I’m not where I thought I’d be.
One of the joys of bike touring is that you can pretty much go where you like, and change your plans when you want. One of the pains of bike touring is that sometimes your plans get changed for you, and you have to miss things to keep moving.
So I’m in Italy today, when I should really be in either Slovenia or Austria. I’d better explain why, I suppose…
About two inches of rain fell in my part of Croatia on Saturday, in the couple of hours it took England to make a typically underwhelming start to Euro 2016. In contrast to the football, the lightning was pretty spectacular.
Then it rained all day on my day off (Sunday) too. Thankfully, my now well-tested bike chrysalis stood up to the deluge (above – a good reason to carry a tarp, even if you never use it to keep yourself dry). So the Beastlet was saved from drowning. And the rain failed to dampen the spirits of the locals, who celebrated Croatia’s first goal in the competition by lighting every flare in the marina, while running around in clouds of early-afternoon alcohol fumes (below).
But the rain was starting to get to me. You might have noticed that the last few posts had lost a little sparkle. Spending what has felt like weeks dodging thunderstorms wears you down eventually. But I think I’m also suffering from quite a bad case of end-of-trip blues. Of which more later.
Monday morning dawned cloudy and drizzly. Some time before I eventually woke up, needless to say. I was heading for Slovenia, my last ex-Yugoslav country. I’d been there on a brief work trip years ago, and was looking forward to heading north through the big hills, and reacquainting myself with the pretty capital, Ljubljana, and lovely Lake Bled.
But the central European storms are back. I’m not sure they ever really went away. I can’t imagine it’s been much fun for people who live there for the last few months, as storm after storm has just bombarded the whole area. But the weather forecast on Monday showed an area of storms nearly as big as Germany sitting all over the mountains to the north.
It looked like I could squeeze across the border before the rain hit on Monday, so I hammered along, trying not to notice the damage I was doing to my quads by climbing over a thousand vertical metres much too quickly. I suppose it’s good training for when I hit the Alps…
And I did just get under cover in Slovenia before the rain hit. And then got soaked to the skin just getting to the supermarket and back.
My only hope yesterday morning was that the weather forecast might have changed miraculously overnight. It hadn’t. At least three days of heavy electrical storms if I continued north. Electrical storms in the mountains are a terrible idea. Half a chance that the rain would be intermittent enough to keep moving if I swung out of the hills and made a run for the lowlands of north-east Italy.
Slovenia’s not a big country, but it is very pretty. So it seems very unfair that my enforced deflection from my intended route left me riding only about 40 miles of the country. And in the pleasant, but entirely unremarkable, south-western corner. So unremarkable that it wasn’t worth any photos. And I’ve missed out on clipping Austria before getting to Italy, too.
On the positive side, as the picture above may suggest, the plan seems to be working. There’s been occasional drizzle, black clouds, isolated showers, massive downpours overnight, and wet roads. But nothing that’s stopped me riding. Yet. And I’ll hopefully be able to get up into the Italian Alps to rejoin my intended route in a couple more days, when the weather has (hopefully) eased a bit up there.
Shops selling wine in milk cartons for less than 2 Euros a litre helps to ease the pain a little, too. As does access to lovely Italian food. And proper coffee. It’s nice to be back in Italy.
And that brings me back to those end-of-trip blues. I’ve had plenty of time on long, straight Italian (probably Roman) roads to reflect on why I’m feeling a bit off at the moment.
Getting back into Europe when I arrived in Greece was stage one. Things immediately got more familiar. Then I had the fascinating and beautiful Balkans, which were adventurous again. But ever since I began working my way up the Croatian coast, I’ve been in holiday country. People from all over Europe go to Croatia for their dose of summer sun and relaxation. Same with Italy. And it’ll be the same again with France. You know you’re back in Europe proper when every incline has a Dutch caravan on it.
The Italians have even named a phone network in my honour. So my phone now says ‘I Tim’ on it, just in case I ever forget my own name:
I think the problem is that these last few weeks before home feel more like a holiday than an adventure. It’s exactly six months today (Wednesday) since I pedalled away from Hanoi to begin part two of the round-the-world ride. And just over 23 months since I left London to begin the circumnavigation.
And after all those months and continents, after the big accident in Thailand, after the deserts, mountains, different cultures, and interesting people, it feels a bit like I’m already home. And that I’ve just nipped away for a couple of weeks’ break.
I should be enjoying feeling this comfortable, and having all the benefits of civilisation available on demand again. And I know that the idea of riding a bike across western Europe should be an exciting adventure in itself.
But it just feels a bit tame compared to Uzbekistan. Or Laos. Or Myanmar. Or even Georgia. Which is why I need to get back to the mountains. The Alps should snap me out of it. Just as long as it stops raining…