Put yourself in our shoes

Posted on 16 May ’12 by Adrian

Packing light is an essential part of adventure cycling. In an Ideal world it would be great to have a pair of shoes for every occasion stuffed away in your panniers but let’s face it, we’re not talking about an ideal world. So when we were packing for our 2011 European challenge we found it tough to decide what to take with us. We were both determined to ride with clipless pedals and without any money to buy new gear we had no other option than to take our battered old cycling shoes on the trip. They did the job just about but we needed something else to wear when we were off the bikes so we both packed a pair of the lightest trainers we could find, which happened to be canvas pumps. We quickly learned that even in good weather we would usually have to walk about in wet grass every morning while we packed up our tent and prepared for the days riding. Getting wet feet and slipping around like idiots soon became a regular part of life on the road, so when our good friends at natureshop asked us if we’d like to test out some of their new 2012 footwear range you can imagine our excitement! Just in time for a spring tour of Devon too.

What Adrian thinks of the Teva

So, let’s just say I’m sceptical about things which claim to be waterproof. Most kit which claims to be waterproof is either rediculously heavy and sweaty or simply doesn’t work, however I have found eVent fabrics to be pretty decent which is why I chose to test out these Teva Forge Pro eVent trainers.

I’ve been wearing these for 2 months now and I’ve managed to spill just about everything on them, including hot coffee and turd infested flood water at work, much to my relief they kept me nice and dry.

I’ve tested them camping and walking and I would say they’re probably the best trainers I’ve ever used for that kind of stuff. I’ve worn them on the bike quite a lot too, the only time I have got my feet wet is when I wore them in a down pore and the rain ran off my GoreTex trousers and into my shoes, at the end of the day they are trainers after all. Still even with water pouring into them they were reasonably comfortable and didn’t fill up with water like my so called waterproof socks did.

The only downside is they are a bit bulky as they do have quite chunky soles but I reckon it’s worth it for the luxury of having dry and comfy feet. They’re very grippy but don’t get caked in mud and they’re pretty light as well. So I have to say I’m a big fan of these shoes!

James’ view of the Glove

The Merrell Sonic Glove is a super light weight, comfortable trainer. The barefoot technology is something quite amazing – essentially your foot is flatter to the ground – so your posture is improved and your legs, hips and feet assume the position as if walking barefoot. Having worn these out during the Tour of Devon and few a few weeks prior too I have to say that these shoes are extremely comfortable and really do make a big difference to your posture.

In touring terms these shoes are perfect because they are light weight and compact so even in my giant size 11′s they fit neatly in to a front or rear pannier. One word about sizing – Merrell sizes tend towards the lower end of the spectrum – so if in doubt go for the bigger size. I had to send the 10.5′s back so keep this in mind. If you do have to get another size sent out Nature Shops’ returns policy is excellent offering free returns and P&P.

 

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Bikes Change Lives

Posted on 18 Apr ’12 by Adrian

Today I have once again had the pleasure of visiting the inspirational tea fuelled power house that is re~cycle HQ over in Colchester UK. And what a day it was!

It was a great chance to catch up with the fantastic people who make it all happen! A crack team of volunteers arrived early this morning in abismal rain and wind to load a shipment of bikes set for Malawi. As you can see from the pictures they use every last inch of space.

Most of the bikes that are donated go straight to Africa, if a bike arrives and meets the standard then it is compacted by removing parts such as pedals and kick stands, then the handlebars are turned so they can be packed as tightly as possible. The bikes will then be rebuilt and serviced when they arrive in Africa by local people who re~cycle help to train and educate.

Some donated bikes are in a very poor condition but nothing goes to waste at re~cycle! Every nut, bolt, spoke and spindle is painstakingly salvaged and used as spares.

Some bikes such as modern racers and vintage collectors bikes are not suitable for the African market so these go to a separate workshop where they are serviced and sold locally, generating income to keep the charity afloat.

I was over the moon to see not a penny of our fundraising going to waste. It was also fantastic to hear that re~cycles plans for the future include strengthening their network of African partners and helping to meet the increased demand for shipments through setting up more collection depots. They deserve all the help they can get and we will certainly be behind them every step of the way!

Please give generously to Re~Cycle by clicking here

You can also now donate by text message (UK only). It’s quick and easy! Just text RBBR99 followed by the amount you want to donate (e.g. RBBR99£20) to 70070 and your donation will be added to your next phone bill.

Thankyou!!!!

Ade and Jim

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Part 15: Home

Posted on 8 Mar ’12 by Adrian

Zagreb was eerie and quiet, It’s Sunday morning. We park our bikes against a wall, take stock on our losses and figure out where to stay the night. We’re amazed by how thoroughly the thieves have gone through our stuff, right under our noses. They’d even taken care to remove cash from our wallets then carefully place them back in our bags. We’d been fleeced good and proper. We carry on looking. Phone, cammera, yep, gone. They’d even taken Jim’s jeans. We were livid, scratching our heads in bewilderment, how didn’t we wake up? Did they really gas our cabin? The truth is we’ll never know but we arrived in Zagreb feeling pretty down about it all. The weather had taken a sudden winter-ward snap. The cold fog was sucking the life out of us as we sat dejected on the pavement.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end!

OK so it could have been much worse, we still had our bikes, passports and enough time to ride the final leg to Lljubliana. We vow never to take a night train again and put our shoes, jackets and gloves on. One, two, three, four. Five bags. Ride on!

We soon find the perfect antidote to our Bosnian blues. Hostel Funk. Once we are revived with coffee and burek our hosts pass around foot long rifas. We don’t loose much sleep over our ordeal! After so long on the road it’s easy to forget what day it is so we were over the moon to discover our visit had fallen on their legendary Halloween party. Just what we needed. We went off to the second hand shops to buy warm clothes and knocked together a couple of superb scary-ish outfits while we were at it. Harry Potter and the Mask of Zara. When we return the decorations are up and music is pumping. Now this is happening!

As we peddle into Slovenia on the following damp November morning it felt as if everything was changing. The colours. Bright yellow to deep red and everything in between, lush deciduous forest. Pumpkins smile at us as we pass garden gates. Grey clouds stretch over our heads. The pastel shades of Austrian architecture return. Alpine tranquillity approaching with ever turn of the pedals. Our moods return to optimism. We’re going home!

The days are filled with reflection, the mountainous valley walls are flipped in reverse to our side in the cold waters of the Sava as the past 14 weeks reel through our minds. From Burnham Street to the Balkans. We recall our favourite characters, people who we will never forget. The kindness that kept us going, riding on to see who else was waiting for us. The frontiers we’d crossed, steeped in history and culture. The places, the struggles, the hope, the victories. Getting lost and finding ourselves.

We arrive in beautiful Ljubljana smug and exhausted. We fly home from here. Home. If you start to feel most at home when you’re in motion then maybe home is just a state of mind. Whatever home is I’m not entirely sure of any more, but I’ve felt at home in places I’d never even imagined of a few months ago.

Our spirits are high as we reach the final days of our journey. Two of my closest friends arrive to party with us. I can’t imagine a better way to celebrate. Slovenia’s capital doesn’t disappoint! We find our selves in a crazy squatted military barracks drinking Rakija with the locals, smiling, laughing, putting the world to rights.

This is how it was supposed to end.

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Part 14: Majdas Touch

Posted on 23 Jan ’12 by James

Where have you been? What have you been doing? Why have you left us hanging for the last 77 days, 19 hours, 57 minutes and 21 seconds…

Well, it turns out that life on the road is WAY simpler than life in the ‘real’ world. We’re truly sorry for the delay in getting this final post together and published but I’m certain that if you read this post you will be satisfied that we completed the trip in proper Really Big Bike Ride fashion…

So we last posted from Dubrovnik, the fortress city of Southern Croatia, our next move was to hit a couple of the islands, including Mijet, which means ‘honey’ and cycle through the National Park – very beautiful, very quiet and very expensive. So far so out of season. After a couple of nights immersed in the wonderful tranquillity of these splendid islands, we made the journey back to the mainland and headed for the border.

A pleasant Sunday afternoon crossing into Bosnia and we make our way towards Mostar for a few days rest. First impressions of Bosnia are that it’s a lot like Wales, in more ways than one. We deviate slightly from our intended route and end up in the sticks, after a few hours in the saddle in soggy weather, we call into the first restaurant we see – as we approach the doors are closed, shutters pulled down and the open sign turned to closed. We manage to speak through one of the windows to a youngish girl of around sixth form age and are told that it’s a public holiday of some sort and that there’s no food to be had. Fair enough. We push on further through the village and find a shop, purchasing a couple of chocolate bars and a packet of biscuits – this sets us back 5 euro.

Arriving in Mostar we’re soaking wet and are desperate to get a hot shower and a good meal. We meet a Kiwi couple and Ian proceeds to wax lyrical about his very own Dawes Galaxy that has a fixed gear on each wheel, proclaiming the simplicity of the set up to be a revelation. Except we agree when it comes to climbing a hill. Or going down one for that matter. We check in to a 94% rated ‘hostel’ formerly Majdas Rooms. We’re given hot soup, fresh towels and a low down of what to see, what to do and where to eat. So far so good. We drink a few beers; make a little conversation with our new friends David (American, from New Jersey, living in Hungary, total computer genius, rare dude), Veronique (French, travelling around Europe, three days sick, leaving tomorrow), Josie (Scottish, 19, busking her way around Europe, Classically trained musician, all round legend) and the Canadian who blagged our heads a little bit. We’re having a great time until Majdas comes home. Between us putting our shoes on and leaving for dinner Madja has made us Public Enemy No.1 and asks us if we want to leave the hostel. We’re shocked. It makes no sense. We’re very confused but we’ve just checked in and we’re not going anywhere. For the next two days Majdas makes a point of either being rude, threatening or ignoring us altogether. Its weird. Really weird. We’re not sure what we did to upset the lady but something about us she did not like and boy did we know about it.

Mostar though is truly beautiful and offers some interesting cultural experiences. We visited the famous bridge Stari Most, walked the Minaret, climbed the bank that was used as a sniper tower on the front line during the siege and bought lots of knitted wool socks. We enjoyed Mostar and would certainly go back to jump from the bridge. That is if we hadn’t had such an awful experience on the night train. Do not catch the night train anywhere in Eastern Europe unless you absolutely have to and definitely know where it’s going and if there are any changes.

Having cycled for nearly 100 days and had such amazing luck throughout we felt that booking a train would be pretty straight forward. We had I guess in a way let down our guards. EPIC FAIL. We boarded the night train an hour late with excitement and a touch of trepidation. We settle into our seats and decide that it might just be OK. That’s when the giant ex-military SAS style train conductor asks for our tickets, which we happily hand over having already paid the supplement for our luggage and bikes, turns out this geezer has other plans which involve us handing over a further 10 euros in cash. The last of our hard currency. He reeked of booze and was quite cross and shouty. Thanks then.

We sit back, pissed off, not certain that we’re going to make it Zagreb in one piece or not. Our worst fears are quickly confirmed when the train pulls into a station and we’re told that we have to change to another train, that is waiting at the platform – since we’re already an hour behind time we absolutely cannot fuck around and need to get all 10 of our bags and the bikes on the train sharpish.

We’re on our second train in a carriage with a reasonable looking chap feeling a little harassed so we open our little picnic hamper and share our bottle of wine and snacks with our new friend and begin to feel a little better about our prospects. We’re on the train for a little over an hour when we’re politely informed that yes, the train will soon be arriving at its destination and that we’re to be ready to disembark pronto. Alas, we’re not yet in Zagreb, but somewhere in North Bosnia and we’re to get on a bus. With our bikes parked right next to us in our seats. Great. The fun never ends for AJ and James. This is only the first leg of our four wheeled sections. We have to leave this bus and get on to a coach with a really irate driver who really would rather we weren’t on his coach and that we didn’t have so much luggage especially two bicycles. Who catches a coach with a bike in the middle of the night anyway?

So after finally crossing the border into Croatia and having our passports checked by the immigration people we are edging closer to our destination. We think. We think wrong and have to make one final ridiculous change that involves making a mad dash across several sets of train lines in the darkest of nights to climb aboard our fifth and final connection of the night. Happily we are helped with our luggage by two local chaps who seem very nice and are interested in Premier League football. We scramble across the tracks and onto the train in the nick of time. We settle into a carriage close to the bikes complete with sliding door and curtains. We doze off for what seems like a few minutes… Unhappily the two chaps who helped us with our stuff on to the train have also helped us off the train with some of the more valuable of our belongings including Adrian’s Kindle, camera with all our shots of South Croatia, Bosnia and Montenegro, £50 cash and a BlackBerry mobile phone. Oh, and my jeans. My favourite jeans from Bershka in Barcelona. And my waterproof shorts too. Great. Thanks. Oh and they gassed us too…

MAP coming soon.

Give generously to Re~Cycle here

You can also now donate by text message (UK only). It’s quick and easy! Just text RBBR99 followed by the amount you want to donate (e.g. RBBR99£20) to 70070 and your donation will be added to your next phone bill.

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Part 13: Unlucky for Some

Posted on 24 Oct ’11 by James

How much fun was Albania? I’ve just reread AJ’s post and its taken me back there. Awesome! Like so much of our journey Albania for me most clearly demonstrates how we get along and as lucky as we do. The trick is to have a loose idea of where you want to go, what you’d like to see and then get on and see what happens. As you’ll have read Albania took us for the ride and not the other way around, sort of grabbed hold of us and swept us away of its own accord, much to our enjoyment and satisfaction. You really have to just roll with it, and because we did it’s easily the most exciting place that we’ve visited.

So this week eh? We’ve really had to get down to it to be honest, for the following reasons; its gotten very cold, we’ve had torrential rain for a week and I nearly hospitalised us both with poisonous water. Oh and we’ve hit three countries back to back and completed the challenge. Not bad going if I do say so myself.

After such a hectic and wild introduction to the United Kingdom of Albania we made a snap decision in spite of a fierce head wind to chip over to Kosovo for a Friday night for a change of pace since we were so close to the border and it would be rude not to. Now there are a couple of things that I can tell you about Kosovo; the roads are very narrow and the drivers pretty ridiculous, the hotel grading system is slightly misleading and the water… DON’T DRINK THE WATER! After a very restful night in the Jakovo Hotel (four stars, 30 Euro for a twin room, I won the toss for the double bed by the way) and a slap up meal in the Piano Bar – the best restaurant in town and still easily within our budget, we left Gjakove heading back to our adopted cousin Albania, and more specifically the Valbone and the Albanian Alps.

The day started much as any other, cycling, eating, cycling, eating, cycling, you know the sort of thing you do on a cycle tour of 20 European countries in 100 days. We stopped like any other day at a small town with a mountain spring to make porridge and fill up on ‘fresh’ water. We continue toward the border anticipating a big climb that never materialises, we stop at a hotel within sight of the border for some lunch, the whole of the local police force appear to be there, we dine for less than 10 euro for two courses and the owner treats us to free coffee, we tip heavily and cross into Albania. This is the most beautiful border crossing anywhere I’ve seen, the Albanian Alps spike up to the right and the road runs away to the left into a gorgeous valley – its a fast road too and we’ve got it all to our selves. We race all the way to Bajram Curri, gateway to Valbone. At this point the road is nothing more than a dirt track and its 25 km up a step gorge to our destination and daylight is fading, we get moving with the knowledge that wild bears still roam these parts and our progress is speedy for this reason. After 15km I begin to get stomach ache and slow right down – it’s minus three and we have 10 km to go. It’s painful.

We arrive at a lodge as a Swiss couple with a German woman are walking by, we ask if this is where the American, Catherine lives with Alfred and receive the affirmative – Professor Tabaku had told us of this place and we had a message from Sali for Catherine about a French woman who’d written about Albania and Lord Byron – we have a brief chat with Peter, his wife and Fransisca and escape to the warmth of the bar. Full to capacity we squeeze on the end of a table and order some beers. A chap on the nearest table catches our English and introduces himself and the table, Kevin, working in Kosovo on an assignment for the army, Matt working on his thesis about Kosovo and Dave keeping an eye the pair of them. We learn from Dave that the place is fully booked – it is a Saturday night after all – so we introduce ourselves to Catherine and Alfred who are deep in conversation with their builders about some work going on at the lodge. We are kindly offered the guest lodge 1km up the road and gratefully accept, ordering another beer and settling at the table with the other Brits. As all this is taking place I’m feeling terrible, certain that I’m going to be badly ill and sick at any moment. I excuse myself and dash to the bathroom. I was right, I was dreadfully sick and spent the rest of the night being sick with the shits too. Probably the sickest I’ve ever been – awful, properly, sicky awful. Fortunately, the whole population of guests are the kindest people on the planet and do everything they can to help me and make sure I survive. So in no particular order thank you to Catherine and Alfred for finding room for us on a busy, fully booked night, to Peter and his lovely wife for supplying us with electrolytes – the key to our recovery, to Francisica for generally being a saint and making sure we wanted for nothing and drank plenty of black doctor and water and giving up your spare bed, to Matt and Dave for being proper gents and giving up your room for us and to all the staff for making the best food, particularly the bread and soup, in the whole world. Thank you all, we have not only fully recovered but we are firing on all cylinders once more! I say us because Adrian having spent a wonderful evening entertaining the guests with tales of our journey to Valbona, became sick in the middle of the night, and so it was that we spent the next day and night bed ridden and suffering in the freezing mountains of Albania.

Heart rending stuff, I know, but we had to continue our adventure and the lodge was fully booked next day too so back on the bikes feeling less than human and into Valbone to see what we’d set out to. And what beauty did we see. The most magnificent and dramatic mountain landscape of all time – truly, madly, deeply breathtaking! A surreality from the confinement of our sick beds. Down we went ever so slowly down the twenty five kilometres of treacherous dirt track in the most beautiful part of the world I’ve ever seen feeling less than human and again to the town of Bajram Curri and beyond to the remote town of Fierze. For next day we were to sail the Lake Koman, a reservoir in a gorge in the midst of the Albanian Alps. We arrived to this town, bought provisions from the shop, made our way to set up camp when a young punk shouts ‘you no sleep here – this is my place, go!’ What?. We just want an early night and to catch this boat first thing, give us a break. He comes back again; ‘you no sleep here – this is my place, go! Why you no stay at hotel?’ What hotel? We follow this kid a couple hundred metres to the ‘hotel’. Ha! We accept our fate and praise serendipity – the boat leaves from this place – an hour earlier than we were told and the hotel is £2 a night. Hotel in Albanian loosely translates as a building, this particular hut was more tree house than hotel and the wonky external stairs missing a couple of steps and without handrail make for a more ‘Crystal Maze’ experience than that of a traditional accommodation elsewhere. Bear in mind we both still have the shits and are now sleeping an assault course away from the toilet. All I’ll tell you about the toilet at this exclusive and luxurious hotel is this; you know the scene in Trainspotting when Renton is coming off the gear and has to use the ‘worst toilet in Scotland’ – multiply that by one hundred. You’re not even close. Grim times, and a sleepless night.

Easy come, easy go. We’re on the floating minibus destined for the town of Komani and its 6am. It’s FEEZING. And off we pop. This boat is a local lifeline, delivering supplies to remote locations, picking up and dropping off passengers wherever they happen to be or want to go and making a little money from tourists along the way. But seriously a trip you have to make. Its incredible, stunning and without compare. This is the most amazing ‘mini cruise’ of all time. And at just 400 leke – its a steal! Stepping off the vessel we are both glad to reach the other side without incident, however Ade is suffering from some heavy stomach ache and its a good hour before we can leave the town and pedal the 60km to Shkoder. After 36km of very quiet single track road along a series of reservoirs and mountain lakes which conspire to create a very wild landscape, interrupted only by the numerous power lines that string their way from the hydro electric power plant at the foot of the dam where we alighted the tiny boat, we stop in a small town to grab some lunch. Refreshed with lemon chai and a ridiculous amount of meat and chips that we can’t finish we saddle up for the last of the afternoon sunshine bound for Shkoder, a decent nights sleep and a day off to straighten ourselves out. Shkoder is a grand little town with a distinctly Austrian feel to it’s Old Town and a very lush park and a vibrant café culture – close your eyes a moment and you could easily be in any cosmopolitan European city – everyone wears designer clothes and big sunglasses.

So from Shkoder to Bar, Montenegro and our 19th country. We are feeling a little better but still no where near the fitness we had been enjoying – we’re still only managing small meals and are not as strong as we’d like – but we have to make progress, cash is tight since we’ve had to stay indoors more than we would have done and we really have to push on; we’ve booked our flight home and have to be on that plane. A quick shimmy along the Dalmatian Coast seems like the perfect way to end our trip, sun, sea, sand and mountains. Ha! Torrential rain and all that cal more like. We’ve been drowned everyday for a week in some of the heaviest and prolonged showers we’ve ever seen, there is a thunderstorm on Friday that is so severe that we are forced off the bikes – a bicycle is a very dangerous thing to be connected to when lightening is reaching out to the earth with forked snakes tongue. Soggy and amused by the sheer force of the rain that is simply too much to bear we embrace a night in a very hard to find hostel in Budva, the ironically named Sun Hostel. We meet a man called Jerard, who has been everywhere and is en route to Albania in preparation for a road trip next year, so we give him the low down over dinner and a couple of glasses of wine. The next day looks more promising, blue sky can be seen from the breakfast table and we decide its now or never. After the heaviest ‘shower’ of all time we arrive at Kotor, a world heritage site and the rain ceases and the sun appears from behind the clouds. We opt to take a tour of the Kotorski Lake, now I have said already once in this post that Valbone is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been to, and it is, but this is something different, something more charming and pleasing, Valbona is rugged, dramatic and awe inspiring due to its remoteness and fierce surroundings, Kotor is something else; the reflections of the mountains in the fjord, the tiny rainbow coloured boats moored at every house, the ancient and beautiful buildings and churches which are numerous make this place more than anywhere that I’ve seen the most complete and delightful environment. The water too – so clear, so calm – it has a very happy influence and brings peace of mind. Lunch is a complete hoot, a cruise ship has landed in town and the place is crawling with tourists – Brits mainly – enjoying the character and charm of the maze of streets that constitute the old town, we are the main attraction and repeat our story many times. One chap has us rolling with laughter when describing the cruise as a holiday ‘newly weds, over feds and nearly deads’ says he ‘and I fit two of those categories’ and we are lolling at that one. After having our photograph taken like zoo animals we move on, toward the town of Hercog Novi, 20km from the Croatian border. So you can imagine how excited we are, its Saturday night and we’re about to cross into the final territory to complete the 20 countries in just 86 days, so excited that we drank some beers in a fisherman’s tavern with a whole family of locals who watched not one but two films back to back and didn’t even notice us save for the fact we kept ordering beers and one of them had to get up to pour them. Yeh, rock n roll, I know. Rock and roll.

Sunday morning, crossing the border to Croatia, country 20 on our list and the successful completion of our Re~Cycle challenge. Well done us!

The more perceptive of you will see that we have a whole fourteen days remaining of the 100 committed to this adventure – I hear you ask; What will you do with yourselves in this time? Will you keep cycling? Or just kick back and relax? The answer is simple; we will continue cycling. Writing now from a hostel in Dubrovnik the ancient fortress city in Southern Croatia, we intend to hop around a few of the islands, flirt up to Mostar in Bosnia, eventually making our way to Ljubljana to fly back in mid November. But fear not! There’s more to come from the Really Big Bike Ride; we’ll be compiling lists of our top ten of everything, reviewing all the gear we’ve used and bringing you a report of the final two weeks of our trip – so stay tuned, there’s sure to be more amusing anecdotes from the best cycling blog in the whole world…

And if like we presume you are one of the sceptics that has waited until we’ve made it to all 20 countries before giving generously to Re~Cycle, now is your time to shine! You can donate from anywhere in Europe by visiting our just giving page. You can also now donate by text message (UK only). It’s quick and easy! Just text RBBR99 followed by the amount you want to donate (e.g. RBBR99 £20) to 70070 and your donation will be added to your next phone bill.

For our four way play through Kosovo, Albania, Montenegro and Croatia see MAP 12

Posted in Albania, Croatia, Kosovo, Montenegro | Comments Off

Part 12: Albania Uncovered

Posted on 18 Oct ’11 by Adrian

Albania has a bit of a dodgy reputation for some reason. We approached the Balkan’s very own wild west with apprehension, I didn’t know what to expect. Peasants shitting in the streets, bent cops after our cash, gun toting drug barons lurking in the shadows and desperate thieves sniffing around our wheels! If rumour is to be believed then these are some of the sketchy folk we’re likely to come across in this part of the world… It’s a good job we don’t care about rumours, but is this really the most backward country in Europe? Is cycling here as dangerous as people say? What are we getting ourselves in to? There’s only one way to find out…

It was 7 degrees when we arrived, our hands and feet were freezing, our shoes and gloves still saturated from 2 days of persistent rain. But there were plenty of distractions to keep our minds off the weather as we made our way around the stunning mountain lake, Ohrid, which forms the border between Macedonia and Albania. We could instantly tell we had entered a country which is still going through a lot of change. Towns are filled with busy sites of semi built apartments, shops, and restaurants. Playful children run around the construction workers and push each other about in wheel barrows. Modernising seems to be top of the agenda in most places but you don’t have to go far to see the old ways. We pass scores of market stalls at the road side, a man stands beside a fish tank full of fresh catch brandishing an enormous eel in one hand and a pair of carp in the other. Families trade vegetables and warm their hands up on open fires. We leave the lake and make our way west. As we continue down the valley we see what look like fountains. These are the hoses of enterprising villagers making the most of the recharged mountain springs by setting up car-washes for the passing traffic. It’s all very entertaining.

As the evening approaches the clouds begin to clear, the hills open up into a fantastic luscious dale with hay stacks laying out in the meadow. We stop, admire the view and take a photo. We’re scoping out the camping potential when an elderly gentleman comes bounding down the road exclaiming about the remarkable beauty of the scenery, his face is illuminated with enthusiasm, wise wispy eyebrows perfectly white, he insists we join him for a coffee on the porch of a nearby building. Our new friend is Professor Sali Tabaku. We do as we’re told, sitting on the terrace Sali orders the furniture to be rearranged for us, sends for some coffee and raki and kicks straight in with some poetry recital! His English is perfect. “My heart is not here, my heart is in the mountains chasing the wild dear” I’m stunned and slightly embarrassed, the first person we speak to in Albania is an expert on English literature and I haven’t got a clue when he asks us to name the poet. “That would be Burns” said Jim. Well I’ll be damned! We soon learn that Sali is also one of Albania’s most respected experts on the work of Lord Byron, a national hero. We explain that our journey started in Nottinghamshire and the Dukeries where his Idol once lived, the professor was thrilled to bits and declared that it was most certainly the spirit of Byron which had bought us together that fateful night.

So, not exactly what we were expecting from our first encounter with the Albanian people. I had been lead to believe that very few spoke English in this country for a start. Next we meet Alkid, his father owns the cafe we’re drinking in. At only 16 he also has a good grasp of English, he explains about his studies and his life, he points across the field to his family who are bringing home their cow. He explains that they use it to make their own yoghurt and cheese. His father runs over excitedly and speaks to Alkid, he suggests that we stay with the family for the night, we accept and he rushes off again to kill a wild hen and roast it on a wood fire to mark the occasion! Our first day in Albania. An unforgettable experience.

On our way to the capital, Tirane, we meet with Professor Tabaku again. We’re spellbound by his stories, a remarkable man. His English language skills have taken him far and wide. He was even assigned the role as interpreter for the first ever visit of the England football squad after the country opened it’s borders in the 90′s, but that’s another story. Over coffee and croissants we have a crash course in Albanian life, history and politics. We could have happily chatted all day but we needed to get to Tirane. He helped us find a road map (a rarity in this country) and instructed us to take the route over the mountains where he declared we would be amazed by the pure unspoilt view. We’d previously been told to avoid this road but we had faith in Sali. We headed up the mountain looking down upon the skeleton of the old factories which employed most of the city in the communist era. They are derelict, charred and disintegrating now, a piece if history. We climbed onwards to a ridge, Professor Tabaku was right about the view, it was astounding. The incredible road flattened off at a height of nine hundred meters, we glided along for an hour! We were much higher than any of the other peaks to our left so we could see for a hundred miles, and there on the horizon, the Adriatic!

As luck would have it our visit to Tirane coincided with an international football match, Albania vs Romania. We decided it was an unmissable opportunity so we rallied together some folk from our hostel and went in search of a tout. It wasn’t hard, there is still a huge black market over here, every other person had tickets for sale so we got sorted for three quid each. The stand we were in was a bit quiet at first but we sorted that out. At half time I befriended some local students who taught me a footy chant in Albanian, they assured me if I sang it loud enough everyone else would follow. Being loud is one of my finest talents so I went along with it and sure enough the whole stand burst into life! I was proper chuffed. I couldn’t tell you much about the game, I was having too much fun singing and chatting with our new friends. After the match we all went off to the university campus. Spirits were high, our new crew proved to be absolute legends, anyone would have thought Albania had won the world cup if they’d seen us all that night. Good times!

We only stayed for a couple of nights in Tirane but we got a good feel for the city nether the less. We’d heard horror stories about the roads and the drivers but in reality we found it quite fun. I certainly felt safer on a bike than on foot. Nobody really sticks to the rules but drivers have good awareness, well they need to. Roadworks are pretty interesting, essentially the same as back home except there are no traffic lights or cones etc, you just ride straight through them and keep an eye out for the diggers. Simple.

Back on the road on our way north the insanity continued. Most of the major roads we’ve used have been really good and new roads are been built all the time. Minor roads that pass though towns and villages are a different story though, most are in terrible condition. It seems here that the Albanians have managed achieve what councils back home spend millions attempting to do, traffic can’t move more than twenty miles an hour. We progressed slowly after we left Tirane, sticking to quiet roads with our stinking hangovers. We had been advised by Professor Tobaku that we should always camp close to houses so that we would be safe, we followed his advice and found a spot on the outskirts of a small town. We were safe alright. Within minutes a small crowd had surrounded us, drinks were fetched, wood was collected and a fire was lit. The local boys played cards with us under the full moon until we were ready to turn in, then a man from a neighbouring house fetched his old Merc and parked it between the road and our tent. I jokingly asked Jim if he reckoned the guy would sleep in his car like a security guard. Guess what? He did. Welcome to Albania!

In search of a quick way to the Albanian Alps we decided to try out the infamous ‘new road’ a mysterious motorway that links the country to neighbouring Kosovo. Just completed, the new road is the country’s most expensive infrastructure investment but I’m not quite sure who’s supposed to benefit from it. It has been carved through the mountains, there’s no major cities anywhere near it. At one point the road bores it’s way through a mountain for over 5 kilometres, just before the entrance to the tunnel we spot two men at the side of the road. It was the police, they beckoned us over. Through a series of gestures we established they weren’t going to let us ride through the tunnel. They instructed us to wait at the side of the road. After half an hour a small truck came by and the police man flagged him down too. The next thing we knew we were in the back of the wagon with our bikes and dropped off at the other side! Unbelievable. It’s not your average motorway and some people haven’t quite got the hang of it yet either. It’s not unusual for people to drive the wrong way up slip roads and I had to pinch myself when I saw one car belting along the other side of the motorway in the wrong direction. By five we’d seen enough so we pulled over in a small village for the night.

There wasn’t much to this tiny place but we asked if we could camp there for the night, the man didn’t speak English apart from the one phrase which every Albanian knows – ‘No problem’. Pleased with our day we went to the nearest cafe, ordered ourselves a beer and got chatting to the owner, Viktor. Suddenly the tin roof started to rattle, we went outside to our bikes. Storms at sunset are a beautiful sight. The fruit salad sky was amazing but the prospect of camping didn’t look quite so good. We put our bikes under the verandah and waited it out. Meanwhile some of Viktors friends showed up, it seemed he was a very well respected chap, his friends even greeted him with a kiss on both cheeks. After the café closed the storm worsened and he suddenly returned, insisting we must come with him. We politely declined his offer but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

We followed him nervously through the stormy night to a nearby building. There were big metal gates, the building was huge with bars on the windows. No lights were on. We entered through a large steel door. There was a middle aged man standing in the entrance, he was tall with receding hair and sunken eyes, he was holding an axe and some chains. I said hello but he didn’t reply. Oh fuck, I thought to myself, we’ve been kidnapped by the Mafia!

We were shown to our cell and Viktor returned with a light bulb which was connected by a short length of cable to a plug. He stuck it into the wall and the room lit up to reveal a blackboard and five rows of little desks. “No problem!” Viktor grinned “You sleep here!” He’d pulled some strings with the school caretaker! The gangsters rearranged the room for us so we could lay out our camp beds, the scary axe man went off to cut some wood and lit the small pot bellied stove in the corner of the classroom. We were toasty warm that night but our heads were spinning, overwhelmed by the kindness of strangers.

If you like this blog please help us raise money for re~cycle. You can donate from anywhere in Europe by visiting our just giving page

You can also now donate by text message (UK only). It’s quick and easy! Just text RBBR99 followed by the amount you want to donate (e.g. RBBR99 £20) to 70070 and your donation will be added to your next phone bill

For the route see MAP 11

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Part 11: Pretty Ohrid

Posted on 11 Oct ’11 by James

Happily this last few weeks we’ve fallen into a pattern of crossing borders on a Sunday, we’re spending a week in each of these fabulous Balkan states and making the most of the rich culture, the glorious weather and the traveller-friendly prices. This week we have been mostly enjoying Macedonia; the food and people we have met along the way have been of high calibre. I’ve also after more than sixty days on the road begun to keep my journal up to date and in some meaningful order – this is of great use when now I am writing for you an account of what we have seen and done and experienced.

We entered Macedonia from Greece in a place called Star Dorjan, a lively, touristy town overlooking a lake. We rode past a wedding with full brass band and energetic dancing, looked on for a short while hoping to be invited to join in, it was not to be on this occasion. We withdrew some cash from the wall, next to the tourist information centre and continued on. Desperate for a wash, having not showered in a few days, having had the luxury of the Aegean Sea and even another quick natural spring in Greece, tonight we were slightly less glamorous and had to take the cycle tourist and wild campers favourite; the river by the side of the road wash. Nothing is so refreshing.

At this stage in our journey we have become more confident in our ability to make things happen to our advantage. By this I mean that we know how to make an entrance and to work things to our best interest, this is a natural learning curve of life on the road. Arriving in Negotino was just such an example. To the untrained eye – those of the intrigued but unsuspecting locals – we were wandering aimlessly, almost lost some might say, seeking something as yet unknown to anyone. This process of ‘appearing’ to be completely lost is our greatest asset; before long a group of maybe half a dozen locals have assembled to assistus in our quest- to find accommodation, good food and a beer. Among this particular crowd is a university professor, one of their students and owner of a nearby restaurant – we are given direction to a monastery, offered dinner at the chaps restaurant and pointed in the direction of the nearest bar – result. The chap is Nicoli, he is a the owner of the best restaurant in Macedonia (we were shown photographs of Nic with the Premier, many top politicians and former Presidents), he speaks excellent English and treats us like royalty. After a fantastic meal, a bottle of local wine, brandy, beers and getting change from a tenner; we make our way to the monastery of St George and a hot shower. At the top of a steep hill, next to a winery and overlooking the town, the monastery occupies the best location and had been recently refurbished for guests. A very nice place indeed, and only a fiver each! After a shower and a short nap, literally forty winks, we are taken by taxi back into town and yet more food; this time a pizza joint, Nic and a group of his friends are unwinding after spending the evening making wine with Nic’s father. We order a few beers and eat til we nearly burst at the seams, we go for a walk around the town – a mini tour with Nic showing to us the best of the town, then we are suddenly in a taxi in a fit of giggles and are back at the monastery and almost immediately fall into a deep sleep.

We are by now as you could perhaps imagine in pretty decent shape so busting out 100k+ days three or four days on the bounce is no great shakes. Heck, we’re young chaps and even through the mountains we can do this, so we make good progress each day we are in Macedonia and climb many mountains and make rapid, racing descents into small towns with ease. We pass rock of graphite, shiny black like slate, now chalk white marble, now sandstone of terracotta orange – the mountain ahead has a single white eyebrow of the right side cut into it – a marble mine high up. The hills to the left are veiled in misty sunshine, silhouetted against the bright blue sky, the mountains to the right rise up like pyramids with rocky crowns at their peak. We camp on this mountainside and on waking early to set off to Ohrid we encounter a local man smoking a cigarette, with no English we manage to understand that the crop he has been picking and placing on a line to dry is in fact tobacco – a mystery that had puzzled us for days as we saw it first growing, then being picked and now dried at the side of the road and in front of most houses.

Ohrid is a welcome break and excellent reward at the end of a superb week in yet another stunning and delightful country. We celebrate our early arrival – early starts have this advantage – with a delicious lunch and a couple of beers. Our ‘trip advisor’ Richard (the radio is still doing a sterling job by the way – thank you!) has recommended Sunny Lake Hostel so we check in; only after a few skirmishes with the many touts offering private apartments for 7 Euro a night – we kindly decline and flirt up the steepest road in the country, narrow and cobbled to the digs next to the University with the split view of half lake, half city. A quick round of hellos and we are showering and snoozing. Next day we meet some excellent Polish girls, Asia and Paulina, who we take out to dinner to a very beautiful restaurant on Lake Ohrid, with some embarrassment we realise we have less than a fiver in the kitty and turn to Joanne and Paulina to explain our situation – thank you girls for picking up the bill! To repay the girls we visit a Jazz bar on the promenade to sample some Macedonian stand up comedy but leave before it begins and end up back at the hostel where many guests are drinking and watching football – after a few bottles and just a few minutes of a tedious draw with Montenegro, our next destination; thanks Wayne Rooney for making such an introduction for us, we step out again to the Jazz Inn, a proper jazz club in the back streets of Ohrid. This den of iniquity is dark, filled with smoke and classic trad jazz, I recognise The Shape of Jazz to Come, an excellent piece by Ornette Coleman, and we settle into a table and order some drinks, its early in the morning when we leave and a long walk home, lost among the winding cobbled streets of this beautiful city.

So again it is Sunday and we must leave this place for Albania and Tirane – the hottest city on the planet right now! Ciao ciao!

If you like this blog please help us raise money for re~cycle. You can donate from anywhere in Europe by visiting our just giving page

You can also now donate by text message (UK only). It’s quick and easy! Just text RBBR99 followed by the amount you want to donate (e.g. RBBR99 £20) to 70070 and your donation will be added to your next phone bill

For the route see MAP 10

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Part 10: The Land of The Gods

Posted on 4 Oct ’11 by Adrian

A surreal feeling came upon us as we approached the Greek boarder, it could have been a small dose of culture shock or perhaps it was the drop in elevation going to our heads. It was certainly surreal. As we rolled through the baron scrub of no man’s land the customs and excise complex stood looming ahead, a structure of standards far excelling any buildings we had encountered on our passage through the Balkans. The significance of our arrival to Greece, the geographical pinnacle of our journey, added to our bewilderment. I presented my passport to the official, he looked at me and my vehicle. He actually laughed, an unexpected sign of emotion from a boarder rozzer, he waved me through then took a look at Jim “you bicycle from UK?…” Jim nodded. Yes we have!

We didn’t need to go through passport control to realise we were in a different country. Like many overland boarders the transition in surroundings was instantly noticeable. We had been descending all morning. After waking up to the sight of my condensing fog breath in the chill of upland Bulgaria I was now sweltering in the mid day heat. Bars and tavernas zipped by, the relentless potholes of the previous day now seemed a distant memory as we sped along gleefully on pristine Greek asphalt. The pale peaks of the Falakran range looked soft in the evening sun. The texture of their weather beaten southern slopes resembled the patchy fabric of an antique bear. A world apart from the Intimidating darkness of the Balkan mountains and the glacial aggression of the Alps. As we peddled though the valley floor my mind wandered high above through the desolate landscape of the mountain tops. I’m sure I could almost see the ancient gods up there, looking down upon the cradle of civilisation.

After two months spent crossing the continent we were so excited about finally reaching the sea again that we considered cycling the last stretch in the darkness, but we didn’t even really know where we were. None of the surrounding villages had made it onto our basic national map of Greece so we thought better of it in the end and set up camp somewhere in the labyrinth of olive groves to the south of Drama. I felt like a child at Christmas, too excited to sleep! No sooner had the sun popped up we were back on our bikes. Using the rising sun as our compass we simply headed South, towards the Aegean. We wanted to find the coast as soon as possible, however before long we had somehow ended up leisurely drinking Greek coffees with the eccentric local vet in his surgery’s office. He was of course a devoted Manchester United fan and spoke to us in rapid Italian to make it easy for us to understand him, top bloke! We were sent on our merry way with a carrier bag full of apples and directed to the archaeological site of Philipi. A remarkable detour, with an amphitheatre cut from a mountain side and pillars of an acropolis filled with a choir of chirping birds. It was one of those days, a great day, we just went along with it.

Eventually we made to the ridge which fortifies the coast. Our reward lay before us, as we looked beyond the harbour of Kavala a god looked back at us, Poseidon! What a sight, with the towering silhouette of Thassos rising from the Aegean! There was however something missing from this vista, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It wasn’t until we got down to the port and I enquired about the ferry to the Island that the penny dropped. I looked out to the harbour again. No boats! The brutal westerly winds were too strong for the ferry to cross from Kavala to Thassos. There was ‘good’ news though, another crossing was still operating. All we needed to do was ride forty kilometres further along the coast to a different port, which was of course to the west! What a battle. That head wind was sheer misery, but of course we made it. Thassos grew before us and gulls circled our heads as the blue and white Hellenic ferry pitched it’s way across the water.

In many ways we couldn’t have timed our arrival on the island better. The gale subsided, the temperature settled at mid twenties. With the tourist season over the stunning one hundred kilometre coastal road which surrounds the green mountain isle was pretty much ours. What a way to mark the furthest point of our trip, not a cloud in sight. The road was like a roller coaster, weaving and rolling around the steep sides of the island with sea views all day long. The bar has been risen, coastal cycling surely can’t get much better, but the empty resorts gave me a melancholic feeling. It was too quiet. Back on the main land we stuck to the coast once more and here it was even quieter. The broad national road to the west of Kevala was also dead with virtually all traffic now using the recently completed motorway to the north. It seemed like we were cycling through a post apocalyptic highway, as we passed scores of derelict and unfinished buildings we peacefully wove between the white lines.

It was all good fun but we were ready to see the real Greece again, somewhere with a bit more going on, so we departed from the sea and it’s ghost road to follow the Strymon valley. It was always our intention to follow the harvest across Europe. It’s my favourite time of year to cycle. The temperature is pleasant and you get to eat all the best local produce as soon as it’s lifted! I’m quite nosey too. I love to watch the activities in the fields, trying to suss out the local farming methods. I love it when people working the land wave as we pass. The Syrymon valley was most certainly alive, Demeter and Dionysus had been busy. Drinkers sat out in the Saturday afternoon sunshine, beats pumped out of the bars, dozens of goats chomped down on the remains of corn crops and the cotton picking season was in full swing. There was cotton all over the place. It blew around at the edge of the road, it was stuck in trees and on fences. We passed processing depots where big yellow diggers filled up truck trailers with fluffy white clouds. At the head of the valley the Kirkini mountains marked the boarder to the Republic of Macedonia, we pushed on towards this beautiful range and the lake which shares it’s name. A fantastic spot, the kind of place where you can happily just sit and look around you for hours doing absolutely nothing. It was here that we made our camp on our final night in Greece and it was here that we heard another god call us from across the lake, this time it was Zeus!

If you like this blog please help us raise money for re~cycle. You can donate from anywhere in Europe by visiting our just giving page

You can also now donate by text message (UK only). It’s quick and easy! Just text RBBR99 followed by the amount you want to donate (e.g. RBBR99 £20) to 70070 and your donation will be added to your next phone bill

For the route see MAP 9

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Part 9: Rila Round the Mountain

Posted on 30 Sep ’11 by James

This post is dedicated to Mr Steven Patrick Morrissey for making it possible for Mr James Thomas get the sharpest haircut in Sofia without speaking a single word of Bulgarian. Happily James is a bit of a Smiths fan and so lacing this entry with lyrics, song titles and album titles should be a breeze. Every so often we take a break from the daily slog of cycling and spend some time in a city, usually staying at a hostel – taking time out to eat well, rest up and get a few ‘jobs’ done. Quite often we have a beer too. Up until Sofia we’ve been on the road for nine days straight so we were more than ready for the luxury of a proper bed. Ever since Munich when Adrian got his hair smartly cut at a barbers in the Turkish Quarter, I’ve been talking about getting a trim. Eventually I had to concede to the weather, stop procrastinating and get to a hairdressers. Now bear in mind that I speak no Bulgarian – this is no mean feat. I dutifully enquired at the reception of the hostel where would be a good place to get a haircut – I was given directions to a salon some 15 minutes walk away that would fit the bill. So off I went, following the instructions via a simple map, to the salon marked with a star. Down the road in the pouring rain I went, past the posh salon, beyond the bakery and just on the left there is the place described to me by the hot receptionist – a local hairdressers at the end of September Street. Even before I walked in I knew this was the one. A very friendly looking woman, sat in one of her chairs reading a book the size of War and Peace, waiting for me to arrive. Definitely the right choice.

While it may seem like I’ve gone to town to describe how I got to the hairdressers, its a good cut and I’m sure you’ll agree when you see it. I must take a minute now to talk about Bulgaria. Lush, dense, green forest. Long, winding roads. I must admit that I am quite in love with Bulgaria. Absolutely head over heels. More than any other country we have been to, Bulgaria brings together all the key ingredients that make a country outstanding to cycle in; low traffic volume, low cost of living, excellent roads of a high quality surface and devastatingly beautiful scenery – mountains, forest, lakes and rivers. I have already made two of the roads we’ve cycled since entering Bulgaria part of my top ten. To say that this country is a cyclists paradise is to understate the completeness of the package that Bulgaria has to offer. While Bulgaria may not have the totally overwhelming hospitality that Serbia boasts, it does have an unspoilt beauty that emphasises its ancient and intriguing past. After only a few days cycling through the rugged wilderness of the Bulgarian countryside it was clearly going to win a place close to our hearts. Something like a week later and we have not been disappointed. Rarely is a country so glorious in its natural beauty; our ride today is a very good example of this. Every climb has to be treated with the respect it deserves, underestimate the ascent at your peril. A slow start, a visit to the town at the foot of the climb, Sestrimo, to collect supplies for the day and off we go. Like all good climbs this one had the locals in the village exclaiming the name of the lake at the summit, Belmeken, and pointing with astonishment at the mountain – brave boys! Least I think that’s what I think they were saying. You might think that we sometimes exaggerate the madness that we encounter on the road, we really don’t, we tell it how it is. Nothing can prepare you for the joy, the excitement and humility that you find along the way. Our journey has shown us that people really can be terrifically generous and kind, which is humbling, particularly when you understand how little many of these people have. This is what makes the experience so real, so rewarding and dare I say it – character building. However much you think you know about life and the rich tapestry that it consists of, life on the road will still surprise, amaze and inspire you. It is one of the greatest things that you can do to learn about other cultures, see how a place really is and to remind yourself that life isn’t just nine – to – five then the pub and a bit of a grin at the weekend – there’s more to life than books you know, and the road has it all. Now for a little bit about our ride through the wonderful Bulgarian mountains. Greece is next so stay tuned – we’ll be celebrating reaching the furthest point of our trip with some special photographs, maybe.

So it’s Friday today and we’ve already climbed more this week in Bulgaria than during the rest of the trip put together, so another day, another mountain. Our destination is Greece, so we’re headed south and our intention is to pass through the Rila National Park, I say intention because we climbed halfway up, perhaps a 1000 metres, only to be stopped by a twenty four hour security guard with a wolf for a dog and told to go back to the town (Samokov, 30km) and go around the mountain. My initial reaction was of disbelief – I said to myself; ’24hr security for water protection? he’s pulling our legs…’ turns out he was serious and refused to have his photograph taken – charming! Easy come, easy go. Gliding down to the town we pass all the walkers we passed on the way up – all smirking – knowing full well that they would see us again. In ten minutes we’re at a junction that will put us on a road to go around the mountain, and off we go. Rila National Park is without doubt one of the most beautiful parts of the world that I’ve had the privilege to visit, truly breathtaking. Like many beautiful places that we’ve seen on this adventure the simplicity of the landscape is what makes it so attractive – bold rocks of the mountainside, the crystal clear water flowing serenely down stream, the density and colours of the dozens of species and many varieties of trees – all of these natural aspects conspire to create the most striking settings. Some way up the next climb – the real climb in the Borovets Hills – we meet a chap called Zachary, he’s off work and has just set off from Sofia for a week in the mountains. After a few words discussing the finer points of climbing through the Alps, we three head towards Sestrimo, as mentioned earlier, and a camping spot that Zach has used before. Right from the off we like Zach and he guides us to a fine camping area with a vista spanning out East as far as the eye can see. Even by our high standards this is a terrific spot. Bright and early next morning Zachary is up and away, we sleep in for another hour and pull ourselves together for breakfast at around 8am. In no time at all we’re ready for another big day and we hit the road for Belmeken. Getting up has been a pleasure on this trip, no two ways about it, why would you snooze when there’s all that fun to be had cycling? Getting up two hours earlier than we have been is going to be interesting – to make the most of the day, cover the kilometres and benefit from the maximum daylight – this is what we must do, wish us luck! Everyday is like Sunday, we are tempted to roll over, snooze an extra hour and make a leisurely breakfast, not this Sunday. Really Big Bike Ride don’t take weekends off, well, not this weekend anyway, today is Sunday and we’ve made an early start and once again taken to the hills. Three consecutive days climbing can take it out of you but we’re made of tough stuff and even with yesterdays climb to Belmeken, the highest climb of the tour so far (2000m), that’s two kilometres above sea level, we were ready for more uphill action. Having started the day with a climb, climbing for lunch and finishing the day with a climb we are pretty much done in – I’m writing this from a hotel room in the town of… just kidding, we’re not phased by a few days in the mountains, we love it. After a long day we’ve just rocked up to a roadside camping spot; picnic table under shelter (two of), fresh mountain spring water on tap, barbecue fireplace and a trio of uber friendly Spanish geezers having a chilled out Sunday arvo. Not wanting to seem unsociable having been whistled to pull over, we approach these fellows and are immediately handed a beer, swiftly followed by baked pork and fresh bread then a quick round of show and tell – maps make the perfect prop when you’re a bit thin on lingo – the Spaniards are impressed, muy bien ….! Our banter continues for an hour, we share the rest of our food and begin to set up camp. Then, as we begin to put up the tent, they carve up some insane tinder and light a fire for us, as this is happening a shepherd loses control of his flock and hundreds of sheep are scattered all over the road, chaos ensues – the Spaniards also leave all their food for us, insisting we take it for our dinner and just as they came into our day, they disappear into the dusk – muchos gracias! Happily fed and watered we are sat by the first camp fire of the trip enjoying a classic Eric Clapton concert on Bulgarian National Radio, the perfect end to a brilliant week in our new favourite country. Every good thing must come to an end, and our story is no different, alas we must leave this place in the morning for Greece, what a drag! Really, Bulgaria has totally blown me away, there is little more that I can say than this – get on a plane to Sofia and see for yourself – its super cheap, there’s lots to do and it’s big fun! So with that, I’m signing off for another week and handing you over to Adrian and the next stage in our REALLY BIG BIKE RIDE. DONATE TO RE~CYCLE NOW HERE OR VIA TEXT to 70070 – RBBR99 + £25 and your donation will be added to your next phone bill.

To see our journey through Bulgaria see MAP 8

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Part 8: The Time Traveler’s Bike

Posted on 20 Sep ’11 by Adrian

It was like we had travelled back to time somehow. As if cycling through one of my granddad’s memories of Staffordshire when he were a lad, we start our Serbian journey in little farming villages. Buzzing with activity, real work, real places, real people. As we pass them by everyone says hello or waves us on. Old folk watch the world go by their doorstep, farm workers ride on tractor trailers, children play in the streets and half a dozen escapee piglets scuttle off squealing down the road. People still grow their own food and collect their own fuel. Village shops, fascinating dimly lit little grottos, sell just about everything under the sun. Welcome to the Balkans!

Seeing a country on a bike means you’re usually introduced to the countryside before you hit the cities. There’s something beautiful about travelling this way, like tracing a spring to the sea. It is a way of putting things into perspective and appreciating the contrast within a nation.

So now we’re in our time machine again, back to the present, or is this the future? I hope it is! It took us two days to reach Novi Sad and when we did it blew our minds. What a city! We arrived on Saturday evening just as things were warming up. Novi Sad must have known we were coming, there was a big stage in the square by our hostel to greet us! Balkan music is a good reflection of the people, full of energy and enthusiasm. As the sound of trumpets, fiddles and clarinets ripped through the square all the stunning girls for which this City is rightly famous for jumped up and down like nut cases. Before long we had made friends with some of the locals so when the gig was over we headed off to a beach to carry on the party long into the night.

Ninety percent of cycle tourists who visit Novi Sad continue east along the Danube to Belgrade but we like to be different. We mustered up some energy and peddled south for a slog up Frusca Gora mountain and what should we find when we get to the top but a giant tipi bar. The owner kindly let us put our tent up round the back and rustled us up some venison stew. Boom! I don’t know how we do it sometimes. It’s a pretty big climb up Frusca Gora but it’s worth it, looking down from this solitary range to the flats of Vojvodina is like being on an island looking out to sea. In the morning we traversed the ridge making the most of the cooler air and checking out all the vantage points along the way.

Back down in the plains the temperature was up to mid thirties by lunch time. We invested in some ice cream and considered our next move. Our friends in Novi Sad had instead we should see the south “the real Serbia” so we were determined to head this way but the Sava River stood in our path. We were faced with two options, either we take a main road through Sabac, crossing at a bridge and taking our chances with potentially heavy traffic or we head off towards a supposed ferry link via back county lanes. We went for the second option.

Before long we had ran out tarmac in a village with road signs in a script which didn’t match that of our map. We consulted some locals. Very few people speak English out here and we speak no Serbish what so ever, anyway we managed to suss out that we were in a village which wasn’t on our map but we were directed onto a gravel track in the direction of a village which was. The track was terrible. We had no idea how long it would be until we would find civilisation again, the only sign of life was a stray dog who staggered along with the saddest eyes in the world rummaging through piles of rubbish that lay at the side of the road.

We appeared to be cycling through a disused military base, the sight of watch towers was giving me the creeps. This country has been to hell and back and still bears the scars. We’ve heard many first hand accounts of the war, we’ve spoken with people our own age who watched NATO strikes on bridges and oil refineries! It’s been a real eye opener for us.

By the time we got to the ferry it was parked up for the night but there was a very inviting floating bar next to the jetty. At the waters edge some frogs were cooling off in the shallows of the Sava, we followed their lead and jumped in for a swim. Feeling refreshed we checked out the bar in search of food. Our luck was in, fish supper, we were chuffed to bits! I felt relaxed once more, watching the sun’s reflection dance on the ceiling like a disco ball. As we chatted about our day an old fellow came in and sat at the table next to us. With his wise, weathered face and big white beard he had the look of a merchant about him. Sitting quietly with a beer he seemed to be listening to us. After our meal he introduced himself, he was a local man but had travelled the world, he was buzzing off our adventure! The waiter also spoke a little English as luck would have it so we enquired about the ferry. As suspected it ran a fairly slack timetable but one of the other guys in the bar offered to take us across in his boat. He was good to his word, we met in the morning and away we went.

Across the river the land began to rise again, we amble up hill and down dale, through all kinds of weird little places. People don’t know what to make of us, we pass men who sit drinking at the side of the road at nine in the morning, they must wonder if we’re part of their imagination. They’re not familiar with Lycra out here yet. We head east for the Homolje mountains, where a 100k stretch of road from Petrovac to Borska lake is jumping out of the map at us. When we get there we’re far from disappointed. Just when we were thinking people couldn’t get much friendlier the Serbians take it to the next level.

We find a decent spot to camp but as there are houses nearby he head off into town to get some food and return after dark. We pass a man from one of the houses on our way back to our chosen camping spot, he asks us what we’re up to and we explain. Vladimir advises us on the best place to put up our tent and disappears. Moments later he’s back, armed with a flask of rakija and a huge jar of home made honey. When the morning comes we decamp and do some laundry by the river. We’re all prepared for the ride through the mountains and we’re about to set off when another guy pulls up next to us on a bicycle with a big paper bag. His name is Milan, he lives in another one of the houses so he decided to bring a picnic, a gas stove and some coffee making kit and join us for breakfast! He then goes and fetches his canoe and precedes to paddle up and down the river clearing out the litter. What a brilliant guy! We have a paddle too then we set off, a little later than expected. There are two things any cycle tourist will need to take for a visit to Serbia; an open heart and some spare time!

We make it about half way to the lake and we stop for lunch in a small town called Zagubica. Like most Serbian towns there’s one shop, one fast food kiosk and about ten bars. We order a couple of coffees from one of the bars in the main square. It’s half three and we’ve got a formidable mountain pass ahead of us before we get to the lake. There doesn’t seem to be much happening in Zagubica so we decide to carry on as far as we can. I nip to the shop to stock up on water and chocolate and when I walk out the door James introduces me to a man in a suit. “Ade, this is Alexander. He’s the president of the local cycling club, he wants us to join him for a beer” I smile at him and ponder for a moment. “one beer!” Alexander smiles and nods his head excitedly. Here we go again…

Alexander is a lawyer by trade and a hippy at heart. He loves mountain biking and walking and knows the Homolje region like the back of his hand. Of course we join him and his friends for a beer as they sit out enjoying the sunshine after a hard week at work. We review our options and decide to camp locally so we can join Alexander for some local food in the evening. Our new friend has to go and sort out some family stuff so we swap numbers and agree to meet again later.

We find a couple of decent places to set up camp but we soon notice that a couple of gypsy kids have latched onto us. We move on but they keep following us begging for money. This goes on for a few hours! We go to the river to wash and there they are, we return to the square and read for a while then they turn up and sit on the bench next to us grinning. It was undoubtedly very entertaining for them but it was seriously getting on our tits. We go to a bar, guess what, there they are! We don’t know how long Alexander will be or even if he’s coming back at all so we decide to chance it and ride on in the dark to find somewhere out of town. Thankfully it didn’t come to that, he found us in the nick of time and we went on to have a hilarious night with a great bunch of crazy Serbs, the rakija was in full flow!

Only one thing could save us the next day and that was Alexander’s mum’s breakfast. It was like we woke up in the best B&B in the world! I don’t know how we would have made it over that mountain any other way! But onwards we went, through a trance of birdsong in search of the vast golden meadows of Bulgaria…

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For the route see MAP 7

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