Into the Heavens

Introduction

Day 4

Click on map for more detail.Day 4

It was another chilly start. There was ice on our tent, panniers and even my shampoo was frozen. I was slow to get out of bed, but once I was out I was very quick to get dressed. It was so chilly that I needed to wear my trousers, shirt, sleeves, long-sleeve-tee, gilet and jacket. But I loved the frosty mornings.
Tent on bike
Sharon went and made coffee while I downed the tent, erected the clothesline and threw the damp tent inner over it. Then I moved my bike into the sun and lay the fly over that. By this time coffee was ready, so we settled down and ate our muesli bars, drank our coffee and watched the sun dance with wild spruce and do a remarkably good job of not shining on our tent. We were fortunate, we did manage to mostly dry our tent before leaving.
Vavrišovo
First stop was Vavrišovo in search of yoghurt for our second breakfast. The cute little shop was packed, I grabbed our yoghurt and got in line. It seemed that everyone was buying fresh bread and ham which while we all waited, was being shaved off the bone. There was also a priority line where certain special people could walk in and get served immediately. After waiting a good five minutes and only moving a couple of places up the long line, I ditched the yoghurt and we made for the next village. We had a mountain to climb and I did not really want to waste time watching ham being delicately sliced, wrapped in paper and sold.

We slowly and perhaps a little reluctantly rode out of town, I liked the place and would have liked to have stayed longer. Very soon we found ourselves on a busy road shakily riding under an autostrada before coming across a long narrow bridge. The bridge was so narrow that cars could not overtake us on it. We were hungry and finding the Saturday morning traffic a little frustrating. We dived onto an empty side-road as soon as we could. We purchased our yoghurt and cycled into the city centre of a bustling Liptovský Hrádok. Though the day had well and truly heated up, it was not a very pleasant break. We quickly cycled west out of town, smiling and waving at all the cyclists heading east for a day in the mountains. The road was very busy, we tried to cycle close together to make it easier for passing cars and were very relieved to find the markings of an old and worn cycle lane painted onto the road. We put out heads down and butts up as we rushed through roundabouts and traffic lights, dodging and being dodged by trucks and cars. We were very stuffed but very happy to see the back of Liptovský Mikuláš. My plan had been to get past the busy part of this city and find a quaint wee café to stop for a coffee. We didn’t find anything quaint or wee and ended up stopping at a church on the very edge of town.

From here we picked up a lovely cycle path that took us directly to a water park that adults without children would never dream of going into. It was packed with families enjoying their weekend, the road got notably quieter as we left it in the distance. The road was undulating, though always heading up. On the left was a large lake and on the right once again were the mountains. I knew that at one stage today we were either going to go through them or over them. I allowed the lake and weekend cyclists to take my attention.
The lakeStill searching for coffee we stopped at Liptovská Sielnica. The town was not much more than a very large and nice lakeside camping ground. We could see some temporary cafés on the lake-front staying open in hope of straggling post-summer tourists. After finding our way through the fence we stopped at one. We had a beautiful view of a very blue tranquil lake, which like us was being harassed by loud commercial music and an irritating sweaty man leaning branches against the café wall and then snapping them under his feet. Good coffee was not to be found, but they did have large handles of Kofola.

We were already over halfway to our destination and it was still morning. Things were looking good. We turned north, travelled trough some lovely villages, over some creeks and through rows of deciduous trees just starting to turn their leaves towards autumn. It was beautiful and one of the favourite parts of my journey. As we rode I was continually searching the mountains for a pass. I was following the blue road line on my home-printed Google map and could see that very soon the line went all squiggly. It was about this time when Sharon spotted a sign that informed us that there was a restaurant ahead. Sharon is very goal-focused, so suspecting that we were about to climb a mountain we decided to stop have a snack and then aim for the restaurant and enjoy a long lazy lunch.
Power bars
Right at the base of the mountain we found a kiosk that sold the fantastic turbo-boosting drug of  Kofola. I drank as much as I could, had another muesli bar and ate the donated power-bar. We sat there in the sun for about twenty minutes, during this time a couple of experienced cyclists on light-weight bicycles stopped, had a drink, ate a banana and then got their photos taken in front of the mountain. This made me very nervous, so I returned to the kiosk and asked the young fella there ‘how far until the top’? His reply was ‘seven kilometres’. My bottom lip dropped and my head hung, I looked into his eyes pleading for a different answer. He obliged, corrected himself and informed me that it was nine kilometres to the top.

We had no option but to cycle onwards and upwards. I emptied as much of my water onto the ground as I could, got my photo taken, jammed a picture of mountain top shish-kebabs into my head, clipped in and started heading over the bridge. My bike was heavy, this hill was long and very steep. I stood on my peddles and dug deep, it only took minutes until my lungs were totally empty. I sat on my saddle again, relaxed and got my breathing under control. In an attempt to look over my shoulder I wobbled right across the road, but did manage to see Sharon down the hill pushing her bike. This was the perfect face-saving opportunity for me to stop and rest. I had travelled all of 400 metres up the road and was totally stuffed. It seemed that around every corner was another 100 metre vertical straight. Sweat was running down my left arm, hitting my watch, flowing over it and disappearing into my glove. Up, up and up we climbed, it was relentless and never-ending. Then finally I came around a corner and there was the summit, just metres in front of me. I screamed the news back to Sharon, pulled off the road, unclipped and waited for my breathing to stabilise.
stuffed
Sharon caught up and was probably thinking the same thing as I was starting to; it was a strange summit. Unbeknown to us, we were under halfway up the mountain, the next 200 metres was a soft downhill before the pain started again. After another couple of kilometres we had to stop. Both of us had been gasping for air and were way out of our cycling-league. We sat in the gutter for about ten minutes, gulping water, sucking boiled sweets and watching the millions of passing weekend motorcyclists. Most of the climb we were amongst trees and could not get a good idea of how far we had come and had yet to climb. Often we had concrete retainer walls beside us and signs warning of falling rocks. I was thankful that it was yet another beautiful day and was loving the challenge, the sweet and high altitude breathlessness. This was heaven for me and I was eager to see the Pearly Gates of the summit. As the tree-line thinned and a expansive valley and stunning lake vista panned out over my left shoulder, I knew we were close.
View
On the horizon I could see a collection of about 15 buggered cyclists; all encouraging each other as they rode into a rest area. This was surely the summit. When I arrived they were all looking towards their friends arriving from the other side. They all rode light bicycles with small under-seat bags attached, they had two support vehicles and a couple of people strewn out in deck chairs. The last thing they were expecting to see was two idiot Kiwis fully laden with a week’s worth of gear, churning their lowest gears and sweating rivers of eye-stinging liquid. When they saw us their mouths hung open in disbelief. Then some of the braver ones came over and started taking photos of my bike, its six panniers and stupid rider. After that some of them wanted their photos taken with my bike and yet others started lifting my bike to get a sense of the weight I had just dragged up the mountain. No one spoke English, so we grunted and hand-waved our way through the conversations of ‘where have you come from’ and ‘where are you going”. They were day trippers doing a circular route over the mountain, along a valley and then back over a smaller mountain.
Mountain top
The next stats are a bit shaky, but from the bottom of the mountain to the top was a 600 metre climb over seven kilometres of road and took us three hours to climb. We still had not found Sharon’s restaurant.

I was aware I had not actually seen the other side of the mountain yet, so just before leaving I asked how long was it to the top. The answer was another kilometre. It was not as steep and in comparison to what we had just conquered it was nothing. As we left the rest area all the cyclists cheered and clapped us out, one of them even helped by pushing Sharon up the start of the hill. The descent was pretty much vertical and lasted about one short kilometre before it turned uphill again. We didn’t care because on top of that hill we could see a large restaurant surrounded by beer umbrellas and motorbikes. I got there first and again as I rode through the carpark towards the outdoor seating I felt the instant respect of the many tame quiet Slovakian motorcyclists. As I parked our bicycles amongst Harleys and  BMW Paris to Dakar motorbikes, I quietly thought this maybe the only time my Lithuanian-made Panther could hold its own in such a crowd.

bikesThe feeling of accomplishment was quickly drowned out by the hunger-pangs screaming for attention in my stomach. We managed to find a table in the shade on a balcony overlooking rolling hills and a ski-field. We had been given money from Australian friends for a meal-out on our holiday. I had been keeping this a secret from Sharon, now was the time to tell here. This extra money allowed us to buy peppercorn steak, non-alcoholic beer and a cup of coffee. My feet were hurting after being clipped in for such an ordeal, so I took off my shoes, stuck them up on a spare chair, lent back against the wall and wiped the sweat off me. We lounged for about an hour in the cool mountain breeze before sadly saying goodbye to such a refreshing place.

From the restaurant it was all glorious, glorious downhill to our destination. As the descent started I said to myself that speed wise I have nothing to prove and that I should simply lean on my brakes and play it safe. Shortly after saying this I hit a 30 kilometre-per-hour corner. I was going so fast that my eyes were filling up with wind, insects and tears. I could not read my speedometer, totally misjudged the corner, hit it way too fast and hard on the brakes, swerved totally onto the wrong side of the road trying to gain control of my bike. Riding down a hill with six uneven pannier has about the same stability as riding an upright piano on castors. At the bottom of the hill I went flying past a sign that mentioned the 40 kilometre-per-hour zone had finished. In front of a rather ugly quarry I stopped, wiped the sweat and insects out of my eyes and off both the inside and outside of  my sunglasses. Once I regained my sight I quickly focused on my speedometer to check just how stupid I had been. Indeed I was 58.34 kilometres-per-hour stupid, that is the fastest my pannier-strewn upright piano has ever travelled.

The two of us glided into Zuberec feeling remarkably refreshed. We stopped at a corner shop, worried that everything would be closed the next day, Sunday. Though a little bit late I also managed to purchase a topographical map and could now work out where the mountains were.
Zuberec
Zuberec was a gorgeous alpine village with narrow streets and many log-houses. We followed our map up such a street until we came to ‘Penzión ROHÁČ‘ and our beds. I had had all kinds of trouble booking this place.  It seems that in this part of the world it is a little hard to get the guest-houses to reply to your emails and commit to your bookings. I even called the owner to confirm and spoke pure google-translator Slovakian. My neighbour called to confirm the booking a second time, he spoke to them in Polish. When we arrived we didn’t actually get what we had booked. What we did get was very comfortable, with a balcony, view of the mountains and it was cheaper. To my surprise our host’s husband actually spoke English thus negating all my previous hard work trying to translate everything into Slovakian.

Of course the first thing we did was unpack our damp sleeping bags and tent and aired them out on the spare beds. Then it was time for our pot-noodle supper. We were tired and spent the evening watching the BBC World Service and US Open tennis before retiring for a very very early night.

As I closed my eyes and drifted into my dreams my legs were recycling the day’s 54.03 kilometres with an average speed of 14.14 kilometres-per-hour.

Introduction.

Day 1. Mountain Mist and Burbling Brooks

Day 2 Lonely Roads & Hectic Highways

Day 3 Up, Up & Up

Day 4 Into the Heavens

Day 5 Quiet Pizza

Day 6 Polish Roads

Day 7 The After Chapter

Up, Up & Up

Introduction

Day 3

Click on map for more detail.

Day 3

This was my hardest day, my body was screaming for carbohydrates, my butt was sick of the saddle it was straddled over and I was not ready for the 22 kilometres of gradual uphill ahead of me.

My new red hat had given me a cosy sleep and dawn greeted us with cool morning sun. First thing again was to erect the clothesline and hang up our wet tent fly. Whilst waiting for the sun to burn the evening’s condensation off our tent we were able to somewhat relaxingly pack our bikes, percolate our coffee and eat our muesli bars.

It was an uphill kilometre back to the main road, cycling towards mountains bathed in soft autumn sun. However I did not really notice them, I was much more interested in watching the pro-cycling team that immediately overtook me, time-trailing their way up the hill and around a wobbling Sharon.

The top of the hill provided us with a busy tee-intersection, a railway line and loose gravel. This coupled with a small breakfast and tired legs was the perfect combination to send Sharon sliding sideways along the gravel with her bike on top of her. She was a bit miffed and grazed, but alright. Her chain had come off and stubbornly demanded quite some time before it was willing to go back on.

We climbed back on our bikes and slowly peddled our way up into the next village searching for yoghurt and our second breakfast. The village was just too small and tired to have a shop so we climbed another 4.2 kilometres and continued our search in Vysoke Tatry. There was a huge beautiful-to-me sign on the hill that said something like ‘supermarket’. The store was located up a bank with no obvious entrance so I cycled off through the restaurants and outdoor stores searching for a cycle-friendly entrance. I signalled my direction for the distant Sharon and disappeared back downhill. Sharon misread my hand actions and promptly got lost. Fortunately Sharon knows that there is only one person in all of Eastern European who is willing to release the Australian ‘Cooee’ signal at the top of his lungs. Upon hearing her screeching husband, she turned around and followed the call back to the elusive front door of the supermarket.

We ate our breakfast in the sunshine on the roadside. Now it was time to search for a coffee with a view. Well, the view was just okay, however the sun was shining and we could wheel our bikes right to the table. This was good, because I had a wee repair I needed to do. Though maybe this was not the most appropriate place to do, unbeknown to us we were in the café of the ‘Grand Hotel Starý Smokovec‘. This is perhaps the poshest place my bike has been repaired in. It was a wonderful stop with excellent coffee and excellent service. Another customer ordered a sandwich, we took one look at it and immediately ordered our third breakfast of an absolutely delicious shared ham and cheese sandwich.

Perhaps we could have spent the rest of the day in this delightful spot, however the road beckoned.

Slow Up Hill

We cycled up and up and up and up. It was not steep, it was a gradual first-gear-climb that gradually zapped the strength right out of my legs. The mountains were draped in subtle European sunshine and the valley was sparkling like a clear evening sky as it reflected sunlight off distant cars zooming along a motorway. All of this beauty did nothing for my morale, I was fading and fading quick. There is a cool narrow-gauge railway which for part of the time ran parallel to the road. A little blue train overtook us, I waved and the driver gave a long toot on his horn. This helped so much.

Eventually we arrived at an intersection that was not on my map. After studying my map and applying good-old-fashioned Kiwi logic we followed the road up a steep incline with ugly switch-backs. Once again I was up the hill first and waited for Sharon in front of a little lake. It was lunch time and our bodies needed sustenance. A five-minute search provided us with seats in front of the lake. Right beside the seats was a small billboard supporting a detailed map with a big ‘you-are-here’ arrow stamped in the middle of it. It took me all of two seconds to realise that we had taken the wrong turn and the last 1.2 kilometres of switch-backs had been a total waste of energy-zapping time.

the forgotten photoSharon didn’t seem to be tired at all and loved the quiet tranquil lake reflecting green pine-trees, ragged rocky mountains and lazy-hazy blue sky. I devoured my lunch of noodles, mashed cheesy potatoes and a cuppa camomile tea. Perhaps a little less tired we returned to our bikes and headed back down the hill. There were two things from the pit-stop that we had not realised. First, in my tiredness I had forgotten to take a photo. Second the seats that we were sitting on had recently been painted and left blotches of orange paint on our backsides.

The downhill was very welcome and as we zoomed along the next 14 kilometres, we almost didn’t notice the beautiful mauve coloured roadside flowers backdropped by sparse spruce and the ever-present Tatra mountains.

mauve coloured roadside

After enjoying travelling 56 kilometres-per-hour, it was time to wait for Sharon. I walked up the road and waited by a beautifully clear rushing mountain river. Eventually Sharon arrived and we veered off the main road past a busy wee bus stop and randomly followed café signs into the forest.

wee cafe

We found a sweet wee café that looked like it accidentally came into existence. It was getting late in the day and we needed energy. To our surprise they had no Coke or Coca-Cola products. The waitress spoke almost no English but was able to direct us to a wonder sarsaparilla-flavoured drink called Kofola. I have no idea what was in it, however it did seem to chuck our legs into turbo-charge. We flew along the next 10 kilometres of mountain stream-flanked road. Our next stop was in the European Union-funded extremely picturesque town of Pribylina. Slowly we rode narrow quiet streets and slowly we soaked in the pastel coloured Slovakian houses searching for a shop. The village was again full of Romani. I stopped in front of a stream at a bus stop and asked some loitering men for directions to the shop. Across the language divide the chaps were very friendly. One of them was wearing a ‘Sydney Olympics’ tee-shirt. I tried to communicate with him that I was in Sydney at the time of the Olympics. His reply was to pull a few coins out of his pocket and to ask for more money. Slightly slimed I smiled and rode back to the shop. I didn’t quite feel safe here, so asked Sharon to be quick inside.

Pribylina

Our next stop was just four kilometres down the road in a rather pretty unkempt village called Vavrišovo, interesting enough this village was full of white middle-class people. On the outskirts of Vavrišovo was the rather Autocamping Vavrišovo. Rather tired we rode in under a pleasant row of leafy trees. It was difficult to find how to check-in, eventually we found someone who spoke English and informed us that we needed to call the number on the wall.

Another guest volunteered to make the call for us and informed us we would have to wait an hour or until 19:00. So we wandered inside, put our Radlers in the fridge and used their excellent showers.

I almost pitched the tent, but could not get the final pegs into the rocky ground. So moved the tent to a softer spot that was quite close to a fire-pit. Shortly afterwards a bunch of blokes carrying beer and firewood waltzed on over and starting building a fire in the pit. This was way too close for comfort. I was tired, hungry and cranky and suggested to Sharon that we just pack up, leave and find another place to spend the night.

It turned out that just 800 metres further along the road was another camping ground called ATC Vavrišovo (dolný kemp). Again we could not work out how to check-in, but with the help of some friendly Czechs, found the manager. He did not seem that keen on serving us and at the time we were quite unsure how much the night was going to cost us. This camping ground was a lot quieter and had soft ground. We pitched the tent quickly and settled down for our evening meal and Radler in the cold mountain air.

The day consisted of 55.41 kilometres with an average speed of 14.76 and a maxium speed of 56.40 kilometres-per-hour.

Introduction.

Day 1. Mountain Mist and Burbling Brooks

Day 2 Lonely Roads & Hectic Highways

Day 3 Up, Up & Up

Day 4 Into the Heavens

Day 5 Quiet Pizza

Day 6 Polish Roads

Day 7 The After Chapter

 

Lonely Roads & Hectic Highways

Introduction

Day 2

Click on the map for more detail.

Day2

It was September in the mountains and the evenings were cold. Though we were snug and warm in our tent and sleeping bags, my bald head viciously leaked heat and I awoke a few times during the night to put on my baseball cap. The morning was cold and dewy, we did not waste too much time drinking our morning coffee, packing up and cycling out. ‘Camping Dunajec‘ had been a lovely place to spend the night, they completed their good service by filling our thermos with hot water.

Complete with a wet tent we leisurely cycled along the river and through Červený Kláštor. On the edge of town we rode past a bus load of tourists high-tailing it to a monastery. It would have been nice to stop, but there were just too many people before breakfast.

After six kilometres on a cool gradual incline we stopped in the village of Haligovce to buy yoghurt for breakfast. After the cool evening I was keen to buy a woollen hat, and this dark pokey little shop had one for two euros, which I was very tempted to buy, but on account that it was pink, decided against this idea. We ate our breakfast in front of the shop, overlooking lovely rocky hills and sucking in the second-hand cigarette smoke of what looked like a road-working gang.

Village
From here we turned south and cycled along a lonely road through some quaint Slovakian villages until we hit road-works and were forced to wait in the now warm sun while quiet men pressed smelly bitumen into the morning earth.

Peacefully we continued, aware that the road was growing steeper by the kilometre, and before long we had hit a hot twelve-percent incline that felt like much, much more. Briefly I was off my bike again pushing. At the summit we paused to catch the view of rolling green hills backdropped by lazy hazy blue mountains and to zip-up our gilets for what looked like a long chilly descent.

The road was in really good condition. I understood why when I zoomed over the words ‘BELKON PRO GO GO’. The road had been recently repaired for the pro-cycling season and we were happily benefiting from it. We passed through yet another beautiful village, this one seemed to be almost entirely populated by smiling Romani people.

Village

The next section turned out to be one of our busiest roads and the first highway we had cycled on together. We tried to cycle the eight kilometres quickly and close together, but once again our different cycling styles perhaps made things a little difficult for the throngs of passing cars, buses and trucks. Because of my lack of gears I like to gather as much speed as possible on the downhill, allowing me to carry more speed into the climbs. Sharon has a much lower geared bike and can afford to be more conservative on the downhills, knowing she can climb minor hills with relative ease.

We rode the highway like pros and quickly found ourselves in the beautiful town of Spišská Belá. We got happily and momentarily lost here whilst following signs to a Tesco supermarket, the detour took us through quiet streets of lovely brightly-coloured old buildings. After chatting with an Istanbul-bound motorcyclist at Tesco, we headed back into the town centre choosing to spend much of our time dodging people on the footpath rather than being run down by the plentiful road traffic.

The words ‘Bicykle Kostka‘ caught my eye and I automatically turned towards the cute orange building and into the little alleyway of this bustling bike shop. The mechanic-owner could not have been more helpful and patient as we lumbered off my panniers, attempted to change my lights and succeeded in replacing Sharon’s bell. Across the language divide we once again received excellent Slovak service and were sent away with two gifted power-bars.

Bike Path

On the outside of this town we came across perhaps the best cycle path I have ever encountered and right at the start of it was a wee lake with seats and a view of the mountains – the perfect place for our ‘Tesco’ purchased bread and cheese.

For us the bike path only lasted ten kilometres. Just as we were trying to work out how to turn off it and cross the road back into the mountains we stumbled across a couple of Canadians cycling from England to Turkey. We stopped and chatted for quite some time; they were very willing to allow me to milk them of their vast knowledge of tour cycling and seemingly the streets of the world. They also gave me their email address for future questions. Our tent was still wet, the day was starting to cool and I was keen to get to the camping ground and air the tent before the sun went down, so reluctantly we said our good-byes and parted.

The final eleven kilometres of the day were mostly up hill and draining on our tired bodies which were already suffering from having eaten too much fibre. The views were very beautiful with the mountains now on our right and a wide valley running into yet more mountains on our left. Quite soon we hit the town of Tatranská Lomnica.

Sharon was keen to explore this mountain tourist town, I was keen to keep cycling the final couple of kilometres and dry the tent. The compromise came in the form of a sunny outdoor café with an outdoor shop quietly hiding under it. We stopped, I hurriedly unpacked the tent, separated the fly from the inner and slung both of them over our bikes and a couple of chairs. Following this I dashed down to the outdoor store and purchased a horrible red, but very warm fleece hat. Jumped back up the stairs, sent Sharon off exploring whilst I sat down with a cold beer and read my book and let the fading sun do the job it needed to – dry the tent.

The evening’s camping ground was called ‘RIJOCamping‘ and was near the village of Stará Lesná. I waiting quietly in their office while two young woman tried to serve with some difficulty a typically smiley Southeast Asian family. As soon as the family had left the office the two women cracked some kind of snide remark about the family and started laughing. I instantly did not like the place and it was a big step down from the previous day’s camping. However we found a good spot to camp that collected the morning sun and set about showering and eating. It turned out to be quite a cold night with very little to do, the camping ground had very limited facilities so we simply retired to our tent and listened to Radio New Zealand podcasts until dreams of mountains and roads overtook us.

On day two I cycled a total of 55.52 kms with an average speed of 12.29 kph and a maximum speed of 52.67 kph.
————-

Click here to read;

Introduction.

Day 1. Mountain Mist and Burbling Brooks

Day 2 Lonely Roads & Hectic Highways

Day 3 Up, Up & Up

Day 4 Into the Heavens

Day 5 Quiet Pizza

Day 6 Polish Roads

Day 7 The After Chapter

 

Mountain Mist and Burbling Brooks

Introduction

Day 1.

Click on the map for more detail.
Day1
I had forgotten to change my watch from EET to CET time-zone, consequently I am not sure what time we left in the morning. I do remember that the grass was dewy, the air was cool and that the mountains were poking holes in the sky.

The start
Wrapped up and heavy with food and water we edged our way through the gate of our Zakopane guest-house and along a pedestrian lane. Two things immediately hit me; my bike was really heavy and I had no low gears.

Within about thirty metres we had started our first uphill, it was not much of an uphill, but I had to somewhat precariously stand and pump my peddles just to keep the bike upright and in forward motion. This was not looking good.

Within a few kilometres we were negotiating steep switchbacks amid a tirade of cars, vans and buses. I was wobbling and struggling. I had worked out that I could peddle downhill in my top gear and if I was lucky whack the bike successfully into the first of my seven internal gears. This worked around fifty percent of the time.

On one of the early switchback corners I was overtaken by a bus that did not seem to notice how wide my pannier-flanked bike was. He cut in on me and sent me flying into the ditch. My wife and co-pilot cycling behind me said that if I had kept my nerve, the bus probably would have missed me. This gave me no comfort.

Up the hill
I was quite relieved when we eventually surfaced into the sunshine at the top of the hill. We rode predominantly uphill along a mountain ridge, past delicate large wooden houses, in and out of pine trees and sunshine. It was cool and beautiful with the refreshing scent of morning mountain mist.

TatrasWe stopped near the top to rest a little and take photos. It was here I noticed that a water bottle had leaked in my pannier. The result was a wet sleeping bag, inner-sheet and pyjamas. I was miffed but not daunted and simply attached my pyjamas and inner sheet to the outside of our bikes to allow the wind to dry them.

I could not find topographical maps for this journey, so with no warning the hill finished and we were sailing down hill. I was zooming through tourist villages, past hotels and houses, getting slightly annoyed by the cars following me without overtaking. It was not until I got to the bottom of the hill that I understood why they were not overtaking me – I was doing forty-five kph in a forty zone and was simply faster than they were.

Co-pilot Sharon has a lot more common-sense than I do and descends well within the speed-limit, by the time she caught up with me at the bottom of the hill, I had strung a clothes line over a street sign and had my wet pyjamas drying in the soft noon sun. We rested awhile, exchanged descending stories, snacked and pushed on to the only part of our journey that I could not see on ‘Google Street View’. I feared gravel road and could not see any pass through the hills ahead.

We quietly chatted and cycled along a sparkling river, past some homes, a shop, took a wrong turn and corrected ourselves, before stumbling upon a sign which portrayed that the road ahead was going to be steep. We had just gone up and down a mountain and without seeing signs that said ‘steep’; I was still without low gears and justifiably a tad concerned with what lay ahead. The climb was through a residential area and perhaps about six-hundred metres in total, but it was the steepest, nastiest little climb we were to encounter. Even with low gears, there would have been no chance of climbing it. It was so steep that the locals were watching rather bemusedly as I struggled to push my bike up.

We had agreed to have lunch at the top, but couldn’t find a place to stop which provided a suitable spot to erect our clothesline. Also we had realised we had forgotten to bring the required bell-pepper, cheese and grater for our burrito meal. We found a quiet village shop before descending upon a farmer’s paddock and a peaceful place for lunch.

After lunch we were still perplexed about these low gears, had even prayed that they would somehow be restored. We jumped back on our bikes to finish our slow descent, when without warning my handlebars locked up, I had no control of where my bike was heading. In fighting for control I noticed a cable-tie snapping, eventually I managed to stop and carry my bike off the quiet road. I soon discovered that my gear-cable was taunt under my new front pannier and had succeeded in lodging itself under my front light thus locking my steering. I took off the pannier, attached a new cable-tie, re-routed the gear-cable away from the pannier and delightfully discovered that now my four low gears were back. The cost was a near accident, a factory made cable-tie and blown front and rear lights. I was very thankful to have my low gears back.

TelesThe next fifteen or so kilometres were over delightful undulating pastoral-land splatted with unspoilt villages. I really, really enjoyed this section: everything was so picture-postcard perfect, with one notable exception. I presume Poland had recently switched from analogue to digital television and today this Wednesday was the recycling day; almost every second house in the villages had a collection of dead teles posted at their front gates. It was a little surreal.

We were way off the tourist track in the village of Niedzica, when a car reversed out of a shop car park directly into Sharon’s path, fortunately she was quick enough to swerve onto the wrong side of the road, avoiding a collision with the oblivious driver. I think this might have scared Sharon a little, I was riding along a flat stretch at thirty-four kph when she quietly snuck up behind me and said ‘I am here, you can go faster now’. Thirty-four kph with six panniers, I do not get any faster, we stopped at a quiet petrol-station and sweated it out in the afternoon sun whilst downing a Pepsi.

Shortly after that village we bumped into a lake, dam and cycle path. Cycle paths away from the road and traffic are always so, so beautiful; this one took us all the way to the Slovakian border.

Slovakian BorderThe final six or so kilometres were spent cycling along the Dunajec river and over a single short sharp first gear climb. We arrived at Červený Kláštor amid gentle sunlight showering us from soft blue cloudless skies. ‘Camping Dunajec‘ proved to be by far the best camping ground of our journey. It was very clean, well equipped with friendly staff and had a restaurant that served excellent food and Radler. Radler being a Slovakian beer with lemon juice in it.

Camping Dunajec
First thing up was our clothesline. The end-of-day sun was perfect for airing my damp sleeping bag. We pitched our tent beside a burbling river, took a sunset walk through the village and finished the evening with a camp fire.

The day had a few challenges, but was a good day.

We cycled a total of 59.47kms with an average speed of 14.53 kph and a maximum speed of 52.44 kph.

———–

Introduction.

Day 1. Mountain Mist and Burbling Brooks

Day 2 Lonely Roads & Hectic Highways

Day 3 Up, Up & Up

Day 4 Into the Heavens

Day 5 Quiet Pizza

Day 6 Polish Roads

Day 7 The After Chapter

Peddling the Dirt across Lithuania. Chapter 2c

PTD Lithuania

To view
Chapter 1
Chapter 2a
Chapter 2b
Chapter 2c
To view my cycling route across Lithuania, click here.
To view a detailed personalised map following chapter 2, click here.

——————————-

Fat Ugly Legs and a Stupid Cat.
Part 3
Dercekliai – Žemaitkiemis

Day2

Within about five minutes of being back in the saddle I was over-taken by a tractor dragging a trailer. Usually this would not warrant a mention if it was not for the fact that the trailer’s tyres were shedding their rather poor attempt at retreads. I was rather suddenly and slowly showered with black heavy hunks of slow flying rubber. There was nothing that I could do: if I tried to dodge one piece, I got hit by the next, so I just rode it out and headed for the ditch.

23 kilometres south of the one-time Prussian capital of Memelburg, now known as Klaipėda, I hit the busy wee town of Priekulė. I love Priekulė, I would love it more if all those nasty, smelly trucks were forced to bypass it, however it is still cute and a good place to get a good feed. What I like most about it is its sleepy red brick Prussian architecture splattered with the occasional Soviet-built dairy[25]. I love its street florist, two cafes, idling oldies and roaming school kids. I giggle watching cars trying to reverse out of their parks onto the busy road. I guess one of the reasons why I like Priekulė is because it reminds me of many parochial provincial Kiwi towns.

This time I did not stop, I cycled right through, hung a right at some random monument, crossed a railway line beside some more gorgeous Prussian architecture and a cute wee church, then hung a left and headed south. A footnote: maybe the left actually came before the railway line, I forget.

On the outside of town I saw something so, so breathtakingly beautiful that it just warmed and delighted the cockles of my Kiwi heart. There is simply nothing more enchanting in the outside world than random roaming sheep by the wayside. You are reading the words of someone who grew up watching sheep dog trials on the tele[26], and who presently listens to a Radio New Zealand podcast that follows the lives of a family of sheep. A day abroad with sheep is equal to a hundred without their cute wee woolly faces. Anyhow I digress, back to the road.

The next 12 or so kilometres are some of the most beautiful in the nation. Flat, flat quiet roads embraced by farmed fields of dancing dandelions and handsome tulips. Oversized ponds reflecting Prussian red barns and barking dogs, dot the almost carless and careless wayside. Saggy swamps and meandering rivers nurture the fields and provide a sense of harmony and innocence.

P1170508

Everything was simply beautiful until the obligatory tractor dragging a tired and seemingly empty trailer overtook me. I pounced on the opportunity like a pro-cyclist and dug deep to get my front wheel about 20 centimetres off its rear and draft the sucker up and over a bridge. Seemed like a good idea at the time, but what I didn’t bargain on was the sudden bump plus potholes on top of the bridge. I was doing well at the time, felt as cool as Ramunas Navardauskas[26], right until that trailer hit the bump. What I didn’t realise, though the smell should have given me a hint, was that the almost empty trailer still had quite a bit of natural fertiliser in it. By natural fertiliser I mean that farmer Joe had spent all year collecting the cow poo from his Prussian red barn, had loaded it into this trailer, driven out to his field to spread it out in order to give the grass a lift, and was now returning with an almost empty tray supporting a not-so-small collection of liquid, runny and solid maturing cow-poo. And yes when he hit that bump followed by the bone-shaking potholes, I, 20 centimetres off his not so metaphoric butt, got fertilised. In fact I got utterly sprayed with stale stinky cow poo. Pity it doesn’t stimulate new hair growth.

I love windmills, or perhaps the correct words are wind-turbines, and this stretch of road supported a mosaic of turning turbines, grass green at the bottom and cloud white at the top. No matter how intrusive these things are, they still look heavenly and graceful to me. When we get to the eternal cricket match in heaven we will discover that the pitch is surrounded by wind-turbines with poetry written on their blades. I stopped for a photo and a drink.P1170513

Next I stumbled upon the unimpressive village of Sakūčiai. In my world Sakūčiai is best known for its poorly sign-posted roundabout. For first time drivers wanting to drive south and visit the rather cute lighthouse and Ventė, the temptation is to drive directly through the roundabout into the tiny village rather than hang the right and head west in effort to get south. Are you confused? So was I the first time I hit it and was forced to complete a lap before heading off in the right direction. However on this occasion I was heading east, and given that I had not seen any vehicles since the dung trailer camouflaged cow poo amongst my freckles, I opted for shortening my trip by about a 100 metres and riding the wrong way around the roundabout. Altogether this was a good idea. I whipped over the bridge and again was lost in the beauty of the boggy, subtle and flat landscape.

I had somewhat been dreading this eastward turn, because I knew that for me, the vulnerable cyclist, that it meant turning into a head wind. I sweated it out riding along the dead straight flat road for about seven kilometres and stopped, sat on a pile of logs surrounded by a swamp, and wrote a poem.

Tagged, tethered, teetering cows
craning necks to witness
cold, cranking, cycling cyclist.
Breezy, bristling, blissful, bushes
flanking, flat, fast
long, straight, narrow road.
Peace, peddling, pursuing piety.

————————————————-

Stay tuned for chapter 2.d and learn a battle between Nazi soldiers and the Lithuanian Resistance Movement.

.

Are you confused as to what these numbers are [5]?, they are part of detailed glossary that will be included in the print and eBook version of this story.

Peddling the Dirt across Lithuania. Chapter 2b

PTD LithuaniaChapter 1
Chapter 2a
Chapter 2b
Chapter 2c
To view my cycling route across Lithuania, click here.
To view a detailed personalised map following chapter 2, click here.

——————————-

Fat Ugly Legs and a Stupid Cat.
Part 2

DituvaDercekliai

Day2

My neighbour works in Dituva and I had planned on visiting him. I swung my bike right into the first minor road and stopped in front of this small traditional outdoor-furniture-factory. I had little idea if this was actually the factory where he worked or if indeed he was there this day, and so ended up spending a long time peering through my sunglasses into the factory’s dark cool interior. Eventually a head popped up followed by a waving hand. I dismounted my bike, took off my helmet and wiped the sweat off my forehead. In Lithuanian culture men must shake hands for every greeting, in winter even if it is minus thirty degrees, a man must take off his glove and greet with a hand shake. Cycle gloves are annoying helpful little things. They provide padding for your hands, thus stopping your hands from aching during the latter stages of long bike-rides.  They also stop sunburn and mine even have a little bit of fleecy material for wiping off sweat and snot. But they are infuriatingly, finickitally, difficult to get on and off, and here the dilemma starts.

My neighbour strode out of the factory with an ear-to-ear smile and a single outstretched hand. My options were to annoy him by looking like the stupid foreigner and taking five minutes to drag each finger out of those little holes or to offend him by leaving my glove on. On account that he was a Russian Lithuanian, thus much harder to offend and cared a lot less for Lithuanian culture, I choose to leave on my glove. He gave my gloved hand a curious fleeting glance before grabbing it and enthusiastically shaking it, whilst slapping me on the back with his free hand. My neighbour is like so many of the Russians who either couldn’t, or forgot to, go home after the Soviet Union collapsed and who, much to the dismay and anger of ethnic Lithuanians, have either been unmotivated or unable to learn the language. The two of us have had many minus-10-snow-shovelling conversations.  They are usually conducted in Russian, Lithuanian, English and the international language of frantically waving one’s arms through the air whilst intelligently grunting. At the end of these conversations I always feel pleasantly uplifted, totally confused and like I have just survived a rigorous aerobics routine. The key is, no matter what you have just heard, keep smiling, they probably didn’t just say that ‘you have fat ugly legs and a stupid cat’.

Fat ugly legs and a stupid cat aside, my neighbour and I performed our smiley aerobic routine, then shook hands again, before he disappeared into the bowels of his factory and before I wiped a fresh layer of sweat off my bald head, took a drink, filled up my water bottle and hit the road again.

Five minutes down the road somewhere near the Dercekliai turn-off I wildly zoomed past another vehicle, gosh I was fast, the driver and his passenger clearly did not expect to see a fully-laden bicycle, clad with a reflectorised yellow-clothed German shouting, “Guten Morgen”. I shouted my greeting not only because I was afraid of frightening the passengers, but also because I was afraid of spooking their horse. Yes I said horse, this is not some kind of sad attempt at an intellectual metaphor, I actually sped past a horse and cart. This is not an unusual occurrence in Lithuania, hay-burners[20] and drays[21] are quite common here; welcome to the 21st century, the European Union and NATO. ‘Giddyap ya ole nag we have to rush to Brussels and bung some austerity measures on those over-spending Greeks’.

These two old geezers[22] were too wasted to realise that the Soviet Union had been traded in for the European Union, they let fly with a certain four letter Russian ‘B’ word that is not to dissimilar to a certain four letter English ‘F’ word. Two drunken Russians being pulled by a horse was definitely worth my first photo-stop. I jumped off my bike at a fortuitously placed bus stop, flipped out my camera and started clicking away. They smiled at the oddity of a cycling loopy[23] German paparazzi photographer and obliged accordingly with many spasibos or in English, many, thank yous. This left them both sounding remarkably like over-humburgered, worn out and wasted Elvises. It is not that unusual here to see someone asleep on the tray of their dray with their horse leading them either home or back to the motherland. Anyhow they were good guys, a little spooked, but good guys.

P1170494a

I guess ‘Guten Morgen’ needs a little bit of explanation. You see, there are seemly only two kinds of tourists in this part of the world: one is fat-bellied, drunk and wearing budgie-smugglers[24] and the other is decked out in an excessive amount of synthetic high-performance outdoor gear, wearing thick-rimmed square glasses and trudging the terrain of old-town cafes with smart-phones and SLR’s. The former we call Russian, the latter we call German. The big difference between the two is that generally speaking the Germans are somewhat sober and actually explore beyond the bars and beaches.

There is history here; this region was once part of the Germanic Prussian kingdom that loosely lasted from 1701 to 1918. Many of these Germans are actually trying to get in touch with their Prussian roots or rather the Prussian routes that their grandparents took many years ago. Consequentially on these roads we tend to bump into an array of shaky fat-bottomed Germans who in their everyday life usually do not grace the leather of a cycling saddle. I figured that since I looked like a scrawny root and route-searching German, that I may as well live up to the expectation and speak German, hence the ‘Guten Morgen’.

My wife is a Prussian-Scottish-Kiwi: it explains her horizontal approach to constantly running late with fastidious rigid time-keeping.

Anyhow the bus stop was a good place to call home and inform Sharon that I had forgotten to pack into the car our fish-grills. A fish-grill naturally enough being a fundamental piece of apparatus for barbecuing ribs. More later.

————————————————-

Stay tuned for chapter 2.c and learn about Kiwi sheep and Lithuanian cow poo.

Are you confused as to what these numbers are [5]?, they are part of detailed glossary that will be included in the print and eBook version of this story.

Peddling the Dirt across Lithuania. Chapter 2a

Chapter 1
Chapter 2a
Chapter 2b
Chapter 2c
To view my cycling route across Lithuania, click here.
To view a detailed personalised map following chapter 2, click here.

——————————-

Fat Ugly Legs and a Stupid Cat

Klaipėda – Dituva

I was both tired and excited when I woke up. At the time we were blessed with a visit from my in-laws, in fact this little detail is what led me to take-off and cycle just as far away from our tired little communist flat as possible. It was not because I was running from them, but rather because they wanted to see the country and this trip had been percolating on my bucket-list[7] for quite some time. My Dad-in-law had kindly agreed to drive my car with the rest of the family, some nights we would meet up, but most importantly if things went pear-shaped[8] on this, my first big cycling adventure, then help was always just a phone call and a few hundred kilometres away.

I was up first and thus needed to be quiet, which was not an easy thing to do when my bike was  parked in our hallway[9] in front of both bedroom doors and needed to be packed. Naturally enough, first thing was to put on the coffee. For the journey I had purchased a brand new ceramic espresso coffee cup for the grand total of 57 Euro cents and I had planned on using it every morning of my ride.

So showered, watered and fed, I fought my way past my panniers and bike to the door. Lithuania is allegedly a dangerous place; evidence of this is our door. A previous inhabitant had installed no less that nine bolts in it, which takes a total of five turns until it is unlocked. Realistically one needs a respite stop after just opening the door.

I pushed my bike through the door, spun the bike around on a 180 and lent it against the stair rail.  I then walked back in and got my two front panniers and re-entered our hallway to gather my two rear panniers.  As if this wasn’t enough, I made one final sortie into our quiet hallway to grab my bash-hat[10]. Next on the agenda was the stairwell ordeal. I carried my bike down the first flight of eight stairs and left it where I could see it, propped up against our defunct communist garbage chute. Then I dragged my tired caffeinated body back up the eight stairs and carried my front panniers down two flights of stairs, leaving them just out of sight against the stair rail. Then back up for my rear panniers and basically I kept repeating this process until I found myself, my bike and panniers out on the street. In our poorer, predominantly Russian neighbourhood one needs to be mindful of opportunistic light fingered drunks and dumpster-divers.  This process I have carried out many times before and since.

One of the great things about Lithuania is that you can ride on the footpath, thus my journey started right there at the door, after a few minutes of attaching my panniers and putting on my helmet. Realising that my sunglasses wouldn’t attach themselves to my face with my helmet on[11], I took off my helmet and then put on my sunglasses and helmet again. Then finally I was off, riding alongside our neighbours’ closes[12], over the drain cover that regularly leaks sewage, along the path that turns into a river of trash and dog-poo during the snow-melt and eventually out onto the main footpath. I hung a right, rode up past the bus-stop with the broken seats and the pavement peppered in ginger cigarette-butts and listened to my panniers softly rattling as my bike quietly bounced over broken ash-grey concrete pavers, until I met a pedestrian crossing which provided a level entry point for me to move onto the road.

For the next 200 metres I jostled with bendy-buses[13], micro-buses[14], cars and anything else that chose to use our street to exit the city on this slightly windy, cool and sunny early Monday morning. Feeling the adventure ahead, the weight of my bike and the wind whistling through my bash-hat gave me a beautiful and familiar sense of freedom and invincibility. At such times I always think back to the first time that I hitch-hiked north out of my home city of Dunedin, New Zealand. I was 16 years old and was travelling about 60 kilometres to see a girl that I had the hots[15] ]for. My first ride and first ever hitch-hiking ride took me about 30 kilometres and dropped me off in the middle of nowhere[16]. It was at that moment, standing at the side of the road under our Kiwi sun, enjoying the solitude with the sound of a river running, sheep bleating and birds singing, that I first felt the freedom and invincibility of the road ahead. Now at the other side of the world I savoured this reminiscing moment, for indeed it was just a moment, because I was forced to stop at a red light and choke in car fumes from vehicles that would never be considered roadworthy enough to drive north out of Dunedin. As the light turned green, I peddled out across the main road from our ferry terminal to our capital, mounted the footpath to the bicycle track, then stopped again. It was technology time: I have an original Google smart phone and installed on it is a tracking app that pretty much tells me everything, including what I had for breakfast. This short stop was for me to push the ‘start tracking’ button.

Now numbers for me go together like a horse and abattoir;[17] I kill them. So if I say that I cycled a kilometre, please give me about a 20 percent margin of error. Also five minutes down the road does not mean literally five minutes, but rather, not too far. Depending on the context it could be as little as 20 metres or as far as 20 kilometres; don’t worry about it, it is a hangover from my Kiwi rural youth[18].

So without further ado the next kilometre was on a rather deceptively pleasant cycle-path. Pleasant because it is wide-smooth-asphalt with gentle lips on and off the minor crossroads. Also pleasant because it keeps you well clear of that busy, narrow, two-lane, tram-tracked[19], truck-infested, 70kph, Klaipėda/Vilnius road. Deceptive because of pooch-dragging-pedestrians. Being on the edge of town and a smooth path alongside lovely mowed grass, it attracts abluting dogs and their stubborn reluctant owners. I usually see them a mile off, I ring my bell to tell them to get off the cycle path, most times they oblige, but what I cannot see is if the dog is attached to a lead or not.  I cannot understand what is going through the heads of these people who move off the cycle path but leave the dog attached to an almost invisible lead, strung across the middle of the path. I have not strangled a dog yet through accidentally running over its lead, but the day is coming.

At the end of this stretch the cycle path crosses over a rather busy secondary road and weaves its way out of town. It travels over too many driveways, too close to kiosks and bus stops that are propped up by gaggles of swaying drunks, and suffers from a couple of sharp, unnecessary inclines. So though I knew that the next 3km would be busy, narrow and shoulderless, I chanced it, knowing that things were about to get worse.

It did indeed get worse:  I had chosen to cycle the next 18km south on a dual-carriageway. There weren’t a lot of options. The official number 10 cycle path continues another 4km before turning south and disappearing altogether. And I really do mean disappearing, literally in the spring the track goes through a ploughed field and one finds oneself pushing one’s bike through rows of potatoes. At the end of this field it is wise to pick up a large, long stick to beat off the packs of dogs which lay claim to the corrugated, muddy road that doubles as the cycle-path. Wherever there is respite in the corrugations, there is deep sand that just sucks in heavy pannier-laden bikes such as mine. So the dual-carriageway it was.

The one good thing about dual-carriageways is that they have large shoulders and I was able to keep far to the right. I peddled my guts out, puffing my way up and down the long, slow, lazy undulations. I didn’t know what the law was and though I had seen many cyclists on this road, I hadn’t seen any that looked sober, so I wanted to be quick, just in case. I was quite relieved when the police passed by without giving me a second look and even more relieved when I arrived at the settlement of Dituva, the end of the dual-carriageway and my first planned stop.

————————————————-

Stay tuned for chapter 2.b and learn about being wasted in the Soviet Union.

Are you confused as to what these numbers are [5]?, they are part of detailed glossary that will be included in the print and eBook version of this story.

PTD, Saaremaa, Day 5

Peddling the Dirt
Day 5
Haagi – Sauvere

Rain bouncing off canvas is always a beautiful sound, but never a welcome sound. This morning we woke to rain. This was a lovely little test for us, we want to do more cycling together, so a wet start on our last day provided us with good practice for future adventures.

The rain stopped long enough for us to get up and dressed. Shortly after dressing, there was another sudden and very wet downpour. We gathered our open panniers, ran for shelter in the trees and waited it out. Then I wiped down our tent with my bandanna and made a cup of coffee. Just as we were finishing our coffee, it started spitting again, so panic-stricken we collapsed our tent and packed it while it was still mostly dry. We put everything else away, jumped on our bikes and headed out. By the time we had cycled the kilometre to the main road the sun was shining and the trees were glistening like an Oxford Street Christmas Eve.

We cycled five kilometres into Leisi. Leisi had a fantastic wee supermarket and a lovely closed cafe that had conveniently left out its outside seating. We sat in the sun, dried our stuff and relaxed into a slow breakfast of muesli and yoghurt. From here we cycled another five kilometres to Karja. Karja is the highest point on the island and is known for its beautiful cluster of windmills. The great news was they had a cafe that was open, the bad news was, the coffee was not good and we had to endure the noises of men repaving their balcony. After a quick cuppa we cycled on.

We were heading home and heading inland, this day was destined not to hold the beauty of our previous forested coastal days. We followed a 16km stretch of uneventful gravel road to the village of Eikla. Here we found a delightful small Protestant-looking church that had a bench and seats graciously parked on its front lawn. Thanks God for a perfect place for lunch and the start of sealed road.

We cycled on keen to finish our journey, but sad our cycling adventure was concluding. We cycled past the rather impressive church at Kirikuküla. The landscape was pretty average, churches and windmills had quickly become our highlights until I stumbled upon the petrol station at Aste. I am talking about the little Aste on the map that is just north of the big Aste. This petrol station was a fantastic relic from a bygone era, whose bygone era, I have no idea. The petrol pump was literally a hose and nozzle stuck into an upright hunk of pipe. In case of fire there was a fire-extinguisher bracket and a red bucket and spade in a wooden case hanging on a wall. Also hanging on the wall was a worn pair of leather gloves and a switch that was waterproofed by having a plastic bottle shoved over it. Aste petrol station was my favourite tourist site on the whole island.

After another seventeen kilometres of rambling gravel roads flanked by mostly barren agricultural land, we arrived relieved and tired back at our guest house. Somehow we had had a miscommunication with our hosts and by their understanding we were a day late, kindly they were getting ready to call the police, such is the care of Estonia’s island people.

It had been a few days since we had last showered, so after hanging our damp tent, I raced in and had a thorugh scrub, before settling in for an excellent evening meal with our host family.

Our final day was an uneventful 56.56 kms.

Maps

Introduction

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Kit

PTD, Saaremaa, Day 4

Peddling the Dirt
Day 4
Kooru forest – Haagi

After a really good sleep and a slightly late start, we peddled off. It really was a nasty and exposed road, but fortunately this time with little wind.

We lazily cycled east. It was a cool misty morn, with a gentle breeze meandering through jaded green and the fresh orange of autumn leaves. Perfect morning riding, there was nothing out there to disturb our cycling slumber. We cycled on to the bustling village of Mustjala. Mid-morning Mustjala was entertaining a platoon of peasants carrying buckets of mushrooms and wooden crates of a variety of locally grown produce. They seemed to be selling it to a well-dressed lady in a little fawn van. We stopped at the shop across the road and purchased breakfast yoghurt, water and sausages.

We didn’t quite feel comfortable in the village, so cycled out of town and past a merry bunch of school kids to a pretty-looking Russian church, where we ate our breakfast on their front lawn.

Taking the advice of a few people, we decided to cycle about 20 kms out of our way to Tagaranna. The scenery was the same as the rest of the island and the wind was behaving, so to pass the time we decided to play a game. The goal was to name all of Canada’s famous people that we could remember. This is a really good game to play whilst cycling, because when counting famous Canadians on your fingers, you never have to fear taking your second hand off the handlebars.

We were following signs in the direction of the Rotterdam cafe. Longing for a coffee, maybe some cake and an hour or so reading my book, I had picked up my speed and left Sharon in my wake. I was fair flying by the time I had got to the cafe. I knew it was closed about twenty metres before the building, however I dismounted, tried the door, sulked and looked disappointed just in case somebody cared. It is the Saaremaa way, come the end of August cafe doors slam tight shut right across the island. One needs to be pretty self-sufficient to endeavour cycling the island in September; fortunately we were.

The village itself was pretty enough, worth a drive, but perhaps not worth the cycle. We powered on towards the other side of the bay and Panga Pank.

We decided to take a short-cut down a very minor road, which quickly descended into a farm track and worse still, into cobblestones. Upon entering this road we rode past a typical looking farm house, complete with washing on the line, a well and an old woman bent over harvesting something like beets from her garden. Moments later we were greeted by the barking of a dog. His bark sounded an angry warning to us, but his tail wagged a friendly welcome. I stopped, had a chat, stroked his head and cycled off. The mischievous mutt started following us, we cycled faster, but the dog could keep up. After about a kilometre and knowing that we were about to hit a major road, I stopped, picked up some stones, threw them at the dog and told him to go home in both Lithuanian and English. The crestfallen poor dog didn’t seem to understand, however eventually got the message.

We stopped for lunch at a bus-shelter at an intersection called Küdema. It was a horrible place, Sharon’s gears were playing up and needed to be mended, I lost a screw in the process and ended up patching things up with duct-tape. Grrr.

We were a little surprised to find an open shop in Võhma, so I stopped and bought an energy-giving Coke, just because I could. From here we cycled on to Panga Pank.

Panga Pank is basically a twenty-one metre cliff. The cliff didn’t interest my Kiwi soul so much, but I did like the nice mowed grass fields, the seats, views and wide open spaces. It was well worth the visit. I did note that it was set up for tourists, so perhaps in season it could be quite busy.

Our next stop was at Pahapilli, where we bumped into a random German selling mustard out of a tent. He was giving free tastings and it was very good. After a casual chat we were back on the road, a few Euro lighter and few kilograms heavier. We cycled under low late afternoon sun across a rather whimsical agricultural landscape.

We were quite tired and knew we were getting close to our camping spot. I stopped in Metsküla to take a photo of a cute Russian church with a leaning steeple. Again I was greeted by a barking dog, but this time it was accompanied by a friendly wee lassie who was keen to practise her English on me. It was a nice interlude near the end of a long tiring day.

We turned north at Haagi and followed our map to the marked camp-site. We found one, again, with table, fireplace and fire-wood, but it was a little too close to the road. So whilst Sharon changed, I cycled into the bush in search of another, which I duly found, but it did not have fire-wood. With great joy upon returning for Sharon, I loaded up my bike with fire-wood and cycled the final stretch of our 76.72km day.

Our evening wound down with the sound of rippling waves and a crackling fire cooking sausages waiting to be devoured with yummy chilli Mustjala Mustard.

Maps

Introduction

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Kit

PTD, Saaremaa, Day 3

Peddling the Dirt
Day 3
Karala – Kooru forest

We slept in a really comfortable bed listening to a background ensemble of thunder, rain, banging roofing iron and yet more wind. We had no milk for our breakfast so opted to endure a breakfast of more freeze-dried potato. Being unsure of the quality of water and knowing that there was a shop 14kms down the road, we did not fill up our water bottles.

It was a lovely cool morning with a slight tail wind. We cruised along gravel roads as sun silhouetted through the pines. Our first stop was a shop and breakfast in the lovely little town of Kihelkonna. Sharon dashed into the shop whilst I chatted with mingling drunks and pumped up our tires. We sat across the road from the shop on benches with a picnic table. Here Sharon produced her booty of pastries, yoghurt and beer. She had totally forgotten to get water, it was promising to be a good day. Needless to say, I made a second trip across the road and graced the shop with the sound of my cleats padding their concrete floor.

We cycled north through a cute forest along a minor winding gravel road, amidst the sounds of barking dogs, misty brooks and the wind in the trees. After a long 6km, we hit the main road. Perhaps at this point I should point out that one of the great things about an autumn cycle ride on Saaremaa is that there is absolutely no one there, like almost no cars at all. We cycled forever along a wide and slightly uphill road, flanked by yet more gorgeous bus shelters and swaying pines. It was so beautiful it was almost boring.

At the end of this 6km straight, we turned the corner to be overtaken by a roaring Russian registered Citroen. It was the most exciting thing that happened all day. We continued around the corner into Veere and stopped at a closed wine-bar for lunch. This was an exciting meal for us, because it signified our last meal of beans and tortillas.

The wine bar was in front of a wharf and a port authorities building, I saw this as a chance to bug someone for a photo opp. I walked in a door marked ‘passport control’, raised my voice and yelled ‘hello’ into the silence. The silence never responded, I tried a second time, was a little more culturally sensitive and yelled ‘tere’. The silence rustled and eventually walked into sight, wiping sleep from his eyes and smelling of alcohol. I smiled, held up my camera and said ‘photo, photo please’. He bemusingly obliged.

It was only mid-afternoon, but it was time to start looking for a camp-site, so we cycled another 12km before following our map up a narrow very rough gravel road, then right on cue the wind started howling. After about 5km of rough and sometimes very exposed road, we entered a forest and gave up, never finding our camp-site. We pushed our bikes through a beautiful trenched battle-site glade until we found a sheltered spot on a very rocky beach. Resting our backs upon a tree, we tugged the ring-tab off our breakfast beers.

As Sharon was mentioning to me that she had asked God for a camp-site with a table, I butted in and said ‘what is that?’ About 50 metres up the beach was what looked like a table and the camping place we had been seeking. The site was fantastic; free, with a wind shelter, toilet, fireplace, fire-wood and of course a table and benches. Bizarrely the only thing missing was a place to pitch our tent. Ended up squeezing into a spot between some trees. The ground was all stones and rocks and we could not get our tent pegs in. I managed to tie our guy ropes to trees or attach the guys to bungy cords wrapped around boulders. It was not ideal for a windy spot.

After a short day of 46.45km, we spent our cool evening being drawn into another peaceful camp-fire.

Maps

Introduction

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Kit