Munich (Germany) - Tolmin (Slovenia)
From Munich there is a well-trodden route for bike travellers going east to the end of Europe at the Bosporus straits in Istanbul. It follows the Danube cycle path that runs from Germany along the famous river all the way to the Black sea, and apparently it's scenic and gently downhill most of the way - useful when your loaded steed weighs around 45kg.
However, like surfers soulful relationship with the sea, so mountains have the same powerful draw for me and whether I'm riding through them, mtbing down them or running and climbing over them, I always long to be amongst their majestic stature and feel the freedom and peace that comes from being amongst them. And thus once it seemed that most of the passes in the Alps should be clear of snow by the time I arrived at their foothills in early April, the decision was already made, and I went about plotting a route over the biggest passes I could find en route to Eastern Europe.
I left Munich through the massive deserted Oktoberfest festival area and resolved to return to experience it one day before cranking hard on the pedals alongside a river whose waters would lead me to the mountains. A few hours later I got a first glimpse of the first lofty white peaks and a few hours after that I was pedalling through the still snowy foothills and climbed up to a great campsite alongside an alpine lake.
Morning arrived with a healthy dusting of snow that continued throughout the morning's ride to pelt my eyes just to squarely test the naive African's obsession with this rare white stuff (note: still stoked on it).
However, like surfers soulful relationship with the sea, so mountains have the same powerful draw for me and whether I'm riding through them, mtbing down them or running and climbing over them, I always long to be amongst their majestic stature and feel the freedom and peace that comes from being amongst them. And thus once it seemed that most of the passes in the Alps should be clear of snow by the time I arrived at their foothills in early April, the decision was already made, and I went about plotting a route over the biggest passes I could find en route to Eastern Europe.
I left Munich through the massive deserted Oktoberfest festival area and resolved to return to experience it one day before cranking hard on the pedals alongside a river whose waters would lead me to the mountains. A few hours later I got a first glimpse of the first lofty white peaks and a few hours after that I was pedalling through the still snowy foothills and climbed up to a great campsite alongside an alpine lake.
Morning arrived with a healthy dusting of snow that continued throughout the morning's ride to pelt my eyes just to squarely test the naive African's obsession with this rare white stuff (note: still stoked on it).
And so for the next week I blissfully rode through endless magnificent landscapes and relished the chance to haul my beast of burden up into the sky. Just in time my legs had finally remembered what they're capable of and I rode for 12hrs a day for no other reason than for the exuberance that comes with cranking out the miles through the crisp thinning air of the high mountains.
I'd even started to manage the cold and happily made camp at -10 deg, now learning how to constantly layer on and off to retain and shed heat as is so vitally important as the mercury dives.
I'd even started to manage the cold and happily made camp at -10 deg, now learning how to constantly layer on and off to retain and shed heat as is so vitally important as the mercury dives.
As Germany gave way to Austria and the former Winter Olympic town of Innsbruck, so the Brenner pass ceded the road to the Italians and the mighty dolomites started to appear. With their characteristic craggy peaks they were even more dramatic and I changed my route to stay in the mountains instead of heading out through eastern Italy and continued east towards Slovenia and the start of the Balkans.
In a fitting finale, the remote pass I'd chosen out of the Alps and into Slovenia was 700m of brutally steep climbing with my weighty steed, but I happily stomped on the pedals and sweated my way up, and with a short trudge through the snow at the top I thanked the big mountains for reinvigorating me and, content but shattered, I coasted down into the Balkans.
