Cycle analysis

I would say that I am a decent cyclist. I would not say that I am a decent navigator.

I grievously and meticulously thumbed my phrase book to text the bike man in Greek. Asking how much it was to rent a bike, for how long and if he spoke English left me with a curt response of “6 euro, English only”. Okay. Upon going to Lazerus sq to rent said bike, Dave, our bike man met me for a consult of sorts. He told me of routes to go 40-50km, to sight see, to explore. He decided that I was a good cyclist and gave me a map, a sit up road bike with a basket and pannier rack and a helmet. All seemed to be going swimmingly.

I wanted an easy-ish evening ride, to be followed the next morning by an easy-ish early morning jaunt too. Dave had told me with some vehemence not to go East. This was mostly because an East-ward trip would only incur punctures as the council had been out in force, cutting the hedges and only partially clearing them up. The result was a number or hard, sharp thorns which would only cause inconvenience. So the plan was to head West and visit a little village and its church, then turn around and head back.

That didn’t happen.

Instead as I ventured up the side walk beside the dual carriage way I approached the Salt Lake trail that Dad and I had visited. My plan changed as I decided to turn up the path and fully see the circumference of the lake, to extend my knowledge of the amble dad and I had taken. I could see the village tomorrow morning.

The track was nice, suited to bikes, but mostly mountain bikes. I passed walkers and gaggles of family members with the usual greeting of καλήσπερα (kaleespera) or για (ya) with an occasional nod or return greeting. I made it out to the Ottoman aqueduct and then stopped. I had figured out where I was from spotting the large church on the main road. I think it is either Greek or Russian Orthodox. And very beautiful, especially in contrast with the older version of it remaining right next to the new building.

But, getting out the map I didn’t know where I was on paper. I turned, headed back towards the lake where I knew that if I kept the dry, dusty, salt bed in sight I wouldn’t go far wrong. Meandering through residential roads lead me to what claimed to be a dirt road with a dead end. I pressed on planning on defying said restriction which was quite easy for, although the houses ran out immediately the dirt road just got bumpier and less appropriate for my bike. Oh well. I started to sing. Sing about Peter, Paul and Mary’s hammer, and bell, and song. Sing about Daisy getting married and then riding off on a tandem with her dear new husband. Singing at the top of my voice, cycling on. The dirt track wound around, up what looked like a spoil heap, I pedalled away and stopped at the top for a break and to take in the view. The Salt Lake was predictably bare, and I saw little else. It felt like deserted waste land. Nothing was growing and the only mark of other people were the truck and bike tracks in the dust.

I got back on the bike and continued. I caught sight of a new set of paths about the time that I heard the bleating and barking. I passed a dog kennel and saw a heard of goats and sang to them and they sang along too. The dogs enjoyed harmonising, the goats mouths were full. I came to what appeared to be a goat herder and his kid who both turned to me as I sang and called to them a greeting. Then, turning a bend revealed a number of large barns with bales of hay and more dogs and more goats, and the occasional farmer. Everyone smiled and waved. I felt incredibly far away from Larnaca town, out in the sticks and started to see the haze of the sunset. I moved on catching sight of the lake bed from which I had been estranged while exploring the farmers’ digs. 

When passing the last farm I hit a rock. The top heavy bike skidded and then toppled forward and everything I had in the basket flew out and across the track. I too fell forward and onto the handle bars, with gravity pulling me all the way to the ground and my right shin hitting the bike frame on the way. I untangled myself from the bike and got up brushing myself down. Woops. 

I got back on and kept riding. The path soon was surrounded by greener scenery and not far away I could see the clear shape of the Hala Sultan Tekke Mosque lit up by the sunset. Having completed the circumference of the lake I took the path from the mosque back to the road and went along the pavement as before. It was getting quite dark then at about 20:00ish and so although I had gone over to consider cycling along the lake on the other side of the airport, after about five or seven minutes I went back. I parked up and locked my bike in the stairwell and headed off for dinner and bed.

I woke up at 05:30 the next morning was so that I could have another decent ride in the cool air before the sun properly came out. There was a dull light where the sunrise considered casting a ray, and all was quiet. I grabbed the bike and got on. Then got off. There was a puncture. I didn’t have a puncture repair kit. I went back to bed.

I asked Dad to take the bike back to the bike man while I went to Nicosia for the day. I returned and went with the Larnaca cycling club for their weekly evening ride. We went along main roads, negotiating round-a-bouts and undulations which could barely be called hills, and stopped early in order that the cyclists could go to a demonstration against building a new port. 

Good bike experience and general fun was had. Who needs a map?