Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Today’s stats:
Distance traveled today: 56.21 km
Total trip distance: 2914 km
Max speed:  43.88 km/ hour
Average speed: 12.40 km / hour
Total time biking: 4:32
Total days biking: 51
Spending: 6360 leke ($64)

We understood this morning why there was left over poo in the toilet bowl yesterday. The electricity was out most of last night (bad news for drying our clothes with the heater) and when I took my own poo this morning, I couldn’t flush the toilet. Water pump hadn’t worked all night, I guess? Richard had to go too and by the time we were both finished, the bowl was full of ugly turds that wouldn’t go down. After a risk of overflow, wefinally unplugged the situation with the toilet bowl brush. It wasn’t pretty…

My shoes were still wet this morning, so I put plastic bags over my feet to protect them from the cold dampness, and from the future rain I was sure would fall on us later...

As Richard lubed the bike chains outside the hotel, a10-year-old boy stood watching, without saying a word. Just watching, touchingat times, wishing, perhaps, he was Richard’s little assistant. It was charming.

We took off on the only direct route to get to the southern coastal town of Saranda: the 1,000m high Logara pass. The first 8km from Orikum were flat, giving us plenty of time to take in the ominous shroud of thick cloud trapped between the two mountain ranges we were about to cycle through.The mountains were ribbed by years of water erosion. We couldn’t even see their peaks, so thick were the clouds. We both felt sluggish.

Then, the climb began. “I think this is going to be easy,”Richard said. “Nowhere near as bad as they say.” Then the rain began to fall. And the fog set in. It was going to be a long morning.

We climbed 10% grades for some 11km through heavy rain. I pushed my bike repeatedly. At the entrance to Llogara Park, we stopped for coffee at a road-side restaurant to warm up. We dripped from our helmets, jackets, gloves, and booties as we walked into the small, fire-warmed place,embarrassed at our appearance and the mess we were creating. We were so cold,we decided to stay for lunch – delicious grilled meat – and didn’t venture back into the cold for another hour.

We still had 5km to climb. Heading back into the cold and rain was utterly the last thing either of us wanted to do, but we had no choice. You know you’re struggling when you count down the remaining distance by the tenth of a kilometer. I was pedaling at 4.5 km an hour, and even at that, wheezing, steam emanating from my face as I sweat in the cold. We had a visibility of about 40m ahead of us, and to the side – in the place of the most spectacular views of the Albanian coast – we could see nothing but grey fog.

“I don’t want to do this anymore!” I cried to Richard. But when we got to the top, things only got worse. Much worse. I reached another cycling first – crying while cycling downhill.

As we descended out of the clouds, the sky cleared up a bit and we got our first look at the coast, spectacular as promised, with clear turquoise water and white sand. But as soon as it appeared, it disappeared again, the clouds playing hide-and-seek with us.

We could see the switchbacks dropping 1,000 metres in a span of a few kilometres, and thought it might be a good time to tighten Richard's brakes, which, due to days of bad weather and mountains, had worn down to the point that rubber powder residue lined his rim and we could hear metal grinding against metal every time he braked.

The descent was possibly the most painful thing I have ever experienced. It was certainly the coldest I can remember being my entire life. Our bodies and clothes were already soaking wet, and when we started moving at speed, the wind, rain and cold made the whole thing unbearable. My teeth chattered; my body shook; without even meaning to, my legs hugged the bike in an attempt to huddle my limbs as close to each other as possible. I couldn’t control the wails and sobs that were coming out of my mouth. With the slick streets and steep downhills, we had to squeeze our brakes until they were snug against the handlebar – a strain on our numbed hands. We stopped to give them a break, and I fell into Richard’s arms, crying. He forced me to bend my fingers to keep them from freezing, but my purple lips gave him a scare.

The lower we got, the warmer it was, and slowly, feeling came back to our hands, though our feet would take hours to finally thaw. I thought this was the end of the day from hell, but the rest of the way to Himare was up and down hills through four run-down villages, overlooking mostly uninhabited forest leading down to the sea. We were chased by at least four different dogs today, some of them biting at Richard’s panniers as they ran. Atone point, I armed myself with a rock to throw at them if they came too close.We got a hotel room that opens onto a sea-side balcony, washing crashing onto the shore beneath us. If the weather cooperates, maybe we’ll actually be able to enjoy the view tomorrow.