The Tour in Numbers

We are back home and reflecting on what has been a wonderful if slightly damp trip. Here are some of the figures from our ride-

0
Number of punctures we got doing the 4900+ kms from Greece to Bilbao

94
Games of Bongomania played on the trip. we finished at 47 each

81
Average distance in kms completed each day

2422
Hardest ride in terms of metres climbed on a day that we covered 142km

8813
Altitude in metres climbed each week. As Everest is 8848m we were very nearly doing the equivalent of an Everest climb (from sea level) each week.

Gernika (Guernica) 8/6/8

If there is a theme to our trip it must be a study of conflict in Europe and hopefully with our visit to the Basque town of Gernika its resolution as well. In 1937 during the Spanish Civil War on the orders of General Franco the town was bombed for several hours by German and Italian planes. Hundreds were killed and the significance of the attack was that for the first time civilians were targeted in an air raid using a 'blitzkrieg' strategy which was to become common in WW2. Few buildings were left standing among which were the arms factory and the Renteria Bridge, the supposed target for the attack. Outrage at the carnage was felt around the world and inspired Pablo Picasso to paint 'Guernica' which has become a symbol to the peace movement.

We visited the excellent Peace Museum which explores concepts of peace such as what it is, how to transform conflict and achieving resolution. Evocative displays give a graphic illustration of life in the Civil War and the terror and panic created by the air raid. Material is also used from the intertwined Basque Conflict to further develop the themes of the museum.

Why? 8/6/8

It´s a good question. After all camping day after day, enduring snow and rain, cycling whatever the conditions and seeking out the mountainous routes amounts to some fairly serious physical endeavour. But the answer lies with simple escapism. Yes there are other attractions like the physical beauty we encounter, the interest in other people´s lives, our daily shot of adrenaline and the sense of achievement at getting so far by bike.
Despite the daily exertion it´s an amazingly simple lifestyle once the vital decision to depart has been made and all the organisational details attended to. Apart from route planning (which Wendy does) daily life is pretty routine and without the complexities of a 'normal' lifestyle. While cycling my thoughts of home extend only to people and all the irritations of modern life are left far behind.

Photo shows Wendy with an enthusiastic French couple who apparently wait at the top of cols to congratulate cyclists on their achievements (and to relive some of his past glories). One of many examples of random moments which add to the joy travelling brings us.

Le Tourmalet 3/6/8

At 2115m it´s usually the highest Pyrenean col featured on the Tour de France and a magnet for cyclists. The climb starts at 840m and continues for 17km at an average gradient of 8%. We came close to Marco Pantani's record time but there were differences. His ride was in ideal conditions while we had a head wind, he did not have to suffer sleet and snow, he had a lightweight racer and most significantly he was going uphill while we just about matched him descending carefully in poor conditions. 2 & 1/2 hours for our ascent which I was quite pleased with as the Belgian racers we met at the top had taken 1 & 3/4 hours with a support vehicle. But we were the first cyclists of the day to reach the col and I would have done it non-stop but the conditions were so bitter that my hands were becoming frozen to the bars in fingerless mitts so, with 3km to go, I had to change gloves. Spent over an hour hugging a radiator in the summit cafe waiting in vain for the rain/sleet/snow to disperse before making the unpleasant descent.

Cyclist´s Remarks 7/6/8

"Tell me you´re not going over the Tourmalet with all that". It´s music to our ears. Spoken to us by a fellow cyclist at the top of the Col d'Aspin. He had overtaken us on the way up on his lightweight racer but his elation at having reached the top and the prospect of attempting the Tourmalet, knowing we were following the same route, rather dimmed his sense of achievement while inflating ours by a similar amount.

Having been unsuccessful in keeping dry in the increasingly wet conditions I enquired of a German tourer if his 'breathable' over-trousers kept out the rain. "Yes" he said proudly, before adding "but I'm swimming inside". Nice!

On our last full day´s ride before Bilbao we headed for Gernika (Guernica) across the rolling Basque Country. After 12 hours, having ridden 135km over a succession of 2000ft passes we became lost in the hills on a narrow concrete track. Luckily a mountain biker appeared and said we were going in the right direction but queried why we came by such an arduous road. He assured us that the route to Gernika was straightforward but just before we depart says "...but the mountain is very easy". What bloody mountain we wonder to each other. We have 15km to go, are at the top of a hill 400m and have envisaged an easy freewheel down into town. Luckily for our tired bodies we managed to avoid "the mountain" but it has become a much repeated phrase.

Bagneres de Luchon 2/6/8

We are sat on a bench looking back down the narrow cave which curves away from us for over 150m. There is subtle lighting running alongside the walkway. The bare rock walls glisten with water and drips constantly fall from the low roof. We are both soaking wet. Sitting still is bearable for short periods but while walking the intensity of the heat and humidity becomes oppressive. I look for the heaters but am aware this is a natural phenomena, with the spa water permeating the rock and heating the cave to around 40C with 95% humidity. We are spending the afternoon at the Baths of the elegant spa town Bagneres de Luchon, 15 minutes in the cave is followed by 20 mins floating in the circular relaxation pool and then a spell on the recliners wrapped in white toga towels before repeating the process. After around 1200kms in 12 days its probably time we had a rest although all this relaxing is dangerous - I wake up the next morning feeling physically and mentally drained...

The Resistance and Vercors

Not having watched 'Allo 'Allo, my knowledge of the Resistance is limited but we were educated and given food for thought while traveling through The Vercors. This region, at the southwest tip of the Alps, was where the French Resistance first became organised, and is dotted with memorials to their courage. Cycling behind a screen of trees, the dramatic scenery only occasionally presents itself, but clearings reveal densely wooded slopes dropping to valleys hundreds of feet below. A landscape where many Resistance camps existed and their activity culminated in an attack on the Germans to coincide with the D-Day landings in July 1944. Promises of reinforcements from the Allies never materialised and despite their bravery many died due to the Germans superior equipment and air attacks. 15,000 German troops which would have otherwise been used on the Normandy front were deployed but the destroyed villages are evidence of the brutal retribution in the aftermath of the attack.
The most difficult decisions I have recently faced have been involved in the planning of this tour. Yet for those living under Nazi occupation, which occurred not so long before I was born, the decisions people faced were of a life and death nature. To collaborate or resist to face exile or extermination or to stand by while sections of society are eliminated?

Yellow Line Tour - Typical Day

6am
Alarm goes of and I emerge from the tent to prepare breakfast while Wendy packs away the sleeping bags and tent.

7am
On a good day we are cycling by this time and the sun is on our backs. With luck we have a pass to climb to get the adrenaline pumping.

Mid-morning
Stop to pick up food for lunch and probably a snack to keep us going.

12.30ish
With luck we find a stupendous view away from the road where we can eat too much bread and cheese before dozing in the warm sun. Or we seek shelter from the rain and get going quickly to avoid getting cold.

4-6
Hopefully, after completing 80-120km, we find a glorious isolated spot to camp, but lately, around Aosta this is difficult so may have to settle for a campsite.

Evening
Write blogs/diaries, prepare and eat our meal then have a game of cards before retiring to the tent at around 10, when Wendy sleeps and I read for a bit.

Events in the Shadow of Mt. Blanc 18/5

Approaching Aosta and heading towards Mt. Blanc, we decided to have a Saturday night hotel as the rain was increasing and we have become a little sodden lately. Our room had a full size mannequin on the balcony, a charming girl dressed as a chef. My initial attempt to manipulate her resulted in a dislocated arm (hers). After showering I tried to hang some washing on her hand which fell off, bounced on the balcony and dropped into the alleyway outside the hotel entrance. Obviously not being dressed I sent Wendy out to retrieve it. A dangerous woman , I kept clear of her (the mannequin) after that.
Next day cycled the 35km to Courmayer from where we have to take the bus through the Mt. Blanc tunnel as no passes are open. Unfortunately it doesn't run on a Sunday so, having missed my first F.A. cup final since 1968, I retired to a bar to watch the climax of the Italian season. When Inter score to seal the title the guy sat next to me jumps up, hugs his mate then, in a state of high excitement, slaps his hand against a door, shattering a clip frame and sending glass flying everywhere. Drama indeed.
Later, cooking our meal on the balcony, I become aware of undue interest from the hotel owner standing outside below. There's plenty of sizzling and spicy mushroom aroma so I turn the stove off and wave nonchalantly before withdrawing into our room. Later, after relocating the cooker around the corner, she emerges again and stands chatting in a position to see both halves of our balcony. Aware that the rice is about to boil over I have to pretend to hang washing out before bending down to switch the cooker off. Eventually she looses interest but for discretion we decide to eat indoors.
And all the while the slab of Mont Blanc rears over us and provides a backdrop to our activities. Well it would if it wasn't wreathed in cloud...

1 Day - 3 Breaks 17/5

Proceeding happily on smooth tarmac the back of my bike started swinging about alarmingly. I assumed it was my second puncture in 4500 km but the tyre was fine and the wheel was not buckled. Eventually discovered the frame had snapped where the chain stay meets the rear drop-out. Although we are in sight of shops it was Saturday morning and everything closes at midday until Monday.

The first break occurred during breakfast. Wendy crunched into her muesli and discovered what she at first thought was a stone but was half of one of her front teeth. Soon after I break the plastic pump on the petrol stove. Its not critical as it will still work but makes life a little tedious.

Later, after buying superglue I carry out emergency roadside dental repairs. With Wendy lying flat on her back I am kneeling over her superglue in one hand, tooth in the other when a van pulls up to ask if everything is ok!

We wheeled the bike to 4 auto repair shops before we found a willing mechanic who spent the best part of an hour with his assistant filing, welding and grinding to fix the frame. Initially I thought it would be a time consuming problem but we were away again in less than 2 hours. And Wendy's tooth is still in place...

Balkan Reflections 13/5

From the high heeled Saturday night of Bitola, Macedonia, through intriguing Albania, to the awesome beauty of Slovenia, the Balkans has been a memorable journey. But what shall remain imprinted most firmly on my brain is the recent suffering of Croatia and especially Bosnia as well as the warmth and helpfulness of the people.

Its remarkable that 10 years ago, although the conflict had officially finished, Bosnia was a lawless land of random and organised violence. Yet now, although the scars of war are all too visible we felt as safe free camping there as anywhere. Although the warnings about land mine caused some concern...

With Macedonia, Albania and Bosnia having majority Muslim populations it is surprising that, apart from the rocket shaped minarets attached to mosques, the call to prayer, headscarves, beards and prayer mats are absent, while alcohol is drunk with vigour and betting is a national pastime.

Slovenia, with its high standard of living, pristine mountains and quaint alpine villages was like moving into a comfort zone before we tackled those high alps ahead.

Italian Alps 10/5

Now we are back in the big hills and once again doing classic mountain passes. Stopped in Cortina yesterday which seems inhabited by ultra thin over made up 50-60 year old women. From there started up the Passo di Giau until we stopped to camp in the woods among patches of snow. Up early to continue our climb and we reached the top at 2232m before 9. These roads are tough, not the easy gradients of the Pyrenees with slopes which go up to 15% forcing me down through the gears. But what a treat we received on the way up. A blue and white pristine world with awesome peaks all around. The sort of snow filled, high altitude, isolated mountain world which is only usually experienced skiing before the crowds arrive. And the 29 hairpins on the downhill were a thrill.
In the afternoon we tackled the Passo di Fedaia, a mere 2057m but adjacent to the Marmolada ski area. This was probably our hardest road climb yet, coming as our second of the day, but we did pass a group of mountain bikers who were walking up which gave us some satisfaction...

5 Simple Things We Should Have Brought 7/5

OK we can't bring everything with us but there are a few things which would have been helpful, taken up very little space and weighed virtually nothing.

1) Needle and Cotton. We did bring a needle but it broke early on so a few of these would have been a good idea. Eventually found a shop selling them but ended up with 30...

2) Aerial Lead. A top tip is using a 1 metre length of wire and crocodile clip to extend the radio aerial. This increases the chances of getting the world service by about 50% but I failed to bring one.

3) Latex Gloves. Great for servicing the bikes and the petrol stove so that you stay away from the indelible blackness. I did try some plastic gloves from a petrol station but they quickly disintegrate.

4) Small Jubilee Clips. Fantastic for running repairs. Wendy has now got a broken front and rear rack and we could have done a permanent job instead of a tape and cable tie lash-up.

5) Bank Card Pin Code. What sort of idiot leaves home without remembering what his pin code is..?

I do realise that all of the above (except 5) could be bought given the time and inclination. But cycling intervenes and we will not get to Bilbao by June 11th if we start trawling around shops.

Winking Man 6/5

The blog has been necessarily a bit dark lately so I include this photo of a wooden statue outside a house in the north of Slovenia to lighten things. We have seen many similar carvings but usually are of giants pulling up trees.
This one is a little different in that he appears to be winking, or he could just have something in his eye...

Upsetting the Border Police 2/5 (Bosnia-Croatia)

Shortly after crossing into Croatia we headed north along a track which followed a railway and river up a narrow, beautiful, wooded valley. Warning signs alerted us that this was a restricted area as the road crossed the border several times. But after taking advice from some locals who said that it was only 18km and the border police had recently passed through we decided to risk it.
It was a fantastic ride up a remote unpopulated track. After leaving the main track and crossing the river into Croatia over a narrow bridge we found the condition of the track deteriorate before it crossed back into Bosnia. We emerged into a farm yard where we caused great astonishment to a potbellied Bosnian farmer who saw us emerge from nowhere.
What we hadn't been told was that further up was a customs post. The Bosnian guy was fine but the Croatian border guard was unhappy that we had travelled along the track. Luckily he had no English so although he was using 'illegal entry' in his stream of words we just pretended that we didn't understand. Eventually when he realised we had cycled from Greece he forgot not only about our indiscretion but also to check our passports.
Soon after we camped down a side road on a hairpin bend as there was little flat ground. No traffic came through before 6.30 in the morning when a border patrol came past. We were up and having breakfast and after checking our passports he was only satisfied after we assured him that we had no intention of going to Bosnia.

Conflict Aftermath, N. Bosnia 1/5

A flat Bosnian plain, around 1km wide bordered on our left by a dark ridge and further away to our right, mountains which disappear into the clouds. It´s mainly pasture with few trees but houses are randomly scattered around both close to the road and towards the ridge.

We are heading north towards the Croatian border and are seeing for the first time the wide scale devastation which has occurred in rural Bosnia as a result of the ethnic conflict. The houses are simple brick structures of varying sizes but all have been damaged in the war. Many are reduced to brick shells, roofs and windows missing while others have been patched up to provide shelter.

There is an EU "Program for Return" in operation but what a place to go back to. The worst sight was a house where the upstairs had been burnt out and the windows once sealed with polythene with people downstairs. In the distance to our right, all that is left of a village is the tightly packed crumbling gable ends pointing towards the sky. And this goes on for mile after mile, hundreds of properties all with the scars of war.

With no escape it´s a mentally gruelling ride. Those that survived the 'ethnic cleansing' that occurred have had to endure destruction, displacement and dispossession. And this was a war fought between neighbours, a conflict setting groups of people against each other who one lived peacefully.

Very similar to the chaos we have created in Iraq.

Bosnian Snow 30/5

We hit the snow at what I thought was the summit at around 1400m. However 3km later when we were still dragging the bikes across the long pass I realised how wrong I had been. And this was supposed to be a simple day. Up and over a pass, then another lower one before we hit the tarmac and put in some distance before finding a bar to watch the football in.
There was no easy way to get through the snow. It was fairly old and had melted and frozen again and we could see that no vehicle had passed this way for some time. It was a remote spot. Riding on the flat or uphill sections was impossible and pushing the bikes involved either finding a ridge to avoid the front wheel slipping sideways on the frozen sections, or where the snow was softer, trudging through ankle deep. The slightly downhill sections I did develop a technique for which involved keeping the front wheel absolutely straight which is not as easy as it sounds.
Eventually the snow ended and we decided against the second pass and were rewarded with 10s of kms of tailwind which zoomed us towards Livno in time for kickoff and gave us a record mileage of 118km.

Mostar, Bosnia 29/4

We visited the bridge, the symbol of conflict and renewal and strolled around the quaint rebuilt area of the old town. But it was the shattered homes which brought home some of the realities of the conflict that had taken place. Blocks of flats battered by gunfire and artillery which are still occupied. Windows bricked up except for small holes at the top to reduce blast damage. A road junction where the intensity of the fighting had left walls crazed with bullet holes.
I can hardly begin to imagine what it must have been like to have lived through this mayhem and it makes me realise how hard we must strive to avoid conflict and promote tolerance.
The previous day we had been in the village of Stolac where a young man approached, proud to show off his place to tourists. He told us that camping was safe as they were all good people there. And I'm sure he is right but the evidence of the derelict houses and pockmarked walls demonstrated what terrible forces within us can be unleashed when conflict starts.

Avoiding the Exploding Rim 28/4

I didn't see the pothole. I was concentrating on cars coming around blind bends on the single track Montenegran mountain road. But I certainly felt it. And my front wheel developed a distortion which increased through the day. Close inspection later revealed a small split in the braking surface of the rim.
What to do? The nearest town was 25km away and I have experienced exploding rims before which sound like gunfire and rip the tube to shreds. We set off early in the morning with deflated tyre and reduced weight. After 5km, while stopping to photograph frogs, an empty van pulled up and we accepted the offer of the ride to Bileca, crossing into Bosnia on the way.
No bike shop in town but after many enquiries we found a man with a van full off stuff who was quickly on his mobile and first a back and eventually a front wheel arrived. With free fitting and a spanner thrown in I am now the proud owner of a heavyweight Bosnian front wheel which should survive the Balkan road system. And we were off cycling again by 10.30...

Into Montenegro - An Unusual Entry

I struggled to keep up with Wendy as she chased our guide in what was the first of two car chases that day. Our destination was Montenegro on the far side of the River Bune. We had already spent a frustrating morning trying to find the nonexistent bridge marked on our map which now meant a 60km round trip. "I will get you across" said our lovely Albanian saviour, so we followed down an increasingly muddy track, in which his car got stuck, to the bank of a wide river where a small boat was waiting. Having come out of his way to help us he then insisted on paying the ferryman, who appeared from nowhere, to get us across.
Our second pursuit ended at a water mill, to which the proud owner was insistent we visited and photographed. So with leaky wellies on, I walked up the mill race to snap the spray of water emerging from the mechanism. Over coffee we heard stories of places he had worked all over the world but until we produced photographic evidence the mill owner refused to believe that we had arrived in Montenegro by boat.

Albanian History

"Use the motorway, you must always use the motorway" the driving instructor shouted at us in Albanian, which was being translated by one of his 5 pupils from the back seat. We were heading north from Tirana having finally escaped from its traffic mayhem which first involved being gridlocked, followed by a period of weaving around constantly stopping minibuses and bike eating manholes before enduring a dead straight highway on which the traffic noise alone was intensely unsettling. "And you must stop before dark as there are robbers about" he added helpfully before offering to put us up for the night.
Earlier we had passed a timeless scene of an older couple shepherding their goats and considered what they might have lived through. The reign of King Zog, invasion by Mussolini, occupation by Greece and Germany during the war, rule by Europe's most maverick dictator Enva Hoxha, who brought Stalinism and a cultural revolution before isolating the country and covering it with thousands of concrete bunkers due to fear of invasion.. Or perhaps they had just flown in from Monaco.
He may have ended up a tyrant but having joined the Resistance it should be noted that Albania, with its majority Muslim population was the only country occupied by the Nazis to end the war with a higher Jewish population due to their being sheltered and given false papers.

Kastrati Petrol

I'm unsure if this brand of Albanian petrol would catch on in Britain, but as a cyclist it has some appeal. Could also be useful in the fight against climate change.

Seen in Tirana 24/4/8

Tirana

Having been a country sealed off from the rest of the world for most of my lifetime Albania, and especially its capital, Tirana have a faintly exotic appeal. Its tourist attractions though are somewhat limited beyond a centre comprising both fascist and communist influences. The massive Socialist realist mural depicting heroes of the Revolution overlooks a featureless central square beyond which extends Mussolini's wide boulevard's.Capitalism is forging ahead with leafy streets swanky shops displaying high priced fashions overlooked by Soviet style housing blocks enlivened by gaudy patchwork painting courtesy of the artistic mayor.

Albania, but where is Castro?

Steamy heat, elegantly distressed buildings, donkeys, veteran tractors, Mercedes cars in various states of disrepair, ethnic music pumping out, 1960's buses, palm trees, so much about this country reminds me of Havana. Not that I have been to Cuba, but I did once watch Buena Vista Social Club.

Crossed the border still with a bundle of Macedonian Dinari which the bank could not change. However a bank official took me outside and made a call on his mobile. Moments later a guy arrived in classic overcoat with huge wads of notes in his pocket. Out with the calculator and the deal was done in moments giving us over 10,000 Albanian Lek to spend.

Traveling towards Tirana brought back memories of another place - Uganda. Verdant green mountains, smoky minibuses, precarious roads winding up high passes, torrential showers and great enthusiasm about our presence here is so reminiscent of The Last King of Scotland.

Into Macedonia & the town of Bitola

"Change money?" asked the ice cream seller to let us know we were now in Eastern Europe, as we sheltered from the uninhibited curiosity of downtown Bitola. It was Saturday lunchtime cafe society on the wide pedestrianised boulevard and we were the entertainment.

Booked into the wonderfully named Tokin House, on Marks i Engels St. just off Marshall Tito St! A further Iron Curtain moment occurred in the ultra modern supermarket. Due to non-recognition by the computer I was told it was not possible to have the cake I wanted and had to make do with another flavor that was selected for me.

Not having done our homework we knew little about Macedonia, including the value of its currency. Using the ATM did not help as it just gave us a choice of various quantities of Dinari so we had to guess a value from supermarket prices. Went for a slap-up birthday meal costing a whopping 1000 Dinari which we later found out to be 12 Quid.

Enjoyed the chilled atmosphere of Bitola with its tree lined streets and setting, nestling beneath the high mountains so we stayed a second night. We became part of the cafe set, sitting outside the Jazz bar and watching the world go by. By midnight its 100% stilettos except for 5 refusniks wearing trainers, but I'm assured they will be sent for re-education so they can fit in with the post-communist world.

New gear - Altimeter

Have wanted an altimeter for ages and finally got one in Barcelona. Thought at first it was jinxed as before I had fixed it on the bike, my wrist broke. However it is well suited to Greek mountains as the tightly packed peaks mean huge amounts of up and down and spectacular results. The key figure it records is the accumulated climb of each day so although the highest point we have been so far is around 1771m we have been averaging around 1200m of daily climbing (= to Snowdon) and so our altitude gained in the first Greek week was the same height as Everest. Other stuff it records is highest point, average gradient, steepest gradient, mileage etc. It sits on my stem but all these figures are too distracting so I cover it up and have the joy of seeing how hard the day was when we finish riding. Even off the bike it was useful as, because it works using atmospheric pressure, it makes an excellent barometer.

Ten Days in the Greek Mountains

With over 550km completed and an altitude gain exceeding 13000m its been a tough but enjoyable 10 days. The weather (from a cool start) got increasingly hot reaching 30C before plunging back down again to give us rain, a cold northerly wind, spectacular hail storms, fresh snow on the road and a 0C morning. Mainly the roads/tracks have been great although we keep ignoring advice that our route is unsuitable for bikes due to condition/steepness. Constant maintenance is required on the mountain roads with frequent rock slides and many sections with precarious overhanging boulders. Hugely rewarding though with rough tracks winding up wooded passes to reveal vistas of snow capped mountains and remote villages perched on precarious slopes.

Greek Mountain Slideshow

Our Greek Diet

Our daily food intake goes something like this -
Breakfast Where possible oats and (soya) milk powder with pumpkin seeds and sultanas. However oats are now hard to find so we have been having rice pudding with honey, washed down with cowboy coffee.
Mid-morning As well as biscuits to keep us going we have some or all of spinach pie/bananas/pineapple juice
Lunch Bread, cheese, tomato and onion and maybe an orange.
Afternoon (finished cycling)Green tea for Wendy and hot lemon for me. And nuts, either walnuts, cashews, peanuts or pistachios.
Tea A choice here, its either dal and rice or tomato sauce and pasta with cheese. Basic mix is the same, olive oil, onion and chopped tomato just an alteration of the herb/spice balance.
Sometimes we have local wine and usually we have a bar of chocolate during our evening game of cards.

Cyclist Bites Dog

Used to protect farms, property and most usually goats no story about cycling in Greece would be complete without mentioning them. Having developed tactics for countering their menace I have become far more confident over the years so they have become just annoying rather than scary. However one incident did cause some alarm. Cycling along the only busy road we have been on, 4 large dogs emerged snarling from farm buildings ahead and ran behind a long fence towards us barking furiously. Why make all that noise I thought when you can't get at us. My feelings changed as they emerged through a hole right by us and charged towards me. Into attack mode I swung the bike across the road and straight at the lead dog while roaring furiously which made 3 of them turn back through the hole and the biggest to turn its attention towards Wendy who soon saw it off. What was particularly scary was that it occurred on a section of road on which large trucks were doing 50mph. Luckily it was clear but if one of those had been around...

Route revamp - The Yellow Line Tour

Finally completed the big loop from Sicily to Kephalonia picking up the bikes along the way. Eased our way back into cycling mode with a couple of rides around the island and thought about our future direction. Original plan was to do some island hopping and maybe sailing. However it dawned on us that we had reached our most distant point but had only completed 3 weeks of (excellent) cycling. So decided that islands were too small to be messing about with and would head straight to Patra on the Peloponnese and then head north through the mountains of mainland Greece, in earnest. So new route is former Yugoslavia turn left through Alps then along the French side of the Pyrenees to Bilbao. Now its head down cycling, no tourist delights, no sunny beaches just peaks, passes and and sore asses.

APRIL FLOWERS

AND THE ARM IS MENDED...

FERRIES TRAINS AND FOOTBALL

Stromboli-Milazzo Sun(30/3) 2.5 Hrs Direction - South
Sat by the jetty as ferry sailed to Salina as we were caught out by the clocks going forward. Decided on Sicily instead as the next ferry went there. After a fruitless hospital visit we found somewhere to watch the football. Ordered pizzas and a goal for Napoli (v Palermo, a Sicilian team) which upset the locals. However, good atmosphere developed, which survived the 93rd minute Napoli winner.

Milazzo-Levanto Mon 15 Hrs Direction - North
After removal of plaster, caught the sleeper train to La Spezia, with the train going in the boat for the ferry crossing. Initially reserved attendant became very animated as he spoke of his love for English football and surprised us with his knowledge of Aston Villa.

Levanto-Ancona Tue 8 Hrs Direction - East
Reunited with our bikes and off to Greece. Back on the train to Ancona, arrived at half time, booked in hostel and got to the Velvet Cafe to find Man U. dismayingly already ahead away to Roma.

Ancona-Patras Wed 22 Hrs Direction - South
Overnight ferry on which the Bursar was as upset as us that none of the on board T.V.s were showing the football. After he made a flurry of strident phone calls we watched Liverpool achieve a slightly fortunate 1-1 draw against Arsenal which also pleased the Liverpool supporting Bursar. After another ferry which headed west for 2.5 Hrs we are now (after 4 days of travel) back at the same latitude as Sicily, although it was warmer in N. Spain 2 months ago...

STROMBOLI

I scrawled a signature with my left hand to confirm I was in peak physical condition for the guided ascent. Despite the warmth I wore a jumper to cover the plaster in case it caused concern. One of the Aeolian Islands, north of Sicily, Stromboli consists of its 924m volcano with 2 small villages clinging to its slopes. Constantly active, its last major eruption was in 2007, flattening 2 houses and spewing large rocks over the island.

The afternoon climb through lush vegetation was easy enough. After scrunching through a larva field we donned helmets and warm clothes before going up the windswept ridge to reach the summit. There we had the drama of not only a beautiful sunset lighting up a layer of cloud below us, but 170m down in a crater was a pool of glowing magma spitting out molten rock. Our walk was timed for sunset so that the red hot rock became increasingly visible amidst the swirl of smoke emanating from many places around the crater.

Our descent down a steep slope of soft volcanic ash was therefore in darkness. Our guide suggested we slid using our heels as if we were skiing. He didn't realise that if I did that I was likely to end up with another broken arm...

Stromboli slideshow

HEADING SOUTH

We decided cycling was impractical with a whole arm in plaster, so left the bikes along with clothes and a sleeping bag at a campsite in Levanto and became lightweight backpackers. The idea was to head south where it would be warmer and so would need less gear. Loved Naples, struggled with the crowds at Pompeii and headed off to a quiet hostel inland from the fantastic Amalfi coast. Have done 3 days walking in the hills and so far have endured thick mist, rain, howling winds, hail and now snow. Now heading further south to Sicily...

FOOTBALL IN NAPLES

As our bus crossed a chaotic junction to enter a one way tunnel, still some way from the ground, I thought our chance of seeing the first half was slim. All the traffic of Naples seemed to be heading for the tunnel and the nominal 4 lanes was a haphazard mass of cars and scooters wedged together for as far as we could see. We had left the hostel in good time with its manager as our guide but had stood at a busy junction for ages, engrossed by traffic weaving at speed and the constant noise of horns and sirens.

Eventually a bus arrived and transported us into the tunnel vortex. We escaped by jumping off and catching a nearly empty train which took us direct to the stadium. Wendy shoved and I followed into the crowd by the turnstiles but such was our rush we only just avoided going in the section with the notorious hard core Napoli Ultras. We were in our seats at the top of the stand with 2 minutes to go but only after I had squeezed through the full height turnstile with another fan due to a ticket problem.

The feeling that this really is a crazy city was confirmed when the police helicopter, which had been swirling overhead, appeared above the roof behind one goal and flew the length of the pitch at a shockingly low height just before kick-off.

The San Paolo stadium has 2 tiers of seating which sweeps in an oval broken only by a net which descends from the roof to cage the 250 away fans, looks a little like a shabby Millennium. The 50,000 crowd created a fantastic atmosphere and delighted in jumping up and down Baggie style. They also displayed huge banners, critical of the way football is administered, in an impressively organised manner. They were single letter height but 10's of metres long, and were passed along a row of seats folded, to be unveiled in unison with other banners.

And the football - Napoli's young Argentine star, Lavezzi, got 2 goals in the first half and they contained forth placed Fiorentina in the second.

CAMPING WITH A PLASTERED ARM

Cinque Terre, NW Italy

Now that I have some strength in the fingers of my right hand, and I have trained my left, I have re-learned some simple tasks. Tying shoe laces, shaving, using the cooker signing my name and brushing my teeth. Although the up and down motion of teeth brushing with the other hand took a week for me to become around 50% efficient at. The one thing I have failed to do is wash my left armpit. My left arm will not bend back far enough to wash it completely and my rigid right arm misses by 6 inches. Luckily people have been very helpful, pizzas arrive pre-cut and shopping gets packed up for me. On the campsite a young German woman sympathised and asked if there was anything they could do to help. She seemed so keen to assist and although I didn't want to disappoint her, I managed to resist mentioning my arm pit cleansing problem.

The photo below is of my arm decorated by Wendy to give a complete overview of the Cinque Terre.

LEVANTO - SURFING IN THE MED

Just north of the 5 fishing villages tucked into steep coves on a dramatic coastline, known as the Cinque Terre, is the resort town of Levanto which sits on a lovely bay, has a great beach and a promenade to which most of the town seems to congregate in the late afternoon to eat ice cream.
What surprised us here was the presence of not only surf but also surf culture. I realise that storms in the Med. occasionally produce waves but didn't know that there were places that experienced swell regular enough to attract surfers from far and wide. We arrived at a sunny Levanto after a period of settled weather to find the front packed with surfers camper vans and tens of surfers enjoying the 5-6ft waves.

SNOWBOARDING - A RETURN TO THE SLOPES

Shortly after this shot was taken, the board slipped forward and shot off down the mountain. Luckily I quickly jumped off - those things are dangerous.

A SNOWBOARDING MISFORTUNE

Limone, Italy (Nr. Nice)

If 28km of blue flashing lights was unnecessary, then the wheelchair, at Cuneo hospital seemed a complete over-reaction. After all, having fallen awkwardly snowboarding, I had carried on skiing down the mountain, caught a bus back to the hotel and we were about to board a train to Cuneo before 2 other guests came rushing up the platform calling us back to our hotel. On arrival 3 paramedics rushed in and wrapped a huge padded orange splint around my arm which looked like it had a small insect bite on the wrist. There followed a fantastic Keystone Cops comedy moment, as the 3 of them tried frantically to inflate the splint. With one working furiously on the pump which first fell to bits and then kept coming disconnected from the splint, the others took it in turns to adjust the valve. The net effect of much effort was zero but I told them my wrist was much more comfortable and they were all pleased with their work.

And our skiing holiday had started so badly. The previous day (our first) we reached the ski school (via a long gondola lift and walk down a piste) to be told that the beginners' snowboarding school was at the bottom of the mountain. To reach it we had to go up a long steep drag lift and back down the gondola. For Wendy, who had not snowboarded before, this was a dramatic introduction to the sport. After a 2 minute lesson and a couple of falls from the lift she started walking back up to the gondola. I got on the lift, went less distance than Wendy, fell off and jarred my back. Luckily the carabineri had seen our antics, were keen to get us off their mountain, and picked us up on a skidoo and deposited us at the lift.

Mid-afternoon lying on a stone wall by the nursery slopes trying to rest my back and knowing that a) our ski pass did not cover these slopes, b) they did not take cash and c) the bank fraud squad had put a stop on our cards I was already getting a feeling that this ski trip may not have been a great idea. But Wendy sorted the bank, I took a load of painkillers, and under the instruction of first me then Carlo, Wendy was doing linked turns in 3 hours snowboarding - a fantastic achievement.

Higher up the mountain the next day snowboarding was more difficult due to the hard, packed month old snow. I felt I was progressing well on the steeper slopes and it was while dawdling along trying to avoid a child on a gentle run that I caught an edge, fell suddenly on my bum, jarring my wrist. I knew immediately that it was at least a bad strain and said out loud to myself, "for you, ze snowboarding iz over" (I'm reading a book about an escaped WW2 P.O.W.).

I had said to Wendy before getting to Limone that even if I broke my wrist I would carry on cycling, but my plans were stopped by the plaster which extends to my shoulder. Still the service at the excellent Cuneo hospital was good. The ambulance picked us up at 6 and we returned by taxi to the hotel after a 56km round trip, x-ray and plastering at 8.15 just in time to have a meal then watch Arsenal thrash AC Milan.

And to watch the first snowfall for a month leave a thick soft covering all over the mountains...

90 MINUTES UPHILL - NONSTOP

The climb out of the Tuxien valley was not the steepest we have done, or the longest, but considering our depleted state, doing it nonstop seemed some achievement.

The previous day the Puerto de Canto was 21 km uphill and 26 down again to complete the 1000m climb. Despite the drizzle the ride was comfortable enough and we then had a short stretch of main road before turning onto a minor road with a few hairpins and looking for a camp spot. We should have known, hairpins = no flat land and d'oh we forgot to fill up with water. Now late afternoon we looked up in astonishment as the road loomed far above us. On we went, reaching the top (around 700m up) after dark. A 96km day with 1700m climbed.

Off early the next day after a 1 banana breakfast we were dismayed to find the tarmac ran out and the track continued uphill. And this was not well graded woodland trails. Loose road builders' rubble shifted around under our tyres making steering tough work and progress jarring. After 20km of looping around a deep valley we emerged with weary relief back onto the tarmac. For the first time in Spain my body felt tired and my legs buckled when walking. We celebrated with a 'what's left in the panniers?' garlic rice risotto. I was saving the Kendal Mintcake surprise pasta for later.

And it was with relief that we started our final climb. For the length of a football match (without the break) or a movie we continued pedalling to the top. Although it was hairpins through wooded slopes the col kept appearing, at first a dismaying sight above us, then as we progressed and our bodies felt stronger, an encouraging one. The 90 minutes passed quickly as we climbed at a slow but steady rate. Although nearing the top I put on an extended burst of speed in a vain attempt to catch a grocery van which I assumed would stop at the cafe on the summit. Despite the lack of lunch it was with great satisfaction that we reached the top, although a cold wind meant that the moment had to be savoured later.

GENOA - A TALE OF 2 VISITS

I first visited Genoa in 2001 as part of the demonstrations protesting against the policies of the G8 who were meeting in the city. Of particular concern was the increasing exploitation of developing world labour markets, unfair trade policies, increasing barriers to the movement of people and the use of war to maintain the control of the world's resources. I was there with the knowledge that 1/2 the population of the world lives on less than 2 dollars a day and I wanted the world leaders to acknowledge this and start implementing changes, fast.

But we were not welcomed to the summit. In fact Berlusconi went out of his way to disrupt the plans of anyone with an alternative viewpoint visiting the city. Trains, planes and coaches were stopped while the people of Genoa were warned of an invading rabble which was about to descend on their city.

Although locked out of the old city by a ring of steel, the demonstrations, which took place over two days, were huge, vibrant, noisy and uplifting. But the visit was overshadowed by the death of Carlo Giuliani who was shot dead by a carabiniere and the savage beating of a number of demonstrators still in their sleeping bags by a group of carabinieri who invaded the media centre in the middle of the night.

My personal memories of the one night staying in the reception centre (a car park on the seafront) is of the almost constant presence of a low flying helicopter and, with the knowledge of the beatings that had taken place, vain attempts to find a safer place to sleep. It was not a pleasent experience.

Arriving on the ferry from Barcelona in sunshine on a flat sea, Genoa seemed a different place than the siren filled one of my memories. Cycling from the port I let out a shriek of triumph as I saw that the memory of Carlo lives as his name featured in some of the first grafitti I spotted.

The old city of Genoa is a fascinating collection of small twisting alleyways and streets opening up into squares featuring astonishing architecture. And the whole place is so vibrant. Unlike the quiet Spanish towns we visited, Genoa is full of a cosmopolitan mixture of people.

3 GEARS ON MY BIKE

Eschewing the 24 gears fitted to my bike, I am trying to use only three of them. I stick the chain on the 5th gear of the rear cassette and just use the 3 chain rings to alter the ratios. Madness? Possibly but there is also a sound reason. Buying a saddle just before a tour is not a good idea! By sticking to limited ratios it forces me to stand more than normal and so relieves the pressure on my behind. There are exceptions, like when going up a long steep climb (I can't stand up forever) but for the moment I am getting pleasure from this self imposed limitation. I have previous experience of this. In the Himalayas my transmission became so worn that in order to stop the chain jumping I had to fix it around the smallest chaining and 1 rear cog giving me just 3rd gear. Not too bad for climbing but any level ground had my legs whirring away... Luckily for me this area has limited flat roads. As an act of kinship which I shall never forget, our travelling companion, Paul also kept in 3rd gear. His bike however had a jammed freewheel so he descended with his legs lifted and pedals whirring furiously...

THE GORGE AT LUMIER

Described locally as the best fluvial gorge in Navarre. Something of an understatement I would think. Imagine Cheddar, but deeper, with no road and certainly no tacky shops at the bottom. We emerged after a climb unexpectedly at the head of the gorge and were astonished at the chasm which dropped away from us. With cliff sides of around 1000ft and a turbulent river running along the bottom it was a stunning site. Also a haven of wildlife with many birds of prey to be seen hunting hundreds of feet below us.