It was 2021. Borders were still restricted, and to cross into Greece you needed a negative COVID test. People around me had just tested positive, so I had to take one too. The full test cost more than 100 BGN back then, which felt like a lot for a piece of paper.
The result came back negative on Friday afternoon.
I looked at it again and thought — a negative test shouldn’t go to waste. I packed my stuff and left for Greece.
Friday night
Made it to the Kresna Defile before dark and stopped at the X-Club rafting camp. Pitched my gear, slept. No plan for the next day. Just that I was going further south.
Saturday
The next day was all curves. Mountain roads into Greece, the kind where you just lean and lean and the day disappears into the asphalt. Ended up in Trikala by evening. Beautiful city — a bit empty that particular year, for obvious reasons :)) Had moussaka. Slept.
Sunday — Meteora
Sunday morning I woke up in a room that apparently had a view of the rock formations. Hadn’t expected that. The scale of them just hits you — even through a hotel window, half-asleep. Impressive doesn’t quite cover it.
Rode out to Meteora. That was the whole point. The monasteries on top of those stone pillars — quiet, old, doing their thing for a few centuries already. I stayed a while just to look at them properly.
Then back on the bike and toward the sea, from where I’d head back to Bulgaria. The route went through Olympus National Park, fairly close to the summit itself — which I never actually saw.
The storm
Rain started on the climb. Nothing unusual, it had been overcast since morning. Kept going without thinking much about it.
Then I saw the first lightning bolt. A second later I heard it. Very close.
I was roughly at the highest point of the road through the mountain, where the asphalt crosses a plateau. There were some trees here and there, but I couldn’t actually remember whether you’re supposed to be near a tree during a lightning storm or far away from one. It’s funny how quickly all that encyclopaedic knowledge vanishes the moment you actually need it — and you end up running entirely on instinct.
I had never ridden in a lightning storm. I didn’t know what you were supposed to do. Pull over? Keep going? I didn’t know. So I just kept riding.
The rain was pouring. Soaked through within minutes — we’re talking an extra 10–15 kilograms of water, and it gets cold fast.
And the whole time, I was thinking about Zeus. I’m on Mount Olympus. In a lightning storm. The irony wasn’t lost on me. Of all the places a thunderstorm could find you, this was probably the most fitting one (if there even is such a thing).
I kept going.
Shelter — and then Katerini
About an hour in, the road started descending and I spotted some old farm buildings off to the side. Pulled over and stopped underneath.
The lightning eased off after about half an hour. The rain kept going, but it didn’t matter anymore. Already soaked to the bone — nothing left to get wet.
When the lightning stopped completely, I got back on the bike and started down toward the sea.
Halfway down the clouds broke. Above the coast there were almost none left. The road I was riding, though, had turned into a river — winding, collecting pine cones, branches, leaves and fast clear water at every bend. That was the only trace left of the apocalypse I’d been riding through twenty minutes earlier.
By the time I reached Katerini, the sky was clear. Sunny. Warm. Like nothing had happened.
I rode into town, found a place to sleep, had a proper shower, dried out, and sat on the terrace looking back at the mountain — still wrapped in dark clouds, almost exactly like in the myths.
This route is now a guided expedition — Mountains, Sea & Meteora.