Climbing out of Mostar meant a huge portion of D+. On this morning climb I met Kirsten Cluley (cap 21), a friendly Scottish rider. We had such a nice chat that we almost considered riding as a pair to Burgas. But then we remembered the rules and took separate paths. I met her again at the shepherd’s border crossing that many riders took into Montenegro. It avoided a huge detour via Foca (to the North) and was reasonably steep and paved. There was only a small risk getting caught and sent to Foca.
Kirsten and I descended the switchbacks to Pluzine together until I had my first flat of the race. I don’t remember what caused it, but all of a sudden it was there – invited at the party. I pumped it back up twice to reach CP3. There I could repair it in good company, with blue Montenegrin lemonade and some cake. With the volunteers I regretted that riders around me spent so little time at the Control Points. Back when I was a slower rider in 2018 we would hang around for an hour or so. But the Durmitor was calling, and we wanted to ride it at daylight. Fair enough, that’s a good reason. I jumped back on the bike and rode towards the legendary rock-hewn tunnels.
Climbing the Durmitor was the undisputed highlight of my TCR, a mystical moment that made me pronounce the words: « whoever organises this race is a genius! » I thanked Lost Dot for taking us here (ok, using our own legs, but still!) Green and yellow meadows as far as the eye could reach, were catching the evening sun. Little red houses scattered all across the plain made it look like a Groenland Summer landscape. At the top, Kirsten was taking pictures and I reminded her that there was a second peak and that she may want to hurry to leave the high mountain (2000m) before night falls.
Zabljak at the bottom of the parcour was freezing cold. This temperature drop was unexpected, especially since we were down 1000m from Durmitor. I put on all my layers and pedaled on to Pljevlja across the Tara River Canyon (the largest canyon in Europe). Pljevlja was a filthy industrial city and the hotel looked more like an old house with beds. A few minutes after my shower I heard a female English voice discussing with the landlord: Kirsten was in the same hotel as I was. We had a quick word of encouragement, then went to sleep.
The next day was the least prepared one of my race. I actually met Lizzie for the first time as she was queuing at the Serbian border, behind 10 cars. Really? How British is that? I taught her how to jump a queue and so she did. She asked me what my route was to cross Serbia and I honestly answered that I would « follow the arrows on my GPS ». I had not studied the names of cities and had no idea where I would sleep that evening.
This unpreparedness was both a blessing and a threat. A blessing because I started the day fresh and with no apprehension. A threat, that is what Paul Alderson would find out. At a crossing, I suddenly said: « I need to take this street ». For some reason Paul trusts me and takes the same street. A shortcut through the hills. The road takes us up and down via some gravel paths. He starts regretting that he followed me on this one. In a small village, we had home-made pancakes with goat cheese in someone’s garden. But at the next crossing, Paul just followed the arrows on his GPS. We still had a memorable moment! 🙂 Descending I sang Bryan Adams.
Serbia offers fully loaded plum trees, live music, cevapi, lush nature, raspberry fields and serious climbs. My route takes me again over two mountain ranges. The shortcut is faster than Paul’s route, but undoubtedly harder too! I treat myself to some petrol station food and call my daughter in Cacak. She laughs at the name. And then it’s the evening stretch to Kragujevac. Time to reload all the batteries. Today was a shorter day because of the many climbs and my second puncture. But it was fun crossing rural Serbia like this!
In the morning, as usual, I spend 30 minutes checking social media and the other riders’ tracks. I notice that someone riding my planned route is struggling and made a U-turn. Has she seen a prohibition sign on the E road? This indication is a clear sign to activate my plan B. From where I am I will improvise a route towards the Danube and then follow Malte and the Paul’s until the allowed river crossing.
The day turns out to be a 250km time trial. I’m desperately hoping to catch the 3 Pauls and Lizzie and eat a spaghetti together. But they never stop! The flat terrain and calm wind invites them to continue. And so do I. I drink whenever I can. Zane Jakobsone keeps following the pace, despite the fact that every time I meet her she looks like she is going to scratch. 200km at 26km/h average without stopping. I think she was bluffing.
When we cross into Romania the civilisational shock is huge! We leave a quiet rural are of Serbia for a busy dual carriage way leading to a coal plant. The whole city of Turnu Severin looks like 10x Charleroi. Disposed waste burns in the open air. Stray dogs walk around. What is this place?!
I decide to pedal on and make it a 350km day. The hotel I booked in Târgu Jiu can wait for my arrival at midnight. I asked them if they could foresee something to eat. On my arrival, an old lady shows me the kitchen and pasta. I make myself a bolognese and feel at home. He daughter translates on the phone.
Tonight I feel like I have done a bit too much. It’s outpacing the stray dogs that got me. At a certain point I was sprinting at 40km/h to shake them off. That’s not ideal for your cardio at the end of such a long race. But I sleep well and only leave the city around 9am, after buying myself a spare tire of an excellent brand: Deli Tire. Don’t know yet if that will help me.
Next is the Transalpina pass (2100m), a steep monster climbing straight up from 300m to the top. Many Romanian tourists take their family up this road for a day trip. Therefore it’s full of cars of course! They are parked anywhere. I meet a tired Frank Scholler on the way up. Zane is again right behind me, and I manage to catch up with Lizzie before the summit. We descend together to CP4 where we have lunch together with Juris Skrebels (cap 146). He is feeling tired and has a short nap before climbing back up the pass.
I follow Lizzie’s rhythm who is rightly concerned about the 45km long gravel path that awaits. She was clever however to keep bread and food in her pockets. I only have 1,5l of water and trust on my legs for the rest. After 500m of cautious riding my both tires run flat. Damn, these GP5000s are brittle! While I’m repairing, I see Lizzie coming back on foot. Her tires are damaged and she wants to get new stuff before tackling the parcour tomorrow.
My decision is much more silly. With no food and almost no water left, I decide to keep going on. My front tire does not accept the patches, so I start walking until the path goes downhill. Juris catches me with his two valid tires. He has the wings to take him out of here, I don’t. So I need to hurry up, night is falling.
Finally the downhill part arrives. I start riding my bike on the front rim. The sound of metal on stone is excruciating. This could break my rim and end my TCR. But what other choice do I have? I want to get out of here asap. At Juris’ great surprise, I manage riding on gravel on the rim quite well. The survival instinct, perhaps. On the path, I meet a shepherd with 4 huge dogs. He walks me past them, as they may bite for real. Then it’s an endless dark path in the forest, my rim making ever more noise. The last 10km of the path are just inexistant. Huge canyons have formed due to the rain. Riding here means falling. I take these passages very cautiously.
After about 6 hours, at midnight, I finally reach the safe tarmac at the other side of parcour 4. It’s time now to put on my spare tire (Deli Tire) and the last tube that I have. We’ll see how much time that holds… 20km further I lay down under a roofing as it starts raining. What a hell of a day this was! And only 172km.
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Sebi Cicleta 