The final leg to AthensOn the Greek side, I am waved on, my passport checked (yes I have one) and on to the vehicle inspection. I am asked where I am from and am immediately told “Welcome to Greece, you are free to go”. Whoa, this has been the fastest border crossing in the history of man-kind. I am so elated that I just drive away onto the huge motorway that goes all the way to Athens, not stopping for coffee or anything.

I stop at a gas station a few km down the road and got the friendly staff to point out a few must-see’s on my newly purchased map of Greece. On further consideration, what I really want to do is get to Athens and get my bike shipped before my wife arrives so that we can enjoy our time together. To slow the process somewhat, I decide to continue taking secondary roads, being more scenic and slower. It is however quite difficult to stay off the motorway. All the signposts point to next big town and before you know it you are on the motorway on-ramp. I manage to keep off the motorway except for one time when I ended up stuck on the motorway going back from where I had come. About 40km wasted because it was 20km to the nearest exit.
My hurried entry into Greece proved to be a problem as all the banks were closed and nobody wanted the heap of yurtles (Yeni Turkish Lire or YTLs) that I had. I had to use my Visa card in money machines again.

Rode on to Kavala where I bought tomatoes to go with dinner and awful chocolate croissants for breakfast. The croissants were the kind in cellophane with a use-by date of next month, an abomination. They have the outward appearance of a croissant but the taste and texture of not much.

South of Kavala in the gathering twilight, I find an area used by the Kavala 4-wheel-drive club. It is vacant land in a valley on the side of a mountain. Not the most picturesque place but it fits the bill, quiet and isolated. I maintain a reclusive life-style avoiding other people when camping alone unless in a camping ground. As I ride up the valley between tongues of scrub, I am briefly followed by a pair of mongrel dogs. The allure of a motorcycle is not lost on them and there is a bit of chasing and barking until I lose them at speed (hopefully showering them with stones). Well up the valley I find a suitable campsite out of sight of the road, flat soft ground sheltered from any wind.

The last camp

I set up camp and decide to do a little bike maintenance. The tail-light bulb needs replacing and I had purchased one during the day. It was an amazing purchase. I pulled into an old-time gas station hat was run by two pretty women. I expected the spare parts section to be closed, it being Sunday but they said no problem (in English). When I asked for the bulb she went through the options 6 or 12V, combined stop and tail, base type? It was great and it cost naff-all.
The old bulb was welded into the housing, in fact the whole tail-light unit had softened when riding with my fingers on the brake lever when first riding in Russia. No amount of wiggling would release the bulb so I got out my trusty (and exceeding sharp) Swiss-army knife for some delicate prising. Unfortunately the delicate prising turned into concerted levering and then some pushing so that the knife folded up trapping my right middle finger in the process. One quick look confirmed that this was a deep cut with a high likelihood of damage to the extensor tendon in the back of the finger. I wrapped it up quickly to stop the bleeding and made dinner while I considered my options. After dinner I cleaned the finger with Betadene and used steristrips to close the wound and keep the finger straight. While doing this, the mongrel dogs came past barking at me. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and made me feel vulnerable. I attempted to throw a few stones at them to show who was boss but a right-hand throw hurt like mad and my left-hand throwing was all girly.

Monday 3rd September 19,197km (566km yesterday)
Up early after a good night’s sleep. Chocolate croissant for breakfast, YUM! (Is there a punctuation mark for sarcasm?)
I have decided to head directly to Athens via the fastest route for 2 reasons, my previously stated keenness to get there and the strong possibility of needing a hand surgeon. I think my best chance of finding a good doctor is in Athens and if I do need surgery, will I still be able to ride, it being my throttle and brake hand?
Gassed up and onto the A2 motorway that goes all the way to Athens. It is an all-day blast through Thessaloniki and down almost to Athens.
I have stopped at motorway rest areas for rests and refreshments and because they take credit cards. No banks on the motorways and when I left the motorway I got caught in a huge traffic jam in a town that I don’t remember and never found a bank.
I eventually reached the environs of Athens but I don’t want to go into Athens in the evening so turn off towards Kalamos on the east coast. It is never good entering a city in the evening because it makes you desperate and you end up in an expensive hotel. At least in the countryside you can just stop and camp. I follow a sign to camping but it turns out to be a university dormitory camp that is all closed up. I reach the coast and head north eventually finding the Hotel Flisvos. Forty Euro a night but clean and it has covered parking for the bike. The front yard is an absolute disaster area that I’m sure has discouraged many a prospective guest. The hotel is almost guestless so that front yard must have worked it’s magic. It is nearing the end of the season as well.
Washed and laundried and I needed it. It has been 6 days since leaving Trabzon and this is my first wash although I did swim at Gallipolli so it is only my clothes that smell (ha ha)
I take a stroll along the road but none of the local restaurants take credit cards so I go without dinner conserving my last Euro 8.50 for emergencies or road tolls.
In bed early after a long and tiring day. I have done 1150km, my biggest day yet although the roads were very good and the weather fine.

Tuesday 4th September 19780km
Away by 8:00am but unfortunately the hotel doesn’t take credit cards either (even though I had checked when I booked in and even showed them the card) I had to ride 10km up the coast to find a money machine. I would have gone there last night if I had known that it existed. Paid off the hotel and then headed towards Athens with my new-found wealth.
I stop at a motorway McD’s for coffee and a map. The map is huge, incredibly detailed and only covers half of Athens! I eventually find Mitropouleos street and square where Marg has booked the apartment. It is in the Plaka, a touristy area and for want of any other target, I choose that one. I figure that although I am almost a week early, I will find a cheap hotel there and get to know the area.
As I head down the motorway in increasingly dense traffic, I get my first sample of the notorious Greek driver. Actually it is the motorcyclists who are mad, blasting between slow-moving cars. With the day getting hotter and the traffic almost at a standstill I join them, tail-end Charlie to a group of motorcyclists. I figure that by the time I pass a car at least three other bikes will have already gone past so the driver should be aware.
The motorway into Athens becomes more like an expressway with unmarked roads joining and leaving. There is no way for me to read the map in my tank-bag without glasses and the exits are just street names, not labeled or numbered exits so I eventually end up at the sea. At this point the expressway has become city streets so I stop and orientate myself. As luck would have it I can follow main thoroughfares back and quickly end up at Mitropouleos square and the apartment. The nearest hotel (the Metropolis) is too expensive so choose the Pella Inn at Euro 40/night. No secure parking so the bike is locked to an historic street monument and the alarm set.
The receptionist is a large surly woman demanding cash up front so I get cash from an ATM and return. I am soon ensconced, showered and clean-clothed. Surly receptionist turns very helpful when I enquire about a hospital. It is not far from Monastariki by Metro, two stops to Evangelissmo.

I find the Evangelissmo hospital and take a number. To get a number, you have to go somewhere else in the hospital and pay 6 or 8 Euro. I am directed from the surgery to Orthopaedics. People are very helpful and there is quite a friendly atmosphere, orthopaedics generally being non-urgent and many people returning for post care. My turn with the specialist but he is unable to help directing me to the Red Cross hospital by taxi.
I get to the Red Cross and wait outside Orthopaedics with absolutely nothing happening until 2:30 when the department opens (remember this, it OPENS at 2:30, you will be tested on it later). There is no sign detailing the opening hours and I was just told to wait there. After that it is VIP service. The doctor sets to and repairs the tendon then and there, the only distraction being that the surgeon receives several calls on his cell-phone from his wife. The reason becomes obvious later when his heavily pregnant wife arrives to take him to an appointment and he leaves hurriedly on completion. I am left with a sore finger in a HUGE aluminium and foam splint on my right middle finger that makes it look like I am rudely gesturing all the time. I must return on Thursday for a dressing change, external stitches out in 2 weeks, in a splint and sling for a month.
I return to the hotel (just 4 stops on the Metro) and then an internet café to give Marg her first news of my accident. I can’t really complain, 20,000 km across Japan, Russia, Mongolia, Turkey and Greece and only one small cut (other than the collision in Aldan which severely injured my pride).
I have a well-earned beer down the road which turns into dinner (Moussaka) at the restaurant MOYZEZ (which converted to the English alphabet is Mouses) No mice are apparent and the food is good.
I read an ENGLISH book from the hotel “library” until bedtime. This is the first book I have read since Ulaan Bataar in July and it feels soooo good.

Wednesday 5th Sepember 2007 19837km
A restless night with my finger smarting. I knew this would happen given the amount of anaesthetic the doctor used and the dragging around my finger got while he was finding the tendon. Panadol AND codeine used to some effect. It certainly gives you a warm woozy feeling even if it doesn’t get rid of all the pain. I can see how it could be habit-forming.
Time to organize shipping. The freight company appears to be kosher and Lena is very helpful. They will pick the bike up from a pick-up address and deliver it to my home in New Zealand all for the 1500€ + 2% of insured value insurance + VAT (Eeeek!) This is four times the price it cost to freight from NZ to Japan and twice my budget.
The bike must be scrupulously clean to pass NZ quarantine and be fuel-free for shipping. In Trabzon, I had contacted a few freight agents in Athens and Piraeus but had received only one reply. This reply was expensive and included packing up the bike. As it has now transpired, this was exactly what I need as my right hand is splinted and useless. I don’t know whether I will be able to ride the bike but I will cross that bridge when I come to it.
I have found a KTM dealer nearby who can be used as a pick-up address for the freight company.
I felt wretched this evening, unable to finish my beer or dinner. This is a serious turn of events for me. I don’t think beer has ever eluded me before in my whole life! In my barely memorable encounters, it has been the abundance rather than the poverty that has been the problem.
I went back to the hotel and read until sleepy.

Thursday 6th September 2007
Feeling 100% this morning and rode the bike to the carwash. My finger didn’t foul the bush-bars and I don’t really need the front brake… Absolute VIP treatment for 8 €. Having no side-stand always makes it a little tricky for beginners so there were a few near misses on the slippery surface.
Back to the hotel and bought a 20 litre container to drain out most of the fuel. It took a few attempts but managed to give it away to a guy with a Honda step-through. It should last him weeks.
Change of dressing day so back to the Red Cross hospital arriving at 2:30 opening time the same as on Tuesday. I am first in the queue!
Slow realization dawns as I remain first in the queue for another half an hour. Upon enquiry I find that the orthopaedic clinic CLOSES at 2:30pm on Thursdays! Will not open again until 9:00am tomorrow. Now I understand what people in the queues had laughingly said, that the Greek system is the absence of a system.
More freight dicking around, they can’t pick the bike up from inside the “blue” zone (the tourist area of the Plaka) and so I must ride it to a rendezvous by the temple of Zeus not far away as the crow flies but a life away in the one-way system in this area.
I also have to scrape up the cash which is more a logistical problem what with daily limits on each card and finding banks that work for debit card, Visa and Mastercard.
There is no way to get that sort of money together by tomorrow so I will have to make a return trip to pay the balance after delivering the bike.
Have arranged all my riding gear into two bags, riding gear in one, Sleeping bag, mattress and surplus clothes in another. The shippers wouldn’t accept the additional bags trying to double the price on the pretext of requiring another shipping container. What a load of old bollocks! They accepted the soft panniers grudgingly.

On my way back I come across two sights which epitomise Greeks and motorcycles. There are motorcycles everywhere, parked anywhere and going everywhere. They are an accepted and disregarded part of life. So disregarded in fact that they could be dismissed entirely as the picture below demonstrates.

No Parking!

There is also a huge range of bikes with adventure bikes topping all other categories. One category poorly represented but memorable was the "old codger" category.

Old codgers and BMWs never die (or at least never admit to it)

Friday 7th September 2007
Went to the Red Cross for 9:00am. By 10:00am having made no progress up the queue (maybe there wasn’t a queue) I abandoned the business and will change the dressing myself.
Took the KTM for a spin around the square on my way to the freight company. The square was shown as continuous on the map but wasn’t in reality so there was a little looping around streets. I join the madding throng of motorcyclists blowing off cars at the lights and had a great time of it. I never saw the Temple of Zeus despite passing the known location. On to the freighters in Evripidou St, a reverse of my entry route into Athens. I took all my stuff just in case I can ride the bike to the warehouse and leave it there.
Julie, Lena’s stand-in is very nice and yes I can leave the bike there. All proceeds swimmingly until it is found that I have no entry stamp for the bike. The nice man who said “Welcome to Greece, you are free to go” missed the vital “…but first I must stamp your passport”. An ingratiating call to the customs people and a signed declaration later and it is all done.
I drained the last of the fuel, disconnected the battery and taped a few things in place and then an emotional farewell to the KTM.
The KTM has done amazingly well. For a competition enduro bike to travel 20,000 only missing a beat momentarily as the carburetor slide self-destructed, was a fairly amazing feat. I had only done oil changes at more than twice the recommended intervals due to lack of quality oil or time. I had burned up 6 tyres, 2 chains, 4 front sprockets and over 1,000 litres of fuel. I had been from snow to searing desert, sea-level to over 3,000m, 96 octane fuel right down to 80 octane, all without changes to jetting and always running smoothly. All the gear that I had made or bought worked well without change throughout the trip and I carried the least gear of any adventure rider I met. There was no time when I thought “I really should have brought a…”
Having taken the advice of such adventure legends like Chris Scott to heart, most of whom said that less was the new more, it was great to ride a bike both on-road and off that wasn’t a lumbering behemoth. My only disagreement was the advice that it was no good riding a good-handling bike because once you put all the gear on, it would become a pig anyway. That isn’t true. The KTM still handled better fully-loaded than a KLR empty, had better crash-resistance not having a whole heap of junk parts bracketed all over it and is better made for the conditions. As an illustration of this last point, would any manufacturer of adventure motorcycles use a small slide-in paper air filter? Well yes, the aforementioned KLR.
I had been incredibly lucky with the weather, it being generally fine for all except 5 or 6 days. I had heard of a German couple who struck –18C overnight and +4C daytime temperatures in August. Conditions such as those would have severely tested my endurance and would have limited a days travel to less than 300km, wheras we had typically made 600km across Russia.
I was also fortunate to have made it safely without major incident, accident or injury despite the grave warnings of uninformed and informed people alike. The sheer time and distance involved increases the probability of accident and the long days made fatigue a likely contributor to the risk. I had also traveled for as much as 10,000km alone. I had done over 5,000km on gravel roads at 100km/hr in blinding dust.

And so it was with a mixture of sadness and relief that I kissed my old friend goodbye, sadness because a great adventure had come to an end and relief that I had made it safely and would be seeing my wife in two days time for a romantic holiday in the Greek islands.
I had met some great people along the way, foremost of whom was Mario. Ever-optimistic even at the end of a tiring day, mentally strong, well-prepared, great company. I had traveled with Mario for almost a month and there was always good conversation and a convivial atmosphere around the campfire. When we parted at Sochi, the separation came upon me quickly and I didn’t say the things I felt. So in my understated Kiwi way, I’m saying them now. Well met my friend.

Another was Bill, my original planned traveling companion who despite great adversity made it to Ulaan Bataar only to have been hurt in a fall in sand in the Gobi desert. He still made it to Austria under his own steam and was able to catch up with the many friends we made in Mongolia.

Special mention must be made of Renee and Sybille, the owners of the Oasis in Ulaan Bataar. A kinder, more gentle couple I have yet to meet. They attract travelers and engender a relaxed, social atmosphere. Renee & Sybille have also built and run a furniture workshop that employs people who Renee euphemistically says have “had a hard life”. Renee teaches them the trade and despite having received some “hard treatment” from them himself on occasion continues in his heart-felt belief. It is the work of a truly good couple, open, generous and caring in their actions without fanfare.

And a final mention to the amazing people of Russia, Grandi & Shushtrik in Vladivostok, Evgeny (and his friends) in Khabarovsk, Sergey (and his many friends including Lyuba) in Birabidzhan, Sergey in Belagorsk, Sasha in Yakutsk, and Sergey & Ira (and their circle of friends) in Ulan Ude. I would have spent many miles on a train without your help. You welcomed me into your homes, introduced me to your friends, fed me and helped me unstintingly. Your hospitality is legendary, your hearts are great. I salute you!