Croatia

I tried to regain my composure after the border ordeal. I tend to berate myself for the smallest of mishaps. I spent the next few hours replaying the scenario and thinking what a plonker I was. When you’re left alone with your thoughts all day you realise just how annoying the conscious mind is – the same worries and thoughts on an endless loop. I bore myself!

I attempted to derail the inner monologue by taking note of my surroundings. I rode between the prominent camel-hump hilltops – pushing hard to reach Zagreb. With the daylight fading, I felt uneasy entering a new country. I ran through the checklist of things needed.

1. Water! – Can I drink the tap water? Shall I knock on a strangers door?

2. Money! – What’s the exchange rate?

3. Food! – Do they sell peanut butter?

4. Shelter! – Can I find somewhere to camp without being arrested or murdered?

It doesn’t take long to get a handle on these things. It isn’t particularly complicated or difficult but there is an initial primal fear to overcome. I still hadn’t settled into the promised carefree existence. I was constantly planning ahead to reach the next city. I saw them as checkpoints of safety. “If I can just make it to Zagreb then Zadar isn’t that far away”. I was trapped in a videogame of my own making. I spent hours pinching and scrolling across the world map. Zooming out, I’d try and gain perspective on where I was. “Yeah, it looks like I’ve gone pretty far but if I get to Albania THEN it’ll look really good!”. If I’m not careful I’ll make it all the way and still not be satisfied.

Just before Zagreb I was forced onto a busy road. Cycle infrastructure had completely dissolved. It was an uncomfortable few miles into the city center. Darkness had fallen by the time I located my hostel. It was the biggest day on the bike so far, over 80 miles. I needed a beer.

The temperature plummeted and it started to snow. I therefore spent a few days in Zagreb enjoying the comforts of the clean and modern hostel. Happily, I wondered aimlessly around town sampling as many coffee shops as possible. In the absence of religious belief or a consistent meditation practice, I find my Zen drinking a coffee and watching the world go by.

I was happy to rest and enjoy the comforts of the city. Although, I found myself slipping into a routine I’d hoped to escape. Armed with a phone and fast WiFi it’s almost impossible to escape the pull of social media and mindless scrolling. I felt an even greater need to feel connected. There was an unavoidable sense of loneliness to the trip so far. Out of season hostels were devoid of the usual buzz and excitement. Even if they were alive I’m not sure I’d have the energy to join in. I was exhausted from the riding and spiraling into my late twenties – the draw of backpacking partying was fading fast.

A break in the weather meant I could move on. There were far less warmshowers hosts available in Croatia but I managed to secure one last minute. It spurred me on to ride another big day. Trucks thundered past me – perilously close at times. I was relieved and surprised to end the day in the fairy tale village of Rastoke. Wonky wooden houses teetered above bubbling brooks. A soundtrack of trickling waterfalls and a thick blanket of snow completed the enchanting scene.

The next day I passed by the famous Plitvice lakes national park. I’d visited six years previously in the sweltering summer heat. This time the snow was piled six foot deep.

I pedaled into the setting sun looking for a place to camp. There was little cover from the road. It was hard to tell whether the plateau I found myself on was farmland or scrub-land. Either way, securing a camp site would involve trudging through a few feet of snow. I checked the forecast for the night ahead, -11°c. I stood at a cross roads. Up ahead was a small village where I could possibly find a room for the night. It felt like cheating. But why? Who would care if I took the easy option?

I pedaled up to the village and found a surprisingly nice room. It didn’t take long for me to get over thoughts of cheating.

Too camp or not to camp?

Balcony views

The following day was a day of contrast. It started with a bone chilling descent from the village. I’d periodically flex my fingers to restore feeling. I then winched myself over the coastal mountains.

Final snowy climb

At the top I was greeted with a blast of warm air and a breathtaking view. The change was akin to stepping off a plane in a distant land. The carefully controlled A.C chill replaced immediately with a blast of warmth and comfort.

Yes!

I free-wheeled to the coast, laughing and grinning the entire way. I passed a bemused Lycra clad peloton. This why I was doing this. This was it! Right here, right now. I would not rather be anywhere else. An endless ribbon of tarmac lay beneath my wheels. I could ride forever.

I enjoyed the short lived sunshine exploring Zadars old town.

The Adriatic

Zadars old town

It turns out the Adriatic is actually rather moist in winter. My ride south was blighted by relentless rain. Each stomp on the pedals would squeeze a torrent from my sodden shoes. After a while my ‘waterproof’ socks were completely useless. They seemed to hold water in if anything!

In Split, I met up with some old friends Joe and I had made six years previously. It was funny and surreal to meet again after such a long time but it’s great that travel can throw up such encounters.

After Split, I had a decision to make. I could either continue straight down the coast or head back inland. I had to fight the urge to just motor on. This was one of the points where I had to decide what I wanted this trip to be. A chance to see and experience, to savour and enjoy, to slow down and grasp each moment tightly? Or something that should be beaten into submission? an ego-massaging, mile totting trophy. I wanted the former but I’m afraid it’s the latter.

I headed back up and over the coastal mountains and began the soggy ride inland to Mostar, Bosnia. It sounded exotic. Not even the rain could extinguish my excitement.

Oh, you think rain is your ally. But you merely adopted the rain; I was born in Swansea, molded by it. I didn’t see the light until I was already a man, by then it was nothing to me but BLINDING! The clouds betray you, because they belong to me!

Slovenia

Slovenia may rightly feel short changed by this entry. I had entered and left within 24 hours. Hardly enough time to do an entire country and culture justice. Nevertheless, it was nice to pop in.

I hesitated at the Austrian – Slovenian border. It was getting late and I needed somewhere to camp. Nowhere looked particularly inviting on the Austrian side so I opted to push on. Eeking out some extra miles would also give me a shot at reaching Zagreb the following day.

The run up to the border was lined with dilapidated restaurants, trucker stops and exchange shops. Relics from Slovenia’s pre Schengen days. I grabbed an obligatory selfie with the sign and was shocked by the pale, gaunt figure staring back at me. I half expected a customs officer to appear and search the bags under my eyes.

Just a little tired.

I felt unsettled as I crossed over. Potholes appeared in the roads surface, more rubbish lined the roadside. Things were a little rougher round the edges. I realised that from now on things would get more interesting. I was leaving the polished convenience of western Europe.

Climbing a steep hill, I scanned the houses trying to determine which looked most hospitable. Where Slovenians friendly? I secured a spot in the garden of a small house perched on an idyllic hilltop.

Pretty but bloody Baltic

It wasn’t until I stopped that I realised just how cold it was. I trampled out a space in the snow to pitch my tent. Once camp was set up, I jumped straight into the sleeping bag. My miserable evening was compounded by listening to radio coverage of Wales v England in the Six Nations. The cold tightened its grip.

Ideal camping weather

The morning sky glowed as the sun illuminated the freezing mist. I forced my feet into my frozen shoes and managed to collect a few drops from my solid water bottle. I fumbled clumsily with my stove. Porridge and coffee breathed life into my aching bones.

I descended quickly towards Maribor the mist freezing on my beard. In town I stocked up on biscuits, bread and bananas. It would be a long day. Slovenia was pretty. It was relatively warm and sunny. Clumps of snow fell with splat from groaning rooftops. Winter was giving way to spring.

The Slovenian – Croatian border came as a surprise. I was following a small side road off the main highway when a police car appeared in a lay-by. He, equally surprised, ordered me back. It appeared I had inadvertently skipped passport control. I made my way back onto the highway feeling very out of place. A panicked border officer ran from his booth to check my passport. He thought I’d snuck from in from Croatia! After much apologising I was through and into country number six.