Day 6: Sunday, 15 May 1983

Start: Hotel, Messolongi, Greece

End: A beach along the road, Mitikas, Greece

Up at 7:30. Quick breakfast. Back on the road. Much faster to get ready when no tents to pack.

Yesterday's tensions subsiding, but not entirely dissipated. Mike and I haven't known each other long, haven't ridden together much, and will need to make some adjustments if we're going to stick together. I always think I'm being perfectly reasonable, but probably not everyone would agree. Check with my ex-wife.

Morning began flat and easy with decent road and minimal traffic. I'm feeling especially strong on the pedals, easily growing accustomed to extra weight of all the gear. Hard training at home paid off in that regard.

We swing west off the beaten track through Etoliko (built on a small island), Katohi, and Lessini. Pastry along the way, then up a decent mountainside and down deteriorating roads at a breakneck pace into Astakos. Pulled into the first restaurant for beer and lunch.

The restaurant was practically empty when we arrived, but it was hopping by the time our fish was served. Six old guys were guzzling ouzo at one table. An extended family of at least a dozen brothers and sisters and parents and cousins and aunts and uncles and grannies came in for a big meal. And down the mountain came Richard Francis on his bike from Switzerland by way of Egypt and Israel. We invited him to join us, discovering in the process his English was just as fractured as my French.

Meanwhile, the Greek family was singing, dancing in circles, and throwing plates on the floor. Next they were smashing empty beer bottles. Then full beer bottles. At their urging, we soon joined in and spent over three hours drinking and tearing down the joint. I'm the planet's worst dancer, but I couldn't resist jumping up and stumbling through a goofy imitation of a Greek step when the lovely young maiden of the family invited me to take her hand.

Turns out the charming and voluptuous young lady spoke excellent English, and her name was Fasa, but she was only fifteen. She pointed out all her beaming relatives to me. "And that one," she announced with a disarming smile, "is my mother laughing because she thinks I'll make a beautiful American bride."

With that sobering thought, we made sure we paid more than enough for all our food and broken plates and glasses, and -- with Richard Francis in tow -- hauled out of Astakos and up the next mountain. I have to keep reminding myself to lay off the beer when I'm pedaling. The road soon turned into gravel and then potholes and big rocks for a bouncy, dusty, murderous 23 klicks into Mitikas. There the three of us had spaghetti and -- what was I supposed to remind myself? -- more beer (much safer, we tell ourselves, than the water), swam in the bay, and camped on the beach.

In the night I think I fell into a dream about Fasa.

Conditions 

Distance: 80 km 

Weather: Hot, with light and variable winds 

Road: Okay into Astakos, but terrible from there on 

Traffic: Light 

Terrain: Some notable climbs 

Mechanical: Rear tube no longer leaking 

Physical: Very strong, except after consuming beers