Stergios used to be a policeman. He only retired a few months back, and up until then he was a patrol officer, riding a police motorcycle, which was usually a Japanese model with a hefty engine. You know, one of those with a short metal pillar on the back with a blue light on the top, which he could make flash importantly when he was in a hurry. His own bike though, now that’s something else. He takes great care of his baby, which is a very nice BMW with a 1200cc engine and, of course, the BMW trademark, a fully-encased shaft-drive to the rear wheel.

Just in passing, I’ve owned a few motorcycles in my time, and I passed my test by the way, so I could ride the big babies with the best of the leather clad knights on two wheels. The nicest bike we ever actually owned was a Honda 400 Super Dream, with a pair of Krauser paniers on the back and retro fitted oil pressure and battery charging gauges. We had a wonderful holiday in the Nancy region of France on that one back in the eighties, but that’s for another day, as it’s not particularly related to things Greek. But, getting to the point for fellow motorcycle freaks out there, most bikes (as those in the know will know, taps the side of his nose conspiratorially) deliver the drive to the rear wheels from the gearbox via a hefty chain. Those chains need a lot of maintenance and, in this climate, they can be a real bind. But shaft drive, now that’s the bees knees, and most BMW bikes are just that. No chains to lubricate, adjust or even, in extreme  cases, snap. If you’re not in the know, you may not even realise that motorcycle chains stretch with time, thus necessitating regular adjustment of its tension and of the alignment of the rear wheel. Anyway, just before you lose the will to live, stop reading this and move on elsewhere…

Stergios is not yet sixty, so, even though the government here has revised the normal retirement age steeply upwards during the last few years, it seems that policemen still have the luxury of being able to stop work early. We got to know him through his mum, who’s toward the wrong end of her seventies and housebound due to a number of major health issues. She’s usually to be found sitting at her kitchen table, her ‘pi’ (what the Greeks call a walking frame) immediately to hand, with a selection of medications, a couple of remote controls (TV, air-con etc) beside her within easy reach, and some odd edibles that she can nibble if she gets hungry. We’ve dropped in to see her now and then over the six years that we’ve now lived here, and never actually met Stergios until this past few weeks. He was always at work, keeping the good citizens of the Ierapetra area safe. Well, plus probably handing out the occasional speeding fine too, I suppose.

A few weeks ago though, as we were sitting with his mum, he strode in unexpectedly and she introduced us to him. He has never married, probably because he’s in love with his two-wheeled horse anyway. He has a great sense of humour though, and we left the house feeling glad to have met him and having had the opportunity to wish him a happy retirement.

Move on a couple of weeks, and there we were strolling through town after having passed a very acceptable hour or so sipping coffee at the water’s edge in the Plaz Café, when a horn sounded behind us. Turning around, there was this imposing chap, in a very flashy matt-black helmet, siting astride this massive white BMW machine. We didn’t recognise him right away, until he revealed himself from under that headgear, exposing a face that was beaming from ear to ear. It was really flattering that he’d recognised us. So we walked back to exchange a few words of banter with him. It was evident that he was revelling in his newfound freedom to do what he wants when he wants, as he was in ebullient mood.

As we chatted, I spotted above the handlebars of the bike a coffee holder, and within its grasp there was, of course, the ubiquitous iced coffee in a disposable cup with domed see-through plastic lid. I couldn’t help but remark that it was a dead give-away that the bike’s owner was a Greek, and I went on to relate to him how we’d also seen a proud dad walking his toddler in its stroller once when we were sipping a coffee ourselves in the square in Skala, the main port on the island of Patmos, and in the side of said stroller was a coffee holder with the dad’s iced coffee safely ensconced within. If you know Greece well, then you’ll know that whatever vehicle you care to name (starting at the bottom end with baby strollers, and working all the way up to a giant earth-moving machine, no doubt an Airbus A340 too), you can be dead sure that somewhere within reaching distance of the steering wheel, joystick or handlebars, there’ll be a coffee cup holder. It’s apparently an essential and, I might add, quite right too.

Stergios was quick to inform us that even on the police bikes that he used to ride while on duty there was also always a coffee holder. “I mean,” he continued, “it wouldn’t have done for me to fall asleep while on patrol, would it?”

I like a man who gets his priorities right, don’t you?

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