Just for the fun of it
How a simple statement led to an adventure…
A friend of mine — Kostas — is one of the happiest people I know. As a chef, he works long hours in stiflingly hot conditions, yet does so with a huge smile on his face. Last week I asked his happiness secret and he told me that no matter how busy or tired he is, every day he makes time to do one thing purely for fun. Sounds fair enough, and it set me thinking. How often do I do something just for the sheer fun of it? Ironically, this thought made me feel a little, well, sad! I so often do what I think are the ‘right’ things. That is, the things I hope will bring longer-term health and happiness. More often than not, faff-filled routines or rituals lacking in spontaneity that could never be described as fun. A book I read recently refers to these as ‘rat race’ activities — things we do today to reap later ‘rewards’. Ah, bore off!! Suppose I was asked to recount the fun highlights of my day? Even the most animated and enthusiastic recounting of how I mini-blended a neon-hued concoction of nutritional goodness to promote good bowel health is hardly going to inspire a nation to follow suit is it? “Stick with me kids, it’s hashtag funfunfun all the way!” …hmm, maybe time for a rethink…

I pledged to give Kostas’s approach a go… though perhaps every day may be a stretch… After all, I can’t go around having too much fun, can I?! I’m known to deploy the inner fun police when things get too exciting, so let’s take thing step by step… no need to awaken Sergeant Side-Split here…
I had the great fortune of a visit from my friend Dom from the UK for a few days this week and had been thinking of things that would combine fun, challenge and sight-seeing, whilst not completely driving him mad with my incessant knack for over-planning (see ‘the art of keeping things simple’), and then it came to me… The epic ‘round the island’ roadbike ride. Eureka! It’s exactly what it says — a circumnavigation of the island of Lefkada covering approximately 75 kilometres in distance and 4000 metres in height. Staggeringly, Dom immediately accepted my proposal. Brilliant! I’d been keen to tackle the ride for some time, though wanted to do so with the right bike buddy: a sidekick who wouldn’t forge ahead (leaving me feeling wholly incompetent), would be happy to indulge my love for café stops and, perhaps most importantly, capable of tolerating a good half-day of my mindless babble. Congratulations Dom, I’d like to offer you the role! Dom, however, translated my criteria as someone ‘stupid enough’ to agree to such spontaneous folly…
With (to my standards at least) surprisingly little planning, we set off the following morning. My backpack contained scant supplies, some useful, others less so: yoga book (don’t ask), banana (still there now, untouched), fresh figs (likewise), large gas bottle to fuel my expected endless chat… Heeding earlier advice, we headed anti-clockwise to avoid the later east coast ‘highway’ congestion. The views across the east coast bays and over to the Greek mainland were impressive, though with the rapidly-increasing volume of traffic we adopted a ‘head down, focus, and press on’ approach, safe in the knowledge that the ride would become less busy (and, hopefully, more fun) once we passed Lefkada Town, to the far north.
Stories of the recent ordeal of another bike buddy still rang in my ears. Since renamed ‘Saving Private Phil’ — owing to our buddy’s naval heritage and, at times, almost tearful Lefkadian circumnavigation — his experience is now part of club folklore; thus providing valuable insight that this was not a challenge to be taken lightly. We therefore took things steadily. No bike-bonk repeats here thank you!

A steady climb took us over the beautiful bays of Sivota, Amousa and on towards Nidri, a popular tourist spot half way up the east coast. We rode through Nidri, with its expected busyness leaving us dodging smartphone-tranced pedestrians, reversing delivery vans and let’s-just-slam-the-brakes-on-right-here hire cars. Focus, breathe, focus, breathe… We emerged in one piece to re-join the highway, greeting a passing fellow cyclist with the customary wave of shared velo-appreciation.
The next few villages passed by pretty quickly, our eyes darting between the road and the vast expanses of the beautifully blue sea. I soon recognised the familiar approach to Lefkada Town, though continued to plough on, thus missing the road that would by-pass the busy centre. Ah well, we were due a stop anyway and this gave me the perfect excuse to visit my favourite bakery and café. No pretty views, but there’s just something about the energy in this place that I love. Ok, so the perfect cappuccino and obscenely vast offerings of baked treats help, but for me it’s the coming and going of locals and tourists, and the buzz of this busy side street that could keep me happily rooted for hours on end… not bad for a relentless fidget… No such luxuriating today, though the wait for Dom’s delicate taste buds to tolerate the piping hot coffee took significantly longer than my own asbestos-mouth cappuccino demolition…

Fuelled by breadsticks and further unidentified carbohydrates we resumed our adventure. The streets of Lefkada were busy and I narrowly avoided the bonnet of a Mercedes who, having waited patiently to turn on to the main road, suddenly had a change of heart and drove straight at me. Efcharisto my friend! Thankfully no harm done, and just a perfunctory exchange of mutterings before we began our ascent out of Lefkada. The scene of Private Phil’s first battle brought steep — though thankfully not ridiculous — switchbacks up on to the tops of the northern coastline. Our chat turned to the always entertaining life of a mutual friend — Glenn — the unfortunate (amply-sized) butt of much jibing amongst our group back home. My fits of giggles at stories of his recent endurance exploits made for enjoyable, if a little breathless, climbs that passed in no time at all. More stories please!

We swept along the undulating tarmac; gasps of scenic admiration and six months’ worth of gossip punctuated by the odd “oh sh*t”, as yet another steep climb emerged. Closer to Agios Nikolaos the undulations became more dramatic and, reversing the adage of ‘what goes up…’, we held back from becoming too excited on the steeper descents. With the roads much quieter now, however, we really let rip down one hill, Dom charging ahead before screeching over to a viewpoint, precariously balanced on the edge on a 700-metre high west coast cliff. Spotting a departing family of tourists, I dashed to ask Papa Tourist to take our photograph. I wondered whether my request may have been lost in translation, as Papa’s expression seemed to suggest I’d offered to drive the family saloon off the cliff-edge. Either way, he obliged. Nice picture, and the car (and family) remained intact.

The once quiet stretch suddenly seemed to morph in to a super-highway as we waited for what seemed like an eternity for a huge convoy of Italian motorists to pass, apparently attached bumper to bumper. Wait for the gap… and go!
On a long flat stretch at the bottom of the hill I waved to an approaching cyclist. We both cracked up at the realisation that we’d passed each other way back in Nidri. I assumed he was on a clockwise circumnavigation and silently wished him well for the rest of his adventure. I wondered whether he was having as much fun as us, and whether his adventure may have been enriched by the parables of Glenn…

From here our route was clear, as the rise and fall of the road winding and balancing its way along the coastline spread out ahead of us. The views were spectacular: luminous turquoise sea filled with swirls of current and dappled with early afternoon sun. Quite hypnotic. We were soon approaching Kathisma, the ‘cute village’ that marked the spot of my baby sister’s recent emotional meltdown (see ‘The Art of Keeping Things Simple’). Another photo opportunity not to be missed as I lovingly recreated the scene. I’m good like that… love you sis!

We decided to take our second pitstop in the next ‘cute village’ — Kalamitsi — where we found a great little roadside café. This particular cute village is home to Greece’s most pointless set of traffic lights: three-way and largely ignored by motorists, meaning that the narrow, single-file track problem they seek to alleviate is compounded as confused tourists gridlock the roads before embarking on a 100-metre convoy reverse. Like a giant, Fiat Punto conga, this made for great café entertainment.
The simplicity of sipping coffee, nibbling snacks, swapping stories and sharing a sense of achievement made for a blissful half hour of recuperation before we set off for the final instalment of our adventure. By now the roads were the familiar routes of my regular group rides, and the end of the fun was almost nigh. That said, a steep hairpin descent almost caught me out, as I took a skidding, sideway navigation. Not the type of finale fun I had in mind, though after returning my heart to its rightful spot I was ok. On I ploughed, albeit with greater respect and less frivolous abandon.
More hire car madness was to follow, with a nifty reverse straight across my path as part of an elaborate double-figured manoeuvre. The driver simultaneously barked a request for directions from the window and I obliged with a sense of bemused wonder and shaky wheels.

The beautifully sweeping descents along the high edges of the vast pine forests soon brought us to the village of Agios Petros, where I submitted my application for ‘descent of the day’ with a grossly inelegant cleat-scrape down ‘Bakery Hill’ in an attempt to avoid careering straight across the road and off the cliff edge. Heart restored for the second time, along with Dom’s nerves. I survived to see the majestic, ‘welcome home’ views of Vassiliki Bay. Dom shot past me, probably in the hope of avoiding last-gasp drama… or further mindless babble. Seconds later I flew past the roadside wooden donkey; my landmark reminder to use the brakes. Without warning I found myself breaking in to a spontaneous wimper. Now I know I can be a little sensitive at times, but I hadn’t expected this! An emotional combination fuelled by fabulous friendship, thankfulness for being safe and well, a sense of physical achievement, heat/exertion-induced delirium and all-round appreciation for a fabulous experience. We reconvened at the point where it had all started just a few hours earlier, sharing a congratulatory hug and post-ride ‘selfie’ before going our separate ways.


I realise that interpretations of fun will vary wildly from one person to the next. My idea of fun will be the hell of another. My idea of fun doesn’t have to involve feats of physical endurance either. Just last night I had loads of fun dancing in my pants with headphones on to the jingle of the Adam Buxton podcast… thankfully in the safety of my bedroom. I thought it best to spare Dom from sharing this particularly disturbing manifestation of fun…
An amazing experience, beautiful surroundings and perfect company: the welcome injection of fun I’d hoped for. Who knows, maybe one day Private Phil will look back on his island adventure with thoughts of fun.
Sending a massive ‘thank you’ to Dom for being such a willing partner in play for the day, and of course to Kostas for the inspiration. Now… what next?!
Do you live by Kostas’s ethos? What do you do, purely for fun? Any recommendations? Whether it’s dancing in pants or scaling mountains, I’d love to hear from you!
