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In Which Less Very Nearly Becomes More
October 2, 2008 by Mike
Livanates
Route: Rafina - Marathonas - Kalamos - Skala Oropou - Chalkida - thunderstorm - Paralia Livanates
So much of our vocabulary comes from Ancient Greek. So many famous things happened in so many parts of this country.
But precious few of those words are so universally well-known as 'Marathon'. And not many of the Ancient Greek sites are as disappointing as Marathonas.
It's a blink-and-you-ll-miss-it-and-be-glad-you-did country town in a dusty back corner of Attica. It isn't even really on the coast but the road, sentimental perhaps, brings you here anyway. Down on the marshy plain below the town, the Athenians defeated the Persians in 490 BC. And Pheidippides ran home with the good news -- 26.2 miles to be precise.
I had cause to rue his pesky athleticism in 1999 when I completed the London Marathon. Notice, I don't say I ran the London Marathon. My excuse: a groin strain. Which is why I thought this was an appropriate pose in front of the memorial on the field of the Battle Of Marathon:
though this one would suit me too:
For me, the best thing about Marathon was the little white-walled church next to the memorial. Simple, boxy, unadorned. It reminded me so strongly of the Mount Zion Church in Morgan City, Mississippi that I have an excuse to point you towards the first video I ever posted to YouTube:
--
Greece is all in and out. It's positively skeletal in this middle section, with extensive gulfs of water almost cutting the mainland in two. The Norwegian fjords have nothing on this.
At one point today I was only four kilometres north of Thiva, where I had rode on the 21st on the way south. On both routes I'd been pushed inland because the coast is impregnable to road builders.
Had the isthmus of Corinth succumbed to the waters, rather than surviving as a strip of land a whole five kilometres wide, the Peloponnese would be an island and I wouldn't have ridden 750 miles around it.
Now I know I go on and on and on and on here in this blo-- I mean diary. Likewise the trip itself -- a year ago today I was in washing my clothes in Portugal and two years ago I was sheltering from a Swedish downpour. Bloody nora!
The trip could have gone on considerably longer but for this thin slice of water:
That's the strait of the Evripos at its narrowest. What is it, 20, maybe 30 metres across? Tops? That angler could cast from one side of the bridge and reach the other. I'm standing on the mainland to take the picture; the other side of the bridge is the island of Euboea. Which is 150 miles long and up to 30 miles wide. Over 1,400 square miles. That's a lot of riding....
If it was part of the mainland, I'd have circumnavigated it. Instead, I can pause and enjoy the city of Halkida, straddling island and mainland, which looks a good place to spend some time. But I don't.. I plunge on into the maw of the biggest, baddest, wettest rainstorm since, ooooh, last Saturday?
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