Organizing

Tension, stress, endless phone calls, arrangements, meetings, messages, prep work... The chaos is often overwhelming, a swirl of tasks that seem to multiply each day. Somehow, we must find a way to sift through the noise and maintain our sanity amidst the demands of those around us.

For nights on end, the same thoughts played on loop: Will the weather do us a favor? Will anyone show up? One group? More? The questions swirled in my mind like leaves caught in a windstorm, leaving me restless and uncertain, as time seemed to slip through my fingers like sand. My hopes hanging by a thread, I found myself constantly looking at the clock, counting down the hours and minutes until the big event.

The days are short, the hours are few. Damn it, are we going to make it on time, or will we be riding through the mountains in the dark? There’s a haunting beauty to the idea of navigating those twists and turns with only the moonlight as our guide, but that thought is washed away by the reality of late arrivals and missed calls. The weight of uncertainty hangs in the air, and the pressure to succeed intensifies with every passing moment.

Perivoli, Vovousa, Metsovo... remember the spots with no signs, don’t make a mistake... Memories of those rustic, captivating places flood my mind—each carry with it the promise of adventure, yet they also remind me of the perils of getting lost. Perivoli, Vovousa, Metsovo... okay, I’ve got this, I’ve studied the maps, I’ve planned every possible route, and still, there’s a part of me that hangs onto the fear of uncertainty. The mountain paths await, a challenge, a testimony to my resolve, and despite the doubts, I can’t help but feel a surge of determination to conquer whatever lies ahead.

Gathering of Souls

Friday afternoon, and the first guests began to arrive. Athens, Thessaloniki, Crete, Patras, Kiato, Xanthi, Serres, Arta, Chalkida, Larissa, Drama, Kozani... a massive brotherhood converging on Trikala.

The sight of the motorcycles in the hotel parking lot was a dream. Loaded with images of past journeys and expectations for the ones to come. Their riders? Traveling souls with inexhaustible energy...

Our friend Lefteris’s tavern (Tiganies & Schares) more than satisfied our bottomless hunger. Everything was meticulously prepared, in just the right portions and at just the right price.

Saturday morning: everyone was ready to get lost in the embrace of our beautiful Greece... to let this paradise we call home lift us high to 2,000 meters or take us deep into the shaded curves at the foothills of the Immortal Greek Mountains.

Our friend Vangelis’s croissants were the perfect accompaniment to our morning coffee. Seventy massive croissants vanished in the blink of an eye.

The Trikala DIAS motorcycle police unit ensured we reached Kalabaka safely, clearing the junctions so the convoy could stay together and keep the journey moving."rite your text here...

The Masterpiece of the Pindus: 90,000cc of Soul

And that’s where the magic truly began... The roads were nearly empty, ours for the taking. The weather felt like a whisper of Spring, and the Greek mountains stood tall before us, ready to host 90,000cc of raw power within their twisting, labyrinthine passes.

As we climbed higher, the landscape surrendered to a fever of color. It was as if a painter had pressed his brush firmly against the canvas of the earth, intentionally bleeding the yellows, the oranges, the deep reds, and the vibrant greens into the infinite blue of the sky. Every turn revealed a new frame; we were watching an unedited masterpiece of a period film, a private screening where the wind was the soundtrack and the peaks were our only witnesses.

Just before reaching Krania, we regrouped. Ninety riders, yet we moved as one—a single, breathing organism. I asked myself: How is this possible? Usually, large groups are dangerous, chaotic, and demanding. It requires profound respect for the traveler beside you. And yet, there we were—one soul, one group. I have never experienced anything like it; the sight was purely cinematic, a rhythmic dance of steel and spirit.

In Krania, we fueled our machines, then pushed onward toward Spilaio. The higher we climbed, the more the earth seemed to transform into a gallery of natural art. The climax was the road carved directly into the living rock—a stone throat that swallowed us whole just before we reached the village. The village square was small, but its heart was vast. Friends from Northern Greece had already whispered of our arrival, and the locals welcomed us with open arms.

There, under the shadow of the peaks, friends, acquaintances, and strangers became a single tribe. We were a company of people who had everything to share and nothing to divide. Hold onto that feeling, guys. In a world that tries to pull us apart, we found the glue that holds us together: the road, the dust, and the mountain air.

The Warm Embrace of the Valley: Portitsa to Vovousa

The six-kilometer descent toward the Portitsa Gorge was the path chosen by most to fill our scheduled hour of wanderlust. For others, the therapy was found in the slow steam of a coffee cup in the village square, soaking in the stillness.

By now, our tribe was complete. The spirit was high, the engines were warm, and the road to Vovousa lay ahead—a journey through the heart of Valia Calda via the asphalt ribbon that cuts through the wilderness. On that Saturday, the valley truly earned its name; Valia Calda, the Warm Valley. The temperatures were an unexpected gift for the season, a gentle heat that radiated from the earth. A few scattered clouds drifted above—the perfect 'soft box' for our lenses, creating the dramatic shadows and depth we needed to capture the masterpieces on our camera screens. The sun didn't just shine; it caressed our faces with a golden touch.

Every kilometer was a new injection of raw, staggering beauty. We had reached a point of no return; our eyes had become so accustomed to the sublime that we could no longer settle for anything less. We were addicted to the view.

Finally, we reached Vovousa for a moment of rest and a shared meal. The famous bridge stood there as it always has—magnificent, defiant, and proud. A structure of rare, rhythmic beauty, it spans more than just a river; it spans time itself, standing as a silent guardian over the rushing waters below.

(There was, however, one dark spot on our journey: the behavior of a tavern owner on the right side of the road, facing the bridge. He tried—and partially succeeded—to 'fleece' us before we caught on. The agreement was clear: €8 per person for a main course, a seasonal salad, and feta or tzatziki per four people, plus €1 for coffee.

After some of our group had already paid, we realized he was charging an extra €3 for salads—the very same salads that, at some tables, never even arrived. When we confronted him, he played the 'misunderstanding' game with his waiter, both of them suddenly unable to communicate.

Mr. Stefanos, I hope one day you read this text and reflect. You told me that you are a motorcyclist yourself and that you consider our kind to be the most 'straight' and honest of all the groups that visit your shop. I’m sorry to say, but after this experience, I cannot say the same for you...)

The Path of Water and Light: Metsovo to Acheloides

The road to Metsovo, cutting through the dense fir forest, was nothing short of sublime. Endless curves, tight uphill climbs, and sweeping descents. The potholes we had mapped just a week prior had been patched, leaving us with a smooth ribbon of asphalt and nothing but the rhythm of the ride.

As you climb, you find yourself whispering a prayer that this road never ends. But all good things must come to a close... only to make room for something even better.

Emerging from the forest, we reached the Aoos Springs Lake. The waters were a mirror of absolute serenity, where the sky and the drifting clouds painted reflections of brilliant blue and white. If you’ve been there, you know the feeling; it stays in your soul.

In Metsovo, we made a mandatory stop at the village’s lone gas station. The elderly owner looked so overwhelmed by our arrival that I’m convinced he closed up shop and took medical leave the moment the last bike pulled away.

After a final regroup on the old Ioannina-Trikala national road, we began the descent toward Anilio. We crossed over and under the massive Egnatia highway, diving back into one of the most beautiful asphalt 'trails' toward Chaliki. By then, the night had begun to spread its velvet veils, and as we reached the mountain pass, the darkness grew thick and heavy.

Then, I witnessed one of the most beautiful sights of my life: Dozens of motorcycles winding down the rugged, treeless slopes of the Pindus. From high above, the trail of moving lights against the dark rock was breathtaking—a constellation of stars descending the mountain.

We reached the Acheloides Hotel around 7:00 PM. Our hostess, Ms. Eleni, was the definition of hospitality, settling everyone into their rooms before serving a feast. The courtyard was overflowing with motorcycles from every corner of Greece. In the rooms, in the gym, even in tents on the grass—all of Greece was there, one big family under the stars."

Safe rides to everybody !

Vagelis Garagounis

Valia Calda - Photo Therapy Tours

Valia Calda - Photo therapy tours