I’ve been reading Martin Chuzzlewit by Charles Dickens. It’s a thick book, but portable and ought to see me through the rest of my trip. I recently finished a passage I liked a lot. He’s just been on a long trip in a horse drawn carriage in near freezing weather and now has stopped for the night and is ready to eat. It goes: "…he had his little table drawn out close to the fire, and fell to work on a well-cooked steak and smoking hot potatoes, with a strong appreciation of their excellence, and a very keen sense of enjoyment. Beside him, too, there stood a jug of most stupendous Wiltshire brew and the effect of the whole was so transcendent, that he was obliged every now and then to lay down his knife and fork, rub his hands, and think about it." I know the feeling described so well by Dickens.

I tried to find out about a ferry to Rhodes. It doesn’t go until Wednesday and might be late. There is simply no way to get off the island with a bike except to go back to Piraeus. Unable to get a ferry anywhere I decided to go for a bike ride. It was too cold, but since it wasn’t raining I piled on a lot of clothes and got on a back road headed west out of town. I had a vague idea about trying to get some pictures of the coast. However, Serendipity struck. About five miles out I reached the end of the urban sprawl and entered a broad valley with olives and grapes everywhere. I pedaled up a narrow dirt road to get a picture of a herd of sheep in a vineyard. Just then a man came walking down the same drive, and I wondered if he would scold me. I said gia sou (hello) and he nodded back. I said "it’s cold" and grabbed my shoulders, and he responded with a smile of agreement. From there I headed along a quiet paved road that went I knew not where, but was certainly no highway. I had to be careful lest I slip on the sheep droppings. A car or two may have passed me. I was now riding along the edge of a mountain and at one point I looked at a sheer cliff and saw the remains of an old house in it. Further down the road I saw a rutted track heading off apparently into a canyon. I started down the road, more of a trail and encountered a car stopped in the road. As I struggled to get around it the driver said, in a heavy accent: "wairareyourfrum?" I wasn’t sure I’d heard correctly but said "the United States." That didn’t seem to satisfy him and he repeated "wairareyourfrum?" This time I said South Carolina to no reaction and then America. To that he responded with a big smile. He seemed to want to talk but didn’t know any English. I asked if he had sheep baaing like one and pointing. He laughed and said no. Then I asked if I could go up that road. He said yes that there were two eklesias (church one of my few words) up there. It’s amazing how you can have a friendly meeting even without being able to converse.

Anyway I continued up the little dirt track made rough by a multitude of scattered rocks. In not time I left the rest of the world behind and disappeared into the canyon. The beauty of the canyon captivated me and I felt awed by the size of nature as the canyon walls rose hundreds of feet on both sides. Way above me I could see a huge raptor soaring in the updrafts. The canyon walls, covered with rocks and sparse vegetation, blocked the wind. After a while, I stopped to take a picture of the canyon and noticed that the mountain had blocked all sounds of traffic and people. It was silent—almost. I became aware of bells. Soon I realized that goats high on the sides of the canyon and hidden in the brush wore bells and each had a different tone. It was too pretty and magic to be real. My whole time in the canyon I would hear the infinite variety of bells punctuated by occasional bleets when a kid got separated from its mother.

The road continued in a gentle upgrade as it twisted and turned ever further into the mountains. I felt like a soldier in Indian country as goats seemed hidden behind every bush and in the ledges overhead. Some had no bells and seemed almost like shadows as they darted away. Utterly entranced I pedaled on hoping it would never end and feeling really grateful that the ferry to Rhodes didn’t run today.  Soon I turned a corner and saw the first little church.  So often, I’ve wondered why they build these little churches so far away and if anyone uses them.  I passed the tiny chapel and amidst a crescendo a bells came upon the second church.  Goats scattered everywhere and the road ran out.  I parked my bike and continued to follow animal trails up the canyon. The trail went on and on and always bells surrounded me. As I walked I could see goats on impossible perches seeming to watch my progress. At one point I looked at a big rock slide high on the side of the canyon wall.  Surely no goats would go up there.  In time I realized that a lot of those rocks, the yellowish white ones, were sheep, dozens of which were scattered all along the slide.

I started to want a picture of the goats around me.  They weren’t wild but were timid enough to make it tough to get close enough for a photo, especially on the little ones. For a long time, I watched them climb just amazed at the way they go seemingly anywhere without hesitation or difficulty.  The little ones are precious and I managed to get one picture—with the film camera—when a little guy went off on his own rather than follow his mother.  He got stuck for a moment, and I can’t wait to see if that photo. I found the goats themselves interesting.  Everyone was different.  By combining different colors, patterns, lengths of hair, type of whiskers, and shape of horns they achieved individuality. Even the flora offered variety and abundance.  Despite appearing barren the canyon walls supported many plants.  Each has adapted a strategy to survive the harsh conditions and relentless grazing of the goats. Oleander was most conspicuous, growing every where with an abundance of untouched leaves as tribute to their poison.  Another tree had such a convoluted set of limbs that they protected each other from the voracious goats.

Reluctantly I turned around and began heading back for Iraklio and lunch.  It was now after three and my breakfast seemed small and distant.  I passed a miniature chapel about a yard square that looks like it may be a place to leave sacred offerings. I don’t know but have seen them around a good bit.  The walk and the ride back down the canyon ended too quickly, and I found myself back in the real world.  It almost seemed as if I had awoken from a dream.  I pedaled over by a power plant and got on the national road also called the new road.  It’s a two-lane highway that runs almost the length of the island across the top.  Traffic was light, and it has a paved shoulder so I felt comfortable on the ride.  It wasn’t as scenic as the back road but dense vegetation grew along side.  I couldn’t identify most of it but oleander, pyrocantha and geraniums thrived.

I soon came back into Iraklio from a direction unfamiliar to me.  I cruised down an important street and saw nothing relating to tourism.  I did see a bright yellow sign saying Pizza House. I decided to verify the truth of the adage that things cost more in the tourist areas.  I went in and found that they had beautiful yellow cards and brochures and that they printed only the name in English.  The cook, standing at the front counter next to the big pizza oven seemed to know a little English and I ordered a ham pizza (I hoped).  In the meantime I sat and appreciated the place before writing in my journal.  It might have been the warmest building yet in Greece, perhaps the oven helped.  That’s not to say that I found it too hot, just right better describes it.  I had a nice view of the street with the slow flow of holiday traffic to watch, and could guard my bike securely locked to the big yellow Pizza House sign. I had that nice feeling you get stopping after a good ride for a well deserved lunch. Given that I arrived there after 3 p.m. you can imagine my appetite.  They brought me an excellent pizza for 1300 drachma.  I worried that I might not be able to eat it all but had no trouble. That’s a better price and a  better pizza than I’ve had to date.

That pizza must have made me bold.  I saw the owner get some WD-40 and work on the front door latch.  I got up said “signomi” (excuse me) and asked if I could borrow the can while pointing to my bike.  He said sure and I went out and squirted some on my lock which had been sticking badly. I wondered how I would solve that. I hated to buy a whole can and just throw it away. I had thought about bringing some but knew they wouldn’t like that in the plane.

I got home and ran into another couple from Australia, who are also staying at the Hotel Lena. We chatted about a bunch of things and I told them about the other couple from Australia who checked in this morning.  We discussed the hotel and agreed that we liked it. They had quite a rough time getting here from Athens. They had done what I initially planned which was island hop to get here.  Because of the bad weather they got stranded in Paros and ended out flying back to Athens to get a ferry to Crete. Had it not been for Sid’s suggestion the same might have happened to me. Another interesting thought came from the conversation. The man said that he preferred the clientele (he pronounced in a most Australian way) in the budget hotels.  Well, I can talk with most folks but I think he is right. I am probably most comfortable with people who don’t need to impress by where they stay and don’t have to be waited on.

 I quickly changed into some dry clothes to go out again before dark. I noticed a break in the clouds and thought I might be able to see the mountains from the jetty. I took my bike, which was good as the jetty is over a mile long! A few other folks were out there on bikes.  One friendly teenager took a picture for me.  Another fellow was quite a character.  He was a stout, young man riding a bike and carrying a stuffed full backpack twice the height of mine.  He carried fish poles and his lunch and looked ready for some serious fishing. If it ever does clear there will be a gorgeous view of the sunset from that spot. One small section of the sky was clear giving a glimpse of the snow-covered mountains as the sky turned gold. Coming back I saw the threesome from Kansas.  They had driven south where I hope to go by bike if the weather and my cough ever permit.  The lady said to me: “You said your girlfriend likes pictures.  Doesn’t she like to travel.” I explained about her being a single mother with two boys to raise.  However, I told her that her youngest was 12 and her turn is coming. I find it interesting what people remember and what they ask.
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