Bikepacking to the Gods: an epic Greek cycling Odyssey

Mount Olympus is one of the most important mountains in the world, not for its size, but for the myths and legends that surround it. The peak is home to the 12 Olympian Greek gods, including Zeus on his throne and Hera, his wife, by his side. No ancient Greek would have ever dared to tread on its slopes: the way is harsh, the drops are high, and the gods are mighty.

Thankfully, James 'Hank' Lowsley-Williams and I are not god-fearing men. So we made our way to Thessaloniki with one goal: to make it to the summit of Mount Olympus on two wheels. Three days of riding lay ahead. We’d be covering 200km, and climbing over 4,000m on all sorts of terrains. This was going to be tough.

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James 'Hank' Lowsley-Williams and Conor Dunne

Our journey began amid the hustle and bustle of Thessaloniki, in the north of Greece. This vibrant city sits in the elbow of the Mediterranean, and on the opposite shore stands Mount Olympus. It was amazing standing at the start point and having such a clear view of our destination, it really got us excited to get going.

But first, we had to leave the city. Thessaloniki is a mad city, full of life, full of cars, and full of pedestrians. We kept our wits about us as we weaved our way along the waterfront and through the concrete sprawl.

Soon enough, we emerged into the delta that neighbours Thessaloniki. This is a flat land of agriculture and industry, and the roads were dusty and dry. We crossed little rivers on wooden bridges, the boards of which had been dried, bleached and cracked by the sun.

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Riding through the delta

Eventually, we left the outskirts of the city behind and emerged on the Mediterranean coast once again. The water was beautiful, so we pulled over for a breather. Bikepacking is all about having fun, right? Hank was straight in the water, and I must admit his butterfly stroke was pretty impressive. I followed him. It felt good to wash off the road dust.

Feeling refreshed, we saddled up and got riding. As the sun sank, we left the coast behind and began climbing. The scenery became greener, the roads twistier. We were both blown away by how beautiful it was. The road was perfect: silky smooth, and not a car in sight. The Mediterranean was to our left, and somewhere over the water was Thessaloniki, where we’d set off just that morning.

At 1,000m elevation, we paused to reflect. Hank had been flying up the climb, and I had come to regret offering to carry the heavier gear in my panniers. But really, I didn’t care. From up here, the views were unreal, and the coastal towns looked a hell of a long way down – we were above it all, heading up to meet the gods. There was definitely a nice symbolism to it.

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The long road to the top

Thankfully, even halfway up Mount Olympus, we found a town with a taverna. After ordering and eating everything on the menu, we pitched tents and bedded down. Day one: complete. But day two was going to be harder, much harder.

Our second day of riding began with a cruise through a beautiful mountain town, before we broke into open country, and continued up into the mountains.

It was so quiet and remote, but we managed to find a taverna nestled into the hills for a quick caffeine pit stop. It didn’t go entirely smoothly though: we didn’t have any euros with us, and apparently, card machines haven’t quite reached this altitude. We were saved by the owner, who generously gave us our drinks on the house. Slightly embarrassing, but worth it – you can’t beat an ice-cold frappe when you’ve got a couple of hours of riding in the legs.

Eventually, we reached a viewpoint from which we could see Mount Olympus in all its glory. We were about to head downhill, and descend right down to 600m elevation, before beginning the last climb to the summit. We could see our road stretched out below us, and in the distance we saw it tilting up once more, before zig zagging its way up the mountain. But it stopped short of the summit. We were yet to find out what that final few hundred metres held – would they be rideable? There was only one way to find out. We pushed on.

Why Mount Olympus, you might be asking? Well, I chose this route because it seemed like a perfect opportunity to ride to a mythical place. In ancient Greece, Mount Olympus was the home of the 12 Olympian Gods, and the slopes are steeped in legends. And, to my mind there’s something special about this place for cyclists too: no one actually knows where the name Olympus comes from, but it's thought that in pre-Greek origin, it meant ‘mountain’, which is quite apt.

After 10km of climbing, we turned off the tarmac and began the final 20km of the climb, which was entirely unpaved. We began the gravel section of our ascent and immediately hit a setback: the vehicle carrying our cameraman couldn’t follow. Our only way of continuing filming until tomorrow morning was to carry all his stuff up too – food, water, sleeping bag. So we loaded our bikes to the max and kept riding. This challenge just got a whole lot harder.

With every metre we advanced, the ground got rougher and rougher. It was relentless. After grinding up the track for a few hours, group morale wavering, I heard Hank up ahead shouting: he’d spotted the shelter that would be our night stop.

We made camp just as the sun was going down, and bedded down after a simple camping stove meal. I was just letting my eyes close when Hank raised the alarm: something had tried to pinch his jersey and microphone. I’d already been a bit nervous that bears or wolves were going to make short work of me during the night, so this wasn’t the news I needed right now. We got out of our tents and cleaned up our campsite, making sure anything loose and vaguely attractive to a fox, bear or otherwise was out of the way. Right. Back to sleep.

The next morning, after a mug of cowboy coffee, we readied ourselves for the summit push. We’d be taking only the bare essentials: food, water, safety equipment. Oh, and our bikes. We might not be able to ride them for much of this final section, but they’d taken us this far, it only seemed fair we took them the rest of the way.

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Riding up Mount Olympus

As our guide led us up the slopes, the landscape became more and more barren. Eventually, we were in a grey, rocky wasteland. It was a harsh, unforgiving place, and the wind buffeted against us as we climbed. Even late into the morning, the sun was hidden behind the colossal shadow of the ridge, until it at last rose above. It was spectacular. For most of the time, we carried our bikes, although we did find a few sections that we could ride. It was a lot of fun.

Eventually, we reached the ridge – we were standing above an enormous cliff-face, and to reach the summit, we were going to work our way along the top of the precipice. As our guide started getting out ropes and harnesses, we decided that, for our bikes, the journey ended here. 2860m up: not bad, in our opinion.

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The final push to the summit

We scrambled our way to the top, tied together and led by our guide. It was a technical climb, and I was definitely glad to be roped up, even if it was Hank at the other end of the rope. At the top, we signed our names in the book and took it all in. The view was spectacular, and we both felt pretty chuffed for making it all the way to the top.

All that was left to do was get back down. Let’s hope our bikes are still where we left them!