Wingin it on two wheels: February 2018

We rode across the border on the warmest January day in living memory for Serbs. Temps were just tickling under 18 degrees, we were riding in t-shirts and loving life with our phenomenal meteorological luck. The border crossing was cruisy with a friendly and chatty border guard who hadn’t seen too many Canadians at this obscure little crossing. With a fresh stamp in our passports we were on our way into our first country that has no connection with the EU.

Our first couple days riding into Serbia involved cycling through a pleasant National Park, along a high forested ridge and then descending along a former river canyon to the Sava River, a major tributary to the Danube. Houses now fill the canyon, which in turn fill it with a haze from wood fired ovens and furnaces. We had entered the country the day before the Orthodox Christmas and all through the forest people were out harvesting oak branches, brown leaves still attached, which are used for Christmas trees and decoration. We stopped in the small city of Sremska Mitrovica, stocked up on a few days worth of supplies and the world’s cheapest sim card and headed out to a random little town named Bogatic. At first, Bogatic was only notable to us for having the cheapest accommodation in the region. We’d ridden around 250km in 3 days, and about 550km since Budapest, with only one good rest day. Sometimes it’s nice to rest somewhere where there really isn’t anything to do. We had a rest day in Pecs in Hungary, but we were on our feet for about 6 hours exploring the city. In Nasice, Croatia there’s not much to see and it rained so we didn’t leave the apartment, which was fine with us! Bogatic, as it turned out, did have one attraction worth noting; hot springs! We were tipped off by a tap right in front of our guesthouse that was piping up 80 degree water, which people collected in plastic bottles. We looked around and ended up spending Christmas morning soaking for hours in a hot pool!

We had another nice surprise that afternoon. The owner of the guesthouse invited us for Christmas dinner with her family and friends. We joined them around the table for a lovely dinner of roast goat, salads, local cheese and deserts. We drank homemade wine (and were given a bottle for the road) and drank homemade rakia, the local spirit made from plums. It was one of the best experiences of the trip, and we had some great conversations about life in Serbia.

The next morning we hit the road, with about 20km of highway to ride before heading off into the forest. Other than Elaine’s pedal falling off mid-stroke for no apparent reason, it was an uneventful 20km. We turned off the highway, rode passed an old Orthodox Monastery and into a forest park called Cer. On google maps it appears as a tertiary highway, which in Serbia could be anything. In this case it was basically a logging road that wound its way up to 700m, along a ridge with panoramic views over Serbia in all directions. After a good night sleep overlooking a small village, we had a 10km descent back to the main highway where we pedaled along for another 20km before darting off into a convoluted web of farm roads. These narrow roads twisted and turned through the rolling hills. Sometimes they were broken pavement, sometimes gravel and often just greasy mud. People stared at us curiously, a few tried to ask us questions (no common language here), but most just smiled and waved as we peeked into their yards and got a glimpse of the rural small farm life. The farms themselves were simple, usually a small house and a few outbuildings. Everyone had grapes, some just enough for making wine and others with a couple acres. Fruit trees abound, chickens plentiful and few people also kept a couple pigs or sheep. It was a simple peaceful life of subsistence living. Of the dozens of farms we passed, no one was making money off these places. They had enough for themselves with a bit extra to take to the market.

We got lost more than a few times, but eventually found our way. We scaled another high pass, and camped on a knoll overlooking a spectacular valley as the sun set. In the morning we had 20kms of highway winding its way along a canyon and descending into the Drina river valley which marks the natural border with Bosnia and Herzegovina. We followed the meandering river, stopping only once to be searched by a police officer. He was friendly enough while doing his job. He asked us a lot of questions about Canada (he’d never met a Canadian tourist in Serbia), mostly about how the police operate and whether or not they could do what he was doing. We explained that police needed a good reason to go through your stuff, not just because you happen to be passing by. He seemed to lose interest in our belongings, though suggested we might be carrying weed since he thought it was now legal in Canada. Eventually he went on about the abusive American police (Ooosa, he called it, pronouncing the U.S.A as a word) and defending Serbian actions against Bosnia (“we weren’t fighting Muslims; we were fighting the Mujahedeen, same as ISIS!” This is actually partly true, as there were between 500 and up to 5000 Mujahedeen fighting alongside the Bosnian Army, though it is, as usual, complicated since they weren’t exactly invited and it’s suspicious how they actually got there). Soon enough we were on our way, stocking up on food and water in Bajina Basta and heading out to the Drina Dam to start our way up some more switch backs.

The steep switchbacks made for difficult camping options, but in the dying light we found a spot off the road with a bit of cover. It wasn’t level, and you risked stepping out of the tent and falling down a 300ft embankment, but it was good enough for us. In the morning we woke to rain and fog, took down our saggy, wet tent and started climbing. The road travelled high above the Drina, up 1000m of switchbacks and tunnels over 10kms. It kept climbing, past the snowline and eventually reached the boundaries of Tara National Park. We’d had high hopes of crossing the rugged roads and trails through the park and coming out on the other side, right at the Bosnian border, but a quick conversation with a local in Mitrovac ruled out that possibility. The snow was over a meter deep on the road and trails, he said. We’d hoped it hadn’t accumulated that much and the 2 weeks of warmth beforehand would have made them passable. We were assured it was impossible and decided to take his advice and go the long way on the park road to Kremna. The road was quiet, only a Croatian family on a road trip from Zagreb were seen. They saw us stopped on the road and struck up a conversation. We were on the same trip, in opposite directions, so we exchanged tips and went on our way. For the rest of the day and much of the next we cruised downhill, zig zagging through canyons to the Bosnian border and eventually back to the Drina River in Visegrad, the Republic of Sprska, Bosnia and Herzegovina.