Story of Matt , Part 7 - Crete, Part 1

Iraklion, if not stunning, was at least pleasant enough and free of smog. We spent our first day there taking a side trip to the famous labyrinth of Minoan ruins called Knossos and then looking for a bike rental shop.

The shop we found was quite new, operated by a middle-aged Hungarian. The bikes were new too. Only a couple had been rented previously and probably only for day trips around the city. The owner was excited about our plan to spend a week touring the east and south coasts of the island. He told us proudly that he had cycled from Budapest to Paris when he was younger. Judging by the size of his gut, it must have been much younger.

We found a bike the right size, a ten speed with a child's kick stand, a spongy seat and plastic gear shift levers. I was thankful there were no tassels dangling from the ends of the handlebars. The only panniers available to rent looked like cardboard file boxes covered with thin red vinyl. Matt agreed that they could not hold much weight so I gave him the lion's share of my supplies, as bare bones as they were.

The next day we headed east against a persistent head along the north shore of Crete. We started late morning and it took until early afternoon before the traffic diminished somewhat. Matt's powerful legs had no trouble against the wind but I hadn't been on a bike since the fall cycling season last October. He would ride on ahead and then wait for me. Fortunately it was a shorter day. By late afternoon, only 40 km out of Iraklion, we reached the town of Malia. We set up his tent in the beach side campground just as it started to rain. We spent the evening cuddling and eating dried snacks inside the tent.

The next morning my knees were paining me. It was recurring problem in my 20s after the first rides or hikes of the new season, and straining against the headwind had made it worse than usual. We continued east. The headwind was lighter but after Malia the road climbed considerably before it descended into Aghios Nikoloas (St. Nicholas) 50 km later. My knees complained sharply as I struggled to keep up with Matt, not that he minded waiting for me, but between the humiliation and the pain I was irritable most of the way. At least the weather was much nicer that evening. We checked into a local B&B and strolled along the harbour after dark.

The following day was much more challenging, both longer and hillier, but my knees were improving and we got an earlier start. The road twisted back and forth along the rocky shoreline for a couple hours before climbing high into the hills. It passed through a series of small, ancient villages - Lastros, Tourloti, Myrsini - each perched on high ridges with terraced fields of crops cascading down the hills beneath them. The road switch-backed up to each summit, then plummeted steeply before climbing up to the next one. The climbs were exhausting but the views and downhill runs were exhilarating.

The final ridge was the largest. The afternoon sun was beating down hard by this point so we stripped down to our shorts for the big climb. It was a full half hour long and we were soaked in sweat. There was a stiff, refreshing breeze at the top. I caught up to Matt and we took a well-deserved break. My spirits were as high as the ridge itself. It was a special moment of shared accomplishment and Matt was smiling at the change in my mood from the day before.

Rain clouds had recently passed over the far side of the mountain, wetting the road in front of us. It was going to be a cold ride downhill so we donned all the clothing at hand, including our gloves. Just as we set off for the final descent of the day, my left brake cable detached from the brake handle, but Matt was already coasting out of view. I could stop the bike with one brake so I started down after him. The road wasn't steep but it dropped steadily for several kilometres. The low stone wall between me and the valley floor hundreds of feet below as my bike continued to accelerate.

It was a breathtaking view as I descended into the harbour town of Sitia. The town was framed in fields of daisies as I glided into it. The youth hostel was the first building on the edge of town and Matt was already dismounting as the end of the driveway. I coasted up behind him and just as I came to a stop the second brake cable detached itself. I was horrified. If this had happened a minute earlier I probably would have accelerated to my death.

Matt was already at the registration. He was offered two options: a private room for two or dorm-styled bunks in a room with a dozen others. He chose the second option to save $5. I couldn't believe it. I offered to pay the difference so we could be by ourselves, but he said he wouldn't be comfortable making me do that. I'm not comfortable doing this, I pointed at the dorm, but he carried his bags in anyway. There were a few guys talking in the room having a conversation, which served to end the discussion and avoid a scene.

While he locked the bikes and unpacked, I took a shower. I was so choked I wasn't sure if I wanted to break down or explode. So do you want to go into town and get something to eat after I shower, he asked, as I was dressing into my street clothes. Sure I nodded, but I was not in a mood for talking. My anger grew hotter as soon as he left the room. It occurred to me that it wasn't at all about the money, that after every truly joyful experience with me he needed cool the fires and distance himself from our intimacy. I'll distance him alright, I thought to myself. Then I made the first of several colossal pieces of bad judgment that evening: I marched out the door and into town without him.