A SINGLETON ON LESBOS ISLAND - Part 3

Day three (morning); Woke with my alarm clock radio playing Eye of the Tiger, from the first Rocky film, feeling like a premier adrenaline junkie. Today I was booked onto a guided mountain bike ride, this was my thing I have been an ardent mountain biker for many years. Done most of the Welsh routes, visited the Alps a few times, and hold a mountain bike leaders qualification. I was optimistic it was going to be a great day among like minded people.

I made my way to the bathroom with the attitude, if you are going to be a bear, be a grizzly. Then through my blood shot eyes I saw my reflection in the bathroom mirror, my face was as red as a ripe tomato, with a body to match. Reality kicked in, I was hung over suffering like a bear with a sore head, as well as a sore body. I decided to give myself a good talking to, and come up with the idea, not to drink my own body weight in beer for the rest of the hols, and buy some sun block.

Now it was time to focus, shower, coffee, dress to impress. I donned the bad boy baggy shorts, baggies best, none of that girlie licra gear, tee shirt with the words “Life’s best when going down hill,” printed on the front, and finally the cool for cats oakley doakley, black as you like sun glasses.

Arrived at the bike hut to be greeted by the good doctor, I asked if she was riding today to which she replied, “No I’m waiting for a number nine bus,” which was slightly odd as I didn’t think any buses ran around this part of the Island. She started laughing, saying, “She was only w*nking me,” again I thought was a strange thing to say, specially coming from the good doctor. She went on to say, “She was indeed here for the biking, but it was her first time off roading, and happy to try anything once.” This got my imagation working creatively, specially being a doctor having the expertise to find her way around the male body.

She went on to ask me how my first day went, and why I was not at the sailing lesson. I told her, “I got caught up in a canoeing expedition that went around the island.” I continued to explain to her, how we came across some strong headwinds and rip tides, with the result that the challenge took longer than we anticipated. At this point I thought it best to leave out, getting blotto, cavorting with Canoe Girl, then crashing out on the beach, and save it for a another time.

Showing concerns for my sun burn she offered to rub some sun cream on me, but I kept the macho image going and told her, I’ll be ok. Thinking afterwards what a school boy error I had made, and how I had just missed my opportunity for some touchy, feely action.

As I was speaking to the doctor I had a look around to see who else was joining the ride, about twenty in all, including the good, the bad and ugly. Some just out for a jolly, some regular bikers and a few hardcore. In the group of hardcore was the sexy Triathlon Girl, looking lithe, and athletic, in a tight licra shirt, with the words Brighton Triathlon Champion 2012 printed on the front. Along side of her was the incredible hulk’s sister, Scary Mary with thighs as thick as Nelson’s Column, and if the need ever arose, was more than capable of push starting a jumbo jet.

Beside Scary Mary was Iron Man the ultimate alpha male, the sort of guy that when he looks in the mirror, envies the girls that kiss him. He was tall, slim but muscular, wearing a tan, and a lycra shirt with Hawaii Iron Man Champion 2011, written on it. He continued the sporting look, with a pair of tight lycra shorts giving the girls the advantage of not having to use their imagination, as to what his lunch box looked like. Then in the corner there was Lettuce Man, who looked like he could not climb out of a girl’s handbag, let alone ride a bike without stabilisers.

Ten minutes late, Ray the Rave our bike guide turned up, panting and sweating, he got off his bike and apologised for being late, due to the fact he had been partying all night. He quickly got us onto our bikes, telling us today was the around the island tour, one of the longer rides of the week lasting about four hours in all, taking in the highest peak, which was nicknamed Cardiac Hill. Bring it on, time to give it some, Billie Big Bananas.

The last thing our guide did before we set off, was strap what looked like a car battery to his back, I asked him what it was. He said, “Due to one of the bikers dying of a heart attack last year on one of the rides, it was company policy for him to carry the defibrillator with him at all times.” He went on to say, “It was the last thing he wanted to do as it weighed a tonne." With that thought we started the ride, onwards and upwards.

The first break we took was at the ancient castle ruins at Skala Eressos the birthplace of the first Lesbo, the famous girl poet Sappho, well this was getting interesting. The girls asked me to take some photos of them with the castle ruins in the background. I suggested they did a kiss cuddle pose, they said, “You have to come from Lesbos to be a lesbian, shut up and just take the pictures.” After my imagination wandered a bit more, thinking it best to keep it to myself, we pressed on.

For the first hour I stayed at the back looking after the doctor, giving her the wisdom of my mountain bike knowledge, and telling her about all my adventures. All the technical rides I had done back home, the wicked Welsh kick arse trips, and the out of this world, down hill routes I had conquered in the Alps. After that, I explained what was involved in acquiring my mountain bike leader’s qualification, which had a pass rate of three in four.

As we were about to start climbing Cardiac Hill, I thought would be a good time for me to leave the doctor and push on. I made my excuses and peddled off, leaving her in the hands of the guide. The doctor seemed happy to let me go, wishing me luck, which turned out to be saying of the holiday, that and, “Do you what a beer Billie.”

As I pulled away from the doctor, the first rider I came across was Lettuce Man, I asked him how he was doing, to which he replied “I’ve got a sore arse.” I thought, probably from all that playing around with his tennis chums, any game that starts with love all, has got to be dodgy. I wished him luck and moved along.

I stepped up the pace passing riders along the climb wishing each one, good luck along the way, until I saw the lovely Triathlon Girl in the distance. My legs were beginning to burn, but thought if I push a bit more, I’ll be able catch her up in no time. Ten minutes later blowing out of my backside, I was along side her.

She greeted me with “Hey ya,” I asked her how she was getting along, to which she replied, “I’m good I’m treating the ride as an interval training session, twenty minute power, ten minute recovery.” She went on to say, “I’m about to power for twenty, do you want to join me.” my heart was saying yes but body said no, I was shagged. I made my excuses, saying, “I was needed at the back, to look after the doctor.” Hearing my reply, she wished me luck and powered off.

At this point, I stopped and took a rest, most of the jolly and regular rides had bunched together and were riding as one group, after five minutes they had caught me up, so I joined them. The topic of conversation was, where exactly did the last year’s rider have his heart attack, the guide explained that it was just around next the corner, and offered to show us when we got there.

As we turned the bend we could see the placard and flowers by the side of the track, where the rider had died. The guide was just about to say something, when he wobbled on his bike and fell to the ground. Although I’m no expert it looked like he was having a heart attack. We were like headless chickens, not having a clue what to do, he wasn’t breathing and we couldn’t find a pulse. The only person who knew how to use the defibrillator was Ray the Rave, and he wasn’t in any position to give us a quick demo.

We decided we had nothing to lose, but to try and use it ourselves. So we unstrapped the box from his back, and played with all the buttons and switches, it wasn’t going to happen, we tried every combination but not one, bleep or flashing light, we just could not get the defibrillator to work.

Then around the corner came the doctor who immediately read the situation, and sprinted up to the casualty, getting to work straight away. Checking he had a clear airway, placing pads to his chest, and turning the defibrillator on first time. After the third attempt to resuscitate, she shouted out, he’s good! She had brought the guide back to life; we all breathed a sigh of relief, and started clapping.

Lettuce Man was on his mobile to the emergency services, and shouted out, “Does anyone know where we are?” no one had any idea, so he returned to the operator, “Two thirds up Cardiac Hill,” which the operator seemed to know, and came back with, “We are on our way.”

Then the hardcore bikers, who were ahead of us, came coasting back down the hill to see where we were. As we were telling them the situation, over the top of Cardiac Hill came Lesbos’s equivalent to a RAF search and rescue helicopter, with noise and drama it hovered above us, lowering a paramedic to the ground.

Within minutes of the paramedic speaking to the doctor, and him being hoisted back up to the helicopter with the casualty, the helicopter disappeared back over the top of Cardiac Hill, leaving us in an eerie silence. I thought how ironic, the defibrillator that probably contributed the guide’s heart attack, was the thing that saved him.