Buffavento Castle or 'bollox to the wind'

 Once upon a time a very long time ago some blokes decided it would be fun to build a castle right on top of a pig of a mountain to defend the island against Arabs. Now that sounds like a good plan to me so I decided that whatever a few hundred crusader types on donkeys could do, I could do on Rubic. Today was the day I needed to attack Buffavento Castle. I am reliably informed by a goat salesman from Nicossia parish that 'Buffavento' means 'Bollox to the wind'. Another good sign, clearly the crusaders who built the castle had the same attitude as I do. I didn't need an alarm clock, I had set my internal body clock to go off with a thud. At 6am I hit the deck as I fell out of bed. Today was 'Bollox to the wind day'.

 Breakfast was two bananas and a litre of water. I kitted up and hit the road just as the sun was rising behind me as I road west in the direction of Nicossia. All along the plain the wind was up to it's usual tricks making life on the bike painful in places, but as the sun gradually climbed higher I was gratefull the wind was there to cool me down. Here the battle between heat and wind is fought every day, and at this time of year the heat  wins. This was going to be a hot hard tough ride. Rubic and I were ready. I staid on the aero bars most of the way. The traffic consisted of about 30 cars maximum all the way along the plain. Rush hour here clearly. Leaving the highway I decided to turn right into the little villages and put my faith in God Garmin as I began the climb towards the mountains. The houses here are quite nice and the usual peaceful atmoshere of a Cypriot village was soon surrounding me. I was careful at junctions, my faith in God Garmin hadn't yet reached 100% as here the roads have not yet sworn an oath of allegiance to the God of mapping, Google.

 At one such junction a group of leather skinned cigarette smoking men were playing something similar to backgammon. Nobody was moving, all of them seemed frozen in time as they sat perfectly still staring at the board in front of them. Two alsation dogs came towards me, I was on red alert and got off and patted them because there was no way I could out cycle them up that hill, so I figured it was best to make friends with my enemies. Two women hung out the old mens washing while they played games. Cypriot men seem to have the relationship thing sussed I thought. Gradually the climb increased and I was really feeling the heat now. I had refilled my water bottles at a local 'market' shop in readiness for the mountian to come.

Taking a roadside shower

Look what Cyclops provided!

               
My skin, although covered in factor 30 sun cream was sizzling in the sun, I wanted something good to happen. Just then at the top of a short sharp gradiant I found the village washing fountain. Cyclops was on my side today. Within seconds I had de helmetted and had cold water running through my hair and all over. I cannot describe how good that felt! I was getting 'knowing looks' from the locals, a sure sign that the Mountain was coming and had been designed for goats only.

Commando Hill

 I looked up; the Mountain pass here has the word 'Kumando' written on it. I think this is Commando hill, clearly named  after numerous headcase foriegn cyclists and thier lack of underwear, I reasoned. Surely nothing to do with the Commandos during the 1974 war then. Here the road was being resurfaced and a line of cones had been set out along the centre of the entire climb, solely for use by huge trucks and cement mixers as a giant slalem course. One by one they came down the hill weaving in and out of the cones, occassionally clipping or flattening one, much to the amusement of the workmen on the road. The views got better as the climb progressed and although the heat was really uncomfortable, I knew that this was just the beginning.

   

The real climb was yet to come. Reaching the restaurant at the top of the road pass I stopped under a shady bush and sat on a wall. Here I got chatting to the Head of flag waving operations for the construction company. This guy was in charge of the red flag, and waved it at every truck until they surrendered and pulled over. He then shouted instructions at a thousand words a second (the slalem course rules I guessed) before they were allowed down the other side. He was interested in where I was going, had come from, and why Scotsmen wore kilts. He had qualified in Turkey as a red flag waver and had come over to Cyprus to put his skillsets to good use. I said my goodbyes. Sign language is a wonderful thing. I turned off the main road here and took the smaller road to the Castle some 6km away.

Switchbacks on the rough 6km road to the Castle car park

Looking down across to Nicossia

 The road surface here became rougher, with some loose chippings over a tarmaced road. It was totally rideable but I took it slow, all the while being wary of a visit from the puncture fairy, who clearly lived up here. The views here border on amazing, 'amazing' was however yet to come. Riding slowly in intense heat the climb started to drag a little, I was talking to my new mate Rubic all the way up, like a pilgrim on his mule. Rubic was solid on the climb and I felt safe.

This is my 'Goat' Rubic with the castle on top of the ridge behind

                                                       

On and on and on went this winding road...until suddenly under a tree sat an old man. We had arrived at the end of the road. Here this man was entrusted with ensuring the shade was used for its intended purpose. Smoking under. Looking up at the castle above and the winding goat track to the very summit I asked him if it was possible to take Rubic up to the top. He nodded, smiled and said 'Yes Mr, Ok Mr'.

                                                 

Half way up the Goat track I realized that his efforts sitting under the tree had made him delusional. Clearly when he had looked at Rubic he had seen a goat. Onwards and onwards I walked. The Goat track up to the top was paved in places but gradually this deteriorated to loose rocks. I decided to park Rubic and continue up alone. I was out of breath, clearly a sign of altitude sickness I summized, as this was as close to real mountaineering as I ever want to get again!

The edge of the path

Back to the wall and dont look down

Up and up, I went, in the baking mid day sun. Looking down at any point was NOT an option. The sheer drops in places were enough to send Sir Edmund Hilary himself crawling on his belly. Finally I saw the castle wall. I inched closer hugging the rockface as loose stones, dislodged by my road shoes, fell over the edge down to eternity. The final bend came, I was there. Or was I? here the path was less than 2 ' wide, with a sheer drop to my left. The footting was loose and unstable. I was wearing cycle road shoes (not hiking boots) and I was getting very dizzy. I sat down, in some goat shit, and had a chat with myself.
Was reaching a pile of crusader blokes rocks 5 metres away worth risking my life for? The answer, strangely enough, came to me in an instant. 'Sod this for a game of soldiers!'

Decision time on the edge of the world

The castle wall

 I was clinging to a thorn bush for dear life as I turned and looked back down. BIG mistake! The full enormity of the climb I had just done reared up in front of me and my head started to spin in the heat. Surely this wasn't my time? If it was I would fall happy, but right now I wasn't about to let that happen. I sat down and discovered a new ability to 'arse crawl' back down the loose rocks to the more solid path below. I was good with my decision. I had given it my very best and had said 'bollox to the wind'.

Loose rock path near the top

        

On the way down I noticed all the lizards were hugging the rockface, away from the edge. Clearly a sign from Cyclops, so I decided to follow it to the letter! After all, why argue with a cycle god at a time like this? Eventually I hooked back up with Rubic who was busy being admired by a group of three south african lady climbers about to go forth where I had just crawled. I bade them good luck and a fond farewell and headed down to see the old bloke under the tree.

A huge boulder blocks the path, landside anyone?

Looking down to Kyrenia

The Tree man hadn't moved, but I think he had re lit his cigarette. He smiled a knowing smile clearly perfected over centuries for use with dumbass tourists stupid enough to climb his mountain in lycra and road shoes. We grunted our goodbyes and I left him in charge of his tree.

The huge quarry I rode past on the way up

 

Rolling back down the 6km rough road to the restaurant on the main road just seemed to take forever. Even though I had two full water bottles at the bottom of the goat track before I went up , I was more thirsty than I was even in Kansas when I road across the states in 2012!

Rubic on the 6km rough road back to the flag waver and start of the slalem course

I rode right past my friend the red flag waver again and directly into the restaurant. I ordered two cokes, and three litres of cold water and sat down in some well earned shade, free of any delussional smoking leathery blokes, and proceeded to down the lot, slowly.

It's nice but what was really nice was it had WATER!

The view from my table

 Here I could have ventured down the other side of the mountain to Girne, but given the heat, the right decision for me was to head back the same way I had came up. The gradiant would be with me and possibly the wind in places.

The run down was fun, but each time I wound in and out of the slalem course Rubics brakes screached in agony. The heat was getting to his rubber bits, not a good thing really I thought. So I continued down the course at top speed regardless, over taking the truck carrying more molten tar, the cement mixer and two cars to claim my rightful gold KOM podium position at the bottom. Speeding on through the little village again I stopped at the junction. Here one of the old blokes had  finally made his back gammon move, now that his washing was dry.

 Back on the main road that runs along the plain the wind once again reared its ugly head. Today it was mainly from the south and I had a cross wind most of the way back. I was frying in the heat and even with copious amounts of sun block I found myself shade hopping from one gas station to the next.

Looking back at no underwear hill on the way back

Finally I reached Iskele, and a final turn into the wind south. This one mile stretch was killer. Tired and over heating against a serious headwind, it was a case of down on the aero bars and ride hell bent for leather back to base camp. Rolling up to the pool bar, it took me less than 2 seconds to de kit, and fall backwards into the pool. The water sizzled as my skin hit it,I had arrived. Maybe not in style, but I had arrived.



Footnote:
For thost 'Stataholics' out there let me add that the Garmin stats for the wind force here are a complete lie. On this ride the average speed is low because of the amount of walking up the Goat path to the summit.