[2019, July]
The idea for this tour came to me more as a joke than a real thing, following a small talk I made with Madde, my biker sis’ who is living in Malmö, about the Scandinavian weather being generally a drawback for pleasant riding. First, neither me nor her didn’t take this seriously, then a raw route there gradually started to take seed into my mind, until one day in mid-July I made a surprise phone call to my friend, telling her I’m going to show up in front of her house in seven days time, in order to see for myself what’s like to be a biker in Sweden!
Confidently heading north. 680 miles
The same as always, my first day’s plan is to get as far from home as I’m able to, though this time I feel I’m not having the nerve to surpass my endurance limit anymore the way I did last year, when I’ve ridden all the way to Slovakia in less than fourteen hours. Therefore, I choose to cross the whole of Romania onto a picturesque all-mountain route, which will end just beside the border, in the small town of Sighetu Marmaţiei. Hence summer is already fully set, days are long and the sun starts burning hot ever since the first hours in the morning, so I set off really early, in order to avoid every day’s busy traffic on the main highway heading north. Taking just one short break, just before crossing the Southern Carpathians range, I steadily cover one mile after another and don’t leave the national road until I’m 20 miles beyond Braşov, then I follow the Olt River valley up to the small town of Baraolt. The backroad I’m riding onto is quite less travelled and in a somewhat poorer condition, so I slow down and enjoy the scenery; I pass through half-sleeping villages, featuring blue and gold Szekler flags at almost each porch, and by widespread orchards and vineyards covering the mild hill slopes. From the town of Székelyudvarhely / Odorheiu Secuiesc on, I enter the crowded tourist area of Praid – Sovata, where the main attraction I encounter is a caravan of old-timer sidecar motorcycles, registered in Hungary, whose riders and passengers are nicely clothed in epoque matching leather riding gear. After crossing the ridgeline between the Târnava and Mureş rivers, the scenery magically becomes quiet and tranquil once again, this time the porches displaying tricolour Romanian flags, all the way up to Reghin, where I join back the national road northwards. Unfortunately, over here I also join a steady drizzle, but I don’t let myself hindered by this shortcoming, just put on my rain gear instead and go on.
At about two in the afternoon, I get to the city of Bistriţa, at the foothills of the Rodna massif, which I’ll have to cross on my way to the historical province of Maramureş. I stop for lunch at a gas station in the city’s outskirts and, until I’m finished eating, the rain finally stops, allowing me to enjoy the upcoming route which I haven’t yet ridden before. I pass by Năsăud, a town which doesn’t say anything to me, then I start climbing the narrow Sălăuţa valley upstream, through dense pine forests and large meadows where isolated houses and haystacks are scattered upon, the loosely winding road running parallel to the famous Salva – Vişeu railroad and its spectacular viaducts and tunnels. In the 2,683 ft. high Şetref pass, the road symbolically passes below a traditional carved wooden porch, as a welcome sign to Maramureş, then it steeply descends to the Iza River valley. Along this one, the tarmac is so bumpy and uneven that I can’t do more than 40 mph, but this way I get to admire the fairy-tale landscape around, especially that the clear blue sky is in strong contrast to the rainy weather I’ve left behind, in Transylvania. Eventually, at six thirty I arrive at the confluence of the Iza and Tisa rivers, where the town of Sighetu Marmaţiei is located, and rent a tiny room in the attic of a cosy downtown motel, The town itself leaves quite a poor impression to me, as its unkempt historical buildings alternate with dull communist era apartment blocks and abandoned construction sites, and I have to walk around for more than half an hour in order to find a decent place to have dinner. I go to sleep rather late, chased away by a sudden torrential rain, hoping the thick black clouds which have invaded the sky will blow over by tomorrow morning.
When I planned my route north, I’ve done a lot of research about avoiding the extremely boring eastern Hungarian plain by taking a way more attractive option along the Carpathian mountain range, but eventually the excessive bureaucracy in the Ukrainian border crossing posts made me quit thinking about it, therefore today I’m ready to spend a less pleasant half day. The first 20 miles are ok, as the good quality tarmac road is winding westwards along the Tisa River valley, then it climbs the 1,925 ft. high Huta pass, through a dark and dense beech forest, out of Maramureş. The spectacular tight hairpins which descend to the equally picturesque Oaş land bring me to the village of Certeze, where I’m really shocked at the sight of the countless imposing villas lining both sides of the road, featuring marble columns and statues adorned façades – totally unusual for a rural area, which are the outcome of numerous locals working abroad, in Western Europe. Once I get to the townlet of Negreşti-Oaş, the landscape dramatically changes to a seemingly endless plain and the traffic gradually becomes unbearably busy, mostly with trucks heading north, to Ukraine. Luckily, I soon find a shabby backroad which I use as a by-pass to the city of Satu Mare and, at about ten o’clock, I cross the border to Hungary and continue onto another backroad, patched as an old sack and straight as a stretched rope, by cultivated fields and man-made ponds, up to Tivadar, where I finally get to cross the Tisa River, which I’ve been playing hide and seek to ever since I left in the morning. Meanwhile, in the town of Fehérgyarmat, I get the occasion to remember the other reason I don’t like riding in Hungary, besides the one of incredibly boring scenery: within most of the settlements along every road, the speed limit nearby junctions and pedestrian crossings is no more than 20 mph, but for a reason I really don’t get, almost all the drivers keep on running that slow on a permanent basis – a thing that literally drives me crazy. This is why, after riding no more than one mile and a half downtown in as much as ten minutes, I can’t stand it anymore and overtake the whole queue of cars ahead of me by recklessly crossing the middle solid line, just in front of an upcoming police car! Useless to say that, once I’m out of the town, I speed up to 75+ mph onto a totally unfit for this speed road, also continuously peeking in my left mirror to see if they’re coming after me; fortunately, they’ve probably had other more important business and I get away with the stupid thing I’ve done.
Further on after Tivadar, I cross the same meandering Tisa River twice more, nearby the towns of Vásárosnamény and then Cigánd, and, little later than noon – I’ve gained an hour due to the time zone change, I arrive in the village of Pácin, where I take an agricultural but nevertheless tarmac paved service road which almost unnoticeably crosses the border into Slovakia. From this point on, the vast Hungarian plain ends and I’m riding once again onto green forested hills for another 50 miles, up to the city of Košice. I don’t stop here, as I’ve already visited it just the last summer, but I surprisingly fast and easy bypass the city centre and climb the wonderful tight hairpins up the nearby Čierna Hora / Black Mountain, towards the Ružin reservoir, where I take a much-needed break. This second half of the day induces a totally different sensation to me, compared to the monotony of straight lines riding and the discomfort brought by the strong wind which had been bothering me ever since early in the morning; now, the weather is highly pleasant and I can’t get enough of leisurely riding the Slovakian mountains, through dense forests and sunny meadows, onto traffic free flawless roads which make the journey be a real delight. I pass without stopping by the townlets of Spišské Vlachy and Spišské Podhradie, where I’m overwhelmed by the large number of Gipsies I spot both in the streets and on the sides of the road, who make a strong discordant note to the rest of the population, by means of looks, behaviour and tidiness – I’ve once read about the doubtful decision made by the Slovak government some ten to fifteen years ago, to forcibly sterilize all the women in this minority in order to gradually decrease their numbers, which surely unleashed a wave of horror and hysteria throughout the civilized world, but I start getting their point once I see these places! Whatever, I quickly leave them behind and head on to Poprad, making a 20 miles long compromise onto the motorway, in order to both gain some time and also stop for lunch at an enroute service station. Once I’m close to the Vysoké Tatry / High Tatras massif, I climb to its subalpine area by the well-known namesake ski resort, then I continue westwards on the road following an approximate level curve at the foothills of the 8,200+ high rocky summits. While the altitude over here is no more than half that value, it’s still unbelievably cold, so I briefly stop to put on the hoodie I didn’t think I’d need to wear until reaching the other side of the Baltic Sea; it feels better now, although my fingers are still freezing on the handlebars, as I haven’t been cautious enough to bring my winter gloves, too. Eventually, 30 miles farther I descend to the townlet of Liptovski Hrádok, where I take a prolonged break on a sunny bench overlooking the 14th century local castle. It’s five o’clock meanwhile – time for me to decide about the place I’m going to sleep tonight in; I find a promising guesthouse located within a quiet area in the foothills of the Malá Fatra lower altitude massif, about 50 miles away from the place I’m standing now, so I ride on without any haste, just enjoying the alpine scenery around me and the roadside enormous Liptovská Mara reservoir. I’m heading west, onto the extremely crowded road running along the Váh River valley, which separates the High Tatras and Nizke Tatry / Low Tatras massifs, pass by the town of Ružomberok, then turn right onto an almost deserted backroad upstream the Orava River and eventually arrive to the village of Párnica; over here there is the ADAK guesthouse, which proves to be my perfect host for tonight: private parking lot, a mountain view comfortable room, a pretty blonde girl at the reception and a terrace restaurant serving tasty food and Czech beer, both as cheap as I’m already expecting them to be in Slovakia. What else can I possibly ask for?
Şetref pass
Huta pass
Liptovsky Hrádok
Liptovska Mara
ADAK guesthouse, Párnica
In search for the lost summer. 1,040 miles
Within the general picture of my route across Europe, today’s stage is all about the Czech Republic. Or at least that is what it should be, as I still have to ride about 60 miles through North-Western Slovakia until I get there and, maybe because this thought has been preying my mind all night long, I wake up at dawn, as soon as there’s daylight outside. I have my coffee, pack the luggage and, at seven thirty, while the whole guesthouse is still sleeping, I set off. There’s been raining during the night and now it’s extremely cold once again, but I try not to make a big deal out of it, just hoping this is nothing more than an isolated event. I ride right through the heart of the Malá Fatra massif, onto an absolutely free road, passing by a quite deserted tourist area which I reckon it’s much more animated during winter time, as I can see a lot of road signs pointing to ski slopes and their related facilities. Half an hour later, I descend from the mountains and approach Žilina, a big city featuring an adequate busy traffic; luckily though, roads in Slovakia match the century we live in, so, by taking the motorway looking city bypass, in less than twenty minutes I’m already on the opposite side and speed up westwards. After briefly exchanging “compliments” with a coach driver who seems to be extremely annoyed for the reason I overtook him too close – or maybe too fast, I don’t know, by the town of Bytča I turn right and start climbing towards Makov, onto a nice, but quite crowded mountain road, up to the Czech border crossing point at Bumbálka, where I take a warm-up break in a sunny meadow.
The route through the Czech Republic starts with a fast descent towards the Moravian hills, up to the town of Valašske Meziřiči, where my luck seems to be changing; the weather starts playing tricks on me, meaning it gets colder and the sky is covered in threatening black clouds, and also the traffic becomes busier with every mile I advance, due to the ongoing works on the road to Novy Jičin. Eventually, at about noon I get to Opava, an elegant town located just a few miles away from the Polish border, where I stop for gas, coffee and a hot-dog; unfortunately, the stray raindrops which lately came along with me start gradually multiplying over here, until they transform into a real downpour that holds me off for more than half an hour. I start worrying, as I still have to ride some 250 more miles up to Děčin, where I’ve planned to sleep tonight, in order that tomorrow I’d be able to attack Germany in full strength! :) Taking advantage of a moment when the rain seems to ease off a bit, I put on the rain gear and bravely take off, in the direction of Hradec Králové; it continues to rain for another half an hour though, and I don’t think the temperature goes above 10°C even for a single moment, so I get close to Šumperk half wet and the other half frozen. At least over here is not raining anymore, so I take off the rain gear, in order to dry up the rest of my clothes in the air flow. Further on then, up to Hradec Králové the ride goes on smoothly, onto a flawless but busy road, winding upon mild green hills and passing by chic villages and townlets, as in an open-air medieval museum; the only exception to this leisurely travel is a series of tight and steep hairpins, which suddenly appear out of nowhere, climbing Orlické Hory – a densely forested mountain featuring a well deserved quiet rest place on its top, where I can’t resist taking another short break, even if the dashboard clock tells me I shouldn’t!
Towards Jičin, the traffic seems to ease up a bit, but I’m still hanging on to my initial plan of taking the backroads as much as possible, especially that I’m approaching Mladá Boleslav, another big industrial city, also hosting the Škoda main factory among other ones; therefore, I choose a route which takes me along the Česky Ráj nature preserve – over here, I get a close encounter with the local fauna: while riding quite slow through a dense pine forest, I spot a deer with two of its babies grazing at the side of the road; probably as surprised as I am, it gets scared and suddenly runs across the road followed closely by the cubs, only that one of them is a bit left behind and forces me to do a sharp emergency braking in order to avoid hitting it; damn, I’ve almost killed Bambi! Next, I pass by the picturesque townlets of Mnichovo Hradiště and Mimoň, up to Česká Lipa – each of them featuring old centres classified as urban monument zones and well-preserved castles, where I arrive at about seven in the evening and stop for the last break today. There are only 20 miles left up to Děčin, which I ride in a relaxed mood through the wonderful gorges of the Ploučnice River, and almost at the fall of dark I leave my bike in the underground parking lot of the elegant and comfortable S-Centrum Hotel, unfortunately located in a somewhat shady area of the city. I’m really tired and cold, so I leave the downtown walk for tomorrow morning, have a hasty dinner at the nearby KFC fast-food, then take a hot shower and go to sleep.
The first thing in the morning, I rush to the window to see how the weather looks outside: sunny and clear blue sky, but the first impression proves to be deceiving though, as I’m hit by the cruel reality as soon as I’m going out of the hotel – it’s truly freezing and I reckon there aren’t more than 5°C in the shade. Nevertheless, as I’m facing a long riding day, I cannot afford the luxury of waiting for the temperature to rise, so I put on all the warm clothes I’ve got and set off, just kidding myself it's gonna be fine later on. First, I take a tour downtown Děčin, without stopping in any particular places, then head north along the Elbe’s gorge towards the German border. The winding narrow road is absolutely deserted this early in the morning and I ride leisurely, just enjoying the scenery, while vague images from my childhood are rolling in my mind, featuring my grandfather driving our car onto this very same route. Nostalgia gradually seizes me and, after I cross the border, I’d like to stop and climb to the imposing hilltop Königstein fortress, which I remember it had strongly impressed me back then, but the piercing cold just drives me forward. Few miles farther, I pass by the town of Pirna and turn westwards, onto a backroad which is meandering among the rolling hills of Saxony, cutting through a handful of crowded townlets – Glashütte, Sayda, Marienberg, Annaberg-Buchholz and an awful lot of other ones whose names I cannot retain, where the busy and orderly traffic force me ride too slow, thus covering a rather short distance in a way too long time; moreover, as if the delay wouldn’t be long enough, I encounter several roadworks sections enroute, the traffic being diverted onto miles long circumvent routes, by secluded farms and quiet small villages. All this stress, caused both by these annoying drawbacks and the permanent sensation of cold as well, dampens my spirit and makes me think this tour northwards to Scandinavia might not been the smartest idea. Now, really, if it’s this cold over here, what would the weather be like on the other side of the Baltic Sea, in Denmark and Sweden? Wouldn’t it be wiser for me to quit and turn south, cross the Alps and tour Northern Italy, where it’s definitely going to be warmer? I stop in a gas station’s large parking lot, with my mind almost set to call Madde and tell her I’m not coming to Malmö anymore, but I refuel first and, as I go inside to pay, I also ask for a cup of coffee; since this one is not a mainstream gas station, but rather a family run rural one, they haven’t got a professional coffee machine, so I get a large mug of homemade filter coffee instead, extra hot and flavoured. I go outside so I can also smoke a cigarette, I hastily drink it and suddenly realize my mood has completely turned over: the cold seems to be much more endurable now and the ideas to abandon my initial route have totally vanished!
Further on, I optimistically continue my route, pass also by the bigger town of Aue, then I spot a roadside cosy guesthouse, within a widespread pine forest dotted with large grassy clearings; beside the main building there is also a stand with wooden tables and benches, where people are eating. It’s half past one by now and I’m surprised to realize I’m hungry, too; it’s probably due to the cold, as I usually don’t eat anything until the evening final stop while riding, especially when I have breakfast at the hotel I’ve been sleeping in. I order a wurst, sided by fried potatoes, have one more hot coffee and take my time to re-assess today’s ongoing route. I’ve planned to ride solely on backroads up to the Thüringer-Schiefergebirge Naturpark / Slate Mountains nature reserve, then turn north, pass by Jena and stop for the night in Wernigerode, in the foothills of the Harz Mountains. I look on the map and it makes me laugh! I’ve ridden about 130 miles since the morning and I’d have to ride at least 200 more to stick to the original plan; that would be definitely impossible if I continue at the same pace. What’s to be done? I don’t quit the idea of sleeping in Wernigerode tonight, as I’d like to have enough time to reach the Baltic seashore tomorrow, maybe even take the ferry and sleep the next night in Denmark. I guess my only option to do that is skip the natural park and take the motorway for at least a section of my remaining route today, therefore I change the direction towards the towns of Greiz and Weida and in less than an hour I merge the A9 motorway heading to Leipzig. Taking advantage of the German no speed limit rule, I do 100 mph for a while, until I get stuck into one of the frequent motorway traffic jams, or stau, about 25 miles ahead of the city; as I see no chance of filtering through the endless lines of cars and trucks, I spot an exit, succeed in sneaking in to the right lane, courtesy of two kind truck drivers who let me cut them off, then follow a somewhat parallel backroad which should take me to the A38 going westwards to Nordhausen. My only problem with this shortcut is it’s passing through Weißenfels – a townlet as crowded as it gets. I clench my jaws and, using a lot of patience and some unorthodox methods I’ve got accustomed to in my every-day insane Bucharest traffic – which surely shock at least few law-abiding citizens, I eventually get away with it and reach the motorway, where I can speed up again. At about six in the afternoon, I get to the green dark forest of the Harz Mountains, where I ease off and ride rather relaxed onto the winding picturesque roads across the mild, low altitude massif. An hour and two more breaks later, I descend onto its northern slope and finally arrive to the tourist town of Wernigerode.
First, I take both a tour and a walk in the streets downtown, among the traditional half-timbered houses which are the landmark of this region, but I find it too touristy for my taste and soon head to the outskirts, towards the Hasseröder Hof guesthouse, where I’ve already booked a room for tonight during my lunch break. Once I’m there, surprise: the doors are locked and there’s nobody in sight! I call the phone number I find online and a German guy speaking no English whatsoever answer me. Luckily, I can spell a few German words, so we manage to communicate a little bit and the guy tells me to wait, as he’s going to come in short while. Indeed, he shows up after about five minutes, smiling broadly and half drunk, shows me my room, gives me the interphone code so I can open the entrance door by myself later on, then he leaves as joyful as he came. That’s cool, isn’t it? Inside, the room appears to be quite shabby at first sight, but really ok actually, everything being flawlessly set up to the smallest detail, in regular German style. I find an elegant restaurant a couple of hundred yards away from the guesthouse, I have a late dinner and greedily drink two pints of excellent beer, then I go to sleep; when I enter the building, I notice I’m not the only guest though and there are other rooms taken, too, so it’s not going to be so weird after all.
The last stage of my journey to Sweden is starting today; while my route has been bound mostly westwards until now, from now on I’ll be heading straight north, to the Baltic Sea shore, which I plan to cross by ferry from Puttgarden, on the German island of Fehmarn, to Rødby, on the Danish one of Lolland. Once again, I wake up early in the morning, a bit worried by the long distance I have to ride today, as yesterday’s experience tells me I probably won’t be able to do more than an average of 40 mph on the single-lane roads through Germany. All this effort seems to be in vain though, because I find the restaurant doors locked, even if my cheerful host has told me breakfast would be available since eight o’clock. That’s the famous German punctuality, isn’t it? I wander a bit outside in the back yard, load my luggage on the bike, wipe the last night’s rain drops off the saddle and only half an hour later a lady shows up and starts preparing breakfast. At least, she has the decency to apologize for being late and even leaves the impression she’s hurrying doing her job!
I manage to leave Wernigerode few minutes after nine and head on to Brunswick onto the motorway, as Google Maps warns me about the national road being extremely crowded at this hour. I try not to ride very fast, as the city is barely 30 miles away and I also don’t want to get used to the high speed, as further on there’s no more motorway option for me and I’ll definitely have to abide by the speed limits. Nevertheless, after I pass by Brunswick onto its belt road, I’m surprised to find out that settlements are much more distanced to each other than the ones along yesterday’s route and the quite traffic free road is running in long straight lines across a broad flatland, through vast fields and endless forests, thus allowing me to do about 60 mph for long stretches of time. Also surprisingly, neither the cold is bothering me the way it did yesterday, although I’ve been expecting the opposite, due to the fact I’m actually advancing far north. Consequently, also taking advantage of the luck of encountering just one short roadworks section, I ride for about 100 miles in less than two hours, passing by the towns of Gifhorn, Uelzen and Lüneburg, and get to the bridge across the Elbe River at Lauenburg unexpectedly early. Ten minutes later, I take a longish break at a roadside coffeeshop in the town of Schwarzenbeck and it’s time for making a decision regarding the place I’m going to sleep tonight; it’s just one o’clock now and I’ve got only 100 more miles to ride up to the ferry terminal in Puttgarden, so I’d better thoroughly assess my further options: it would be too early to end the day still in Germany, on the other hand the prices for hotel rooms in Denmark are truly outrageous, but there are a bit more than 200 miles from the Danish seashore to Sweden, mostly on motorways – therefore, I come to the conclusion that the most convenient thing for me to do is to ride all the way to Malmö by tonight, this way also surprising Madde by getting there one day earlier than initially planned! So be it, I buy online a combined ticket for both the ferry and the Øresund bridge crossing, paying the obscene amount of 70 euros for it – that’s literally insane, as few months ago I’ve paid no more than 90 for the ferry crossing from Athens to the island of Crete, a distance about fifteen times longer than this one, also including the use of a single cabin onboard – and I set off onto the road again. I get to the A1 motorway in relatively short time, pass by the port city of Lübeck and start to feel the sea breeze, along with thousands of insects continuously crushing against my open-face helmet and goggles, reaching the pier at three o’clock sharp to be only the third one in the embarkation line!
The ferry leaves the port with extreme punctuality, no surprise here, but these show up later on: I’ve got to secure the bike inside the ship’s hold all by myself – that would be unconceivable on Greek or Italian lines – and a damn coffee is 5 euros, while I’m also the one to operate the machine! Otherwise, everything goes on smoothly and civilized and in half an hour’s time I disembark on the Danish shore, on the island of Lolland, which is connected by a dull motorway to its Falster and Zealand siblings. I confidently use this one, as there wouldn’t be anything interesting to see on the parallel backroads either, nothing more than flatland and agricultural fields for the next 100 miles up to Copenhagen. The only attraction along this section is the 5,663 ft. long maritime Farø bridge, spanning across the Storstrømmen Strait and bolstering halfway on the tip of the Bogø islet, where people are enjoying the pale sunshine within an immense picnic area parking lot and so do I, although the cold and strong blowing wind forces me to keep my leather jacket on. The traffic becomes a bit busier around the capital, although still decent compared to the beehives throughout Germany, then I pass by the airport and enter the underwater tunnel beyond the western half of the Øresund Strait, separing Denmark from Sweden; 2.5 miles farther I come out on the manmade Peberholm island, the Saltholm natural one’s underdeveloped clone – salt and pepper, notice the wordplay? – and I continue onto the 5 miles long, 187 ft. high suspended bridge, where I have to hardly struggle to keep my bike upright against the strong side wind. Eventually, at about six thirty in the afternoon I set foot – or wheel maybe? – onto the Scandinavian Peninsula, the main target of my route north. I’ve totalled 1,700 miles so far during five long riding days, experienced almost all of the extreme weather conditions – heat, cold, rain, wind – and this still doesn’t appear to me as the highly unusual thing most of the people I’ve spoken to regard it to be!
The day is almost over by now, although the sunset doesn’t come until close to 11 pm over here during the mid-summer, so I meet Madde on her bike at one of the motorway exits nearby Malmö and follow her to Bara, a small village about 7 miles farther, to her – and soon to be my – biker friend Carsten’s place, who will be my welcoming host for the next days. We linger on the terrace for several hours to come, until late into the night, over beers, travel stories and future plans for other ones to come.
Děčin
Königstein
Hasseröder Hof guesthouse, Wernigerode
Farø bridge
Fooling around throughout Skåne County. 290 miles
Today is Friday, meaning that Madde and Carsten have to go to work, so I spend the whole morning just laying in the sunshine on the wind sheltered terrace, enjoying a much-needed break from the previous riding days. Nevertheless, in the afternoon both my friends are longing to ride a short tour throughout the surrounding area, so I’ve got no other option but join them. We set off quite late for how I’m used to, after five o’clock, but there’s enough time left until the fall of dark to criss-cross the hills and forests south of Malmö, up to the port town of Trelleborg and the Falsterbo peninsula, which is reaching out into the Baltic Sea, pointing towards Denmark. Our formation is led by Carsten, on his blue and grey BMW R1200RS, being the one who knows best the entire area, followed by me, on my black Vulcan cruiser, and finally Madde, on her lime green Kawasaki Ninja – that’s a true moto cocktail, isn’t it? We ride leisurely on almost deserted winding backroads, a dense network which is connecting the villages and isolated farms scattered among bigger or smaller forest clusters, where we encounter all kinds of wildlife – deers, hares, foxes and pheasants – and green meadows hosting grazing horses and gulf courses. We take a short break in the park surrounding the 16th century Svaneholm Castle, which is looking like an ugly red brick apartment building :), then we continue our zigzag up to the seashore, stopping once again nearby the long and sandy Skanör beach, where a motley crowd is enjoying the beginning of the weekend, and we take a walk along the small port’s pier, the fast-food wooden booths and the terrace cafes. Honestly, it looks quite pathetic to me overall, but who am I to judge it? Although, when it comes to seashores and vacation spots, I always think of the fabulous Greek Aegean or Mediterranean beaches and coastlines and even the Black Sea ones are looking better by far.
Over the next two days, I leave the bike to rest in the garage and we spend the entire weekend as common tourists in Malmö and Copenhagen, travelling by train and bus and strolling in the downtown streets of both cities, so in the third morning I can’t wait to ride again, after this abstinence time frame! This time we’re heading north towards Helsingborg, also on traffic free backroads, running quite parallel to the Øresund Strait shore through an unspectacular flatland. On this occasion, I can’t help noticing that most of the Swedes are driving slow and predictable, which makes the ride leisurely and stress free. After about two hours, we get to the Sofiero Palace, which is owned by the Swedish royal family, but it’s still open for visitors; we take a long walk in the huge park surrounding it and, this one being the strait’s minimum width point, we can clearly see the Danish city of Helsingør and the famous Hamlet’s Kronborg Castle on the other side. Later on, after this touristy intermezzo, we continue northwards for another 15 miles, up to the picturesque port of Mölle, set up like an amphitheatre of colourful little houses scattered across the slopes of a rocky peninsula which reaches out into the sea. We park our bikes and take a short hike up to its terribly windy barren top, to the Kullaberg nature preserve, which offers us great views far across the Kattegat Strait connecting the Baltic to the North Sea. This one will actually be the northernmost point of my current tour, as further on we head back south, on a route which is an absolute riding delight, through dense and dark birch and pine forests, by secluded hamlets featuring old wooden houses and onto extremely narrow, but flawless backroads, up to the thin isthmus between the twin Ringsjön lakes. Half an hour and 20 miles later, we’re back to Bara and we spend a relatively short evening this time, as tomorrow morning both my hosts will be going to work, while I’ll set off onto my long way home.
Svaneholm Castle
Skanör beach
Copenhagen
Malmö
Sofiero Palace
Mölle
Kullaberg lighthouse
Onto the vikings’ trails. 350 miles
At about nine in the morning, my luggage is already loaded on the bike, so I say goodbye to Madde and take off; Carsten’s office is on the other side of the strait, in Copenhagen, therefore he’ll be joining me across the Øresund bridge and for a few miles more, then we wave to each other and split. I’m heading west onto the motorway which is connecting the Zealand and Fyn islands to the mainland Europe and, right after I leave the Danish capital and its busy outskirts behind, the traffic suddenly calms down and I’m left only with the flatland landscape’s monotony and the threat posed by some thick clouds which are running fast upon the sky, spraying me with cold rain drops from time to time. I ride for the next 60 miles up to the spectacular 11 miles long Storebælt bridge, then, as I can’t stand the boredom anymore, I exit the motorway as soon as I reach the island of Fyn and stop for a short walk downtown Nyborg and around its 12th century medieval castle, which is a prominent figure in Danish history. Further on, a traffic free road featuring excessively numerous speed limit sections takes me to the city of Odense, the next one on my visiting list; over here, I also walk along the pedestrian streets in the old centre, with tiny colourful houses, among which the Hans Christian Andersen Museum stands out, buy some gifts for back home, then get out of the city and head south. About 30 miles farther, I take a low-speed tour through the medieval harbour of Svendborg, before turning westwards onto a road which is passing by picturesque old villages, featuring half timbered and thatched roof traditional houses. Eventually, I reach the ferry terminal in Bøjden, where I embark a small ship and cross the Lillebælt Strait to mainland Europe, about 25 miles far from the German border. This much about Denmark, which haven’t appeared highly attractive to me overall, except for those rural low roof colourful houses, looking as they’ve been taken straight out of Andersen’s tales.
Germany welcomes me business as usual, that is with an extremely busy motorway south towards Hamburg, but I’m not following that one for such a long distance, as I leave it right after passing by the border town of Flensburg. I’m heading now in the direction of the North Sea shore, onto a single-lane road running across an endless flatland, under a grim, overcast sky and against a strong and relentless wind; it seems this is quite usual around this area, as I’m passing through a true forest of hundreds of turbines installed across the fields between the towns of Husum and Büsum, and I have to struggle against the mother of all winds on the last miles ahead of the latter, making huge efforts to keep my hands clinging to the handlebars. I’ve been initially thinking of sleeping here overnight, especially that it’s six o’clock by now and I feel tired and hungry, but I find out that Büsum, as well as most of the townlets along the seashore, is kind of a tourist resort, overcrowded and featuring hotel room prices which really defy my budget! Therefore, before I move on towards more convenient places, I take my time to walk along the promenade, past fish restaurants, beer kiosks and live entertainment bars, up to the long narrow beach, where I get to see the spectacular view of the low tide for the first time in my life – the water has withdrawn for more than 100 yards and lots of people are walking across the exposed sandy seabed, looking for seashells, shellfish and God knows what else. Back to my bike, I continue south onto one more motorway heading towards Hamburg and half an hour later I stop in the outskirts of Elmshorn, a small town just 20 miles ahead of the city; the Schleswig-Holstein Hotel over here provides me with a humble but flawless room for less than half the price of the ones by the seaside. It’s already late in the evening, so I grab a burger from the next-door fast-food restaurant, bust a couple of beers, then fall sound asleep.
Nyborg Castle
Odense
The Lillebælt Strait
The North Sea low tide, Büsum
The distinctive glamour of Central Europe. 740 miles
In the morning, I set off with large resources of patience, as I plan to cover more than half the tremendous length of Germany and even get into the Czech Republic by tonight, therefore riding for long hours onto the motorway is a must today. The traffic gradually becomes busier with every mile I get closer to Hamburg, up to the point where I’m carried along within an insane flow of cars, vans and big trucks, like a tiny boat on the rough seas. I cross the Elbe’s estuary by taking the A7 motorway’s underwater tunnel, then the madness starts easing off as I’m approaching the Luneburger Heide densely forested area south of the city. Further on, I stay on the A7 for about 200 miles more, alternating the high-speed sections with stau and roadworks ones, where the endless lines of vehicles are moving painfully slow; fortunately, at least the scenery is quite all right, mostly featuring mild rolling hills and crude green forests, saving me from boring to death for several long hours, until about noon. Eventually, shortly after passing by the town of Göttingen, I exit the motorway and follow the winding, steep sloped valley of the Werra River, into the largely forested Thüringen mountains. Close to Eisenach, after taking one more motorway section, eastwards this time, I stop for lunch in one of the numerous rest stations along it and introduce myself into the local atmosphere, having a tasty traditional dish of a Thüringer sausage over sauerkraut and mashed potatoes; only the beer is missing from this scene, but I still have to ride another 150 miles today, so there’s no way I can have that one, too. About 40 miles farther, I exit the motorway to the small and otherwise insignificant town of Arnstadt, which stirs up another series of childhood memories for me though, then I pass by Saalfeld on my route to the Thüringer-Schiefergebirge Naturpark – yes, the one I’ve missed on my way north! – and, what a surprise!, I encounter one more roadworks section, where the ongoing road is fully closed and the suggested detour route is long as hell! Unfortunately, I cannot afford wasting so much time, as it’s already half past four by now and Czechia is still far away, so I take a glimpse to my online map in search for a shortcut; I hardly succeed in mapping out an alternative route across the mountains, onto some backroads which appear so thin on the map that they are visible only in maximum zoom view, and reluctantly follow my gut and head on to that direction, hoping they would finally be rideable and take me back on my initial track. Luckily, this is Germany and these ones, which would have been simple forest trails elsewhere, are covered in flawless tarmac over here, although they are no more than just 7 feet wide. I steeply climb some tight hairpins through a dark pine forest, then come out onto the mountain ridge, amidst incredibly green meadows, as in a fairy-tale scenery; I continue eastwards, by a couple of secluded hamlets, and, about 15 breath-taking miles farther, I descend back to the main road, on the other side of the closed section. This detour has cost me a bit more than half an hour out of my limited time, but I swear it was definitely worth every minute of it!
The rest of my route today doesn’t bring any more surprises to me, so I’m surging to my tonight’s destination, which I’ve decided to be the centuries old spa resort of Františkovy Lázně, located just a few miles beyond the Czech border. After I pass by the town of Bad Lobenstein and get out of the mountains into the broad Saale River valley, I ride for about 40 miles onto some incredibly traffic free motorway sections, then exit to a side backroad and suddenly find myself into the Czech Republic. Ten minutes later, I take a low-speed tour among the resort’s imposing hotels and casinos downtown, which stand out with a timeless elegance although they’re more than 200 years old, and eventually stop at a humbler one in the outskirts, where I have a tasty goulash for dinner and learn to say in German “One more beer, please!”
Next morning, after I leave the hotel, I take a short break in the main square of Cheb’s historical centre, just to readjust myself to the beauty of the Czech old towns, then head south-east onto a surprisingly busy road, running quite parallel to the German border. I ride leisurely across mild sloped hills, where forested areas alternate with agricultural lots, through quiet villages and townlets and don’t even notice time passing by, until I reach the bigger town of Klatovy, at about noon. Over here, I turn towards the tourist centre of Železná Ruda, then leave the main road and take a narrower and less maintained looking one, following the main ridge of the Šumava National Park. Along the next 40 miles, I pass through dense pine forests and sunny clearings, by small tourist villages and secluded mountain chalets, and encounter lots of people hiking or mountain-biking, whom I feel quite embarrassed to, due to my travel easiness compared to their serious effort. Further on, I descend to the Vltava River’s upper course, which I follow through an area dominated by tourist resorts featuring elegant hotels and restaurants, lined up along the long Lipno reservoir’s shore. Eventually, after almost three full hours of riding through probably the most attractive section of my entire journey, I get close to the Austrian border crossing at Wullowitz, where I take a longer break, in order to assess my further options. I’ve planned to spend this whole day throughout Southern Czechia and stop for tonight close to the Slovak border, but it’s already three in the afternoon by now and I’ve barely covered half that distance. This means I won’t be able to stick to the initial plan, as the beauty of the Czech scenery and its museum-like old towns keep constantly slowing me down, so I’ll have to ride through Austria and take advantage of its high-speed roads; nevertheless, I’ll still get back to the Czech Republic in the evening, as I find and book at once a super-discounted room in a fabulous hotel just beside the 17th century Valtice Palace.
Enroute the towns of Freistadt, Zwettl and Horn, I ride for 70 miles onto a freshly rebuilt superb mountain road, which allows me to speed up and lean into the bends, except for a few miles detour through uphill grazing meadows, due to – of course – roadworks. Further on, towards Eggenburg and finally Poysdorf, both the late hour and the increasingly busy traffic ahead compel me to get help from the GPS navigation service, which leads me onto a maze of quiet local backroads, amidst vineyards and fields where I have to literally dodge tens of hares which are running scared in front of me. Eventually, as late as eight in the evening, I get to Valtice and I’m pleasantly surprised to find out that my hotel is actually part of the palace’s outbuildings, so I’m spared the otherwise must-have walk to visit it. Up next, I find a terrace restaurant within the small town’s urban monument area, where I relax and just enjoy the moment, trying not to think about tomorrow’s route yet!
Cheb
The Šumava National Park
Valtice Palace
Valtice
I wish there was a teleportation machine! 770 miles
Today is not going to be quite pleasant. There aren’t many interesting route options in Southern Slovakia, as there are mostly low altitude hills and flatland, then Hungary is up next, where I know for sure that I’ll get bored to death throughout the Pannonian Plain, so I’ll have to keep on going up to beyond the Romanian border. In conclusion, I face some long and tough riding hours and I’d better keep calm and patient in order to safely get it over with. I start at about nine o’clock, after I take a brisking up walk around the palace and have a hearty breakfast at the hotel; I pass quickly by the town of Breclav, then cross the border into Slovakia and head on towards Senica. From this point on though, things are changing, as I take the highway to Trnava and this one is extremely busy; cars and big trucks are slowly crawling in both directions, there are a lot of speed limit settlements enroute, then the turns and slopes across the low altitude Malé Karpaty mountain range make overtaking almost impossible. Fortunately, there is a bypass to the city of Trnava, but I find myself in the middle of a true madness as soon as I take the motorway east towards Zvolen: the traffic is extremely busy and everybody is doing 90+ mph, I ride mostly uphill and against a relentless strong wind, therefore it shortly becomes overly tiresome. Eventually, at about one o’clock and 100 miles farther, I leave the motorway and continue onto the national road towards Lučenec and Rimavská Sobota; conditions are blatantly similar to the ones in the morning along this section, that is busy, but fortunately faster traffic, and, also taking advantage of two short freshly built motorway sections, I get to the Hungarian border crossing point at Bánréve at about three in the afternoon. [The last 10 miles in Slovakia I’ve ridden onto a local backroad running through several extremely poor looking villages, where I’ve been shocked by the extent of the Gipsy community living there – somehow similar to the Spiš area, which I’ve crossed on my way north.]
Maybe my prejudices are solid based, or it’s just an unfortunate coincidence, but the first miles I ride into Hungary already pop up my first problem here: the tarmac is wet and fresh puddles are everywhere, which means it has recently rained, therefore I have to slow down, while the cars running in front of me are constantly spraying muddy water towards my helmet visor. Moreover, it seems I won’t get too soon out of this situation, as a thick black cloud is covering the sky right in the direction I’m heading to. To my comfort, but against the distance I still have to ride by tonight, it also seems I won’t be able to outrun the storm, as once again the traffic on the Hungarian main roads proves to be a disaster – everybody’s driving at low speed, a lot of junctions feature traffic lights (!?) and within most of the settlements there are lines of cars mostly standing still than moving forward. In these conditions, I ride the 25 miles up to the city of Miskolc in more than a full hour and I lose half more until I manage to get to its southern exit. Further on, things are fortunately improving onto the 60 miles of open road to Debrecen, as villages along this one are much distanced to each other, the downside consisting of the inherent boredom induced by the long straight lines and the uninspiring flat scenery all around me. Though, I get to have some fun for a few moments, by racing a bit against a dude riding some kind of a sport-touring Suzuki, who maybe wanted to show off in front of his pillion girlfriend; sadly for him, the suspense lasts only until we enter the city, as I quickly lose him as soon as we reach the traffic lights queues – I guess the filtering concept hasn’t been translated into Hungarian yet! :)
There are just 25 miles between Debrecen and the Romanian border crossing at Valea lui Mihai, but the poor backroad heading there is literally suffocated by heavy traffic. It’s already late, even really late considering I’ll lose an hour on the clock due to the time zone change, so I disregard all the traffic rules and start crazily overtaking every single ongoing vehicle, by taking advantage of any free space I can sneak into – on their left or right sides, or along the solid line between the two opposite lanes. Eventually, I get to the border post and over here Hungary is eager to serve me the icing on the cake, in the person of a blonde young woman officer, who forces a bad-ass attitude on me and asks for my driving license, along with the rest of the usual border crossing documents! Well, I haven’t heard this one yet in any of the places I’ve travelled so far! I hand her the passport and bike registration and ask if she really imagines I’d ride across the whole continent without holding a valid license. Meanwhile, her older Romanian counterpart tries to talk her into giving up that ridiculous request, also her Hungarian colleague gives her an embarrassed look, yet to no avail! The latter shyly asks me where I’m coming from and not even my sharp answer – “Sweden!” – makes a valid argument for that bitch. In the end, I have no option left but show her my license, then I get my documents back, crank the engine and, right before I move on, I ask the Romanian officer: “Do I swear to her now, or are you doing it for me later on?” An angry look is burning into the blonde’s eyes, as she can obviously understand Romanian, that’s for sure, but she has no power upon me anymore now, as I’ve already crossed the border into Romania; I give her a large grin and take off! This one is actually the one and only incident I have against an authority of any kind in 4,000 miles throughout seven different countries and I wonder once again: is this a simple coincidence, or …?
I’m not able to find any accommodation online closer than the city of Oradea, which is 50 miles away. I take advantage of the traffic free flawless road, speed up to 75 mph all the way up there and eventually get to the transit Lyra Hotel at about eight thirty in the evening. I’m tired as hell – a guy in the parking lot asked me if I’m coming from far away and, when I answered I left Czechia in the morning, he told me it shows on my face! – and I’m in no mood of walking into the city, so I order a pizza and a couple of beers to my room, then I fall sound asleep right after the last bite.
The last one will also be a long day and its only upside is I won’t need to find any accommodation for tonight. Riding 400 miles a day in Romania is a tough challenge and, with last year’s unfortunate experience in mind, when I came home from the western border by taking mostly backroads, through the heart of the Southern Carpathians, this time I plan to ride only on main roads and available motorway sections, hoping this route will be easier to cope with. I start early, as the hotel doesn’t provide any breakfast, and head towards the city of Cluj-Napoca. Due to the scarce Saturday morning traffic, I ride the 60 miles to Huedin without any particular problems, but from this point on the lines of cars become longer with every further mile and I can’t overtake them anymore; nevertheless, I soon get to the “Transylvania” motorway, where I can ride free at 80+ mph, therefore I cover about a third of today’s route until eleven o’clock. Unfortunately, the leisurely ride ends together with this section, as I find myself stuck into an incredibly long traffic jam as soon as I take the national road towards Alba Iulia. I try to keep calm and patient at first, but I soon realize I won’t be able to get home before the fall of dark at this pace and start overtaking tens of vehicles by riding mostly in the opposite lane, slowly advancing to the head of the line. Or that’s what I’ve been thinking of, at least, because the jam actually extends for more than 30 miles farther, due to roundabouts, pedestrian crossings, traffic lights and roadworks, all the way to the town of Sebeş and the A1 motorway junction. I also encounter several police officers enroute, who are uselessly trying to direct traffic, and I sneak back into the line for the first ones, only to just ignore the latter and keep on riding in the opposite lane right in front of them. Luckily, they ignore me back :), so there’s no damage done!
I ride quite ok onto the motorway between Sebeş and Sibiu, with just one break, which I’d have wished to be longer than it has actually been, but I quickly changed my mind due to the coloured fauna in the parking lot, reminding me of Slovakia! Further on, along the no-overtaking Olt River valley I encounter a surprisingly low traffic, running at a reasonable constant speed, therefore I afford the luxury of taking a lunch break in a gas station nearby Cozia; I’m really melting in the heat over here, while less than two weeks ago I’ve been freezing and thinking of quitting my journey north! Back on track, I use a local shortcut which few transit drivers know about and show up once again to the main road just past the city of Râmnicu Vâlcea, where I land right in the middle of a traffic nightmare similar to the one around Alba Iulia. Once again, the line of vehicles stretches for tens of miles, but this time it’s worse, as this occurs along the difficult hairpins and slopes across the steep Dealul Negru / Black Hill; once again, there are roadworks and traffic lights, so I don’t waste any time and start confidently overtake in the opposite lane, also succeeding to dodge two “cascade” police speed traps along the somewhat less busy road section ahead the city of Piteşti. It’s five in the afternoon by now and I ride rather slow onto the last motorway section to Bucharest, as I’m already tired and don’t want to take any useless risks now. One and a half hour later I get home, park my bike in the driveway and let myself slide gently onto the front door bench. I’ve totalled 3,875 miles during ten riding days, across seven countries to and fro, reached the opposite side of the continent and felt the Baltic and North Seas breeze. Is it a lot, is it a bit? I can’t answer this question, but I know tomorrow morning I’ll already start thinking of my next journey!
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