58 Motorcycle Escape Winter 2005 Winter 2005 Motorcycle Escape 59

GreekA ride in the land of feta and honey,beach towel in hand, and not a soul by my side BY JAMIE ELVIDGE

That’s what the Greek say,” or so I was told the week before I arrived. “Slowly, slowly.”But isn’t that what they say to Americans about every foreign country we’re about tovisit? That we’ll have to adjust to the leisurely pace? That our propensity to rush willhave our brains smoking like fat tires on puddled oil? Certainly I can come close toblowing a gasket just waiting for the dinner check in a European restaurant. “Yeah,yeah,” I said to my knowing friend, “I guess I’ll have to work around it.”

Ten days later I’m pulling my Triumph Bonneville onto the shoulder for, oh, themillionth time, gazing over another gently sloping cliff at the absurdly clear, blue-green Mediterranean, and considering a tiny footpath to the beach. It’s the third timethat day I’ve popped out of my Aerostitch riding suit for a little swim in the sea.Truly, it’s a wonder I got anywhere while I was riding in Greece. Now that I thinkabout it, it’s a wonder I got back home.

That’s what the Greek say,” or so I was told the week before I arrived. “Slowly, slowly.”But isn’t that what they say to Americans about every foreign country we’re about tovisit? That we’ll have to adjust to the leisurely pace? That our propensity to rush willhave our brains smoking like fat tires on puddled oil? Certainly I can come close toblowing a gasket just waiting for the dinner check in a European restaurant. “Yeah,yeah,” I said to my knowing friend, “I guess I’ll have to work around it.”

Ten days later I’m pulling my Triumph Bonneville onto the shoulder for, oh, themillionth time, gazing over another gently sloping cliff at the absurdly clear, blue-green Mediterranean, and considering a tiny footpath to the beach. It’s the third timethat day I’ve popped out of my Aerostitch riding suit for a little swim in the sea.Truly, it’s a wonder I got anywhere while I was riding in Greece. Now that I thinkabout it, it’s a wonder I got back home.

It’sAll To Me

.

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TIME MACHINEGreece is a country I’ve wanted to visit since the first day Iheard about Zeus and his godly cohorts during 6th grade his-tory. Sure it’s been a long wait, but worth it, because I’d finallyhooked up with the perfect type of motorcycle tour for me. Itwas a Lone Ranger deal, a self-guided package offered byTriumph Bike Tours out of Athens. The company, owned bythe very charming, moto-savvy couple, Deb and MichaelStagonakis, provide both supported group tours and these LoneRanger deals in Northern Greece and Southern Peloponnese.The available bikes are all Triumphs, from touring to dual-sportto standard. I was aboard a 650cc standard Bonneville since therest of the fleet had just returned from back-to-back tours andwas in need of service. The Bonne wasn’t my first choice for thehonest fact that I’ve been sucked into the vortex of America’sMore is Better philosophy, and as I rode out of Athens towardthe Peloponnese, I was thinking, “Slowly, slowly, indeed.” Ididn’t know it going in, but having that modest Bonn-Bonnattached to my bum would turn out to be a very happy cir-cumstance indeed. (See Weapon of Choice, page 66)

Though the seas surrounding Greece are famously litteredwith islands, Peloponnese isn’t an actual atoll, so let’s clear thatup right away. It’s an almost entirely self-contained landmass,true, but technically it’s connected to the mainland by theIsthmus of Corinth. Or it was, anyway, until the Corinth Canalsevered it in 1880s. Pretty awesome to watch a ship or two slipthrough the 52-meter deep, 21-meter wide crevice. In 64 ADthe Roman Emperor Nero ordered 6000 slaves to dig the canalwith spades. It didn’t work out, and I tried to imagine the

ancient seafarers as they dragged their ships across this four-milewide land bridge instead, just to avoid the tedious, 400-kilome-ter journey around the edge of the huge, starfish-shaped penin-sula.

Imagining the ancients is something you do a lot of inGreece. It’s inescapable. Growing up as we do in the States, andespecially on the West Coast, our grasp of the history of themodern world is mostly picture-bound. Old, to us, are thebrick row houses in Boston. The first time we travel to Europe,we’re awed by true age. The first time we travel through Greecewe’re awed by the very beginnings of modern culture. Old hereare remnants from sixteen centuries Before Christ. Around thefifth century B.C., Greece was in the midst of its most impor-tant period of civic turmoil, intrusion, war and development.Geez, in 776 B.C.. this country was already hosting the origi-nal Olympic games, based on the exact same core principles ofpeace and honor that remain today. If Africa is the cradle of civ-ilization, Greece is one of the places we took our first steps.

I’m reminded of this constantly as I travel through Greece.My route is a veritable connect-the-dots to the ancient sites. I’malso constantly reminded that feta cheese is really, really yummyto eat with fresh tomatoes and olive oil and I can’t get enoughof it. So between investigating the ruins, eating the feta andswimming it off, I’m late to my hotels almost every night.

But I don’t really have to worry about that because each of myovernight stops is expecting me, and the welcome is alwayswarm and intimate since the innkeepers all know my tourhosts. Triumph Bike Tours arranges everything you’ll need for

The thunder…was deafening, but I alsohappened to be standing in front of theTemple of Zeus, built in the fifth century B.C., so each clap was especially affecting.

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this ride, from the first toll coins to the hotel reservations androuting. You leave with a supplied tankbag full of vitals, frombike lock and mosquito repellent to a programmed cell-phoneand incredibly accurate, mileage-driven route sheets, which fitperfectly in the bag’s map window. You have a traditional map,too, which some will find more enjoyable to use. I chose a com-bination, turning to the route sheets for complicated transitionsor locating hotels, and watching the marked map to have a realfeel for the areas I was traveling through.

As I rolled out onto the edge of the Aegean Sea that first dayI was high as a kite. The mountains where growing higher, theroads more narrow, the sea more blue…and it was mine. All

mine, since I was traveling solo. After one long look back acrossthe Gulf of Corinth toward smoggy Athens and the busy har-bors I gave my nostalgic little Bonne a little goose and spedforward toward my personally tailored adventure.

TO EACH HIS OWNTime. We all need a little of our own. It may seem bold toembark on such an expedition completely solo, but why not?The expanse I was covering was not so huge my hosts couldn’tget to me in a matter of five or 10 hours. If the bike broke, sobe it. I knew I’d have a replacement in a jiffy. I had no worries.Greece is a European country after all, so it’s a pretty straight

affair. Not your come-what-may kind of nation like borderingAlbania, or even as unpredictable as the EC’s newest pledge,Turkey. On the other hand, it’s not at all like Northern Europe.It’s a blend of Middle East, Asian and Southern European fla-vors. A richness that feels alive and exotic.

And man, such a friendly place. I might have been alone, but Iwas certainly never lonely. I thought I might be at my first night’sstop in Mykines, when I realized I was the only one staying at myhotel. (It was extremely late in the season —October—and mostplaces in these small towns were getting ready to hibernate for theshort winter.) As I shoveled down the breakfast staple of thickGreek yogurt smothered in honey and fresh grapes from the vine-

yard next door the sociable proprietor kept me company, tellingme about the town and its customs and philosophies. The Greekare as inherently curious as they are easygoing and all during myjourney I was treated to this friendliness.

SLIPPERY WHEN PEED ONThere are three things you want to brake for in Greece: Ancientsites, monasteries and beaches. Well, and goats when you haveto, stubborn little things. The mountain roads can be just lit-tered with them, and believe it or not, the male goats’ oil-spikedpee is damn slippery. Swear to God. You’ll see the stains justcovering the road, days after the herd has passed. Greece is a bit

The Southern Peloponnese isalive with history. The era ofthe ancient sites variesdramatically —from templeshonoring the mythologicalgods, to medieval castles, tofortified cities of more moderntimes. Well, modern in theworld of Greek history anyway.The goats have also beenaround forever, and they seemto know it. Getting around themrequires slalom techniques,and you have to watch the herddogs, which are sometimestheir only keepers.

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the most remarkable golden beach I’d ever seen in my life,with grains of sand like powdered gold and water, a trueaquamarine. I felt a little guilty, as Deb and Michael preferyou stick to the route. Still, isn’t the type of person who wouldopt for a self-guided tour the type of person who wouldn’twant to stick to the route?

I mentioned this to them when I got back to Athens and theyhad to agree. Since they know the roads, situations and cell serviceareas intimately, they’d prefer if you at least phoned in to say youwere veering off course. That way, if you don’t come back, they’llknow where to look. Actually, you can pick up the phone and callDeb or Michael from anywhere about anything and that’s a hugestrongpoint of this tour. “Are tirokeftedes good to eat?” Call. Goathorn in your tire? Call. Get lost? “Pull up next to a Greek and thencall,” says Deb, “That way I can ask him where you are.”

THE GREEN LIZARD AT THE GATES OF HELLMy fourth and fifth days I spent riding down the longest penin-sula of Peloponnese, the middle finger, known as the Mani. It wasa completely different world. First of all, it’s barren—windsweptand wild. There is hardly anyone down here, nor has there everbeen. The desert landscape doesn’t support crops or even hardyolive trees. One very distinctive feature of the Mani are the tow-ers, of which there are about 800 left. In the 17th and 18th

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infamous for slippery roads, actually, though not just because ofthe goats. It’s that oily mess from not-so-perfectly kept vehiclesthat builds over the region’s dry summer season.

Lucky for me I was riding in and out of the fifth and sixthrains—warm, wet little storms that made each day even more dra-matic and each road a little more grippy. Just such a storm accom-panied me into Monemvasia, where I spent two nights. I didn’treally know much about the place, which was probably a blessingbecause the wealth I was about to inherit was unexpected. Likefinding a loose board in your kitchen, and beneath it, treasure.

Really, that’s not so far-fetched because the city ofMonemvasia is completely hidden from view except whenapproached from the sea. As a grand defense tactic, it’s builtwithin the sea-facing crevice of a mountainous rock, which sitsabout a quarter mile offshore. On top of the rock are the ruinsof a 12th century Byzantine-era castle and commune, belowlies the magical 14th century “lower town” that still prospers,its tiny cobbled streets lined with shops and inns and cafés. It

was the perfect defense. It’s hard to imagine that 30,000 peo-ple once lived here and the rock supported 40 churches. Todayyou can drive across a small causeway and park at a tiny doorset in the edge of the enormous rock. It’s hardly big enough towalk through, and certainly no vehicle could ever enter. In thecoolness of morning I went to the town to climb the steep pas-sage to the castle ruins, and stopped to watch workers loadconstruction materials onto the backs of donkeys, the only wayto bring anything heavy into the town.

I had a rest day here, which was perfect. I started by tak-ing a side trip north to the fishing village of Mitropoli,which the Stagonakis had recommended, and ended bymaking a second sortie south, to the bay of Neapolio, justbecause it looked interesting on the map. There I discovered

Centuries, this was a place that fostered infamous and prevalentvendettas. Most of the grey stone houses and family compoundsare fortified with stone walls for this reason. And each family hada tower, which grew taller as the family’s power grew stronger.

I slept in the top of a tower that night, one of the unique andintimate settings the Stagonakis had chosen for me. In themorning I ventured to the peninsula’s very tip, the southern-most point of continental Greece, or “The End of the World”as it’s known locally. I was curious about the Gate of Hades,the ancient Underworld, which are rumored to be in the areanear the ruins of Poseidon’s temple. It was just me and sometrigger-happy quail hunters out there in the misty dawn, and Imust say it was a little spooky. There was a cultish altar insidethe ruins and on it were coins and bits of stuff. But it was thehuge, green lizard that really freaked me out. As I was diggingin my pocket for something to offer the Sea God one slitheredup onto the alter and watched. Weirder still, green lizards aren’tfound in Southern Greece. I’ll never know about the Gates ofHell because I left then…right after chucking a two-euro pieceto the lizard, or whoever that was.

TAKE MY MONEY, PLEASEPylos was my night’s destination, on the Ionian Sea. Eventhough I had been completely captivated by the hidden city of

The roadside shrines are everywhere, like wildflowers on the sides ofthe road. Inside each is an oil lamp, kept lit by the deceased’s lovedones. The road above, lacing its way into the mountains is typical. Soare the palapas.

“Slowly,slowly,”

I thought.Maybe the

deep-rootedGreek knowsomethingmany of usdon’t, and itmost likelyhas to dowith morethan long

dinners andnaps at

the beach.

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Type A mentality will never, ever adapt to three- and four-hourmeals. By that time I’m ready for the next!

I was not happy leaving Pylos because it marked the pointwhere I turned back east, toward Athens. This westernmostfinger of Peloponnese is rich with grapes and olives, and the seais rich with jellyfish. Not so good for swimming, so it was just aswell that my route toward Ancient Olympia had me meander-ing the goat paths of the high inland mountains. I’d finally comethe point marked on the route sheet that said, “If you’re alone orthe weather is bad, bypass this route.” Like that was going to

happen. I’d been waiting the wholeride for this ominous-sounding section.

And I’ll admit, it was pretty treacher-ous. The road wasn’t much better than arocky, rutted trail. And steep! Here again,I loved the Triumph’s light weight,tractable engine and smooth chain drive.The road led me to the very remoteTemple of Apollo, the god of everythingfrom cows to light and truth. This was asuperb site since it was so remote. Quiet.I’d seen so many sites at this point, I couldguess the period by the building tech-niques. Sometimes I’d ride into a site andbe like, “Yawn. That’s Cycladic-era. Toonew.” How quickly we become jaded.

Ancient Olympia was different. Icouldn’t help but feel awed by thegrounds that birthed our modernOlympics. I arrived just as a storm wasbreaking overhead and the tourists wererunning for the shelter of their busses. Iwas already soaked from riding through

Monemvassia, Pylos was my most enjoyable overnight. Thehotel was great, and my room had a balcony right over the sea.I also enjoyed my very favorite meal that night, at Grigoris,which had been recommended to me by a cheerful Brit bicyclistwhom I’d met on the Mani. It’s the tradition of many, manyrestaurants in Greece to invite you into the kitchen to see what’scooking before you order, and such was the case here. Themama described the sides, starters, salads, simmering meats,broiled fish that came out of the sea that day in words I couldn’tunderstand, but the smells told me everything I needed toknow and I ordered with abandon.

After this mondo meal I was feelingkind of catatonic and so thought I’d trya little experiment. Maybe, I thought,just maybe I could wait through thepayment process without either askingfor the bill, the pick up of my payment,or my change. I ordered a Greek coffee.(Don’t do this—it’s literally the unfil-tered grounds, like, you chew it up.)And I sat, and I sat, and I sat. I think Iwas pretty close that time, though onecan’t be sure. After almost four hours ofhanging at Grigoris I walked into thekitchen and showed the mama my cash.I couldn’t take it. “Slowly, slowly” isn’taccurate, I thought, because our slow isfast to the Greek. “Maybe Never,” iswhat most service feels like. I mighthave learned to float in the water andnap on the beach for way too long eachday, to drag my feet and ponder relent-lessly each ancient site I viewed, but my

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As I said in my tale, I wasn’texactly pleased to board theBonne and ride out of Athens. Iwas like, “What’s this? Youexpect me to tour around on atoy?” First of all I have longlegs and I like to stretch out,but truthfully, the reason I like

a big bike is that I’m fond ofbig power.

I’ve tested this bike andknow it’s a terrific reinventionof the famously famous twinBonnes of yore. In fact, I’vespent some good times onthe vintage machines they

DRIVINGRoads are way more slipperythan we’re used to, especiallyin summer before the rains.Once they are washed in fall,the grip is decent, but notideal. Outside of major citiesthe road width is about halfwhat we expect in the States,with no centerline, just white-lined edges. Drivers are well-taught, and thoughtful, thoughaggressive. If you’re a slowpoke, stay as far to the right aspossible and watch your mir-rors, as you’ll be passed con-stantly. If you’re going fast,you’ll love how conscientiousdrivers are. You are allowed tosplit lanes both in highway andstoplight situations. Trafficsigns are “suggestions” atbest—whether it’s a postedspeed limit or no U-turn signexpect people not to obey it.The way it works here is that ifyou’re in an accident and notobeying these signs it’s easy toassign fault. Otherwise, thereseems to be no enforcement.

NAVIGATIONAll of the road signs are inGreek, which uses a differentalphabet, but in populatedareas these signs are followedby separate posts in English.Strangely enough it’s easier tofollow the signs in Greek than

in another same-alpha lan-guage, like German, becausethe letters are so differentyour brain remembers thewords as pictures instead ofsounds. For example, I figuredout the Greek word for BEACHright away.

EXPENSEEasy. It’s the Euro, but don’tlet that scare you. Everythingis less expensive in Greece(than in Central Europe) tobegin with, so the conversionof cost for key items like lodg-ing and food will feel roughlythe same. Fuel is about double

what we pay here, even duringour peak pricing.

GETTING AROUNDI spoke about 10 words ofGreek by the time I left, but Ionly learned them out ofrespect. I never felt unable tocommunicate, even in netherregions where little English isspoken. Greece is one of themore friendly countries I’veever toured, and I’d recommendit as a place to take tour sansguides even before I’d recom-mend a solo tour of more typi-cal European destinations likeItaly, Spain, France or Germany.

Why? Because it’s so easy toget around. It’s not overly pop-ulated with people or road-ways, so there’s no confusion.

FOODEat as much as possible.

OVERALLGreece is a destination youwant on your List. It’s all atonce remarkable and invitingand completely comfortableand safe. Even traveling alone Inever felt nervous—not aboutthieves, not about finding gas,not about finding my way. It’san astoundingly beautifulplace, but nothing like you’veenvisioned. It’s not white build-ings and blue roofs—that’s allon the islands, which aretourist magnets. Greece is sub-tle tones, from the oliveorchards to the deep blues ofthe sea. And aside from it beinga biking haven, it’s an incredi-ble learning experience. Amuseum, from border to border.

RESOURCES•Lonely Planet: Greece

•Greektravel.com (excellent for trip planning)

•Greecefoods.com (oh yeah)

How To: GREECEwere built to ape. So I knewthe bike going out, but what Ididn’t know were the roads.Right away on the first day Iknew the Bonne would bemore of a blessing than acurse. Secondary roadways inGreece are exceedingly nar-row and without a centerline.Ninety-percent of these tinyroads I’d travel involved low-speed twisties and elevationchange, aggressive traffic andgoats, which required non-stop concentration. Thecompliant, effortless man-ageability the Bonne provideswas really a gift. The natureof the bike totally suited theenvironment.

So it was great to ride. Evenhad a little Chasing Che feelwith its minimalist cockpit,small, standard stance and vin-tage burble. As you can seefrom the photo, it wasn’t greatto pack on (at least when youpack like me with 30 extrapounds of electronic do-dads),

and would have been muchimproved by the simple appli-cation of saddlebag stays tohelp keep the soft bags out ofthe works. Still, it did the job.

The day the Bonne becamemy savior was my last on theroad. All night it had stormedand the sky was so black, theautomatic streetlights werestill on three hours after sun-rise. I rode through driving rainfor five hours, over washed-outbridges, through ankle-deepmud and around downed trees.It was all perfectly doablebecause the bike was so forgiv-ing and predictable. A set ofknobbies, and it would havebeen perfect.

Bottom line is I learned torespect this bike, which Iwould have otherwise shunnedfor its small stature and vanillaintent. Now it’s one of my firstchoices for this type of tourinstead of my last.

—Jamie Elvidge

a late afternoon downpour, so the roiling black clouds only addedto the drama. I’d jump each time the thunder would crack, eventhough I knew it was coming. It was deafening, but I also hap-pened to be standing in front of the Temple of Zeus, built in the5th century B.C., so each clap was especially affecting.

The Olympics here, held five centuries B.C, were a way tomeasure the strengths of other states peacefully. It was also atime to rest from fighting, which was constant during that period.Almost 3000 years later, our modern Olympics continue thesame basic aspiration: that we become bigger than the burdens.

When you think about it, not that much has changed. Theworld is still in a state of unrest. Are things better in this busy,modern era? Sure. No one cuts off your head for belonging tothe wrong party. Not usually. But there are still selfish and ruth-less power struggles. There’s still poverty, resentment, brutalityand rampant disease.

“Slowly, slowly,” I thought. Maybe the deep-rooted Greekknow something many of us don’t, and it most likely has to dowith more than long dinners and naps at the beach.

The bout of profound thinking finished me off, and Iturned away from the temple of Zeus with not only a littlemore insight than I’d had when I arrived, but also an achingneed for long, hot shower and a nice bowl of Greek salad.With extra , please.

WEAPON OF CHOICE: Triumph Bonneville

Michael and Deb Stagonakis started Triumph BikeTours in 1994. Although they are now semi-retiredthe tours are going strong. They absolutely lovesharing their knowledge of this wonderful country.When you pick up your ride, make sure you haveMichael introduce you to his collection of vintagebikes. It’s better than most museums I’ve seen.

TourDestination

ProviderContact Info

CostTour Includes

LengthRiding Season

Avg. MileageRecommended

Gear

RoadsScenery

EatsDigs

Bikes

Lone Ranger Peloponnese TourSouthern GreeceTriumph Bike Tourstriumphbiketours.comApproximately $300 per dayBike, routing, paid hotel reservations, break-fast, some dinners, constant on-call support.8 days/9 nightsMarch–October175 miles per dayBathing suit and beach towel. Oh, andriding gear to handle everything fromrain to blazing sun.

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