[2018, August]
The stars have shifted in my favour this year and now I’ve got the opportunity to leave for my third tour during the current season. As for the first two of them I’d been aiming southwards, this time I’m scanning the map into the opposite direction and start drawing a route somehow along the western part of the Carpathian range, in Slovakia and Czechia, cannot miss the fabulous city of Prague since I’ll be around that area anyway, then turn south across several mountain passes in the Eastern Austrian Alps and come back home through the Pannonian Plain and along the Romanian Southern Carpathians. I guess it’s gonna be a hell of a ride, featuring spectacular scenery, museum-like old towns and a blend of the finest Central European cultures. Everything’s ready, so let’s go!
A crazy run across a peaceful landscape. 440 miles
I leave home early in the morning, holding a simple plan into my mind: just keep riding north-west, as fast as I can and as long as the sun is still lighting my way. I cover the first section of my route according to that one, that is without anything worth noticing, and I’m not taking any break until about ten o’clock, when I’m already in the province of Transylvania, past the city of Braşov, after crossing the Southern Carpathian range by the 3,389 ft. high Predeal pass, onto one of the most crowded roads in Romania. I don’t waste too much time here over coffee and fuel and shortly set my course towards the medieval town of Sighişoara, at the same pace, playing a bit of a hide and seek with some troubling fast running clouds. I eventually escape the threat of being soaked after I come out of the low altitude Perşani Mountains and even have to stop for a minute and take off my hoodie, as the heat starts almost unbearably building up. Further on, along the last 30 miles up to the city of Târgu Mureş, the traffic becomes extremely busy and annoying and I have to crawl painfully slow within an endless line of cars, vans and big trucks, without any opportunity of overtaking them. I’ve been initially thinking of taking a longer break in the city, but the previous road section made me lose my patience, so I skip that and relentlessly move on. Fortunately, from now on I’m riding almost alone for miles to come, as I take an insignificant backroad in the direction of nowhere, that is towards no important town, but still on my track north-west; I really didn’t know these local roads, as I’ve never ridden them before, and I was hoping they were in a reasonable condition so that I wouldn’t lose too much time by taking them. Indeed, the upside is the roads are paved, although unkempt, so I have to ride quite slowly, due to the bumps, debris and cow pies here and there. I pass by lovely drowsy villages hidden among mild green hills, still ponds and rich orchards where time seems to have stayed still, but, sadly, my desire to get as far as possible by tonight compels me to roll this scenery in front of my eyes at a pace which is in deep contrast to the inner peace inspired by these places. Nevertheless, I still get to properly enjoy riding across this wide rural area, which provides me a well-deserved break from the chaotic bustle of the main cross-country highways.
I merge once again the main national road in the town of Gherla, about 20 miles north of the big city of Cluj-Napoca, which I’ve definitely been smart to bypass, and, at three in the afternoon, I get to Dej, where I take a longer lunch break, over some sandwiches, coffee and complicated calculations of time, speed and distance; I’ve got 100 miles left to ride up to the Hungarian border, where I’ll gain one hour on the clock, due to the time zone change, so I reckon there’d be enough time for me to advance deeply into the northern part of the Pannonian Plain, but I still can’t tell where I am going to sleep tonight. Well, I guess I’ll be weighing my options for that later on, as I’m convinced I’ll surely be able to find something convenient enough after all!
The highway to Baia Mare, wide and flawless, yet quite crowded, is first winding along the green Someş River valley, then, at some point, starts steeply climbing the hills into the province of Maramureş, carrying me at a way to high speed across a fairy-tale landscape, actually more breath-taking than it usually appears in the tourist commercials. To my disappointment though, as every nice thing usually doesn’t last for too long, just 20 miles farther I descend back to the valley, leave the highway in favour of an unimpressive local road which follows closely the river’s large meanders and, one hour later, I eventually get to Satu Mare, the last Romanian city ahead of the border. I cross really fast to its other side, then ride the last few miles up to the Petea border post and at four in the afternoon – according to the new time zone – I enter Hungary. Over here, the scenery is as dull as it gets, the Tisza plain goes flat in any direction I’d look to and I have nothing else to do than ride as fast as the traffic allows me onto the shortest route towards the Slovak border. One hour later and after I get past Mátészalka, the first town on my way, I take a few minutes long break just to take a glimpse to the map and try to encourage myself I can do it: I’ve got about 50 miles and a bit more than an hour of daylight left, so I take my chance and book online a room at a guesthouse in the closest Slovak village, then set off to a mad race against the clock and the already setting sun. I pass by the townlets of Vásárosnamény, Kisvárda, Cigánd – all of them looking quite the same to me, without anything special or worth noticing – and I gradually lose my patience, as the riding hours are adding themselves to a personal record I really wouldn’t have been very keen to establish; yet, I don’t feel like taking any more breaks, as I’d usually do in such circumstances, because the daylight already starts fading away. Just a little bit more, a long, straight and deserted section of road, a village, a right turn onto an alley which doesn’t seem to lead anywhere, then I come out into a field and, all of the sudden, I spot a blue signpost on the side of the 10 feet wide road I’m riding onto, which says “Slovenska Republika”! I afford the luxury of stopping for a moment to take a few photos of my accomplishment and, five minutes later, I get to Vel’ký Kamenec and triumphantly enter the guesthouse’s gate. It has a rustic appearance and I get a tiny room overlooking the agricultural tools filled inner yard – I’m just interested in the bed, anyway! – then, already in the dark, I walk to the local pub, where I have dinner and an incredibly good beer for no more than 4.90 euros!!! I guess I’m gonna love Slovakia!
The first glimpse of Slovakia
Wandering across the mountains. 280 miles
Breakfast is a pantagruelian thing over here and I hesitate between the embarrassment of leaving many of the specialties the host has prepared for me untouched and the virtual impossibility of having so much food this early in the morning. One thing is for sure, though: my next meal today won’t happen until I’ll stop for good in the evening, wherever the road would take me to. Eventually, at half past eight I set off and head northwards, onto smooth and clear rural roads that are winding across mild hills and chilly forests. One hour later, I get to the big city of Košice, which surprises me with its incredibly loose traffic for a regular working day; I park my bike in a side street of the old centre and go for a walk to the pedestrian area around the monumental central square. People are strolling in front of the shops, bars and restaurants are getting ready for customers, there is an overall relaxed atmosphere which makes me feel good and optimistic about the rest of the day.
I leave Košice onto a backroad which stubbornly climbs the steep slope of Čierna Hora / Black Mountain in tight hairpins and head on towards the long and twisted Ružin reservoir; on my way there, I encounter countless cars and motorcycles, either in a leisurely drive or enjoying the alluring mountain road as much as I do. Further on, I turn west, still within the Nizke Tatry / Low Tatras massif, which is part of the Western Carpathian range, across the Slovenský raj National Park; I pass by cosy tiny villages, dense pine forests and sunny meadows, located at an average altitude of about 3,000 feet, which makes the temperature just perfect for relaxed riding, in no hurry and safe from the pressure of time, and can’t help taking a lot of short breaks for more and more photos of this true alpine paradise. At about one o’clock, I eventually descend to the broad and deep depression between the Nizke / Low and Vysoké / High Tatras, where the city of Poprad is located, and I take a much-needed rest break in a gas station terrace café, overlooking the imposing rugged wall of the latter’s rocky summits, among which there rises the 8,709 ft. high Gerlachovský peak, the tallest one in the whole 930 miles long Carpathian range.
Half an hour later, I start the second part of my mountain strolling day by climbing to the most well-known Slovak alpine resort, called – how else? – Vysoké Tatry, where I find all the people I’ve previously noticed missing from the surprisingly traffic free city streets! There’s an indescribable overcrowding, hundreds of cars and a human beehive walking in the streets or hiking the mountain trails, mountain-biking, paragliding and so on. This whole thing doesn’t exactly match my taste, so I continue bypassing the main mountain ridge by its eastern side, then turn alongside the northern one, towards the Polish number one alpine resort, Zakopane. Meanwhile, thick black clouds have gathered around the summits and I reckon I’ll have to be very lucky to escape the incoming rainstorm, but I still hope I’ll be able to outrun it by reaching farther west. For the moment, I ride onto a nice mountain backroad, through an amazing scenery of dark forests and bright clearings, offering spectacular views to the rocky towers nearby. Shortly after I enter Poland – just a roadside signpost giving me a heads up about that, no border post, as both countries are in the free travel Schengen zone – I come to Zakopane; over here, there is more crowded than on the other side of the mountains, as the resort itself and its neighbouring suburban area is way bigger then its Slovak counterpart, and I cannot even find a narrow parking spot for my bike to fit in, so I move on, but I still get to take a good look at the town, thanks to the incredibly slow moving traffic. I continue westwards, along the main ridge’s foothills, and, at about three in the afternoon, I’m back into Slovakia and head on to the Malá Fatra lower massif, a scarcely populated area close by to the Czech border. I make a brief stop on the sunny shore of the large Slanický reservoir, then I take some traffic free mountain backroads, through pine forests and large meadows featuring prosperous looking farmhouses scattered on hilltops, enroute the small townlets of Zákammenné, Čadca and Makov.
In Čadca, I take a break in a supermarket’s parking lot and I book online a room in a secluded mountain hut located right on the border between the two former Czechoslovak siblings, at an altitude of 3,600 ft., then, as I’m ready to move on, I notice in surprise that the stores are already closed, although it’s just five thirty; this definitely isn’t normal, it has to be some catch about it, as there has been a vacation atmosphere in all the places I’ve passed by ever since I’ve started my route in the morning. An idea about the possible reason crosses my mind, so I search the net in order to confirm it and – yes! – I’m right: today is the National Day of Slovakia, which explains the extremely low traffic in the streets of Košice, the multitude of cars and motorcycles on the roads and the terrific crowds in the mountain resorts. OK, I’ll have a beer tonight to celebrate this!
I get to Makov almost at the fall of dark and turn onto a lodging road – less than 7 feet wide, yet still paved – steeply climbing the mountain slope through a dense pine forest. Half an hour later, after being in serious doubt about choosing the right route several times meanwhile, I come out on the crest, to a large meadow where a few huts and ski lifts are overlooking the heavily forested mountains on the Czech side of the border. Penzión Javornik is one of those, where I get a simple, yet comfortable room with fabulous mountain views and a tasty dinner plus a couple of beers for just a few euros. I was right last night, I really enjoyed Slovakia so much!
Košice, St. Elizabeth's Cathedral
Downtown Košice
Ružin reservoir
Slovenský raj National Park
Vysoké Tatry
Vysoké Tatry
Zakopane
Slanický reservoir
Malá Fatra
The first glimpse of Czechia
A visit to a full open-air museum and to the crown’s jewel. 240 miles
I’ve chosen a backroad twisted route for today across the mild hills of Bohemia and Moravia, away from big cities and busy highways, up to Prague, where I’d like to get into no later than five in the afternoon, so that I’d still have time for a walk in the streets of its picturesque old centre and a relaxed traditional dinner, with beef goulash and dark beer! Therefore, I leave my accommodation quite early in the morning, descend the mountain slope onto another narrow lodging road the same as the one I’ve ridden yesterday evening and come to the now empty Czech resort of Velké Karlovice. Over here, I encounter an interesting trick, which in fact is a trap for speed addicts, and it takes me some time until I become aware of. Let me explain it: I noticed since quite a long time ago – and I really like this thing – that most of the people drive really fast within both Slovakia and Czechia, only to slow down at about 35 mph when they’re entering enroute settlements; within almost every one of these there is a speed checking device, which shows the measured speed on an electronic display, together with either the request to slow down, or a thumb-up for abiding to the legal limit. As for myself, every time I didn’t have another vehicle in front of me, I’ve been doing about 45 mph while passing by those gadgets, knowing there’s no penalty for speeding either; just that here, around this area, not farther than 100 yards from the mentioned display, I meet a red traffic light. OK, I stop and wait a couple of minutes for it to turn green, yet I don’t see any junction or pedestrian crossing which would have warranted its presence!? Next village, the same thing … Only beyond the third or maybe fourth one of those I eventually get the trick: the traffic lights turn red in order to stop the drivers – or bikers ;) – who are speeding past the limit; it stays green whenever one is doing the right speed, thus he may continue his drive unhindered!
During the whole morning, I leisurely ride westwards across green hills, cool forests and by ponds, extremely many ponds. Each of the towns I pass by – Valasske Mezirici, Prerov, Prostějov – features a museum-like monumental old centre and I take a lot of photo breaks, as I like them so much! Ahead of Ždár nad Sázavou, a short sudden downpour quite soaks me, but it stops before I can find some shelter, so I dry out on the move, as it’s already one o’clock by now and I cannot afford to stop if I want to get to Prague in time, according to my schedule. Nevertheless, I am going to ride across the Železné hory / Iron Mountains – quite some taller hills, actually – further on and the hazard messes up with it anyway: within a townlet with a too complicated name for me to memorize, I spot detour road signs, as there is some ongoing roadworks ahead; not wanting to lose too much time by taking that detour, I defy them and continue my initial route. Few miles farther, the road is closed indeed and I have to turn left, onto a road passing through an endless row of villages located along a large forest’s edge. I ride on for a bit, then I realize I’m going a completely different direction compared to the one I should, so I stop and fully zoom in the map in search of an escape route to put me back on the right track; I find it eventually, in the subject of a road (?) which is figured out extremely thin on Google Maps, heading on to the road I should have taken if the road closure wouldn’t have prevented me from doing that. OK, I turn back and go that way, just that the so-called road is more of a trail climbing through the woods and it even features a no-entry sign, safe from the local dwellers! I’m consistent with my decision though, move forward and at a certain moment I come out into some large clearings, which are hosting several farms scattered among the pine trees clusters. I miss some turns, get into some backyards for a couple of times, until I meet an old man who kindly directs me uphill, across the meadow. Now, the road turns into just two parallel gravel trails with grass between them, but right after I cross the hillcrest, I can see a village in the distance, get there, sneak in between its close by old houses and eventually merge onto the road I’ve been aiming to! All’s well that ends well, isn’t it?
Back on my track, I ride across these low altitude, deeply forested mountains, passing by few drowsy villages and racing :) some huge agricultural machinery, which I hardly overtake, as they’re occupying almost whole of the carriageway’s width. After making a series of turns onto different backroads, having to check the map at each junction, as the road signs don’t help me at all, I start descending towards the Central Bohemian lowlands and the Elbe River’s upper course and I get to the Seč reservoir’s dam, squeezed between two rocky outcrops, each of these featuring the ruins of some 14th-ish century castles, where the road plunges through a dark tunnel beneath one of those. Shortly after this spectacular passage, I merge the national road nearby the town of Čáslav, where I briefly stop and visit the large Baroque central square and the iconic Gothic style St. Peter & Paul Church, its main tower being one of the tallest in Czechia. I’d have liked to complement my return to civilization by also having a look at the nearby Kutna Hora’s monumental old town square, but I’m not able to find my way there through the maze of one-way streets within its centre, so I turn left onto the last section of my route to Prague, which is just 50 miles away. The traffic gradually becomes busier with every mile I’m approaching the city, eventually ending into a stand-still long line of vehicles around the town of Řičany; I have a last coffee break in a gas station, study the map in search of a more trouble-free option to get to my hotel, then divert to the parallel motorway and, at six o’clock sharp, I park my bike in front of the quite cheap and conveniently located – that’s close to both the motorway exit and metro station – Hotel Pankrác. I’m just one hour late against my initial schedule, so I still have enough time to do all the things I’ve planned; I go downtown, carelessly and aimlessly wander in the streets around the famous Staroměstské náměstí / Old Town Square, have a distant look to the magnificently lit uphill Pražský hrad / Prague Castle across the statues lined Vltava River Karlův most / Charles Bridge, then end up in the cellar of the U Vejvodů restaurant, until late into the night.
Prostějov
Prostějov
Železné hory
Seč reservoir’s dam
Čáslav
Prague, Staroměstské náměstí
Prague, Pražský hrad
With my head up into the clouds. 310 miles
In the morning, the sky is fully covered by thick low clouds, just the perfect setting for a ride through the Austrian Alps! :) I have my coffee and breakfast as fast as I can, in order to be able to leave the hotel before the rain starts, or otherwise I might change my mind and spend another day in Prague. There is also very cold outside and getting out of the city onto the motorway doesn’t help me in any way, as riding at high speed only increases the discomfort; nevertheless, I clench my jaws and keep on going at an alert pace even after I turn onto the national road towards the Austrian border, because the route I’ve planned for today is quite long and I wouldn’t like to be forced to ride in the dark across the mountain passes. At about nine thirty, I feel I need a break though, as my fingers have frozen on the handlebars – I’m wearing summer gloves, of course! – and I stop downtown Tabor, some 60 miles away from Prague, to take a walk in the monumental central square of the old centre. Then, up to České Budějovice, I lose a lot of time by taking an awful lot of detours and crawling within slow moving lines of vehicles, due to multiple ongoing roadworks, therefore I get to the city no sooner than eleven, which is quite late, considering I’m still far from halfway the distance to my planned destination for tonight. Still, I spend another half hour over here touring the grand central square, surrounded by arcaded houses and home to the magnificent Samson’s fountain and the 16th century Black Tower, as well. Further on, I follow the Vltava River valley upstream, passing by the historical town of Český Krumlov, where I cannot afford stopping anymore, although there’d be many places worth visiting here, then along several rafting clubs, full of tourists not being under the pressure of time, hence painfully slow moving onto the narrow, single lane road which is winding through the foothills of the Šumava mountain range. Eventually, just 10 miles ahead of the border, I take a final break in a cafe beside the imposing hilltop castle at Rožmberk nad Vltavou, just to rest a bit and say good-bye to wonderful Czechia.
I enter Austria by a small border crossing point nearby the town of Bad Leonfelden, not before I pull over for a minute in order to put on my rain overpants, because the rain doesn’t spare me today, exactly as I’ve been presuming in the morning. Fortunately, it’s more of an annoying drizzle than a real downpour and it eventually stops before I get to Linz, letting me peacefully admire the Danube River’s grandeur, although on the move only, as the extremely busy traffic around the city already slows me down enough. It even gets worse when I continue south and I’m stuck into a full standstill along the next 20 miles up to Bad Hall; I get it that is Friday afternoon and people are most likely leaving the city for the weekend, but aren’t they bothered by threatening black clouds which are gathering in the sky over the horizon? I surely am, so I can’t stay so relaxed, therefore I leave the civilized manners apart and start bravely filtering the lines of vehicles right along the solid line which is separating the opposite traffic lanes, inducing a general state of shock among the implied drivers by doing that. Really now, I haven’t seen so many perplexed faces together in my whole life and I’ve probably outraged an entire Austrian land! Once I’m out of that enormous traffic jam, I head on towards Liezen, along the Steyr River valley, and cross the Northern Limestone Alps ridgeline by the 3,130 ft. high Pyhrnpass. Luckily, the rain hasn’t caught up with me yet, but the temperature has incredibly dropped and I’m surprised to notice my breath is fogging up the air around me. Further on, I turn westwards along the deep Enns River valley for about 20 miles, then leave the main road and start climbing the Niedere / Lower Tauern massif’s northern slope, onto a picturesque backroad which is figured out extremely thin on the map. The valley I’m riding along is gradually narrowing down, the farms scattered across the neighbouring meadows are more and more distanced to each other and the temperature is dropping even lower than before. I’m passing by green pastures and pine tree clusters while pillars of fog are coming down from the mountain top; after about an hour of riding quite slowly onto the narrow tarmac strip where I don’t encounter any other vehicle, the slope suddenly becomes steeper and I come to a series of tight hairpins through a dense forest, which eventually gets me to the barren alpine meadow, covered into a milky veil of fog that prevents me from seeing merely 30 yards farther. This is the 5,866 ft. high Sölkpass and I stop for a couple of minutes in the adjoining parking lot, in order to contemplate the absolute silence and solitude, which make the surrounding landscape look like an image from another world.
At six in the afternoon, I’m on the other side of the mountain range, on the bottom of the Mur River valley, and I pull over to assess my further options. My original plan was to turn westwards once more and ride to Turracherhöhe by tonight – a small ski resort located up the Gurktal Alps, at an altitude of about 6,500 ft.; though, the threatening black clouds over that part of the sky make me think again and, sadly, the weather forecast for tomorrow is nothing but encouraging: the entire central area of Austria is going to be soaked wet for the whole day, therefore I reckon it wouldn’t be smart for me to stretch my route in that direction. Unwillingly, I have to settle for a softer sequel, that is south towards Klagenfurt, then eastwards alongside the same Mur River valley to Slovenia and, further on, Hungary. Consequently, I book a room in a reasonable looking guesthouse about an hour and a half away and hastily set off there. Almost at the fall of dark, I get to the out of the main road village of Guttaring, at the Gasthof Platzschmied, where I’m the only customer for tonight and therefore get a premium room with burning red flowers on the balcony and a nice view to the tiny central square. It’s quite late and I’m really tired, so I take a short walk in the neighbourhood, have dinner and then go to sleep, worried about tomorrow’s inevitable deluge.
Tabor
České Budějovice
České Budějovice
Rožmberk nad Vltavou
Enns River valley
Enns River valley
Sölkpass
Sölkpass
Guttaring
Outrunning the rainstorm. 430 miles
It’s already raining steadily when I wake up in the morning and, telling by the size of the puddles in the street, it has been continuously pouring for at least half of the night; looking up to the sky, I guess the future prospects aren’t any better, either, but I’ll get to put on my rain gear even from the beginning of today’s ride, at least, while I’m still dry on the inside. I try stalling for as much as I can during breakfast, hoping for the rain to ease off a bit, but to no avail though, so, at about nine, I brace myself and start packing my luggage onto the bike. The guesthouse’s lady owner half-heartedly wishes me to have a nice trip, although her eyes tell me she wouldn’t set off onto the road in such weather if she were me; I have to admit I also wouldn’t, if it weren’t for my vacation days being over the day after tomorrow and the 800+ miles I’m away from home now!
The rain comes down on me without stopping for the first two hours of my ride; I’m quite alone on the road, so I go as fast as the omnipresent puddles on the carriageway let me to, knowing that my only chance to escape the downpour is getting out from this atmospheric front which seems to be covering the entire country. I’ve chosen a route that descends from the Lavanttal Alps and bypasses the city of Klagenfurt, then I follow the Drava River valley downstream up to the Slovenian border and, further on, I continue onto a mountain road on the Austrian side, back towards the Mur River valley, the one I met yesterday evening. Fortunately, while I’m climbing the endless series of hairpins on the local bikers’ favourite road B69, the rain gradually eases off until it completely stops as I reach the top, at the Kärntnerblick bikers meeting place, which I’ve heard to be really busy during more riding prone weather. Two funny things have caught my attention over here: the road signs begging (!?) the riders to abide by the speed limit, pleading that 45 mph is fast enough for such a dangerous road, and the ones warning about the presence of wildlife onto the carriageway. As lonely as I currently am around these places, I surely ignore both of them; for the former ones, I reckon a sports bike rider would be bored to death at 45, since I easily ride faster than that on my cruiser, while for the latter I really amuse myself imagining any wildlife is still living in the Austrian densely inhabited landscape. Though, during my short amusement moment and right after I come out of a no visibility bend, I spot two deer less than 50 yards ahead of me, carelessly grazing on the side of the road; I impulsively brake hard, the beasts get scared and brainlessly run across the road instead of disappear into the forest and, eventually, I miss them by just inches!
Once I finally come out of the mountains, at Eibiswald, the settlements start being closer to each other and the traffic gradually gets busier with every mile I advance eastwards. Fortunately, it seems I’ve also succeeded in outrunning the rain, or at least the clouds aren’t so thick anymore, so I afford taking a longer break over a hot coffee, before I engage onto the last section of my route through Austria. I continue for about 50 miles more on the B69, running parallel to the border, up to the town of Bad Radkersburg, where I stop for refuelling before entering Slovenia. Meanwhile, the sky has been once again covered in thick black clouds and loud thunders are threatening me with a serious upcoming rainstorm. As I’m drinking still one more coffee inside the gas station, an elder lady looks first to me, then to my bike, raises her eyes to the sky and tells me something in German; I cannot understand a word of it, yet her pitiful tone is eloquent enough: I’m gonna get soaked! Well, what else should I do? I’ve got to keep going on whatever the conditions may be, it’s not like I’d have any other option; actually, I realize today is September 1st and I remember that exactly one year ago I’ve been soaked wet as well, after riding into a real uninterrupted deluge for about six or seven full hours while coming home from Slovenia, so that wouldn’t be a first for me, either!
I set off with a bit of hope, however, as the sky seems to be brighter in the direction I’m heading to. I quickly pass by the town of Murska Sobota and, in less than half an hour, I’m already across another border, in Hungary; at least the time is on my side, as I’m about halfway my route today and still got like seven hours of daylight left. Few minutes before I get to Nagykanizsa, I notice I’ve left the threatening clouds behind me and consequently stop for a minute in order to take off my rain gear, for good, I hope. The upcoming route across Hungary runs onto smooth and quite traffic free roads, through a mix of forested areas and cultivated fields, taking me by the towns of Kaposvár, Dombóvár, Bonyhád and Bátaszék up to the old, narrow bridge across the Danube, beside Baja. From this point on, I’ve got to ride for more than 60 miles across the desolate, sandy grasslands of the Hungarian puszta, between the Danube and Tisza rivers. 60 miles that seem not to end anymore, and the icing on the cake is I ride the last 25 of them with my damn fuel indicator relentlessly blinking! The moment I spot in the distance the totem of the first gas station in the outskirts of Szeged brings me maybe the same joy and relief the sight of the palm trees in the desert oases had brought to the ancient caravans!
There’s not much to see in Szeged, yet I’m blindly wandering a bit in the streets downtown, trying to find my way to the Belvárosi bridge across the Tisza River, then I ride in quite a short time the remaining 20 miles up to the Romanian border crossing at Cenad. It’s seven o’clock by now and time to stop for choosing a convenient place for tonight; I search online for my options and eventually find it in the subject of a reasonable priced hotel room in the outskirts of Timişoara, just 50 miles away. As this time I’ve lost an hour due to the time zone change, it’s getting dark when I’m about halfway there, so there’s no time for me to do anything else than have a late dinner and go directly to sleep, once I finally get to the city.
An off-road digression to my transit routine. 350 miles
More out of habit than necessity, I wake up early in the morning, have a coffee and leave the hotel before anybody over there starts moving around, including the staff at the reception. During the first part of my day, everything goes on smoothly and fast; I take the motorway for the first 50 miles to Lugoj, then switch to the national road passing by the towns of Caransebeş and Haţeg – across the 2,296 ft. high The Iron Gate of Transylvania pass – and get to the city of Petroşani even before eleven o’clock! Keeping on riding at this pace would mean that I’ll get home until three in the afternoon, but I’m really in no hurry, so a crazy idea just crosses my mind: what if I’d make a comparison between riding across the Alps vs. the Carpathians, or the real vs. the Transylvanian ones? Therefore, instead of continuing south along the narrow and twisted Jiu River valley, which would take me across the mountains to the broad Danube plain, I choose to ride for about 100 miles eastwards, onto some mountain backroads within the Southern Carpathians.
Leaving Petroşani, I enter the Jieţ Gorge, heading to Obârşia Lotrului, which is an important landmark along the famous Transalpina alpine road. The scenery by all means is rivalling to the one in the Austrian Alps, but the road I’m riding onto is gradually becoming a terrific nightmare; along the first section, I have to carefully dodge a plethora of potholes, many of them bigger than my bike’s wheels, then, 15 miles farther, as I start climbing the hairpins leading to the 5,232 ft. high Groapa Seacă pass, the tarmac ends and the gravel carriageway is full of big stones and rainfall water drainage grooves. It’s really impossible for me to do more than 20 mph under these circumstances, so it takes me more than a full hour to reach the top. Further on, the road, although bumpy and unkempt, is paved once again, so I get to go on a bit faster, past the Transalpina junction, then along the large Vidra reservoir’s southern shore, up to another mountain pass, the 5,154 ft. high Curmătura Vidruţei. Along this route section, the moderate speed I’m forced to cruise at allows me to thoroughly admire the wild mountain landscape of dense pine forests, sunny clearings and magnificent views both to the lake’s sparkling blue water and to the barren crests above, while I encounter lots of local and foreign bikers touring this pristine area. Up next, I descend onto some racing prone excellent bends and hairpins to the Lotru River valley, which I follow downstream for about 40 miles along peaceful and colourful villages thriving with tourists, up to its confluence with the Olt River.
The highway along the Olt valley is usually one of the most crowded within the whole country and today there’s no exception to that rule. I try to regain some of the time I’ve lost by riding the previous off-road section, but the extremely busy and chaotic traffic prevents me from doing that; moreover, along the mere 12 miles to the Călimăneşti spa resort, at least three drivers are dangerously close to drive me off the carriageway, as the result of doing blindspot overtaking, therefore, assuming it’s going to be the same across the upcoming Dealul Negru / Black Hill section as well, I decide not to push my luck anymore and switch to another backroads shortcut, across the Cozia Mountain this time. I remember I’ve tried to drive this route some ten years ago, but I haven’t been able to cross the ridge to the Topolog valley on the other side, due to a catastrophic landslide which had completely torn the road apart; nevertheless, I’ve heard that section had been meanwhile rebuilt, so once again I turn east, towards the town of Curtea de Argeş. The first few miles of this road, passing by the villages along the interfluve’s western slope, appears quite normal for a regular rural area, that is reasonable quality tarmac and loose traffic. Once the climb becomes steeper – more than 40° gradient, I guess – and the human settlements sparse though, the tarmac is replaced by gravel, which is actually made of large stones that are scarily slippery! I struggle to ride extremely slow, in the first gear, trying to find and hold on to the right rev in order to keep a fragile balance between losing grip and stalling the engine. Eventually, after more than half an hour of torture, I get to cross the ridge to the eastern slope, where the descent is somewhat friendlier, especially that the tarmac appears once again as I’m entering the first village. Next, I experience a bit more chills while I cross the next hill, which prove to be tenuous after all, as the further gravel section is both surprisingly well packed and no more than a couple of miles long, then I quickly descend onto an extremely bumpy road – due to more recent landslides – to the Argeş valley, the one leading to the equally famous Transfăgărăşan alpine road. I turn to its opposite direction though and few minutes later I take a final break in Curtea de Argeş, both for refuelling and also catching my breath after the adventure I’ve just put an end to. On the funny side, considering the kind of roads I’ve ridden today, I think about my little Vulcan S being a true dual-sports bike wanabee, almost fit for both on- and off-road travel; or maybe it’s like back to the early days of motorcycling, when there didn’t exist any specialized bikes and people just rode anywhere on whatever machine they got!
I’m about 100 miles far from home by now and I really don’t have anymore patience whatsoever. I overtake a bit recklessly – across solid lines and way over the speed limits – all the vehicles ongoing from the Transfăgărăşan road towards Bucharest, then I get to the motorway and, less than two hours later, I park the bike in my driveway. It’s the end point of a 2,000+ miles long tour over just six days and I’m suddenly feeling terribly tired. Though ... where am I going to head on to next year?
Groapa Seacă pass
Curmătura Vidruţei pass
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