His retirement plan is better than mine!

After I leave the insurance guy chortling about naive Americans, I'm running down the road and a Mercedes sedan backs out, slowly, onto the highway. I think I can see two heads in the drivers seat, which I thought was unusual for Montenegro, reserving judgment for what would be usual in Albania. 

Turns out there were indeed two heads in the driver's seat: a father and his pre-teen son, sitting on his papa's lap. I had happened on a Montenegro driving lesson. 

The Montenegro Riviera was nice enough, but the rest seemed pretty rough. Mr. Garmin got a case of the grins and giggles and took me over a mountain as I rode to the capitol. The views were of the clear blue sea and coastline, with the mountainside cloaked in greenery. It was a beautiful ride without much traffic. 

I rode almost into Podgoricka, but didn't make it all the way. I headed for the border with Albania, looking for a place to camp. As I neared the Albanian border, the towns and villages looked poorer and poorer. There was one large lot with rags and junk strewn about, and people picking it over. Minarets started to appear, and I saw a burial taking place in a cemetery bear a mosque. There was no place that looked safe to camp, no campgrounds, and no hotel that looked very good. 

The five Germans insisted that Albania was a bad, bad place, and I should ride straight through. I wasn't going to be able to do that, as suddenly I was at the border leaving Montenegro. Adventure was at hand!

At the Albanian post, the border police guy looked my papers over, stamped my passport, then held up my auto insurance papers (the "green card"), and chortled with glee, "Insurance no good in Albania!"  I already knew that, so I hope he forgave me for not looking as surprised as he was. "You wait there," he said, and made a call on his cell phone. 

Now the Albanian border post is not the kind of place you want to hang around. There are sketchy looking people both in and out of uniform. It is not a clean place, and the smell of diesel exhaust is mixed with the stink of fear. One red sedan was being slowly examined, all of its contents on steel tables while men in blue uniforms were exploring the trunk, the spare tire, trunk contents and trunk carpet having already been removed. Not too far away, two men in uniform with an AK-47 variant watched, fingers alongside the trigger-guards. 

Shortly, a man approached, and waved I was to follow him. We went around a corner of the building, and he unlocked a door. The door led to an office with a bed, a small desk, a chair, and a refrigerator. When I saw the bed, I made sure the door was kept open behind me. 

He told me, in Albanian, the minimum policy was 15 days. Since that was 7 times the maximum number of days I intended to stay, I nodded okay. In fairly short order, and paying 23€ for the insurance, I was down the road. It was early evening, I was now out of euros, and none of my credit or debit cards would work in Albania. And no place to stay. Uh oh!  Poor planning!

And I was just reminded of the time Judge Roberts insisted that Joe Bottini explain a defendant's rights to an Albanian defendant, who was deaf, mute, and only knew Albanian. As I understand the story, in spite of Joe's best efforts, there was a bilateral failure to communicate. . .

Dubrovnik

In the campground, I first met 5 German bikers. They were hilarious. One of them had a problem with his green card (auto insurance papers) at the Serbian border, which resulted in some detention, however brief. They were assuaging the "horror" with beer. Lots of beer. From them I obtained some advice about, and an old map of, Albania. 

Next I met Jon and Chris, two quite mad Englishmen on a one year moto adventure on two KTM 990 Adventures. Jon has a blog at Jonwilmot.wordpress.com. They are about seven months into the twelve, and it seems that mostly they fix things. They even have a soldering iron, which brings me to the lust of things they did on my (still unnamed and yearning for a christening) bike:

Repaired the ABS switch wiring broken at the dealership that installed the bar risers. 

Found and soldered the fault in the auxiliary light switch. 

Installed the Scorpio Ride alarm that Meredith brought me. 

Pointed out the missing bolt on the skid plate which had fallen out because the captive nut had stripped. 

We fiddled with the bike all day.  Chris worked:

Jon supervised (he's older):

Both are really great guys, and I am grateful for their help and wish them the best in their trip. 

The Road To Dubrovnik

I broke camp and left at about 10:00 a.m. The road along the sea was beautiful, with mountains on the left and the Adriatic with its clear blue water on the right. I found some ice cream for Laurent ("Best ice cream in Dalmatia!" said the young man in the picture) and took some photos of the sea. 

Pretty nice. The road twisted and turned along the coast, with one little cove after the other. Some held boats, some people, some just a few cormorants. 

But then I started climbing and got on the highway. That road is simply beautifully built. It has auto stops along it for refreshment and rest stops. This road and the road through Slovenia are easily the best highways I have traveled on this trip. It is new, and the highway has not been completed.  Regardless, this highway will more than likely lead to further development of resources and tourism. 

To get to Dubrovnik, the road goes back to the coast. As you come along the shoulder of a mountain you suddenly see a flat plain below with waterways and fields under cultivation, with the Adriatic beyond. 

When you get down on the plain, you cross the Neretva River. It is a beautiful area with boats, the river lined with reeds, fruit sellers in their stands lining the roadway with oranges and lemons and limes and honey and oils and whatever else they can make from what the land produces. I bought some tangerines and they were deliciously sweet. 

There is a beautiful bridge into Dubrovnik. 

I camped in the "Only Campground In Dubrovnik."  The beach down the hill from the campground was also very nice. 

Very clear water. 

For Laurent

Pistachio!!

This is the beach beyond. Incredibly clear water. Too cold for swimming still. 

A Spot For Morning Coffee

Slovenia and Croatia

I think I only spent an hour in Slovenia, and it was pleasant. Good roads, with comprehensible signage, except for one part:  was I supposed to pay a fee for driving on their toll road?  I didn't figure that part out, but a guy that looked like a cop waved me through. I hope they aren't looking for me!

I rode down to Pula because I had read about it recently. It was not as I expected it to be, based on the book. My experience was also dampened because I could not get to the harbor area due to a maze of one way streets, fell over at a stop sign, was helped up by a woman in her fifties who didn't need MY help to pick up the bike, and I was too warm. So I left. 

I decided to head back up the peninsula and get to the eastern coast to find a place to camp. I took the long way, but it was an excellent motorcycle route. I'm riding myself back into shape after all the Italian food!

I did camp on the eastern coast south of Labin. Labin is an old city, with some walls remaining. The road goes through the old town, beneath the walls, through the walls, into the central market plaza, out the other side, along a cliff, and just to remind you what riding on cliffs is all about, past a cemetery. A big cemetery. With a new addition. Reminder noted. 

There was some construction, and an orange sign that said the Croatian word for "detour."  It had an arrow pointing back the way I came. I knew that wasn't right, because I had already been there, and that wasn't where I wanted to go next. So I noodled it out through some tall, concrete apartment buildings, which looked suspiciously like a Soviet design I've seen before. I made it onto the right road, and got headed north to Rijeka. 

The road along the coast, D66, is a beautiful drive along the edge of the mountains that rise from the Adriatic Sea. With pines, tall columnar Cedars, and some other oakish looking trees allowing views of the Adriatic, the road rises and falls, and follows the many curves of the mountain on which it was built. It is glorious fun on moto or in a car, and I had a great ride. 

The road passes through several villages, and bypasses many others. It finally gets down near sea level maybe 20km before Rijeka, and tourism flourishes. I rode through Rijeka itself, right along the water in the city center, and it seems prosperous enough. Some of the buildings need a good wash down and a new coat of paint, but it looks a lot better than Southern Italy. 

Out of Rijeka, I decided to take the coast road, D8, at least for the day. Great choice for a moto. It is a very well built and maintained two-lane highway that parallels the coast, sometimes right on the coast. It is a wonderful road for motos and I really enjoyed it. Just south of Crikvenica I was admiring a hillside with overgrown fields bounded by old rock walls, wondering why the fields were no longer farmed when I realized I was in a downhill right hand turn. Whoops!  Pay attention!

So later I was paying attention, and almost fainted. You know those infinity swimming pools where the far edge seems to disappear into the view beyond?  Rich people have them built on hillsides and rooftops. Well I came into a left hand corner, through a cut, and the far side of the road disappeared into the Adriatic Sea beyond. The road was quite a way up the mountain at that point, and no guard rail. The road just disappeared into the sea. The Pucker Factor Meter broke the peg going past 10. 

A word about shoulders and guard rails. Shoulders are half a meter from fog line to raised curb. Here is a photo of my boot with toe on fog line and the guard rail a few inches behind my heel. That is all you have to work with. 

Somewhere today I crossed the 45th Parallel. 

After I took this picture, a guy stopped to look at the bike. He was a nice guy, had ridden three hours that day, and was tired. Turns out I only rode about 6 hours today. I'm tired too. 

Senj was a pretty city. As I rode out, I noticed a square fort on a hill above the town. It turns out that it was an important fort it battles with the Turks. 

Some typical views of today. 

I stopped early today to camp, as I am going to do some autostrada tomorrow. I only did about 145 miles today, so I need to pick up the pace for the balance of Croatia. I am really impressed with the natural beauty here. Here are some views of my campsite tonight. 

I walked to a little restaurant nearby, and had freshly caught sea hake. I enjoyed the meal (with a salad) and afterwards, a German man who was traveling alone asked if he could join me. He worked for a shipping company for many years. He travels alone now as his wife died two years ago. This year he is traveling around the Balkans, much to the chagrin of his family who think he is too old at 75 to travel to Albania alone. 

A huge dinner was only $18. I'm liking this place.