New York man's idea of bike ride is thousands of miles

By David Zizzo

Published: July 1, 2008

One day 15 years ago, Demetri Kolokotronis bought a tiny abandoned house "with a huge tree collapsed on the roof” near Saugerties, N.Y., eight miles from the nearest store. He parked his 1978 Dodge, now dead from neglect, and hasn't driven since.

"I like bicycles,” Kolokotronis said as he prepared to begin another ride — this one 1,800 miles long.

On Friday, Kolokotronis pedaled away from the Oklahoma City home of Clark Elliott, a high school buddy he last saw at the two friends' 1949 graduation from Roosevelt High School in St. Louis.

"I haven't seen him in 59 years,” Elliott said. "He's kind of an unusual character.”

Kolokotronis, 76, has made 1,000 mountain-climbing ascents. He's a certified professional ski instructor and has written an online tool tips column. He heats his 800-square-foot home with wood he gathers from his 19-acre property. And he's a pedaling maniac.

In 2003, Kolokotronis biked from Port Townsend, Wash., to Bar Harbor, Maine, putting in 5,000 miles. Last year, Kolokotronis decided to visit a high school buddy in California — and take a ride while he was at it. So, he boxed up his touring bike — a highly modified, twice-repainted 35-year-old Swiss-made Cilo that at one time was a racing rig — and shipped it to Bellingham, Wash.

He flew to Bellingham, assembled his bike and rode 1,300 meandering miles to Napa, Calif.

"This year, I thought, well, I'll see Clark,” Kolokotronis said. So, he shipped his bike to Elliott's house, where he and Elliott assembled it. Kolokotronis loaded it with four saddle bags, three water bottles, two mats, a sleeping bag, a tent, lights and other equipment, about 100 pounds' worth, he estimates.

Kolokotronis needs all the gear because he prefers anything but motels. On his trips, people sometimes offer him space to camp.

"I've camped in gazebos, houses, barns, basements, yards,” he said. In one small town out west, a post office worker suggested he use the town park, which had a restroom. Kolokotronis asked whether that would be allowed. "I'll ask the mayor,” the woman said, and she made a phone call. "The mayor says it's OK.”

Kolokotronis retired from a career in marketing communications. Long ago, he was married, he said, but "it's a distant memory. It's just myself and a cat right now.” He does a lot of volunteer work at a crisis center in nearby Woodstock, N.Y. No, he didn't attend the historic music festival there in 1969, he said.

On long bike trips, Kolokotronis has had "catcalls” from a few motorists but never a really bad experience. The two times he was awakened by strangers, both turned out to be ex-cons with interesting tales. One was a guy who showed up in the dark where Kolokotronis was camping in a half-finished building at an Indiana campground.

"He said he was on parole, and he just had to have a joint and a beer, and if he got caught, they would revoke his parole,” Kolokotronis recalled. "He told me about his time in jail, his life, his family.”

Kolokotronis often e-mails people who help him to let them know he made it home safely. Some, such as one farm woman, seem genuinely concerned. "We were worrying about you,” Kolokotronis said she wrote. "She told me about the progress on their barn, like we were friends. I touched their lives.”

Comments