This one was also planned as a slightly longer trip, but sickness and heat got the better of me. Up in the mountains of the southern Balkans I was surviving it, but as the heat increased in the flatlands there was no hope. Then I ended up sick, dehydrated and in hospital.
This is also, as all recent posts, simple copypasta from Facebook. Sorry about that, but it’s mostly intended as a diary for me. If someone reads it one day – lovely.
Days 1-7
I left home last Friday, two day hop over the Alps and onto the ferry from Venice to Igoumenitsa in Greece. Now I’m in my hammock in the courtyard of a monastery somewhere in Macedonia.
I’ll just post some photos and stick with some highlights here. Although I’m feeling a little philosophical, I’m not sure this whole trail riding thing is as much my thing as it used to be. But that’s a whole other story.
Albania starts off hellish. Not because the trails are tough, there are no trails to start with. No, because it takes you through the dystopian hellscape that is Albanian beach resorts. Ugh. But it got me a fistful of Lek and a SIM card. From there we go up up up into the mountains, where halfway along the trail I decided it was too damn hot for trails and went back down to the sea, to take the road at the other side of the valley. Which was also a trail. Good use of time and energy, that. Pretty though. But not as pretty as the road that came after it… canyons, hills, curves and enough air flow for both the bike and I.
I ended the day with BBQ lamb, good beer, a nearly private thermal pool and a good night’s sleep. Not bad.
The second day in Albania took in mute canyons and a delightful half hour swimming in a canyon. Why only half an hour if it’s so delightful a canyon? Because in the Balkans even the prettiest nature spot can only be improved by extremely loud rap music. Time to leave.
Next up, an excellent decision. I’m fated to get to tricky bits right at the hottest part of the day. So there I am looking at a wide river valley of rocks, sand and a little water. No shade. Over 35 degrees. Do I go left and take the alternative route? No. I don’t. That would be sensible. I charge up the valley. The MT21s do a stirling job with the terrain, I muck up the navigation myself. Somehow it just didn’t seem right to the western European mind that the route would go through the mining operation. Which led to an hour of hard going in deep sand and babies heads, plus a broken shifter. If you stick to the track it’s ok, although definitely for the confident rider on a lighter bike, but the looooooooong gravel sections in this heat are draining.
I end up, on an impulse, in a luxury hotel for the night. Because it was dark, I was tired, finding two trees wasn’t appealing and they had a pool. I think I was the only guest in a temple to Balkan lack of class – all marble and neon nights. Cheap though.
My JB Weld shifter repair lasted exactly zero shifts. Not enough time to cure. So I went in search of a workshop, the one with a stack of old mercs and a JCB in the courtyard seemed like the fix-anything type of place. I wasn’t wrong. With hand signals and pointing the old master had a functional repair in no time.
At this point I was struggling with a conundrum. Continue in Albania or get over to Macedonia? It was time for a change, so after lunch on the Albanian side of Ohrid over the border I went. It was the right answer, the TET took to up into high forested hills on good trails. Then on up through a little village where, in the absence of a bar, I had coke, cake and schnapps with an elderly couple – one of whom spoke English, one German.
Now I’m back to the start. My the sun has set, I’m going to bed hungry because I’m consistently too stupid/lazy to buy anything to eat. But that’s ok, I’ve drunk enough calories for the day already so I won’t die. I’m very glad of the mosquito net, I’m feeling more under siege here than Steven Segal.
Photos in nö particular order because I’m sleepy. No excuses! I’m just being lazy.
Days 8 and 9
Yesterday, to put not too fine a point on it, was bloody marvellous. I left the monastery and headed along the track to lake Marovo, arriving there in time for an early lunch before heading up to the loop behind the lake – if you’re looking at the map, yes that track that makes it a loop is very easily passable. The firefighting planes skimming the lake to correct l collect water was pretty cool too.
Taking that link track had me at the sign and ski resort very quickly, which is pretty spectacular and I think is kind is supposed to be the grand finale of doing it the right way round. But for me what came next when doing it backwards is the highlight. For well over an hour you’re above the tree line, the tracks are mostly good going with some occasional loose steep stuff. But it’s spectacular. Not a soul, not a building – just you, the bike, the landscape. Perfect TET riding, even at ultra cautious solo rider pace.
As you come down towards Lazaropole it changes a little to hard pack forest dirt tracks, flowing and comfortable. The big restaurant hotel on the right as you come into the village it’s staffed by a lovely lady and they make the most amazing bread-pizza-thing topped with a slaughterhouse worth of spiced meat. I had to up the preload for my onward journey.
The route back to Marovo is very different, it’s a narrow – barely twin track – route through the trees. A nice change of pace. Foldable mirrors help.
I got back, went to the bar where I had lunch and almost immediately got talking to two gorgeous German sisters. The conversation flowed well into the night. A very good day on the TET indeed.
The next day was less good. In part due to still getting up at the crack of dawn despite a chronic lack of sleep. Which does beg the question of why I’m writing this rather than, y’know, sleeping. But meh. The day didn’t start well, the border crossing to Kosovo north west of Marovo is now restricted to locals only. The only way is a long road trip through the ironically named Tetovo. But on the way I was gifted coffee twice, which is nice.
Into Kosovo and I was hungry again. Mostly because I held myself up by dropping my gloves in Macedonia and only realising that when I was in Kosovo. But the guards let me wander back without formalities. But I had given my last Euros for fuel and my last Macedonicash (Dinars?) to the sad looking kid at the border. All I had was Swiss francs that I’d forgotten I had. But it worked, I got a surprise meal for my 10 francs. I think the surprise was grilled peppers as hot as the fires of Mount Doom. Especially surprising as I wolfed down a huge bit. Ugh.
Also, proving how spectacularly well I’ve researched this trip, I didn’t even realise that they use Euros here. I spent a good while looking for “Kosovo” on my currency converter. Keep in mind I’ve been here before… at least it makes the maths easy. Oh, I also needed border insurance. Which somehow came as a surprise despite the fact I’d never actually bothered to check my documents.
Proper Planning and Preparation Prevents Piss Poor Performance and all that.
The owner of the restaurant suggested I go up the track opposite. Not TET, but it goes to the second highest point in the area. Probably the first highest if you’ve got the bike and the balls for it. It was spectacular. Wind and a wonderful “Welcome to Kosovo” panorama. My revery was soon broken by two local lads on identical unknown brand enduros wearing highly protective tracksuits and sunglasses. Me in my full armour feeling somewhat overdressed… a smoke, a chat auf Deutsch and a photoshoot followed and they were gone!
Shortly afterwards so was the bolt holding my right foot peg on. Thankfully it held in until I was down from the sphincter-clenching loose downhill bit. Unfortunately it was snapped in two, so I bumped my way awkwardly down the track and headed for an ATM and tried every workshop I saw until a truck mech agreed to extract the rest of the bolt. Good as new for the price of a handshake – he wouldn’t take a penny.
Next stop, Prizren. I just sat and watched the stylish people go by for two hours, sipping my ice coffee and feeling like an alien in my filthy riding gear. It’s a funny place. Everywhere you look you’ll see a mosque, everywhere you look you’ll see tits and ass. I won’t go too much into politics and religion but that gives me hope. Keeping things philosophical – I’m still feeling a little off. I’m not sure I’m 100% healthy, I’m definitely out of shape and despite some wonderful experiences over the last two days I’m kind of bored. I’m still wondering if I need to change my travel model somehow.
One thing about the Balkans so far, last time I was here I was only an English speaker but now I’ve added fairly fluent German to my skillset. With these two languages you can speak to nearly anyone, they all have either worked in the UK/DE/CH/A or have a brother/cousin/pet that’s worked there. Very convenient!
Now I’m in a small clearing on the side of a mountain, the sunset has been successfully photographed and a crappy non-hammock sleeping system is ready to embrace me. Goodnight everyone!
Days 10 and 11
I miss Poe, my DR350. Boris, I’m very fond of you. You’re a big thumping 650cc beast and if I was in Norway you’d be perfect. But here, solo, you’re not the right tool. Let’s face it mate, we’re both suffering here. You’ve been down more times on this trip than all of last year. You’ve a repaired shift lever, my bad there. But I fear I might have cooked your oil, the pressure light is on at idle even under regular riding conditions. There’s enough in there. I’ve definitely put some wear on your clutch, two adjustments so far and shifting is still crunchier than a papadam – oil, I hope. I’ll find you some fresh stuff tomorrow.
Me? I’m not coping with the heat, every afternoon I begin to feel unwell – kind of acid sick. I’m making a point of drinking lots, I’m eating well and I even brought food with me on the trails today. Ok. When I say food I actually mean four Jaffa Cakes. But that’s better than nothing. My left wrist was sore from picking up the bike, it’s now also burned from the header pipe. Psychologically I’m worn down and lonely. I mean, look at me, I’m here in a Montenegran forest writing this update. Why? Because the truth is I want to share these experiences with someone and in the absence of anyone to ride with you people get it. Sorry about that.
Which all sounds terribly pessimistic. Which isn’t fair. It’s a deeply wonderful route that the guys here in Kosovo have put together. The format – one main link route and a series of loops up from that is superb. The route is precise and the critical “here be dragons” style warnings are appropriately placed. When you get up high in the mountain regions there’s little to compare – you’re on grass traces in the most spectacular landscape imaginable.
But it is tough.
Day 10 was a funny one. I got a very average night’s sleep next to a war monument, on the ground. Didn’t find any good trees for the hammock. Off I went to do the southernmost loop. One warning says “difficult doing south” so I set myself to meet that bit going north. My breakfast Borek and yogurt was stealthily paid for my another customer, which put a smile on my face to start the day. People here are incredibly nice.
Stuffed with pastry and cheese it was on with the trails! Along a stunning valley I go and around the back of the ski hotel at the end. That’s the n marker “steep loose rocks” and they are not kidding. It’s the trail that runs up alongside the cable car and it’s murder. I should have been sensible enough not to even try, but I did. A third of the way up I stalled it, started to slide backwards and had to drop to arrest the slide. That’s ok with an electric start bike but with this kick only DR it’s awful.
Once the bike is back on it’s feet I need to see if I can put it in neutral without backsliding. I couldn’t. Off the bike to put a pile of rocks behind the rear wheel. 20+ kicks later I’m sweating and swearing, but we’re running. 50 metres up the trail, steep enough the front wheel is coming up, lots of clutch to avoid excessive speed and… dunk. Slide. Drop. Same program. Repeat twice more.
By this time I’m halfway up, I’ve got maybe 500m of this to go but I’m done. The map suggests the next bit is even steeper again. I roll, very cautiously, down the hill and decide I’ll go the other way round. Yes, I could have thrown myself at it more aggressively – on the pegs, weight over the bars and throttle pinned. If I had someone else there maybe I would have done. But alone it’s just not worth that risk.
Back up the valley, around the other way and I see a sign that says “Stop. Enjoy your life.” That’s advice I’ll follow gladly. I’m immediately invited to drink with a young lawyer. Young. He’s 32. I call 32 year olds young now. Ugh. I think that means I’m old. I’m told all about the village, the area and where all the men live. He’s one of the few that’s stayed in the area, on a lawyer’s salary he’s one of few who can work locally and provide a good quality of life for his family. Everyone else works in the wealthy European countries. Literally almost every man of working age. What a curious thing for both Kosovo and for us in Europe that the economy works like this. He insists on paying for my coffee and having the barman give me a big bottle of his delicious strawberry drink.
I take the trail the other way round and it’s gorgeous. I get as far as the southbound warning and decide that’ll do for me for today. I’m only missing a little bit. I ride on into the valley, hot as hell. It’s a campsite night, I need a shower. Usually I’d jump in a river but they are small and stuffed with rubbish – not so appealing. There’s so much rubbish everywhere here – it’s tragic really. I even found an open rubbish fire on the edge of one village. With a cafe downwind. I’ll have cancer with my cappuccino please.
Based on name alone I couldn’t resist dining at Moronica, the restaurant just up the road. They can’t all be morons though, the food was great.
Day 11 took me up into the mountains above Junik. It’s a curious place up there, there are lots of trails and most are pretty wide and stoney. It seems like everyone and their uncle are building, or have built, little huts up in the mountains. Every few km you come across a little cluster of huts huddled together. I get the appeal of having a little mountain hut but I hope someone puts the breaks on eventually because it’s losing the unspoiled nature feel. But the trails are great, some sections above the tree line are really excellent – open panoramas I’m now thinking of as typical TET Kosovo. It’s definitely not all easy going, some of it is very steep and the terrain varies from fast and flowing to rocky and crazy. Well worth it though.
Section 2 defeated me with a climb that looked like there were three options. Hard, medium and easy. Easy turned the corner and became “argh, eep, ouch” as I dropped the bike on my own leg. Then a tree. It was one of those drops that required a little thought to work out how to pick the bike up again. I burned my wrist turning off the fuel. On the plus side the snapped cable ties holding the Navi bracket gave her the excuse needed to relocate it to a better spot on the bars. I didn’t try again, the distances involved are quite small so I just went back a bit, connected with a road and had myself some truly delicious fish in a restaurant with attached fish farm. Back up a way and I completed the loop from the other direction. Spectacular.
A few more hours riding up in the Accursed Mountains and I felt I had the feel of Kosovo, it was time to move on. I’m thinking I’ll get home earlier than planned, but with the heat that’s ok. I’m just about to hit a section of Montenegro now. We’ll see what that brings!
The End
I last wrote as I was leaving Kosovo and passing into Montenegro. Kosovo was the focus of the trip and I’d planned to do the whole TET there but doing anything below 1200m in altitude just wasn’t viable in the afternoons. So I did the mountainous sections and left the rest.
Due to the heat, my funky clutch and some changes happening at home I’d made the decision to head back promptly. Not motorway promptly, but scenic roads and TET where it was convenient and the heat wasn’t too bad. That changed to motorway speeds, because I ended up in hospital. But I’ll get to that.
On the way through Montenegro I knew that I’d have to go through the Durmitor national park. As I approached the park I realised that the TET was right there and pretty much exactly where I wanted to go. It wasn’t too hot, so I took it. I’m utterly glad that I did – a truly spectacular trail though mountain wilderness the equal of anything I’d seen further south. Easy going, except where some genius decided that what would improve the trail would be deep gravel dumped on the track. I’m sure it helps the 4x4s but I bloody hate it.
Over the border to Bosnia and direction Sarajevo, scenic roads, no TET. Leaving Sarajevo – I’ve already visited the city on a prior trip – I stopped for food and thought I’d put an hour in before setting up camp. About a km up a steep track I found the perfect campsite and set up for the night, but was already beginning to feel a little unwell. By midnight everything I’d eaten recently was all over the floor and I was feeling awful.
I drank what little water I had and tried to sleep. No chance. Barely able to walk I got out of the hammock, evacuating what little was left in my stomach and tried to work out what to do. I have some meds, none seemed appropriate. I was starting to get stomach cramps and was very weak. I was a good distance up a track, into the forest and did not feel safe to ride or strong enough to walk. Short on options I called 124 – the local medical emergency number.
That was an experience. The first operator I spoke to simply hung up on me when I asked if she spoke English or German. The second did the same. Third time is the charm – the guy I spoke to did speak German. Good, I’m fluent in German, but it turned out to be as much use as a chocolate teapot. I explained that I was too weak to safely ride, that I couldn’t walk to town and that I was in a forest so I didn’t have an address for him. I offered coordinates, whatthreewords and ever other method of locating me I could think of. He wasn’t interested in any of them, simply saying “and what am I supposed to do”. I don’t know mate, maybe send a fucking ambulance? The trail was very much driveable, at least to the last 50 metres – which I would have been perfectly happy to walk.
Eventually he hung up on me as well. I tried again only to find my number barred. I’ve got to wonder what would happen if I was deep in the boonies with an open fracture. I guess I’d just die. Which is nice. Or in that situation I’d push the help button on my EPIRB. But this situation wasn’t that situation, I wasn’t in immediate danger of death and involving the UK coastguard rescue centre still seemed a little excessive.
No choice but to self rescue then.
I strapped on my armour, somehow found the strength to kick Boris over and wobbly as heck made my way out of the forest, down the track and to the 24hr petrol station at the main street. That was closed. Joy. Waving down traffic didn’t help. The nearby hotel showed no sign of life. The next house along seemed a) occupied and b) somehow friendly, in my delusional state. They had petrol pumps outside that they seemed to be repairing. I like petrol. They must be good people. I rang the bell and collapsed on the doorstep. I heard a phone ring and shortly after looked up to see Goran looking down at my useless form. Followed shortly after by his sister and mother.
I’m eternally grateful to the family, I woke them at 0130 and they immediately arranged an ambulance for me and gave me what aid they could. An hour later I was at the local hospital and on a drip with what the nurse called “everything” in it. Everything sounded good. They’d opened the hospital just for me! I felt bad that I had disturbed so many people, but they insisted it was their job and that all was well. The drip did it’s magic and I was at least capable of standing up and no longer in pain. They let me sleep a few hours on an examination bed before the ambulance driver kindly took me back to my bike which was waiting at Goran’s place.
I was given a little fruit and, feeling fairly healthy, I rode up the hill to collect my abandoned camping gear. At a shuffling pace I packed it all into my bags and off I went. I thought I’d head on in the right direction and see how well I did.
By 10 I was in a hotel room. Riding wasn’t going well. Everything was uncomfortable and my focus just wasn’t there. I’d hoped to make it somewhere interesting where I could have a look around a historic town, or swim… but realising I just needed a bed and air conditioning I saw a huge hotel sign and went there. 22hrs later, most of which I spent sleeping, I checked out feeling pretty good. I thought I’d ride on in the direction of home and see where I got to. It was 1224km to home and there was no way I’d make that, right?
Weirdly, I did. I had an absolute laser focus the whole way home, even though my body was doing some strange things – like not wanting to eat. Arriving with the dawn I had a shower and crashed into bed. That was the end of that!
A funny end to a funny trip. I’m going to stop going south in summer now. It’s tempting – it’s cheaper in the south for a start – but I just can’t take the heat. I’m going to recommission my DR350 as soon as possible, the extra weight and unwieldiness of the DR650 is too much solo. Plus the fact is that I don’t need the power, I rarely get above 60 on the back roads. A is also looking increasingly appealing. Company might be nice too.
But it’s been good. Beautiful landscapes, delicious food, good people, generosity, challenging trails… couldn’t really ask for more from a TET trip. Somehow I’m still subtly uninspired, I can’t say it’s been excellent, inspirational or other words popular on YouTube channels. It’s been good. Good is good enough.
