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Rocky Mountain High We awoke to a damp olive grove. During the night Sharon barely had time to stumble out of the tent and cover the bikes with our drop sheet before the rain soaked everything. It was better than snow. With everything damp and gloomy we weren't moving very quickly. It was 10:30 before we were ready to ride. As we rolled up the tent a Greek riding a donkey appeared. His mount slowly plodded along as his mangy dog trotted ahead, leading the way. The old timer slouched in his saddle boisterously singing a Greek song as he bounced along. Strains of the song could be heard long after he disappeared around the next corner. The smooth asphalt continued to be a series of up and down wigglewaggles. Hills and more hills with spectacular views from every ridge. Thankfully, there wasn't much wind-the cliff side roads still had no guardrails. The road jutted around hairpin corners straight down to the sea hundreds of meters below without even a hint of a berm. Lacking guardrails made a good view to the sea-if I could stand to look down. There were goats on the road. There was even one in a tree eating leaves. It must have thought it could fly. I thought they couldn't even perch that well. We stopped in a teeny mountain settlement at 2:30 for souvlaki. There were two eating establishments, but one was closed. We moseyed over to the open restaurant. From the rearward balcony I marveled at the exciting vista stretching before me. On the walls of the café I was amused to see pictures of Spirit Island in Alberta and other North American Rockies. No shots of Greece's fabulous scenery adorned the walls. The restaurant directly across the road was closed when we arrived but by the time we finished lunch it was open. A sign said they had eggs for sale so I went in to check out their selection. The Greek proprietor, who introduced himself as George, said he had been out working in his olive groves. He poured us a lemonade and rustled up some cookies. He spoke a bit of tourist talk in four different languages, and, like me, mixed them all together-a bit of English, sometimes French, then German and finally Italian. It was amazing how much we were able to get accomplished. During the afternoon there was only one short rocky section of road to endure. We kept pace with the mobile shoe salesman as he drove from village to village selling his goods. At a crossroads a sign entirely in Greek pointed off in opposite directions. I stopped and Sharon took a photo with me doing a typical Greek pose, shrugging my shoulders. It was all Greek to me. We camped next to a small stream after pushing our bikes across it to a flat spot. Sharon was happy. She got to wash twice in one day. |
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