first my video day 7 and 8:
Polish Adventures: Mosquitoes, Manure & Mayhem
Swinemünde (Fähre) to Loučná nad Desnou to parcours 2(a):
626 km/ 3460 Hm
SUN, 26.07./MON, 27.07. – Days 7 and 8
A handful of fully loaded cyclists roll off the ferry ahead of the cars. For the first few kilometres, we all follow the same road, before gradually scattering in every direction again. It’s Sunday, so I don’t expect many shops to be open. Luckily, petrol stations are plentiful and, surprisingly, their selection is pretty good. I’ve also come prepared and made myself a few sandwiches at breakfast.
At some point, I realise I should probably pump up my tyres. The next bench looks like the perfect place to stop. Pump out, and off I go. I’ve barely unscrewed the first valve when I’m suddenly surrounded by mosquitoes. I start performing a rather energetic little dance to keep them at bay. Done – and off I go as quickly as possible.
The traffic is a little busier here. Perhaps it would be a good idea to put on my high-visibility vest. Only problem: where did I put it? I stop and start rummaging through my bags. And there they are again. The mosquitoes. I swat at them, keep searching, swat again. Stress!
The vest is nowhere to be found. So I go through all the bags once more. Finally, there it is – in a place where I would never have expected it. Normally, everything has its designated place. But when I’m in a hurry, I sometimes put something somewhere else and think: I’ll remember where I put it. Of course, I don’t.
Tip: Keep things meticulously organised. Always put everything back exactly where it belongs. With limited space inside bikepacking bags, searching for something can quickly become a time-consuming affair – and the more you rummage around, the bigger the mess gets.
Then comes the first little climb, nicely shaded by trees. The coolness is welcome relief for my increasingly itchy mosquito bites. I ride through a nature reserve, very beautiful, with a road in excellent condition. Until I have to turn right rather abruptly and, from that point on, the road surface is mostly a patchwork of repairs. Progress becomes considerably slower and bumpier.
The few cars coming from behind make quite a racket as their suspension tries to cope with the potholes and patched-up tarmac. Every now and then I meet another cyclist, but there aren’t many. Either everyone is already far ahead, or they have all found a more direct route.
I cycle through West Pomerania, a region strongly shaped by agriculture. It’s warm and increasingly humid.
The landscape is a mixture of forests, fields and lakes, with the occasional village in between. Unfortunately, the villages can be painful affairs, because the asphalt often gives way to uneven, sharp-edged cobblestones. Whenever possible, I move onto the sandy edge of the road. My bones – and especially my backside – are not particularly fond of this kind of massage.
In Sowno (Stargard), I take a short lunch break on a bench in the shade beside a statue. The last of my Swedish supplies have to do the job. It’s Sunday and the shops in Poland are closed – quite different from the north, where I had become used to finding somewhere to buy food almost everywhere.
Then it’s back to seemingly endless stretches of forest, fields and little villages. Eventually I reach Stargard, a somewhat larger town. I ride through the residential areas to avoid the bigger roads.
From Pełczyce (German: Bernstein), my route follows a historic railway line towards Barlinek.
Shortly after Barlinek (German: Berlinchen), it starts to rain. At first I shelter under a tree, hoping it will stop. It doesn’t. Before long, even the canopy of leaves is no longer much protection. So I put on my rain gear and carry on. There’s no point standing around here.
Eventually the rain stops and the road dries. So off comes the rain gear again – only to go back on not long afterwards. The next 70 kilometres are definitely going to be wet.
I haven’t completely given up on the idea of putting up my tent tonight, but if I do, it’s looking increasingly likely to be a rather damp affair. It has just started drizzling again. Still, hope springs eternal.
I reach Skwierzyna, the end of my planned section, at around 9 p.m. It’s raining again – or perhaps it never really stopped. At a petrol station, it’s time to refuel myself and recharge my devices. The wet conditions aren’t helping. The cables won’t charge properly on the bike and I discover that my power bank isn’t working either. Is it empty? Or what?
I’m not alone here. Once again, I bump into another TCR rider. Samuel is also charging his devices and is just as undecided about what to do. He wants to keep going.
The rain gets heavier. My plan to ride another 25 kilometres and pitch my tent at a forest parking area is looking increasingly unrealistic. I start looking for a hotel and, three kilometres away, actually find one.
Two friendly women take me in. The entrance to the hotel is behind the building, which looks rather like a little haunted castle in the darkness. And by now, it really is pitch black.
A cluttered storage room is to become my bike’s accommodation for the night. When the door creaks open, a black cat suddenly hisses and jumps out at me. Lovely.
I make it very clear – several times – that I intend to leave again at around 3:30 a.m. and therefore need access to my bike in the locked garage. I’m not entirely sure they have understood. At least they show me the emergency exit. And the girl tells me that my bike will be waiting for me. Whatever that is supposed to mean.
I remain slightly suspicious.
Only later do I discover that Tobias has also found refuge in this same hotel.
next day
MON, 27.07. – Day 8
TCR No12 – 300 Kilometres, a Shower and Many Doubts
Everything works out and at around three o’clock I’m back on the road. It’s still raining – or raining again.
I still haven’t found the time to wash myself. And in this weather, how would anything washed actually dry?
In the dim light, I spot a cycle path alongside the road and decide to take it. Not a good idea. The surface is awful and covered with bumps caused by tree roots. I quickly move back onto the road. Fortunately, there is very little traffic at this hour.
Only later will I realise that I had just “overtaken” Christoph Strasser here. He had actually dropped out several days earlier.
The route is pleasantly flat. Of the almost 300 kilometres I will ride today, there are only around 1,000 metres of climbing. Forests, meadows, villages, then forest again, meadows and small towns. I’m rolling right across the country and hardly see another TCR rider.
Eventually I meet Jan and Mirjam. We ride the same route for a while before our paths split again. They will later withdraw from the race at around kilometre 2,500.
In fact, almost everyone who is around me at this stage will eventually leave the race. I now have 2,000 kilometres in my legs.
I leave Wrocław (Breslau) to my left. I prefer to roll along quieter, traffic-calmed roads.
It’s quite funny how you arrive at a junction and suddenly another “competitor” appears from the other direction. A quick chat, and at the next junction we head off in our separate directions again.
Whenever someone chooses a different road, a little doubt immediately creeps in: Did they just find the better option? Have I made the wrong choice? A little TCR overthinking is apparently part of the experience.
I feel a little homesick when I pass a sign saying Bożeń. If I were in our Bolzano right now, I’d only have about 40 kilometres left to get home.
It’s getting warmer and more humid. Thirst and hunger send me into a shop in Wołów to replenish my supplies. There’s nothing particularly exciting about the place, and the woman at the checkout is decidedly unfriendly.
Perhaps my appearance has become a little suspicious by now. Not exactly clean, completely loaded with bikepacking bags and probably somewhere between a cyclist and a homeless person. I really need to come up with a solution.
A short while later, I stop again at a BP petrol station in Krępice. When I see the toilet, an idea begins to form. I ask quickly.
Yes – I’m allowed to take a shower and wash my clothes!
The fact that I manage to flood practically the entire bathroom in the process is taken with remarkable calm.
I hang my freshly washed clothes on my bike, and the staff immediately start tidying up behind me. So kind!
I refuel myself by eating my way through the selection on offer. There are delicious half-metre-long sandwiches. After far too long a break, and after checking several times that none of my clothes can possibly get caught in the spokes, I set off again.
It’s now late afternoon.
The wind is initially blowing strongly straight into my face. At some point it apparently has a change of heart – or perhaps I change direction – and suddenly I have a little tailwind. What a luxury!
The landscape becomes hillier.
Then I spot a large roadworks sign. Naturally, it’s in Polish. Some road is apparently closed from kilometre XY onwards. I ignore it.
A few kilometres later, another warning appears. And suddenly I start wondering: What if this is actually my road?
I have a slightly uneasy feeling.
There is indeed a construction site and several gravel sections, but luckily I manage to get through everything. It would have been a small disaster if I had had to turn around and replan my route on the go. After all these kilometres, I really have absolutely no desire to do that.
The sun is getting low. Earlier today I had hardly any climbing to do, but now the road keeps heading uphill. I do a quick calculation. More than 300 kilometres in my legs today – no wonder even the small hills are starting to feel rather substantial.
The sun slowly disappears and I’m lost in thought. Will I find a hotel room in the next town? That would be rather nice after such a long day.
Then a cyclist appears, coming towards me.
It’s Jarek, a dotwatcher, as he introduces himself. How cool! I certainly hadn’t expected to be intercepted by someone out here.
He takes a few pictures and, as we pass a kind of chapel, tells me a rather spooky story about it. Fortunately, I won’t remember the story later, when I’m putting up my tent in the dark.
It’s almost completely dark when Jarek says goodbye and I roll into Ziębice.
Perfect. In my planning, I had chosen exactly this place as a possible overnight stop – preferably, of course, in a hotel.
I stop at a petrol station and then head straight to the supermarket. At the same time, I try to persuade Booking to find me a room.
Naturally, there is nothing available anywhere nearby.
But it’s dry and not cold. So why not put up the tent after all?
I ride on, looking for a suitable spot. Three kilometres outside town, near the village of Biernacice, I find something that isn’t exactly the ideal campsite. But between a manure tanker trailer – how romantic – and a pile of timber, conveniently positioned for leaning my bike against, it seems good enough.
I get started with the usual routine: groundsheet down, tent fabric spread out, pegs pushed into the ground.
In the distance, I hear a dog.
Then a beam of light suddenly moves across the field towards me.
Oh dear.
A young man shines the light straight into my face and asks what I’m doing here. I try to explain that I only want to sleep for four hours and then continue riding, and that I didn’t know where I was supposed to ask for permission.
We manage a rather improvised conversation in English. Eventually he understands what I’m trying to do and seems reassured.
Then he asks whether I have enough food and something to drink.
I enthusiastically assure him that I have everything I need and explain once again that I would be very happy if I could stay here.
Luckily, I’m allowed to.
My improvised campsite between the manure tanker and the pile of timber is officially approved.
What more could I ask for?
Through the Czech Republic and into Slovakia
TUE, 28.07. – Day 9
I have been here for three hours, two of which I spent sleeping, and it is raining. So I pack up my tent while it is still wet and set off again. As I ride, my phone is charging very slowly, but at least it is charging. I see a sign for a MediaMarkt and briefly consider going there, but I would have to wait until it opens. Perhaps some moisture has simply got into the phone, or maybe there is something wrong with the cables – but with all of them? Unlikely. I decide to try charging everything at the next petrol station.
The Czech border is getting close. Just over 50 kilometres separate me from Wiesenberg, or Loučná nad Desnou in Czech, where the next mandatory section, Parcours 2(a), begins. Three smaller climbs with a total of around 1,000 metres of elevation gain are still ahead of me. Aha. After all those fairly flat stretches, things are finally getting serious. And I am certainly not carrying less luggage. If anything, I seem to have even more hanging off the bike.
I reach the Czech border quickly. In Vápenná I find a bakery and happily work my way through the selection. Now I am properly fuelled for the three little mountains – although with 1,000 metres of climbing, they are not really all that little. The route initially follows a quiet road through a small valley. Along the way, Kiki and Andreas catch up with me. Then comes the descent towards Wiesenberg, the starting point of Parcours 2(a). A handful of TCR riders are gathered once again in a small supermarket.
Among other things, I buy an instant vegetable and chicken soup. One of the shop assistants is kind enough to bring me some hot water. As for the other products, I stare at them like a cow looking at a new gate. Everything is in Czech. I have to be careful not to end up like Andreas, who accidentally buys a bottle of syrup instead of apple juice.
Parcours 2(a)
Once again, I am the last one to tear myself away from the supermarket. Eventually I set off alone, climbing towards Dlouhé stráně, the country’s huge pumped-storage reservoir, one of the most impressive technical structures in the Czech Republic and reputedly one of the country’s “seven wonders”. Luckily, the climb is mostly in the shade. But it is fairly steep. Hauling 22 kilos uphill is not exactly a walk in the park. I have almost 900 metres of climbing ahead of me here, after already doing around 1,000 metres this morning. And another 1,800 metres are still to come.
As I climb, I suddenly find myself in the middle of the tourist crowds around the Kouty cable-car station. I lean my bike against a large wooden frame to take a quick panoramic photo. A man gets annoyed with me: this is not a place to leave a bike. He wants to take a photo here. So do I. Once the misunderstanding is cleared up, we end up taking photos of each other. From the Kouty cable-car station, I continue battling my way uphill. Better keep well to the right! From above, countless people of all ages come flying down on Mountain Scooters – basically scooters with big MTB tyres.
Eventually I reach the huge reservoir and ride the loop around the upper basin. The pumped-storage power station is one of the Czech Republic’s most impressive technical constructions. The enormous reservoir sits at around 1,350 metres above sea level, right on top of the mountain. Curiously, I don’t actually see the reservoir while climbing. I simply ride around underneath it and keep wondering why there is a lake showing on my Garmin map.
Then comes a long descent. Along the way, I stop once again and hang my tent over a roadside railing to dry. You make do with what you have. And soon the second climb of this Parcours begins. I am a little apprehensive about it. Surprisingly, the gradient is quite pleasant at first. Then the tarmac turns into gravel. And the pleasant part is over. Steep, rocky and like that almost all the way to the top. Once again it is time for some hike & bike. And all this despite the planning apps showing tarmac. Yes, technically there is tarmac – just a few little patches here and there between lots of gravel and countless sharp stones.
At 1,492 metres, Praděd is the highest mountain in the Hrubý Jeseník range and the highest point in Moravia and Upper Silesia. It is therefore a real tourist magnet. The summit is absolutely heaving with people. Unfortunately, there is nothing left to eat. I cannot even buy an ice cream because they only accept Czech cash. So I descend a little and stop at a mountain hut for soup and cake. That counts as high-altitude fuelling.
Then I set off again and enjoy a long descent – around 70 kilometres towards Opava. At Lidl I stock up for the next morning’s breakfast and, naturally, continue riding with even more weight on the bike. It is becoming something of a habit.
Then I see a road sign: a road is closed or diverted because of construction. I decide to try it anyway. A motorist cannot really help me because of the language barrier. So I ride downhill. And keep riding downhill. The thought of having to climb all the way back up does not appeal to me at all. Eventually a cyclist comes towards me who speaks English. He reassures me: the road is closed because a new bridge is being built, but bicycles can get through. Good. Onwards.
A few kilometres later, exactly the same thing happens again. Road closed. I carry on anyway. Another five kilometres downhill. Having to turn around now would be rather annoying. A huge tractor approaches from behind. I point ahead and pull a questioning face. The driver makes a hand gesture that could mean practically anything – turn back or carry on? Things remain exciting. Eventually I roll into the next village, where they seem to be laying some sort of pipes. Water pipes? This suddenly reminds me that I have no water left. A man who is sweeping up freshly cut grass outside his house is kind enough to fill my bottle.
Then I reach Opava. The sun is setting, and I decide to stop at a petrol station once again. Who knows when I will next be able to buy anything? And, most importantly, I really need to charge my phone. I also buy a new USB cable. Unfortunately, they only have 1.5-metre ones. At this point, a few extra grams are hardly going to make a difference… As soon as I connect the new cable, all the other ones suddenly start working again too. Damn!
Then the road starts climbing again. It gets dark. Very dark, because my route takes me through a forest. A proper Dracula forest. It is rather creepy. But Dracula was in Romania, wasn’t he? I call Hermann to distract myself for a while. Then I am alone again. Are there wolves here? Eventually the forest gives way to fields and I reach inhabited areas again. It is strange: whenever I descend, it suddenly becomes freezing cold, while higher up the air is pleasantly warm. So I will have to choose my sleeping spot accordingly.
But where am I going to sleep? No idea. I join a cycle path running alongside a small river. The village stretches on for quite a while, with houses everywhere. And then I find the perfect spot: a small park in Stará Ves nad Ondřejnicí. Under the sheltering canopy of a large tree, I put up my tent. I can lean my bike against the trunk. Perfect. I have planned for around five hours here, at least one of which will be spent setting up and taking down the tent. The only question is whether someone will come and tell me to leave. Luckily, no one does.
WED, 29.07. – Day 10 – Into Slovakia and towards CP2
I sleep undisturbed, pack up my tent and have breakfast practically at the same time: a few Oreo biscuits and a can of cappuccino. The route initially continues along a cycle path, then follows quiet roads. I am now entering the northern foothills of the Western Carpathians.
A warning in advance: today is going to be a day of dawdling and suffering. It is already quite hot in the morning, and my legs feel heavy. First stop: bakery. From the Šance reservoir on the Ostravice River, I turn onto the main road towards the Slovakian border. It is wide and well surfaced, but very twisty, and the drivers seem to particularly enjoy speeding along it. I do not feel entirely comfortable, as visibility is limited in places. Through the wooded Beskids I continue via Bílá and Konečná to the Bílá–Klokočov border crossing. On the other side is Slovakia.
Then almost 50 kilometres of downhill. Second stop: a bus shelter. I stop, take off a few layers and apply some sunscreen, and end up chatting to two elderly women. One of them speaks German because she worked in Vienna when she was younger. She is impressed by what I am doing. That gives me a little boost, and I set off again in better spirits.
But soon comes the next stop. In Čadca I head to a supermarket. I probably will not find another decent place to restock before Parcours 2(b), around 150 kilometres further on in Liptovský Mikuláš. And if I arrive there too late, I may have to wait until the following day before I can buy anything. So I stock up again. The result is predictable: I now have even more weight to haul over the mountains in the heat.
After a few navigational difficulties, I finally find my way out of town. Shortly afterwards I join a cycle path that winds along a river. I am happy to accept a few extra kilometres if it means getting away from the traffic. In Krásno nad Kysucou I turn onto the popular Bystrická cyklomagistrála cycle route.
Then I am tempted by the direct route. And suddenly I find myself high above the cycle path. Between me and the route is a steep, rocky slope. There is absolutely no way down to it. I have to turn around. More than two kilometres of detour eventually bring me back to the correct route.
Today really isn’t my lucky day.
Tip: Trust the route on your navigation device and don’t try to invent shortcuts. Sometimes the navigation really does know better.
The cycle path then follows an old railway line along a beautifully shaded section beside the river that gave the route its name. And suddenly the yawning attacks begin. Just what I needed. Another stop: power nap.
Then I continue towards a small pass, Sedlo Lutiška. At the top I take a short reward break on a bench. One has to treat oneself occasionally.
After the descent, I stop at a petrol station in Terchová. Ice cream and Coke. Maris is sitting here asleep. I have to keep going. The next climb begins. During the final kilometre, the road becomes so steep that I have to get off and push the bike. And this is right in the middle of the midday heat. I am painfully slow.
I climb over Rovná hora towards Demkovská, a small tourist spot in the heart of Malá Fatra. Then comes a long descent through Lučivná and Párnica. But as soon as my legs stop pedalling, the sleepiness returns. I yawn. And yawn again. At some point I feel as if I simply cannot keep my eyes open any longer. Not again. Another short power nap.
Tip: When you feel a sleep attack coming on, it is better to stop and take a short break, ideally 10–20 minutes. Otherwise there is a risk of microsleep, which is extremely dangerous and can cause an accident. After ten minutes with my eyes closed, even if I do not actually fall asleep, I usually feel much fresher. I have also discovered what my microsleep feels like: my eyes do not actually close. With my eyes open, it is as if a curtain suddenly drops in front of me for a fraction of a second.
So: stop, sleep, continue.
By now I have made an incredible number of stops. If I had skipped some of them, I would have reached CP2 earlier and could have enjoyed a nice, long night’s rest. “If only, if only… shoulda, woulda, coulda!”
From Párnica I continue through the broad Orava Valley towards Dolný Kubín. And this is where things become seriously unpleasant. On the main road towards Dolný Kubín, countless trucks thunder past me at considerable speed. Whenever possible, I escape onto small side roads through the villages. The downside is that I am constantly going up and down. I would rather take a few extra metres of elevation than endure this truck hell.
Unfortunately, I cannot avoid the main road completely. The stretch to Dolný Kubín becomes much more exhausting and stressful than it looks on the map. Finally I can turn left towards Malatiná and leave the truck traffic behind.
What a relief!
Now I am back on small roads, although there are still some hefty little climbs. But first, another stop at a petrol station. And here I cross a personal culinary boundary: I eat the first hot dog of my life. At some point during the TCR, you have to cross a few culinary borders.
Once again I take a detour while my fellow competitors apparently choose the more direct route. Another mountain gets in my way. Completely unnecessary elevation gain. One has to treat oneself occasionally. Before that, naturally, there is a yoghurt and Müller Milchreis stop.
Parcours 2(b) and CP2
In the late afternoon – thanks to all those stops – I finally reach Malatiná, the beginning of Parcours 2(b). This is not at all what I had imagined. The route climbs steeply over a thick layer of gravel. Time to push. Then come muddy tracks. After that, root-covered trails, followed by a long descent across a freshly mown meadow. Nathan is somewhere around me. It is reassuring not to be completely alone in this remote landscape.
After one descent and two particularly nasty climbs comes the next section of the Parcours: the route leads through the impressive Kvačianska Dolina. In places the path is so rocky and difficult, with little stone steps thrown in, that I have to get off and push the bike again and again. I completely lose my rhythm: get off, push, get back on, get off again. Eventually I stop swearing and simply accept my fate.
Along the way I pass a viewing platform with a rather eerie view deep down into the gorge. With a fully loaded bike, this section is definitely more adventure than leisurely cycling.
Nathan is faster than me, but then he gets stuck somewhere with a mechanical problem. Apart from the fact that I am completely hopeless when it comes to bike mechanics, I would not be allowed to help him anyway. It is one of the strict rules of the race.
After endless ups and downs, I finally reach Liptovský Mikuláš. My plan is simple: do a little more shopping at the supermarket and then check into the guesthouse I have booked. It is conveniently located on the route towards Demänovská Dolina.
Penzion Fortuna.I hope nomen est omen and that it really does bring me luck. Because I still do not quite believe that I can make it to Kalamata in less than ten days.
At around 9:30 pm I tackle the climb towards the end of the Parcours. The 600 metres of elevation gain over roughly ten kilometres do not feel particularly difficult in the coolness of the approaching night. Then I reach the top and start looking for CP2 in the dark. Without success. It is supposed to be at Hillview Jasna Chalet. There is a Hotel Jasna up here. Everything is dark. A little further down I spot a Penzion Jasna.
No one there either. Now what? I have already been wandering around up here for about half an hour. My last resort is to call the event phone number. Hopefully I have a signal.
In fact, I know the answer to the mystery. My planning had even taken the change into account. The problem was that after the organisers changed the location, I had never recreated the track. The CP structure is actually about four kilometres further down.
So I turn around, finally get the much-coveted stamp – with a very comfortable margin of around twelve hours on the time limit – and then head back down to my guesthouse. A shame about the lost sleep. I had hoped to take a slightly longer break tonight. At quarter to one, I am finally in bed.
The next morning I am rewarded with a wonderful breakfast: several kinds of eggs, fruit, vegetables, muesli, yoghurt, fresh bread and much more. A little piece of heaven after these two days. Then, unfortunately, it is time to say goodbye to the lovely owner and leave Penzion Fortuna.
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