Don’t use the Kali Strata as a racetrack, please
There were quite a few photos yesterday, so just a couple today as we head into the weekend. It’s still early on Friday morning as I write this, I was woken up by the cockerels at just after four as my earplugs had fallen out, but I’m in the habit of getting up then anyway, so wasn’t bothered. All very quiet out on the balcony. Not many boats at the end of the harbour that I can see, a couple of fishing boats chugging about early, the cockerels, the occasional owl and a few bats flitting past. I sat there ruining through a list of jobs that I need to do including fixing the flush on the WC. Really looking forward to that. Tidying the courtyard, doing the shopping, writing a few chapters, laundry, topping up the sterna, the usual list. There’s nothing else in the diary as yet, so hopefully, I can get some half decent work done over the next two days.
There was some excitement and then consternation in the square the other day. Sitting there with my frappe and the usual Rainbow guests when a guy comes up the steps carrying a mountain bike. Full outfit, helmet, nice bike, obviously an enthusiast. ‘I’m coming back…’ or something, he mumbled as he weaved through the extra chairs and tables Lefteris’ kafeneion had put out ahead of a private celebration happening there later. I reckoned he was going to be cycling past downhill in a few minutes – we’ve seen other people do this wearing GoPro cameras and filming the descent down the Kali Strata. Sure enough, a few minutes later, he comes hurtling back at high speed, dodging the chairs, tables, guests, Lefteris and his mates next door, whizzes past us, bouncing/flying down the steps and on towards Yialos.
All very unusual and added some excitement to the afternoon, but… WTH? (You can change the H to an F if you want.) I mean, he was going fast, pedalling, using gravity, head down, intent on giving himself a thrill. It was lucky that no-one came around the blind corner by the taverna or stepped out in his path. He and they would have gone headlong down the stone steps. When we stopped to think about it, this kind of thrill wasn’t only dangerous for him (about whom I couldn’t care less), but for anyone who stepped into his path. I was left hoping he didn’t make the dogleg at the Kali Strata corner and went straight over the five-foot drop, through the wire fence and into the empty land on the other side. If you’re reading this, mate. ‘I’ll be back,’ or whatever the mumble was, wasn’t sufficient. ‘I’ll be coming through in two minutes at 30 miles an hour, on a bike, so please guard the access to the steps so a child or old person, or anyone, doesn’t step out in front of me. I’ve not got insurance, and I’m more interested in using your thoroughfare as an off-road cycle track than anyone’s safety,’ might have been more appropriate. Please, macho-men with something to prove or a thrill to seek, don’t use the Kali Strata as a racetrack.
