#also to the like two or three people who guessed SH3 would probably be my fave out of the first three games

[loregoddess]

finished watching Silent Hill 3, and my conclusion about Silent Hill in general is that the writers understood that horror and comedy are oft two sides of the same coin, and good horror benefits greatly from absolutely absurd comedy to work well

[elastigirl72]

Day 21: Shkoder>Lizbahd

620km to go...I’m finally in the mountains!

7 May: Shkoder 07:27am

Given I am a certified and ex practicing sports and rehab massage therapist who still actively promotes stretching and regular massage for active people, lying in my €35 spa having the massage of my life, I was alarmed to fail to recall without some effort my last similar session. It was well over a year ago. Also apparent was my failure on good, regular stretching. I’d been on a cycling yoga week last year, trying to will myself into better self-care with the lovely Sinead, cycling yoga star in Ireland. I am proud to have kept a few of hers, which should only be done in the confines of privacy as they could be taken as some sort of lap dance in the wrong setting. I have my own MASH stretch which I have to say is pretty damn awesome 😊. This young lady, who combined this job with school was one of the best therapists I’ve stumbled across, including myofascial release as part of her treatment. Weirdly, even knowing I was a cyclist, time ran out before she got to my quads. I paid her extra and she spent a good 15 minutes on each, each stroke reminding me how much abuse my legs had taken, largely over the last few weeks. I didn’t train hard for my adventure, and this was by design. Looking at my training log, you could be forgiven in thinking that I might have retired completely from cycling in November, only seeing an ember burning almost undetectable in January. Then, one dark, wet, typical Forest Saturday morning, making Kalamata olive ciabatta toast, I wondered “Where exactly is Kalamata?”. About an hour later, I not only knew where, I’d booked a return flight, and figured out a 2,200 mile route there in April, how long I’d ride each day, and about 1000 permutations of getting there. This was it. It was set. Only it wasn’t. Work threw in the possibility of a work event a day after I was due to fly back...and 3 days before setting off, it was confirmed as Istanbul.

Flying home from Kalamata on 11 May and back to Istanbul a day later would have meant a minimum of 16 hours travel doors to doors. The options I considered were to fly home, cycle to Istanbul, charter a yacht (yes, seriously, I did look into this!), get a bus from Athens to Istanbul (no pre-booking possible for the bike). After much deliberation, cogitation and planning, Athens won, with my bike case and work clothes being shipped to a hotel I booked on hotel rewords points. It seemed fitting too, as I’d never made it to the Athens Olympics as an athlete, but I got close, and next to qualifying, this trip is the biggest sporting conquest I’d attempted. It would be great to finish my ride at the Acropolis, but let’s see...thinking about how close I got to being an Olympian still is a bittersweet memory. Less than two minutes, a toilet stop in fact, and just a little bit faster and I’d have been there. But what I take from trying is that even though I ran my first marathon when I was 18, and didn’t think I was any good at running (this left it in the past until the months after my mum died in 1998, and from that event and to this day, sport has been my Lynch pin in coping with and celebrating life’s rollercoaster), I qualified as a mum o two young children, who to this day, probably still don’t see what hard work went in, and may well believe if you dream it, you can do it. It’s not a bad philosophy to have! That and blessed with good genes 😊.

And yet all so laughable! Here I sit, waiting for breakfast, the barista chuckling at my need for a third cappuccino (they’re tiny really, but delicious, and I giggle too, explaining I’m very tired 😆). I need it, it’s a big day today.

I’ve decided to cycle into the mountains, towards Pogradec, a village or town by a mountain lake. To check the route, I’ve planted in Athens a billion times and plotted by car (avoiding motorways, ferries and tolls) and by foot, put a pin in what looks like a country lane or a busy road to check the road conditions, and loosely made a plan: get past Tirana and head South East. It looks like I’ll spend another two nights before hitting Greece. Dare I say it, but the weather forecast and maps look fairly decent, but for now, the gear stays stuck on my back...

May 9: Librazhd - 05:19

Well, so much to digest from the last 40 or so hours in Albania. There’s still around 120km here to cover, and if my bike and body survive, we will make Greece today and my bed in Kastoria in around 100 miles...another big day - in the mountains.

In just 120 miles in this country, I have seen so much. The good, the bad, and yes, the ugly. Hearing that this is one country my pioneering explorer dad has not visited (I think this is a lifetime first between his coverage of the globe and mine) because its borders were closed when he ran is Overlander business, and learning from a Roman Empire history documentation that whilst the Roman Empire ruled all of the Mediterranean, except Albania, leads me to believe this country has an incredible past, and I need to investigate.

I learnt that Albanians have an industry built on roadside trade, most notably, car washes, petrol stations and attached to every petrol station, a hotel. Most of the people visible in daylight appear to be men; I barely saw a woman, either in the villages or city, and as a woman, this felt quite overwhelming, for no other reason than the imbalance. It meant that whilst the multitude of coffee shops were on offer, I didn’t want to stop. Already looking like an alien dropped from space, putting myself directly amongst gangs of rugged men who seemed to have nowhere to go and nothing to do was too much. That’s just me! But cycling past the many who stood at the side of the road and had stopped doing whatever they were doing, if in fact they were doing anything at all, they stood frozen, eyes and mouth agape. In no other country have I passed through have I had so many positive shouts and I guess, encouraging comments (for all I know they could have been shouting “loser!”). The contrast between those that have and have not was huge.

The road surfaces were very curious. In most places I’d visited, as you entered a town or city, the roads in Europe would be pothole free and markings better than the surrounding country roads. But in Albania, any town or city, the roads dissolved. A network of potholes you could disappear into and a patchwork of concrete “plasters”, and for no apparent reason, countless and pointless road jumps, unmarked, without any warning, which all cars, bling or ancient, rolled over so slowly, as if dampners and suspension were extinct and they had to maintain what they had.

Tirana, Albania’s capital, brought all my observations to a massive climax. Any Highway Code had not been introduced, and for a long time I decided they needed traffic lights at the very least (they did eventually appear). I saw the most insane driving I’ve ever seen in my life, making the film Ronin look like a police training video on how to drive safely around a city. At no other point during this trip had I felt as petrified for my safety as here. Checking my options at the worst point, I stopped at an intersection where coaches pulled up and double parked, a large verge, covered in mud, waste and men, sitting between and on it, police standing close, travellers trying to wheel suitcases over uneven verges, and me needing to make a decision on how the hell to get it out with my life. Google suggested what looked like the motorway, which started at this same junction. I confirmed with the police standing close by and they confirmed I could ride my bike on this road, and stopped the traffic to let me go. It was Russian roulette, but as soon as I hit the ring road’s massive hard shoulder, I felt my life had been saved and escape was nigh.

7km later, and I had reached the mountain road, SH3, the old Elbasan Road, replaced by the recently completed A3 that ran parallel. Order restored, the road started to climb. Given this was recently a major thoroughfare to the mountains, I wondered what would happen to the many restaurants and hotels that flowed with the road, through villages up towards the sky. It was quite haunting, and the stray dogs began to reveal themselves again. Children waved and one even raced me up a section, whilst another shouted “Hallo! Have an enjoyable day!” The climb was amazing, good road, and it felt like I owned it. I saw three cyclists in all, all heavily laden with panniers. I past cheerily one octogenarian going up and two coming the other way going down. It’s easy to see why they built a tunnel to take cars through the mountain, but it was their loss and my gain.

Here, in the land where I have seen more people walking their cow than their dogs, who in turn, run free , civic pride does not exist for what I have seen of Albania so far. It contrasts the most breathtaking landscapes, and shows diversity to the rest of Europe, yet fly-tipping is common, expected even, and mounds of wrecked cars are all to frequent. There are many ruined buildings and near Lehze, I passed what can only be described as a ghost town and factory, which was really sinister. Is this down to a poor state and government? Clearly there are people here who have wealth but the overriding feeling is this country is poor. It wants to be western but can’t quite bridge the gap. I feel very keen to explore its history.

Approaching the top of the mountain, which seemed like the top of the world, I happened upon the most cunning canine skullduggery I’ve ever witnessed. The mountaintop restaurant invited guests to it for 6km, and it was a real possibility that I might drop in. But as it appeared, there appeared to be a dead dog lying in the road directly in front of it, with two more dogs lying in wait to the side. Feeling both sad, but also danger, I pedalled slowly and quietly, not wanting to alarm the dogs to my side, and hoping to pass the dead dog without seeing too much gore. Then, just as I ran parallel, BOOM! he was up, his mates joining him in charging for me, up the remaining mountain! Luckily, I’d anticipated this ambush, and put down the biggest power of my life, as if being chased by a bear. I escaped, but my god! How brilliant of these stray masters of terror? Please, no more like this!

The climb was the day’s highlight, and telling myself that whatever hotel arrived at 100 miles, that’s where I was staying. As if my magic, a petrol station and a Swiss chalet looking hotel.

There’s not much to say about this place, except a stark contrast from the same priced oasis I had stayed at near Shkoder. Here, the food was bland and sparse, and the staff didn’t care as much as my last hotel. At Launi-A, seeing how much food I had put away the night before, at breakfast, they just kept bringing basket after basket of food! That hotel and its staff will keep me going for many years to come as the nicest surprise, and a great introduction to Albania.

And now, breakfast. A lovely Albanian who speaks good English and has lit the fire me and I have amazing coffee. It will be a good day! Ξεκίνα 😃 Even here, this far south, there’s snow on the mountains ahead! Titanium by David Gueta and Sia playing on the empty restaurant speakers...bring on the day 🌈