The Road Rolls On

After a leisurely coffee on the beach, I got on the road again.  The people at this campground were really nice, and so were the grounds.  I was visited by a crazy French woman a few times, who mostly spoke French, and in one of the visits brought me two tangerines she had found somewhere as a gesture of her respect.  I din't eat them, as you could see the insect holes and something moving in there.  From the way other campers treated her, apparently she is a regular there, and crazy as a loon.

The bike always attracts attention, and at one rest stop, a tall young couple approached and just talked up a storm.  The woman was a pilot, and wanted to know about flying jobs in Alaska.  Apparently there is a TV show about ERA Aviation in the EU, which she had seen.  So I talked about flying in Alaska, and ERA pilots, and how they can really rack up the hours quickly.  They finally left, and I went inside to get my sandwich.

As I sat down, I noticed three young men looking the bike over and talking animatedly.  Soon, they came in, and the leader looked around, spotted me, and yelled, "You!  You're the one on that bike!  You're crazy man, from Alaska!  All alone?  You're crazy man!"  The conversation was mostly that for several minutes.  You're crazy, yes, I am, You're crazy, yes, I am crazy.  After we had established that truly undisputed fact, he wanted to know why I had that bike, and not a bigger bike, and I went trough that with him.  He has the big V-Strom, and I told him he could do the same trip with that, as he was much younger and stronger than me, but the smaller bikes were really better for everyone.  They were all really quite nice, were from Athens, and were on some kind of road trip north.  Later, they caught me at a toll booth and wanted to take some pictures of me riding the bike.  I obliged, even though my riding jacket makes me look fat  (I hasten to point out that my size 36 trousers are already to large for me.  Two inches too large, in fact.  I imagine I'm going to get slimmer soon).

The road took me from mountains to flat plains, and back, then back again.  The plains were under cultivation, with grains and pasture and orchards.  Very beautiful flat valleys.  I also noted rice fields again, and they always surprise me to see them in Western countries such as Greece and Italy.  I always associate rice production with South East Asia, probably that youth experience in Viet Nam.

The road also took me down into the Tebas valley, a narrow gorge like valley, with a winding two lane road and a speed limit of 60 kilometers an hour.  I, however, appreciated the break from the high speeds, as well as the cool from the shade trees.  I also saw another stone fort along a coastal headland that was in remarkable shape, at least as seen from the road.  The hill on which this one was constructed, however, was only maybe a hundred feet or so above the surrounding country.  Enough to dominate the area, but the serfs didn't have to toil up an 800 foot mountain.

I rode into Thessalonika to see if I could find some historical sites.  It was Saturday afternoon, and town was full of people enjoying the nice weather.  I rode past a few, one under restoration, the other in the middle of a traffic circle, but no parking and the huge crowds put me off.  I turned around and left.  I still was a fan of Greek driving, even after Thessalonika on a hot Saturday afternoon.

As I was riding out of a tunnel, the mouth of the tunnel was filled with dark sky.  I hadn't noticed that before.  I hoped I was just seeing an optical illusion, a mirage.  Nope, I was seeing a huge thunder cloud and rain and hail storm.  As usual, I wasn't overly concerned, because you can't tell whether it is actually sitting on or headed towards the road you are on until you actually get to it.  Besides, after sweating inside my rain jacket the day before, I was going to wait until the last minute to put the rain liner in the jacket.

The storm cell was pretty large, and it turned out that it was on the route.  I stopped and filled up with gas, then got back on the highway.  When the rain drops started, I pulled over and put the liner in.  And then the thunder and lightening really started up, and the rain really started coming down.  I finally just couldn't see to ride anymore, and stopped under an overpass.  Three other bikes pulled under there too, and the riders started putting on their rain gear.  One of them came over and gave me a rubber blade that you put on your finger to wipe your visor.  He didn't speak any english, but he wanted me to have that.  I was grateful for it.

I asked Mr. G to help me find a campground, and he did.  I rode into Natura Campground wet as a trout, with rain still falling, not looking forward to sleeping in the tent with rain coming down. 

(That's a picture of rain you can't see) The tent keeps me dry, but packing it wet is not fun.  But they had these little huts, with a bed, a tiny refrigerator, and enough room for a chair.  And two small shelves.  The cabin was exactly as long as the bed.  But it was dry.  

The mini market wasn't open yet, and the Taverna next door was still closed (not high season yet), but the woman at reception found me a hunk of bread, two slices of chess, and two slices of mystery meat.  Also a can of Pepsi.  That was a good meal, as I was also able to get my laundry washed.  No dryer, so I had laundry all over the place, trying to dry it.  I was not truly successful, but I'm on a motorcycle trip, not a holiday.