September 23rd Filling the gap( 2) Ban Brestovac to Belgade centre

September 23^rd  Filling the gap( 2)  Ban Brestovac to Belgade centre 46 kms

I knew this had to be the final day of riding and so I really savoured the first 20 kilometres to the outskirts of Panchevo  where the traffic began to build. I had thought that Sunday would be quieter on the roads but this didn’t seem to be the case. Already in Kovin there was more activity than yesterday: people shopping at the market down the road, boys off to football games, farmers to their fields on tractors, men gathering in the cafes, but not many people, it would seem, going to church. By the time, later in the day when we got to Belgrade, everyone seemed to be working.

Nowhere was work more obvious than in Starveco on the outskirts of Panchevo at the enormous and brand new power station complex that seemed to be in the process of being completed. Men were swarming all over the shiny machinery. At the main gates an electronic machine proudly displayed its virgin nine sets of zero ready, presumably, to start showing how much power the complex was generating. It was startling to see this immensely sophisticated power station as a backdrop to two horses and carts, mother and father on the front seat and the children in the cart clutching the iron chain to keep their balance.

I took to the tree-lined pavements, and followed Katherine into the large town of Panchevo. A pleasant bicycle track followed the canal for a short distance but then petered out and took to the very busy main road into Belgrade. Afraid of losing each other at the very last minute and by no means sure of where we would meet in Belgrade we decided to put the bike in the car and drive to the bridge over the Danube from where I would cycle into the centre (to be exact, to the elevator for cycles on the Bratstvo I jedinstvo bridge over the River Sava). Katherine would then drive back to Panchevo where I would meet her. In this way all of the missed section between Belgrade and Veliko Gradiste would have been made up.

And thus the final sting in the tail began. There was no problem driving across the Danube Bridge and parking in a petrol station on the far side. I cycled up the November 29^th Street, most of the time on the pavement, into the Square of the Republic, past the bus station and down to the bridge where I photographed myself reflected in the glass of the elevator. And so back to the Danube bridge.

Now my difficulties began. Getting on to the bridge required threading a tricky path through complicated and slip shod road works and snarling, incessantly horn-blowing, smelly traffic. Once on the slipway it was necessary to balance on the metre wide so-called sidewalk, which was cracked, potholed and covered in gravel, litter and broken glass. Halfway down the slipway the sidewalk degenerated completely into broken tarmac. On the bridge proper, the old, rusting, dirty green central girders flanking the railway that runs along the centre of the bridge, reared up intimidatingly, and the traffic raced past centimetres from the slightly raised pavement. Possibly, this long kilometre or so across this monstrous bridge was the worst bit of riding of the entire 4000 kilometres. I confess to pushing the bicycle a part of the way, which did at least allow me to gaze down on the lonely fishermen in skiffs in the middle of the river beneath this shaking, pulsating bridge and wonder what on earth propelled them every Sunday afternoon to go fishing there, of all places, when they had acres of empty water elsewhere to go fishing in.

Eventually I made it (safely) to the other side, and then amazingly, after negotiating a small, drab, housing estate, I was in the countryside, completely alone, riding along a last unpaved embankment with a thick belt of trees protecting me from the busy road to my left and a maze of creeks, green ponds, dead tree stumps and vegetation to my right. I slowed down, I was quite tired anyway, and enjoyed the solitude, and the feel of my Cannondale bicycle that had served me so reliably for more than 4000 kms as it bounced, the last few kilometres, over the hard mud of the track.

46 kms Total from Schaffhausen 2155 kms  Grand total from Galway 4065 kms

September 22nd Filling the gap (1) Veliko Gradiste to Ban Brestovac

September 22^nd  Filling the gap (1)  Veliko Gradiste to Ban Brestovac   81 kms

The penultimate day of riding, and I certainly made the most of it this lovely warm late September Saturday morning. Even though I am tired I know I am going to miss these wonderful mornings, when turning the first pedals of the day is such a joy.Yesterday Katherine and I had driven back along the Danube Gorge to Veliko Gradiste so that today and tomorrow I could complete the section between there and Belgrade that I hadn’t done, so that I might honestly claim to have ridden (literally) every centimetre from Galway to Romania.

The ferry from Ram leaves only every three hours and we had to catch the midday departure. The Danube was magnificent this morning as I crossed the Silver Lake dam and then lingered along the easy route on the top of the levee with scores of fishermen. The low rounded hills of Romania on the far bank looked to be very close and the river after yesterday’s turbulence was calm. Up over the low hill and I was coasting down into the tiny village of Ram.

The ferry did not leave on time but I was in Stara Palanka before one o’clock.  The route to Kovin, north of the river, not described in my out of date guide book but well directed with Eurovelo 6 indicators, was very agreeable. To describe it as flat, as my friend from the bicycle shop in Zemun had, was a bit of an exaggeration but the climbing is very gradual, the views almost 360 degrees and the traffic minimal. The woods gave way to some open moorland and I was in my element. My thoughts were all of the earlier forty days of riding, forgetting the frustrations in the sheer joy of riding a bicycle.

But I was tiring. A chap on a mountain bike cruised past me who normally I would have kept pace with. At Kovin I passed  the 4000 kilometre mark from Galway and I was beginning to feel it. We wasted some time in the town trying to find the way out (not for the first time, I might add) and by the time I had reached Ban Brestovac after a 6 or 7 kilometre straight line  with the low late afternoon sun in my eyes I was ready to stop for the day. There were only a few kilometres left to the elevator on     Bridge in Belgrade left to do tomorrow and in any case I will only brave the Belgrade traffic on a Sunday.

81 kms Total from Schaffhausen 2109 kms  Total from Galway  4019 kms

September 21st Stage 50 Romanian border via Severin to Tismana

September 21^st  Stage 50  Romanian border via Severin to Tismana   40kms

We have run out of time! Today is the furthest east we will get this year. I rode from the Iron Gates dam with the fierce wind that any moment threatened to toss me into the extremely heavy traffic and into Drobeta-Turnu Severin which, after a preliminary bad impression, surprised me with its pleasant parks and wide boulevards.  At Simian I had lost most of the traffic and after Hinova I was in the Romanian countryside. Knowing that I had only an hour or so of riding left I lingered along the 56B (I was also struggling against the extremely strong cross wind that was whipping the waters of the Danube into a frenzy) the better to appreciate my last views of this great river whose course I had been following for so long. Katherine and I wanted to find a quiet spot beside the river to “celebrate”  and turned off to Tismana. But the road ran out into a scrubby track and that was where we called it a day! We still have a missed section between Ram and Belgrade to fill in, which I must do tomorrow and Sunday morning, if we are to be completely serious about our route, and we are already late.

And so for the moment, that’s it! More than 2000 kms from Schaffhausen and if I successfully fill the gap tomorrow more than 4000 kms from Galway. But I am not at the Black Sea which was the objective. There will have to be a part three to this narrative, next spring, when I will return to finish the job, either along the rest of the Danube or over the mountains to the north.

40 kms Total from Schaffhausen 2028 kms Total from Galway 3938 kms

Today in Romania we have at last seen the BLUE Danube. The final day  heading east for this part of the trip ( next spring we hope will see us finish the journey ) was  sunny but incredibly windy and the river looked splendid, not only because of the colour, but the waves with their “white horses” and the water birds skimming the surface left a great final impression. There’s lots to look forward to when we return. Katherine

September 20th Stage 49 Donji Milanovac to the Romanian border ( Drobeta-Turnu Severin.)

September 20^th Stage 49  Donji Milanovac to the Romanian border ( Drobeta-Turnu Severin.) 53 kms

We could have entered Romania two days ago but I think we made the right decision to follow the Serbian side of the Danube Gorge. Today, despite the poor weather which turned even worse as the day went by, the riding was exciting and the views exhilarating. The two really narrow sections of the river at Cazanele Mari and at Cazanele Mici looked appropriately spectacular and threatening in the morning gloom, especially as the road climbs and the greater elevation makes for a wider and deeper viewpoint. With the change in weather again the wind was behind me and I hummed along, able to ignore the heavier rain in my enjoyment of the landscape. The only blot on that landscape (almost literally) were two long tunnels. The first at Cazanele Mari is 374 metres long and pitch black. I was cursing my inadequate lights as I peddled through furiously, afraid at one point that I was on the wrong side of the road.  The second, only slightly shorter tunnel a few kilometres later, was on an uphill stretch of road where I would be riding more slowly. I asked Katherine to drive behind me to light the way.  She was a little nervous of doing so having been overtaken in one of the earlier narrow tunnels even though (or perhaps because) she was driving at the 60 kph speed limit. It was just as well she did though because two vehicles did arrive but, thankfully, waited patiently behind the car as I pedalled through the gloom.

Cold and wet I arrived at Sip and the enormous barrage, spiked with yellow cranes and gantries, across the Danube which connects Serbia and Romania. The Serbians checked the passport and waved us through with a smile and a goodbye. I rode the kilometre across the barrage with the fierce crosswind buffeting me and the Danube water pounding beneath me. We were unprepared for the minor formalities required to enter Romania, fumbling foolishly to find the car’s “permis de circulation” whilst at the same time hunting for my passport in my soggy rucksack. Suddenly, everything seemed hectic. We had been led to believe to expect more horses and carts in Romania than cars yet on the main artery outside the customs compound, there was what seemed to be an endless stream of heavy traffic on a road where there was no sign of a bicycle track.  Dobreta-Severin was clearly a bigger town than we had envisaged and so, fearful of losing each other in the search for accommodation we put the bike in the car for the last 13 kilometres into the city.  I can always do that stretch tomorrow morning when, according to the weather forecast, the sun will be shining again.

And so we arrived in Romania, our tenth and final country, in wild autumn weather and maybe equally autumnal spirits.

53 kms Total from Schaffhausen 1988 kms  Total from Galway  3898 kms 

September 19th Stage 48 Veliko Gradiste to Donji Milanovac 74 kms

September 19^th  Stage 48  Veliko Gradiste to Donji Milanovac 74 kms( including yesterday 97 kms)

The Eurovelo 6 signposts in Belgrade are embellished with interesting homilies and quotations from all kinds of people as varied as Ronnie Woods to George Bernard Shaw: “you can dream all you like but sometimes you have to just get out there and do it”…or…”To travel is to compare”…but my favourite is definitely: In the midle (sic) of Serbia and run out of money? Don’t worry, it is an (sic) usual situation for most people here.” which I am fairly certain isn’t from GBS!

But we had a  difficult decision to make this morning. We have four days left before we must return home and hard though it is to accept, the Black Sea, still some hundreds of kilometres away, is not going to be reached in four days.  Not only the guide book but even my friend from the bicycle shop in Zemun yesterday suggest that the ride from the centre of Belgrade to Smederova, crowded with traffic is not very pleasant and that much of the section after Smederova is through an old coal mining area and a steel works. For the first time, therefore, I decided to miss out a stage and drive straight to Veliko Gradiste – about 90 kms further on - and pick up the route there. (I have a plan of doing the missed section on Sunday on our way home and when there is less traffic.  We will see)

Actually the drive to Veliko Gradiste from Zemun was long and tedious. The motorway around Belgrade was crowded and we missed our way and the road from the exit to the river seemed to go on for ever.  I was even beginning to think that it would have been easier to have ridden it!

However, as soon as I got going, which wasn’t until after 1pm, from the surprisingly well-developed town of Veliko Gradiste I felt good. The country road to Golubac, which I shared with tractor drivers harvesting their fruit, all of whom gave me a friendly, almost conspiratorial nod or wave as if to say that we workers and cyclists know how to enjoy the countryside, reminded me of an English country lane until it came out at Vinci on the banks of the river  which is as wide as a lake at this point.  Golubac castle where the road weaves its way under three arches in the walls, is as dramatic an entrance to a gorge as anyone could wish for. The riding now becomes very interesting with magnificent views not only of the empty river but also of the wooded hillsides and open corn fields of the less steep Romanian side which at times seems to be just a stone’s throw away. However, the short tunnels immediately after the arches of the castle walls were a taste of more serious things to come. There are twenty one tunnels between Golubac and Golo Brdo about 75 kilometres along the gorge.  Some of them are nearly 300 metres long and one nearly 400 metres and when they bend they are pitch black. There is a raised half metre wide pavement but it is more dangerous balancing along this than it is riding on the road. What is certain is that my small flashing lights back and front were inadequate for the longer tunnels. Luckily I had with me my trusty Wakawaka lamp and clutching that I

 rode as fast as I could, one-handed, praying that no vehicle would come thundering after me.  So far none has, the traffic being much lighter than I had expected in the gorge, but there are still half a dozen tunnels to go. Just before one of  the longest one today, somewhere between Dobra and Boljetin, the bicycle route avoids the danger by plunging steeply into the bottom of the gorge quite unexpectedly on what I assume must have been the old road. This is all very well, but not only does the cyclist have to climb back out of the gorge to meet the road again, but the road itself climbs up and up to give tremendous views over the river and surrounding hills and at the end of a trying day is thoroughly exhausting. Any irritation though for me was completely allayed by another chance encounter. Climbing out of the gorge and not completely sure that I was still on the right track I enquired the way of a passing lady and her daughter. It turned out that this lady, Stevano, had worked for ten years in Duillier, my neighbouring village in Switzerland! We were as remote as anyone could be…… Extraordinary.  We had a wonderful short conversation. She was the third Serbian of our trip who had worked in Switzerland and who had gone out of his or her way to make our acquaintance and to ask if we needed any assistance.

 Fifteen minutes to the top of the hill in the gathering dusk and a reinvigorating ten kilometre descent to Donji Milanovac where we found a simple room as near to the waters of the river as it is possible to get. A wholesome meal, with delicious home-made bread still warm from the oven, finished with the offer of grapes off the vines in the garden, was the perfect end to another eventful day.

97 kms (including yesterday’s rest day)   

Total from Schaffhausen 1935 kms Total from Galway 3845 kms

September 18th “Rest Day” Batajnica to Zemun to Belgrade to Zemun

September 18^th  “Rest Day”  Batajnica to Zemun to Belgrade to Zemun  32 kms

Before I could appreciate a rest day there was the little business of completing the short section from the busy satellite town of Batajnica to Zemun, the suburb of Belgrade where we were staying. I wasn’t looking forward to it because the road is clearly dangerous for cyclists. However, by dint of using every bit of rough pavement, garage entry ways, a rough dirty gravel strlp on the edge of the tarmac  and not wasting any time the 11 kilometres passed without incident.

Feeling pleased with myself I decided to continue into the centre of Belgrade. Turning left towards the Danube and off the main road at the first opportunity I passed through residential Zemun with its charming old cottages and then beneath the Gardos, the ancient but well-preserved tower that marked the furthest limits of the Austro-Hungarian empire from which there is a fabulous view over Belgrade, and down the steep slippery polished cobblestones where a very pleasant surprise awaited me. Noticing a very small bicycle repair shop at the bottom of the steep Sindeliceva I decided to pop in and buy a set of lights for the unlighted tunnels that I knew I would encounter in the Danube Gorge. Mr Katic, the proprietor of Bajs Bicikli Servis could not have been more helpful. He gave me excellent advice about the route in the gorge, information about accommodation there, the condition of the roads, and left me his telephone number insisting I call him if we encountered difficulties……as well as selling me the lights I required. I would say his shop is a must for all bicycle tourists.

Later in the day I rode slowly into the city, enjoying the holiday atmosphere (even though it was Tuesday afternoon) on the quays and promenades that follow first the Danube and then the Sava. I carried my bike up the steps onto the Bratstvo I jedinstvo bridge, rode carefully with other cyclists weaving in and out of the pedestrians as far as the lift that transports cyclist back down to the riverside. There appeared to be a problem with the lift, so calling it a day, I rode back to Zemun where later on that evening, after a meal on the banks of the river, Katherine and I enjoyed the bizarre experience of watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail  on an open air screen that was bending a little in the evening breeze. John Cleese would have appreciated that, I think, as much as the young audience who were enjoying the quirky British humour.

Tomorrow we head for the gorge.

September 17th Stage 46 Sremski Karlovci (Novi Sad) to Batajnica (Belgrade)

September 17^th Stage 46 Sremski Karlovci (Novi Sad) to Batajnica (Belgrade)  78 kms

The first job of the day was to drive back to Sremska Komenica to start riding at exactly the point I left off yesterday.  The traffic seemed less intimidating this morning and, even including taking some photos of the two impressive bridges over the Danube to the sprawling Novi Sad on the far bank I had negotiated Petrovaradin and was back in Sremski Karlovci within the hour. However, my motivation was at a low ebb, and was not in the slightest improved by the 6 kilometre climb out of the town on the fairly busy 22-1 road with fast-moving traffic, in both directions!!!! (I had to take refuge on the grass verge at least once to avoid vehicles which were overtaking on the way down). But my spirits improved when I turned off to Cotanovci; most of the traffic disappeared and the rolling countryside once again made for excellent riding and some good views. In the neat village of Beska a charming man, who like our friend from yesterday had noticed the Swiss number plates, stopped to ask us if we needed help. His aunt, he told us, lived in Solothurn where he visited frequently. As it turned out his advice was invaluable and my mood improved still further. In Krcedin I met two bicycle tourists, young Germans travelling to Istanbul. They were a little dejected by the recent bad weather (unlike us I suppose they didn’t have the means to take refuge in a hotel) and by a spate of mysterious punctures in Budapest. I gave them some moral support and pushed on along a seemingly endless straight road into a headwind with the farmers taking their orchard produce to a brand new collecting centre near Novi Slankamen. I made the mistake of following the guidebook’s advice to descend to the riverside at Stari Slankomen. No doubt in season this is a busy tourist spot, but today I am afraid it was anything but. Moribund and a bit odorous it had little to offer. Indeed, a bus arrived and virtually everyone in the town seemed to be getting on it, eager to escape. I did the same and pounded south towards Sorduk on a road that was half paved and half unpaved. I would cycle the smoother paved section and drivers would arrive unannounced (or with blasting horns) and frighten me out of my wits. I passed a brave business and sports complex which looked as if it was on the point of being abandoned (although maybe it was just out of season). The whole impression was of an area trying to develop but not always succeeding. There were attractive cafes in all the villages for instance.

I began to tire quickly as we neared the Belgrade connurbation. I don’t want to flog a dead horse but some of the traffic, especially the trucks, were passing me far too closely and too quickly for my comfort. In Batajnica where I met the main road I gave up for the day, and put the bike in the car for the last few kilometres into the outskirts of Belgrade. Tomorrow, very early, when the roads are less frenetic and I am fresher, I will recuperate those last few kilometres.

78 kms  Total from Schaffhausen 1838  Total from Galway 3748 kms

The driving has been great when following the little village roads, but I can agree with Richard that the main roads are far from easy.  The surface is often far from ideal, patched, wavy, oddly cambered, even potholed but nobody except me seems thrown by this. I don’t think I’ve overtaken anything except tractors and carts but I’m passed continuously and often at incredible speed; has anybody noticed the 60km. limit, the no overtaking signs? Here’s me doing my best to law abiding (and taking into consideration the state of the roads) and I seem to be a positive liability, one of these trundling along sorts who get everybody annoyed!

One added navigating difficulty now we’re in Serbia (a sign of ignorance on our part) is that we didn’t realize that a Cyrillic alphabet is used and although our familiar alphabet is found,  some major road signs are not in both, involving quite a lot of guess work on my part! Katherine

September 16th Stage 45 Vukovar to Sremski Karlovci (Novi Sad)

September 16^th Stage 45 Vukovar to Sremski Karlovci  (Novi Sad) 80 kms

What a day!  It was a beautiful Sunday morning, very welcome after three days of heavy rain and cloud. In Vukovar people were out in the cafes and I found it difficult to tear myself away from this town which had obviously suffered so much ..and in my own recent lifetime too. As the hotel receptionist helped me to retrieve my bicycle from the garage she told me how difficult it is now for people to find work, and not for the first time on this trip I felt that there was so much more to be said.

A strange thing happened as I left the town. The road rises slightly as you leave Vukovar and gives a very good view of the artillery-bombarded water tower which has been left as it was as a kind of memorial against war. As I was asking an old man if it was appropriate to take a photo there was a minor car accident in front of us. It seemed an odd coincidence of situation and I hoped not a bad omen.

I passed a large, carefully-tended cemetery and memorial to those who had lost their lives in the conflict, and then I was into some woods and out in the countryside. I now realized what a good decision it had been to stay in Vukovar,  because  today’s ride would not have been nearly so pleasant had it been on a working day. The road from Sotin to Ilok on the Serbian border undulates with some fairly steep hills and nasty corners. Usually there is heavy traffic. Today, the only slow moving traffic I had to deal with were the tractors and trailers bringing in the grapes in from the vineyards. I tucked in behind one such tractor and was pulled along comfortably for kilometres. The ride to the border which came just after Ilok was very calming: expansive views over to low lying Fruska Gora hills, the countryside patterned with coniferous forest, vineyards and orchards. Our last experience in Croatia was in the tiny village of Sarengrad where we took a coffee break on the side of the river in a very simple café where the lady who had lived there all her life described how in 2010 the river had overflowed its banks to a depth of six metres completely flooding her entire house. But it wasn’t so bad, she told us in faltering German, and I wondered what other experiences perhaps she was comparing it with.

The young policeman at the Serbian border couldn’t have been more pleasant. He wished me a cheerful “bon voyage”, stamped my passport, and I was on my way into my eighth country. The roads were deserted even for a Sunday. I joined Katherine for lunch on a bench overlooking our river in Banastor, watching yet another ferry ply its patient way back and to, when a gentleman approached us. He was from Gland, our neighbouring town in Switzerland. He was Serbian and was visiting his family. He had seen the number plates on the car and wanted to say bonjour. He did more than that. Not only did he give us some good advice but he insisted on giving us a few dinar to tide us over until we could get to a bancomat. If you ever get the chance to read this blog, Pierre (from Gland) thank you very much. We needed your money a little later in the day.

But by the time we had reached the outskirts of Novi Sad, the heavy traffic, even on a Sunday, the long day, and the accumulation of driving (in Katherine’s case) and continuous riding (in my case) was taking its toll just a little. About four o’clock we stopped for a break in Sremska Kamenica, and an indication of how tired we were was that we left behind us both the map and our car keys. The young girl from the café came running after us. We decided to call it a day before we had a more serious incident, put the bike in the car and drove ten kilometres round Petrovaradin to the beautiful baroque town of Sremski Karlovci where everyone seemed to be getting married.

We had an interesting evening, witnessing, amongst other things, a 350 guest wedding, small  by Serbian standards according to the waiter at the hotel, and the third set of magnificent wedding fireworks, this time set off from a small boat in the Danube, of our trip (the others were at Blain and at Durnstein) and planned how tomorrow, before I rode on to Belgrade, we would drive back to Novi Sad where I would continue from where I had left off earlier today.    

The day could hardly have been more varied.

80 kms Total from Schaffhausen 1760 kms  Total from Galway 3670 kms

  

September 14th Stage 43 Mohacs to Osijek

September 14^th Stage  43  Mohacs to  Osijek 73 kms.

The weather was still threatening and overcast this morning and it was in sombre mood that we set off for the border with Croatia some 17 kms from Mohacs. Everything was very quiet indeed in this remote corner of Hungary and just as yesterday I was sorry to leave Kalocsa so today I was sorry to leave Hungary.We were also leaving the Danube and for the first time since Riedlingen  I spent an entire day’s riding without glimpsing the river. Now Katherine and I seemed almost to be the only ones on the road.  The border crossing was polite, even friendly and whilst I felt a  little intimidated by the warnings of mines in the fields immediately after (and before actually) the frontier, the well- kept churches, standing proud and tall amongst the low houses of the villages were welcoming even if it was sad to see so many lovely gabled cottages falling to pieces, their small courtyards overgrown with weeds.

The roads were long and straight and the fields stretched endlessly to the far distant horizon. I was glad to see some low hills in front of me which I would have to cross; they broke the monotony of the landscape somewhat.

Of course, had the weather been kind then my impression of the landscape might have been quite different. The wine growing region around Draz, for instance, with its orchards and well-tended vegetable gardens was pretty but by now the rain was coming down in torrents and I was in no mood to appreciate it. 

Topping the low range of hills I turned right on to the 212 and simply concentrated on getting to Osijek. Most of the roads, once they left the villages, headed in a straight line for the next cluster of houses. Luckily there was relatively little traffic until Bilje, and the last perfectly straight 5 kms into Osijek, to be honest, was a frightening nightmare.

We were happy enough to book into the hotel that the ladies in the post office recommended and which a young student from the university offered to show us the way to. I needed to dry out and rest and in any case there seems to be no camping to be had. The fact that the hotel is extremely unexceptional and expensive to boot is another matter.

Total from Schaffhausen 1,635kms. Total from Galway 3,545 kms.

September 13th Stage 42 Kolacso to Mohacs

September 13^th  Stage 42  Kolacso to Mohacs  83 kms

I was sorry to leave Kalocsa, and indeed we didn’t leave as early as we had intended because of a lot of WATU business that needed seeing to, especially as we had internet connection in the local coffee shop where we took breakfast.

The weather was not at all promising. But at least there was the 22kph north westerly tailwind! In fact, turning out of Kalocsa in completely the wrong direction I was wondering how I could still be riding into a southerly wind. Surely that would have been warm and this morning it was decidedly cold.

So, having rectified my error, I made excellent time to Fajsz where I spent a few minutes, in the company of a solemn old man, admiring the interior of the church. The guide book makes no mention of it, but the brightly painted, orange interior with what appeared to be delightful paintings in a naïf style was lovely. Fajsz was also the first commune I had come across during the whole trip with its own Euro6 signposting. This signposting led me up onto the dyke which until it passed under the new M8 motorway had been like riding on cinders. After that, though, and for a full 12 kilometres to the national park centre, and even beyond that to Baja, it was an incredibly smooth ride on brand new tarmac. This area, though, which passes through the beautiful Donau-Drava Nezmeti national park,is very lonely, and even more so after Baja and Szeremie where in an hour’s riding I came across nobody at all. I must admit that once or twice I wondered if what I was doing was wise. I finished the last few kilometres to the ferry at Ujmohacs, which I suddenly began to think might stop at 6pm, at a tremendous lick, along a bone jarringly rutted track made of smashed tarmac. I was very pleased that I had made the decision back in Fajsz to change to the VTT tyres.

The ferry crossing, especially in the serious cold rain which had set in since early afternoon, was not at all romantic. The so- called blue Danube was a muddy brown and the small town of Mohacs on the other side, where we had decided to stay the night, looked uninspiring.

But I had made good progress. The Croatian border is only ten kilometres away but the forecast is for bad weather and accommodation might be difficult to find. Certainly, and even if campsites were available, which they aren’t, it looks as if camping will be out of the question for the next few days.

83 kms  Total from Schaffhausen 1563 kms. Total from Galway  3473 kms 

September 12th Stage 41 Rackeve to Kolacso

September 12^th  Stage 41  Rackeve to Kolacso  98 kms

After a good night’s sleep, yesterday doesn’t seem so bad but by 6 o’clock last night I was feeling very tired indeed.  Katherine and I had decided we would keep close together, the better to appreciate the countryside which was indeed very lovely,  and we thought our luck was in when almost by chance we negotiated the village of Makad. The signposting here is as erratic as it was in Ireland. The road, however, grew more and more narrow, the tarmac dreadfully potholed until at the end of a seven kilometre dyke on which it had been impossible to turn round, the inevitable happened: the bridge which on the map was marked as a minor road, was only a footbridge. Perfectly good for the bike, of course, but no good for the car.  Katherine would have to turn back. Not surprisingly she was unhappy about driving alone along the embankment – reversing would have been a nightmare – and so there was nothing for it but for me to put the bike in the car and drive all the way back to Rackeve, some 20 or more kilometres , cross the river there, and drive down the other side and look for the footbridge – which eventually, although with difficulty, we found. We had lost nearly two hours.

Then things got worse. Somehow I missed the new bicycle track that had recently been completed alongside the main road 51 which runs from Budapest to the Serbian border. I rode for some 15  kilometres, much of it in a straight line where you can imagine the heavy traffic was moving very quickly, It was far from pleasant,  especially as the road surface was very poor, and particularly so at the edge, necessitating some delicate manoeuvres. It was only by chance, having stopped for a rest, that I discovered the bike piste some twenty metres away and the next few kilometres To Apostag were a great relief.

The Danube valley now was very wide, and there was a very strong headwind from the south but , as usual, I seemed to get second wind and, after a welcome break in the lively small town of Solt, where I was overtaken by a young woman  riding a very spirited horse at a gallop and bareback down the main street (only to be brought up short at the traffic lights!) I was ready for the next 43 kms to the paprika capital of the world, Kalocsa.

My route still followed the main road 51 but on the old road which, whilst very exposed to the wind on the top of an embankment, was completely deserted and I moved along at a cracking pace. A slight detour into the village of Harta, followed by a brand new cycle path which, winding its way through pleasant woodland, also provided some shelter from the wind, and I was racing through the villages of  Ordas, Gederlak, Dunaszentbenedek and Uszod,  held up only briefly just before Ordas in order to offer some assistance to a local cyclist who seemed to have fallen into the ditch by the side of the road with his bicycle on top of him. (He refused my offer, politely) to arrive in Kalocsa in the early evening where, fearing the storms that had been forecast, Katherine had booked us into a simple hotel.

I immediately liked Kalocsa with its look of faded gentility. Its main boulevard of stately five storey buildings is tree-lined and its twin-towered cathedral magnificent. By the time we were ready to find somewhere to eat, it was dark and the lights gave the town an even more romantic appearance. I asked the waiter why there weren’t more visitors to this lovely town  and he shrugged, just like the lady in Lesneven  in Brittany all those kilometres away, and said “Well, this is Kalocsa” or words to that effect. 

A strange day which got better as it went along. One thing is certain, though.  We have lost all the other bicycle tourists. Today, after Rob, a very pleasant young Dutch man whom we met on the campsite last  night and who is riding from Ulm to Istanbul on a recumbent, moving rather more quickly than I am,  I met no other cyclists except local people. 

98 kms  Total from Schaffhausen  1480 kms  Total from Galway 3390 kms  

   

September 11th Stage 40 Lakihegy to Budapest to Rackeve

September 11^th  Stage 40  Lakihegy to Budapest to Rackeve   68 kms.

We did as planned today. We drove around Budapest on the M0 motorway, leaving it to reach the small satellite village of Lakihegy to the south of the city. Good directions from the very friendly bike shop next to the Aldi car park where I left Katherine (I always feel I should buy something when folk are so helpful) and I was back in the traffic on my way to where I left off yesterday  afternoon. It wasn’t quite a straight road but nearly so, and a mixture of pavement riding, bumping along a narrow cracked cycle path, sharing the road with the traffic and then a superb brand new piste for the last three kilometres and I arrived at the Euro 6 signpost that I mentioned yesterday that pointed the bicyclist up a very unlikely-looking dusty back street to the Lagymoyos bridge. I turned round and was back with Katherine within the hour.

The remainder of the day’s cycling was pleasant but unexceptional. Gradually, thankfully, the traffic died away until riding along the top of the embankment between Tokol and  Szigetujfalu there was nothing at all.  The wide Danube valley opened up on either side; here, in effect, I was on a large island in the river and the views to either side with low forest in the distance were expansive, a relief after the claustrophobia of the heavy traffic of the last couple of days. The only drawback was the crosswind that buffeted me about a bit. Rackeve and a surprisingly good campsite arrived almost too quickly (I was getting second wind) and we stopped for the night. The next two days  to the Croatian border will be long ones and the weather is looking unstable. A good night’s rest is essential.

68 kms  Distance from Schaffhausen 1382 kms  Distance from Galway  3292 kms

Our journey continues towards the Croatian border following the Danube in all its splits, twists and turns. In Hungary we have been able to follow roughly the same roads but meeting points have now become supermarket car parks or ferry crossings rather than the churches of France, the railway stations of Switzerland or the rathauses of Germany and Austria. The supermarkets that have surprised us most have been the enormous Tesco hypermarkets, to be seen in most towns and signposted on the route 5 or 6 kms. ahead. There was even a Tesco shuttle bus in one town, making sure everybody had the chance to go there. We of course have tried them out and found them very similar to GB, same layout of the shop, same products, all a bit strange! Katherine

September 10th Stage 39 Szentendre to Budapest to Szentendre

September 10^th  Stage 39  Szentendre to Budapest to Szentendre   62 kms

We had decided to deal with Budapest as we had Vienna: camp a little outside the city limits, ride into the centre and back, and then drive round the city and do something similar from the other side. Although by the main road it is only 15 or so kilometres to the city, by the bicycle paths which first follow the shoreline of the river and then work a circuitous way through some housing development before eventually emerging on the grand quay almost opposite the Houses of Parliament, it is much further.

It was worth it though even if I did miss the way at two important moments because the other option of the main road is not nice. From the very attractive front at Szentendre there is a good cycle track, not always paved and quite rough in a couple of places, which serpentines round the inlets, runs straight along embankments, crosses small bridges and goes for some time through delightful woodland. After the city limit is passed the contrast with the entrance into Vienna is stark. The concrete underpasses and overpasses of Vienna are replaced by a wide, shady gravel pathway flanked by cafes and small restaurants which, by the time I returned in the very early evening were thronged with people relaxing after work or jogging and cycling.

Things get more awkward as the centre approaches. I missed the official, well-marked city bicycle lane which weaves through a large housing estate of high rise apartments and had to risk the main road for a couple of kilometres before arriving on the wide but very busy quay leading to the Szechenyi Chain Bridge. Whilst there were one or two people on benches quietly enjoying the view across the river to Pest, or even reading, most seemed to be rushing around, many of them on bicycles. As the afternoon wore on the bicycles became more numerous and more hectic. I competed with them and rode along the entire quay to the Lagymanyos bridge which I crossed and descended  into the maelstrom of trams and traffic on the other side. I discovered a little later that a discreet, dusty short cut back under the bridge which amazingly is actually indicated in the other direction with the official Euro 6 signs, would have avoided this. However, I did at least succeed in finding the Kvassay ut which effectively is the way out of the city towards Csepel and the village of Lakihegy  which is where the motorway crosses the route and where I will start from tomorrow.

Having done what needed to be done I turned tail and thoroughly enjoyed battling the bikes and the traffic back to the riverside cafes and eventually the campsite in Szentendre.

62 kms  Total from Schaffhausen 1316 kms  Total from Galway 3226 kms