Day #1 and #2 How I became a bad person

A large group of approximately 15 cyclists, mostly men and a few women, are gathered outdoors with their fully loaded bikepacking bikes on what appears to be a paved road or a wide trail, flanked by trees and greenery in the background. In the foreground, a man in a red cycling jersey, brown cycling shorts, white helmet, and glasses is smiling at the camera, holding his bike. Everyone is dressed in cycling gear, with helmets, backpacks, and various bags attached to their bikes, suggesting they are either preparing for or taking a break from a long cycling trip. The atmosphere seems relaxed, with some individuals chatting or looking at their phones, while others stand next to their bikes.

The disease acts like a creeping ninja turtle. When it sneaks up on you, it can be slow and you don’t notice it immediately. It waits and waits for the perfect moment. When I left for the Hellenic Mountain Race, I had a sore throat. I had no temperature, no pain, no muscle weakness. Yet I could feel the tension rising… what if it got worse. After all, I’ve experienced it once before on Tour Divide.

Fears burned through me on the way to Meteora. Am I going there for nothing? Would I be able to even start? But traveling with my bike through the local bus service saved me from intrusive thoughts. It was so complicated that I was dealing with other problems.

A bikepacking setup is parked on a cobbled street next to a stone bench with wooden slats. A large cardboard box, likely containing a bicycle, is strapped to the back of the bike, which also has a small saddle bag. A white cycling helmet and a light-colored vest are placed on the bench. In the background, cars are parked along the street in front of multi-story buildings.

A sun-drenched, narrow concrete sidewalk stretches into the distance, bordered on the left by unkempt shrubs, a small tree, and a parked blue car, and on the right by a tall, textured yellow wall covered in black graffiti. Overhead, a bright blue sky is visible between the leaves of the tree and utility poles. The strong sunlight casts dappled shadows of leaves and branches across the sidewalk and wall, highlighting the overgrown weeds and dry foliage pushing up through cracks and along the edges of the path. The overall impression is one of a somewhat neglected urban or suburban pathway on a clear day.

A large cardboard box labeled "Cannondale" stands upright on a tiled outdoor patio, near a bright yellow strip on the ground. The box appears to contain a bicycle, suggesting it's ready for a bikepacking adventure. Several potted plants with green foliage are scattered around the patio, and in the background, a person walks near a building with large windows. The overall scene gives the impression of someone preparing for or arriving from a cycling trip.

A well-equipped bikepacking bike, red and white with frame bags, water bottles, and a rear light, is leaning against a light blue pillar in a paved plaza at night. The plaza features white markings on its concrete surface, and the pillar is integrated with a wooden bench. In the background, illuminated buildings with windows and a smaller brick building are visible under the dark sky, suggesting a quiet urban or campus setting. A potted plant sits near the bike, adding a touch of greenery to the scene. The overall impression is one of a brief stop during a night-time journey.

The local pharmacy gave me Strepsil. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I took them regulary at the shortest possible intervals, as it said on the prescription manual.

🦸 At the scene

Greece. The land of myths and heroes of various qualities. My romantic notions took hold in Athens. It wasn’t what I dreamed it would be. It was impossible to move around the city. Streets were narrow, overgrown, littered with trash. Is this what the birthplace of civilization looks like?

But the Hellenic Mountain Race is not about what’s in cities. You won’t visit many of them on the route, anyway. This bikepacking race is almost 900 kilometres long. But that’s not what it’s about either. It’s about mountains. It has 27,000 vertical metres to climb. I knew what I’m up to, because I’ve done an event with similar parameters in Switzerland - Hope 1000.

When I got up on the day of the start, my throat was no longer sore. I still had some Strepsils, which I decided to finish up as a precaution during the race. Maybe it will kill not only the bad bacteria in my throat, but also on my tongue, which tends to be even more blistered than my butt. As I eat a lot of junk food along the way.

A first-person perspective shows a gloved hand holding a "Hellenic Mountain Race" card against a backdrop of a rural road and mountains under a cloudy sky. The card has a sun-like emblem and fields for "Name", "Emergency Number", and "Cap Number". In the blurry background, a cyclist in an orange and black jersey rides away on a bicycle on a paved road, and a white building with stairs is visible on the right. Mountains loom in the distance under the overcast sky, suggesting a challenging outdoor race or journey. — Hellenic Mountain Race brevet card

Garmin has haunted me

The start was in 9 o’clock in the morning. Even so, I arrived at the last minute and already lined up I was putting sunscreen on my skin. It should be hot. Unlike on Atlas, we didn’t have a neutral start, we immediately went full gas and circled around Meteora on the local trails.

After a few miles, I pushed the bike for the first time, which was an unpleasant foreshadowing of things to come. Unfortunately, many times it wasn’t because the road was beyond me, but some riders didn’t follow the basic rule that whoever is still riding has the right of way. It didn’t particularly bother me though—there would be plenty of time to make up for lost time.

The funny thing was that some people “accidentally” skipped the first round around Meteora. I don’t know how they did it, but it’s good to look at the route beforehand. Just make sure to use a device that also displays a directional arrow.

🚶‍♂️‍➡️ With a bicycle, walking is not a natural movement

In the town we came across the first and last fans. They supported us very loudly. It’s funny. Every bikepacking race feels like we’re competing around the area—except maybe the bags—and it’s only with time and fatigue that we turn into completely different personalities. Drenched in dirt and despair. But our ability to be gratitude rises to infinity..

It started out rough. The first climb almost from sea level to 1600 metres above sea level. I turned off the power data field on my Garmin and just rode by feel. I found out I didn’t even need it for the race.

Almost to the top of the first hill, I enjoyed it. The views of the surrounding mountains were spectacular. I hadn’t imagined before that there would be forested peaks all around and small villages and towns nestled along the hillsides.

I had to push through a few passages and even got lost at a point where we were given a POI by the organisers—this is where you get lost.

When I saw Metsovo, the first important town on the route, I wanted to stop and admire it. It climbed almost all the way out of the valley, up the hillside. Red roofs peeked out through the vegetation. I knew very well what it meant. I would have to drive all the way down and climb it again on a very steep road. But I didn’t mind at all. It was nice.

A wide shot from a mountain slope reveals a distant town nestled in a valley, with densely packed buildings featuring light orange roofs. Lush green trees and vegetation cover the foreground and mid-ground slopes, with two prominent dark green pine trees framing the view on the left and right. In the background, rolling mountains extend under a cloudy sky, suggesting a temperate climate for a bikepacking adventure. — I even stopped for a picture of Metsovo

👹 From now on I’m going to be a bad person

I arrived at the spring in the middle of the square in a good mood. Surprised by the conversation of a racer who was “complaining” about how hard it was. In fact, I considered the first 100 miles or so to be one of the easiest sections of the entire route. Whether he finished, I guess I’ll never know. But it only got harder or I got tired from there. Or both.

It wasn’t until the evening that it got harder for me, too. I came across the sheepdogs for the first time. I didn’t have a prepared tactic for encounter. But I remembered the Nelsons words—act like a human, they’ll leave you alone.

I got off my bike and made a bike wall. I slowly backed away and calmly announced to them that I was human and that I was a good person. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. I had absolutely no idea how I was going to get past them because the barking mixed with growling was making me quite nervous. Eventually a trio of riders coming up behind me sorted it out. One of them “barked” at the dogs so hard that they ran off into the woods. He even scared a horse. At that moment I understood that it is not enough to behave like a human being, but it is necessary to show that I am a bad person. I was afraid to use aggression on the dogs, but in these lands it is the only way.

The only encounter with dogs where I tried to be nice

As the darkness fell, the rain has came. The mud pools slowed down my progress. The views disappeared with the evening and with my fogged glasses I couldn’t see anything anyway. But the worst was yet to come.

I passed through a section with a stone walkway, first down and then up. As it rained, the rocks slid like a lump of butter in a frying pan. So I dismounted my bike and took the “safe” route—on foot. Unfortunately, that didn’t help much, because my shoes were also slipping on the stones. So badly that I skidded once and landed exactly on my butt. I saved the bike and kept it standing. I hit my tailbone and for the next few weeks it was hard to get up. Gobik shorts didn’t save the day.

🍀 Food isn’t just calories, it’s happiness

The race manual said there was less walking than on the Atlas Mountain Race. Comparing it in my mind, it felt like a lot more in contrast. I’ve destroyed my shoes here. Much of the rubber protection came off, the stitching came loose, and I got a few holes. But to be honest, my shoes looked very bad already at the start.

There were more and more sections like this, and they were marked—No track from here on. Rideable though!. Not very rideable though, certainly not in the dark and certainly not in the wet. Often I didn’t even know exactly which way to go, and I would randomly pick which bush I should just push through. You can imagine that my enthusiasm for the Hellenic has greatly diminished. I couldn’t keep my racing spirits up.

For the first ten hours or so I wanted to go primarily on fast sugars in liquid form. I had plenty of Maltodextrin/Fructose powder with me and only occasionally ate some more solid food like dates or raisins. Unfortunately, the very first time I refilled my water, I had spilled the prepared carb mix and I a lot of calories. Calories are king and I got checkmated.

Gradually I was going to switch partly to Palatinos using Penco gels, then a carbohydrate diet consisting of dried fruit, and only in the last phase was I going to get more normal food in.

What didn’t work was switching to dried fruit. I was slightly sick of it, so I didn’t crush it as much as I wanted. I wasn’t too keen on nuts either. Maybe part of it was the dislike of the route, which was more pedestrian than I expected. And not just up, but down as well.

So, I did have food, but I was hoping for a donut, a pizza roll, anything that would improve my mood. Anyway, I was already climbing the highest hill on the route and CP1 was—in theory—just a short distance away. It was reasonable to ride until almost below the top. It was steeper, but I was pedalling. But then came the pushing through the narrow footpath, where I was moving step-by-step in places and bringing the bike up on drops. More like jumps from my point of view. In the end, the climb took me 3 hours and the descent another hour.

⏱️ At CP1 I was overtime

It was funny to see how someone rode the trail where the race route led and another chose the gravel road, which led a little differently, but eventually led you to the same place.

I didn’t arrive at CP1 in the best of moods In fact, I wasn’t even pleased when they told me I’d finished in the top ten. I couldn’t find the flow, I couldn’t enjoy it like I used to. I watched my heart rate for the first hour of the race and was worried that I was trying to go faster than normal and would now be more likely to slowing down.

I ordered spaghetti, which became an iconic meal for me for the rest of the race. I also had a thick, mushroom soup to go with it. This had me so full that I struggled to finish the spaghetti and even failed in my task, leaving it unfinished!!! Does it mean that Helenic Mountain Race is unfinished business for me???

I didn’t want to leave CP at all. They offered me to dry my stuff. But I sat there in my waterproof jacket, growing a stink and relying on drying by body heat. My only heating system, which I bring with me to races, and which have always sustained me. I realised that with every minute I spent at the table, getting back out would get harder and harder. I didn’t want to make myself too comfy there. And if I would took my clothes off… I’d have a hard time putting that smelly clothes back on. No… no… I had to stay in what I was in to maintain my hard-won state of homeostasis.

I delayed my departure, even though every minute hurt and screamed at me for wasting it. Time is not to be wasted. It is a precious resource that I will miss.

This image captures a serene, misty mountain landscape, likely taken during a bikepacking trip. In the foreground, a rustic wooden bench sits atop a concrete slab, facing away from the viewer. The bench is carved with Greek text, "ΔΑΣΙΚΗ ΥΠΗΡΕΣΙΑ" (DASIKI YPIRESIA), which translates to "Forest Service," suggesting a designated overlook. Beyond the bench, a verdant valley unfolds, with dense pine forests covering rolling hills. Thick clouds and fog are nestled between the peaks, creating a dramatic and atmospheric scene, with glimpses of houses below. A tree branch with green leaves partially frames the top left of the image, adding to the natural framing of this peaceful vista.

🤽 Call me a mudbug

What’s more, I was afraid of the night. I was afraid it was going to rain. That it would be cold and I wouldn’t find a place to sleep. Even though I’ve done this countless times, it doesn’t mean I’m not worried. I still have to be alert and consider what else I can do, and where my strength is no longer enough.

Staying on the CP or eating didn’t give me much strength. It stopped raining while I was still riding on the asphalt. But as soon as I got back on the terrain, it started raining again. At one point, I was bundling up in my waterproof pants because it was getting rainier and rainier. Eventually the weather calmed down and it was more of an annoying drizzle than a real rain.

It wasn’t much easier though, because the temperature was dropping to 6°C, I was riding somewhere at 1600 metres above sea level and it was very windy. I still hadn’t pulled out my warmest clothes though, so it was still good and I had a reserve.

I don’t even remember much of that section. Except maybe my problem when my X-PEDO pedal got clogged with mud, I couldn’t get out at the right time and busted my knee on the rocks.

Just as darkness was falling, I made it to the town of Metsovo again, completing the first loop. We were warned at the start that we couldn’t stash any gear there With the elevation gain, it would definitely be worth it.

🍕 I don’t miss Fantasia

All the shops were closed so I had to restock at the restaurant. I solved that by ordering a burger and pizza. I ate the burger. I grabbed a couple of Coca-Cola bottles with me.

The question was how I was going to pack the pizza. I can’t carry a box. I figured I put two pieces together and started a revolution in gastronomy—the pizza sandwich. I threw it in one of my Apidura stem bag. It worked. I could have carried two of those pizzas. It didn’t taste like it came out of the oven this morning, more like it came out of a dirty hole, but it didn’t lose any calories.

I didn’t really know how or where I was going to sleep. I originally wanted to crash somewhere in the Metsovo, but I was afraid it would be busy and I wouldn’t get much sleep. It was supposed to be freezing at night, at least in the mountains, and I wanted to drive through it rather than get up in it.

👴 Sleeping in the middle of the action

The dogs chased me in the dark on the way down from town. It was a bummer because I wasn’t sure exactly where they were. It looked like there were some pastures next to the road. When I was at their level, they were just jumping onto the wide tarmac. Since it was a pretty steep descent, I took advantage of the situation and passed them. But the dog barking accompanied me for the rest of the evening. The racers had been passing them there all night. I don’t think any of them got much sleep.

I was determined to keep going until something came up. It didn’t take long. I found refuge in the village of Rachoula. At 11pm it was completely dead, just a dog barking from the balcony.

In the centre of villages in Greece, there is usually an area where the locals sits and talks about the weather. I used this place. It was covered by a roof and had nice, fairly flat stones on the ground. What more could you ask for! I set an alarm for 3 hours of sleep—I wanted to take it conscientiously and give myself a good recovery. I’d been riding for over 38 hours straight.;

I soon went into dreamland… though. I’m so tired on the race that I don’t dream. It just clicks inside me… and I sleep. So I find myself in the realm of nothingness.