Ignorance, a Dominatrix, and a Ferry to Nowhere

Day: 36 (Himare, Albania to Konispol, Albania)

Average Speed: 15 km/hr (9 mph)

Distance Today: 82.6 km (51 miles)

Distance Cycled Total: 3578 km (2223 Miles)

Mood: Whipped

What's this? A cycle path in Albania?? It can't be! It's too good to be true...

200 meters later.

Want to know something that I know practically nothing about?

Bicycles.

I know a little bit about irony, but damn… that thing that I’ve ridden over 8,000 miles on in a calendar year- No clue. We get along great, me and Trek. We really do. But it’s a very superficial relationship. Just pats on the back and smacks on the ass after a tough ride. 

We have the same relationship that Little League coaches have with their outfielders. 

I started losing my rear brake a long time ago. I noticed. But I ignored. 

It’s a lot harder to ignore when that brake becomes absolutely worthless and the front starts to call it a night as well. 

Especially when you’re on the coast of Albania, where long 10% climbs are the par, and the switchbacked descents are equally as wicked. 

I remember when I thought the coast of Montenegro was difficult with those silly 8% climbs. Ha! Ha ha! ha ha ha…. ugh.  

And Croatia, your 6% is pathetic. You should be ashamed. I barely needed brakes for you.

Priorities.

I had intended to watch a few YouTube videos on bicycle maintenance before leaving New York- but then “Orange is the New Black” released a new season on Netflix, and… you know how that goes. 

Whatever. It’s just a bike. How complicated could it be?

This morning, with brimming confidence, I found my multi-tool, looked at the brakes, and saw three screws I could’ve tightened. 

I stared at each of them for about 30 seconds. 

Then I put the multi-tool back where I found it and decided I’d use Fred Flintstone style brakes if need be.

I’m not mechanically inclined. 

This tool and some brains is all you need to fix a bike.
I have the tool.

But it’s rather a problem when it takes 200 meters to come to a stop. Really. It’s also very, very scary. 

I dealt with it until I reached the city of Sarande- only four huge climbs away from my starting point- and asked a car mechanic if he knew of a bicycle repair shop. He briefly assessed my problem before answering. Looked at me blankly. Grabbed a screwdriver. And fixed the problem in less than thirty seconds. Then he looked at me blankly again and shrugged.

I would’ve loved to take a self-deprecating photo capturing my ignorance, but the repair was over too quickly. I still don't know which of the three he tightened. 

Best dollar I’ve ever spent. 

Goats stare at me mock my effort.

It turned out to be another brutal day on a bicycle here in Albania. I still love this country, but wow. I really think they designed these roads just to mess with cyclists. 

The coast of Albania, personified.

A mountain range like the Rockies politely demands respect. 

And the Albanian coast demands respect too, but in a dominatrix sort of way. 

These mountains are dressed in leather and wielding a whip. It gets to the point that you don’t even feel a sense of accomplishment when you finish a climb because celebration is futile. All she’s doing is temporarily putting away the whip and bringing out the ball gag for a bit. 

There's a woman spewing chunks to my left.

I stopped for a photo op at one point, and a car pulled in next to me. I went to approach the passenger side in order to ask the woman to snap a pic of me, but it turns out they weren’t there to take in the scenery. Instead, she opened the door and vomited. 

Splat!

I decided this was a good time to try the iPhone’s panorama mode instead. 

This kid gives a fig.

Still, these climbs do offer their rewards. At the top of one, a small child saw me and came running over for a high five. Then he ran back to a fig tree, picked one, and offered it to me with a huge smile. It was delicious, and his innocent delight was refreshing. It’s this sort of thing one will never experience touring by bus or car, and it’s this sort of thing that happens constantly. Day in and day out.

Also, things eased up eventually. 10% climbs became 4% climbs and several flat sections helped to restore some confidence. But the bulk of the day was spent fighting the first 40 kilometers of the ride, and by the time I got to Sarande, I was secretly delighted that the cycle route suggested taking a ferry to the island city of Corfu and then another back to the mainland. I figured I was done for the day, and took a long lunch break, picturing myself sipping on Mai Tais and playing shuffleboard while the sun set on my first night in Greece. 

Not quite the ferry I was hoping for...

But the last ferry left at 4 PM. 

And I arrived at 4:09. 

Oh well. 

Neither Google nor my new cycle app seemed to know of a way to head south without the ferry or a drastic detour, so I aimlessly created my own route.

There was a ferry of sorts… a tiny barge that’s pulled back and forth over a small inlet by cables. I took that instead.

There were no mai tais. 

And I ended up in the tiny town of… hold on… let me check… Konsipol. 

The setting sun vs. the directionless cyclist

I thought about pedaling through the night, but I wasn’t prepared enough. Low on water and rations, flashlights not fully charged, external battery at half-power, and a SIM card that will be rendered worthless when I cross the border into Greece. 

But I was rejuvenated by the time I got here, and my gas tank was full.

CHEERS FOR THE RED BULL,
HEIDI MEIER!

I’m off the tourist trail- no familiar faces of the same backpackers hopping from town to town anymore. 

Pretty much everyone in Albania is willing to rent out a room for 10 bucks, and when I saw a small sign that simply said ROOM, I bit. 

I’m charging all of my devices and trying to mentally prepare myself for a big ride. It’s time. 

It may have been a tough day under the whip, but I feel good. 

Never knew I was into that sort of thing.

P.S.

In America, we protect our crops with scarecrows...

Albania is much cuter about it. 

SCARE BEARS!