Avoiding Potholes

Cycle Touring Super Highway

It was just 50km outside Vienna that the young couple overtook us … cruising serenely past with their matching e-bikes and small, lightly packed panniers. “Grüß Gott” they beamed in greeting “Guten Morgen!”

And why not? It was a beautiful day and they were nearing the end of a wonderful holiday, enjoying this most popular of adventures … the Danube Cycle Path from Passau to Vienna.

Over 30,000 cyclists enjoy riding this section of the Donau Trail every summer, making it the busiest bicycle path in Europe. It’s a true Cycle Touring Super Highway.

Most cyclists with panniers had read the same instructions as us and were cycling downstream from west to east.

They were a mixed bunch.

Older couples on e-bikes were in the majority. But there were also plenty of young families, often towing the family dog along for the ride. We also saw several large organised tours, all with matching bikes, matching panniers and sometimes even matching t-shirts.

*Mum had the luggage, Dad the younger child, Daughter the dog*

Once or twice we came across a bare chested e-bike warrior gamely pulling a mountain of camping gear on his trailer and racing ahead of the rest of his group.

On the super smooth surface we were able to ride happily along at our new e-bike cruising speed of 24-25 km/hour, just below the point at which the motor cuts out. At this speed we reeled them all in … the oldies, the families, the groups, even the e-bike warriors … effortlessly passing by with a cheery “Guten Morgen” or some such annoying greeting.

Until now!

Humph, we muttered to each other … nobody overtakes us on on e-bikes!

We put in a tiny bit of extra effort and managed to overtake the young couple back, pretending of course that we weren’t trying.

They came past us again.

An e-bike race almost happens in slow motion. All our motors are limited to the same speed and it’s a huge effort to cycle consistently above that cut out point.

The path veered inland so we tucked in behind them, swooping as a pack around hairpin bends, just missing a wiry old gentleman on a rusty black bike.

Then it opened up onto another long straight. Carefully holding the pace we eventually inched past them and held our position for another exhausting four or five kilometres. They were on our back wheels the whole time, like sinister shadows.

As this race was only really happening in our heads … we could decide where the finishing line would be. Feeling pretty knackered, we quickly decided it was the footbridge just ahead.

We pulled over breathing deeply.

They rode on with a grin and a cheery wave. They probably thought it was just the end of the first lap.

Riding at this e-bike touring speed means that we can cover longer distances for our preferred 4-5 hours of pedalling each day. From Nuremberg to Straubing to Passau to Linz to Melk we leapt down the Danube in 90-100km stages.

The prize for all this effort was a proper tourist cycling day of just 45km, cruising through the beautiful Wachau valley between Melk and Krems.

We started at the stunningly beautiful Melk Abbey, rebuilt in the Baroque style in the early 1700’s and surviving the dissolution of the monasteries that destroyed many of its peers later in the same century.

This makes it one of the best preserved Baroque buildings in the world. So well preserved that photography is not allowed inside the abbey itself which was great news for us as it meant we could enjoy the building without looking through a sea of camera phones.

But it also means we can’t show you what it looked like.

So here’s a picture of the cafe instead …

No doubt you can tell from the cafe that the abbey itself was not understated!

Just 6km downstream was another fairytale gem, the 12th century Schloss Schönbühel. No need for camera phones here either as the castle was temporarily closed.

The guy at the ticket office was very pleased with his joke, which he must have said a thousand times already … “Das Schloss ist geschlossen!” Ho, ho, ho!

No matter, there was still plenty more fun to be had in the rest of the Wachau. But we had barely pedalled a few kilometres before we discovered the next surprise … the Danube Bike Path was blocked by a landslide.

That meant for an unexpected treat … a free Danube River Cruise. We’d seen plenty of pleasure boats cruising up and down the river, so imagined we’d be transported in something that looked like this …

What we got was this …

It was still good fun to get out onto the river, if a little bumpy! There was so much wash from the proper river cruisers that our young skipper excitedly declared that these were the biggest waves he’d ever seen on the Danube. EVER!

He seemed to be loving it a lot more than we were.

We were back on the river again as soon as we reached Spitz, this time on a calmer, more familiar vessel. Ancient cable ferries have been taking people and their stuff backwards and forwards across the Danube since the 13th century.

They’re simple but very clever. Secured to a cable fixed high above the river a few metres upstream, they just need to angle their twin bows into the current to glide silently across. Perfect eco-friendly transport!

After spending so much time on the river we fancied a view so we cycled up to the ruins of Hinterhaus Castle. It was the second time we’d gone off piste to get some height and both occasions have required some serious mountain-bike skills to navigate the steep, rocky bike paths.

The first occasion was an even more rugged climb to enjoy the iconic view of the Schlögener loop between Passau and Linz where the river is forced make a series of 180 degree bends. Tough … but we’re sure you’ll agree the view was worth the effort!

From Hinterhaus castle, we not only had a great view of the Danube, but also of the vine terraces that make the Wachau valley famous. The abundant grapes turn into some of Austria’s finest wines, notably Grüne Veltliner and Riesling.

As the late afternoon sun mellowed, a ride down through the vineyards and apricot orchards made for a glorious end to a perfect cycling day.

As did sampling both a delicious home made apricot ice-cream and, of course, a glass or two of Wachau’s finest. It would be rude not to!

A week earlier it hadn’t looked so rosy.

We’d arrived at Frank’s bike shop in Nuremberg after an incident free journey and left our car in the capable hands of his team. It was exactly a year since we’d abandoned the ride to Istanbul and it felt quite emotional to be back on exactly the same spot.

We rode off to our hotel literally shrieking with pleasure and relief, much to the alarm of the people who happened to be passing by.

Once again we were on the road. Once again we were heading towards Istanbul.

Once again it didn’t quite turn out like that.

Andy woke up at 5am the next morning with a nasty dose of sickness and diarrhoea. We’ll spare you the details but suffice to say a stomach bug is not a good fit with a bicycle tour! Andy was beginning to feel he had the Nuremberg curse.

Fortunately it only lasted three days and was gone by the time we reached Passau.

Our friend, Judith, once made a very insightful comment on this blog about the dubious pleasure of riding down canal paths, something we’ve endured many times.

“Canal paths are like fish and chips, nice to start with but then too much and rather boring.”

By comparison the Danube River is a royal banquet, a smorgasbord of delights.

As you cruise down the super smooth cycle path the river swirls gently by, milky jade mixed with cinnamon and ochre undertones … never still, always changing. The trees lining the banks seem to lean forward slightly as if lazily dipping their toes in the water.

Then to break things up, the path will meander away from the river, up through a wood or around a village. Sometimes it accompanies a railway line, sometimes a road. Sometimes it climbs a little for a broader perspective.

If you wander off the main path it’s not too difficult to find your way back to the river. There are plenty of signs. The Danube is your constant and reliable companion.

And the Austrian authorities do love a sign!

One particular sign that kept popping up every few kilometres was to warn us of the danger of a Treppelweg. What could it be? These nasty Treppelwegs were everywhere.

A dangerous current in the river to watch out for? Some kind of vicious animal? The Danube River Monster?

Sometimes the signs were crossed out, helpfully telling us the Treppelweg danger was over. Phew! Then around the corner there lurked another one.

In the end we had to look it up … a Treppelweg is a slope.

Now this is the very, very, VERY flat Danube Cycle Path, not the Alps, so if there was a slope it was barely perceptible. A gentle dip at most. But thanks for alerting us to the danger Austria!

The warnings became catastrophic the only time there was a proper slope …

The Danube Cycle Path is not perfect though. Sometimes the path turns to gravel … although it’s very smooth gravel. Once (shock horror) we found ourselves on a road. A proper road with trucks and fast cars zooming past. On this occasion the signs were sadly lacking, making our presence quite a surprise for both cyclists and motorists.

That’s probably because it was flat, if only there had been a Treppelweg there would have been loads of signs!

The destination for most people holidaying on the Danube Cycle Path is Vienna and it’s a real treat, a fantastic city break.

Two people dominated our weekend there … the Empress Elizabeth of Austria and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

Both of them are everywhere.

Elisabeth, better known as Sisi, is easily Austria’s favourite Empress. She did have an unusual and interesting life. Some of the highlights that stood out to us include:

She enticed the emperor away from her older sister at the tender age of 15.

She played a pivotal role in negotiating the creation of the Austro-Hungarian empire.

She did gymnastics every morning in her bedroom (you can still see the equipment).

She slept with cloths soaked in cider vinegar to preserve her slim waist and bathed in olive oil to preserve her skin tone.

She fell into a deep depression after her son killed his 17 year old mistress and then shot himself.

Mozart is Austria’s favourite composer having lived in the city for many of his most productive years, achieving fame but sadly, not fortune.

We listened to an excellent string quartet at the Sala Terrana, the very room in which the maestro himself (allegedly) played.

We then ate at the city’s oldest restaurant, the Greichenbeisl (Greek Inn) the very place where maestro (allegedly) enjoyed many a convivial evening.

His signature is on the ceiling, together with those of Beethoven, Strauss, Schubert, Pavarotti and Phil Collins … so it must be true!

Empress Sisi once said … “Destination’s are only desirable because a journey lies in-between.”

She could have been summing up the joy of bicycle touring … on the Danube Super Highway or anywhere else.

Our journey to Budapest is back on that Super Highway.

But we promise not to use it as a race track anymore. After all, we’re not e-bike warriors … well not yet!

Clare and Andy

As we’re continuing the journey from last year, we’ve decided to combine the stats starting from Bath.

Bath to Vienna:

1,938km pedalled (1,204 miles)

10,514m climbed

102 hours in the saddle

This means we’re now about half way from Bath to Istanbul.

The Rough with the Smooth

Clare’s face was a picture!

Blocking her path was a man wearing only a pair of sandals and an all-over tan, proudly displaying his not inconsiderable manhood.

Behind him was another, and then another.

Leaving Vienna, we had just rejoined the Danube Cycle Path towards Bratislava. Eyes front, head down, she pedalled on.

Naked people were everywhere. Sunbathing, enjoying a coffee, sauntering down the path ahead of us.

This part of the Danube turned out to be an area for Freikörperkultur or FKK, literally translating as Free Body Culture, a ‘type of naturism that makes maximum use of sun, air and water to restore your physical and mental well being.’

But it was also a family-friendly bicycle path.

And it was certainly one of the more unusual views we’ve ever had from our handlebars!

*Cooling off in Budapest after the shock*

Since rolling off the ferry in Holland last August we’ve worked out that a remarkable 80% of our journey through Europe has been on dedicated cycle paths. Most of them have been extremely high quality … super-smooth and free of any bumpy tree roots pushing up through the tarmac.

And the prize for the smoothest of all goes to … Slovakia. We spent very little time in the country but all of it was pedalled on raised, smooth, brand new bicycle-dedicated ribbons of asphalt.

So it was a bit of a shock to find ourselves back on the roads in Hungary!

Not that Hungary is not doing its best to introduce a cycling network to rival its northern neighbours.

It is … there are plenty of bike paths.

Some of them are good bike paths, smooth with a fresh coating of asphalt.

But others are bad bike paths, rough, cracked, weed infested and with large tree roots pushing up through the surface, bumpy enough to send our panniers flying.

In the first few days in Hungary, we managed to avoid their roads by crossing the Danube back into Slovakia as often as we could. Being able to criss-cross the borders at will was a reminder of how much things have changed in Europe.

All this border crossing brought us to the beautiful town of Esztergom, the first capital city of Hungary and site of the crowning of St Stephen, their first king.

The magnificent baroque Basilica was built in the 19th century and is still Hungary’s largest church.

Esztergom lost most of its influence in 1920 after the Treaty of Trianon, imposed by the Allies (UK, USA, France, Russia) at the end of World War I, reduced it to a border town.

We heard quite a lot about this treaty as we passed through Hungary, surprised to find that several young people we met still felt resentful about it, given that it was signed over 100 years ago.

Hungary lost two thirds of its land, 60% of its population, 30% of ethnic Hungarians and many resources including almost all its gold & silver mines and over 80% of iron ore.

Victor Orbán, the Prime Minister, often keeps the issue alive as part of his nationalist message. In 2020 to mark the 100th anniversary, he unveiled a memorial right outside the Budapest parliament building depicting the names of all the lost towns and villages.

A bit shocked that we’d never heard of this treaty before, considering the impact it had on a major European country, we still don’t fully understand it. But it does feel like rough justice to Hungarians … though no doubt a relief to the many ethnic Romanians, Slovakians etc. who live in those areas.

We ended up staying in Budapest for four days, enjoying another city break. This was not to see the sights but to treat some saddle sores that Clare had developed probably from the extremely hot, dry weather.

Saddle sores are different to being sore from the saddle. They look like angry red spots and get so painful they become all you can think of as you ride along.

Clare has nicknamed them ‘pickels’, German for pimples, and for a while we thought these pickels might bring a premature end to our trip, such was her discomfort on and off the bike.

A four day break from cycling helped a lot. As did new cycling shorts, some Preparation H cream (normally used for haemorrhoids) and a last minute bike fit. Zoltan changed the tilt of her saddle a fraction and made a tiny adjustment to the position of the cleats on her shoes.

Small changes can make a big difference … apparently!

Looks like he was right … since leaving Budapest her pickels are a lot less angry.

Perhaps the biggest benefit came not from the bike fit or the haemorrhoid cream but from the thermal baths for which Hungary is famous. We went to two in Budapest … the biggest and most popular at Szechenyi (jam packed with tourists) and a smaller more local one called Rudas (better but still very busy).

*Szechenyi Baths – so busy, even on a Monday*

But it was in the small village of Cserkeszőlő that we stumbled across our best thermal bath experience, completely by chance. It was just an overnight stop on the ride across the Great Hungarian Plain towards Romania.

Discovered in 1938 during a failed oil exploration, the water in these baths emerges at 93°C and comes from a depth of 2000m, containing some of the best mineral content of any spa in the country.

For Cserkeszőlő it’s liquid gold!

In total, there are more than 1300 thermal baths in Hungary, a country where soaking in warm mineral waters for hours on end is not seen as a decadent indulgence, just a natural part of a well balanced life.

The moment she saw our bikes, the lady at our Panzio (B&B) in Cserkeszőlő rushed out in alarm . “Danger, big danger!” she shrieked as she grabbed a small weed from the centre of the drive and thrust it towards us.

It looked harmless.

“Very bad, very bad …. my bicycle … six, SIX! Big danger!”

She was trying to tell us that she’d suffered six punctures in as many weeks. It was only when we looked more closely at a longer stem that we saw the seed pods and understood … each one was protected by sharp, nasty barbs.

This plant is Tribulus Terrestris, known to cyclists as Puncture Vine but with many other names including Goathead, Devil’s Thorn and Devil’s Eyelashes.

It thrives in loose, dry arid soil which few other plants can survive so is perfectly adapted to the cracks that form on cycle paths. The seed pods are barbed so that they can attach themselves to animals hooves for greater dispersal and are strong enough to penetrate a bicycle tyre, especially as they dry out.

Hence the name!

Instinctively we looked down at our tyres. Sure enough there was a seed pod clinging to the side of Clare’s front tyre … and it was now a very squidgy tyre!

“I told you, big danger!” she said, “Everywhere in Hungary. EVERYWHERE! Very bad.”

This was our first puncture for three years and the first on our new electric bikes with their big fat tyres.

We thought we had become reasonably good at replacing inner tubes but this one was a major struggle. We were rubbish, completely out of practise, just relieved to be doing it in our room rather than by the side of a dusty road.

The next morning we relaxed for a long time in the thermal baths safe in the knowledge that we’d only planned a short, leisurely ride that day. It was pure decadent indulgence.

When we’d planned the best way to pedal across the Great Hungarian Plain from Budapest to Békéscsaba, there had been two choices …

One … follow Hungary’s bicycle route 5 as it meanders beside the Körös river. This meant taking an extra day but with shorter rides each day.

Or two … follow the main road and the cycle path that goes alongside it. Fast, but boring. And who knows whether it will be a good or bad Hungarian bike path?

We chose the leisurely river route.

We’ve never noticed puncture vine before. But it’s one of those things that once you know about it, you start seeing it everywhere. EVERYWHERE! … just as the lady said.

Sure enough the cycle path out of Békéscsaba was riddled with it. We gave up and pedalled on the road instead.

Hungarian drivers have generally been very courteous, leaving plenty of room when overtaking and giving way whenever a cycle path crossed the road.

As long as we used the cycle path that is!

If we ever had the audacity to cycle on the road when a (good or bad) bike path was available, a driver would wind down their window and deliver a surprisingly long explanation of what we were doing wrong.

Of course, we didn’t understand a word … but we imagined they were saying something like …

“Even though you shafted us so badly at Trianon, we have saved money to build you beautiful bicycle paths all over our great country … so the least you can do is show a little respect and use the bloody thing!”

We retreated back to the bike path, puncture vine and all.

But the start of the Route 5 river path in the small village of Öcsöd was too much. The path was so stony and so covered in puncture vine that it was difficult to pick a way through … it was not the leisurely ride we’d imagined at all.

Retreating to a kids play area and surrounded by graffiti, we were amazed to find we had 5G.

In just a few minutes, we’d cancelled that night’s Panzio, replanned the route back to the road, checked on Google Earth that it was a good Hungarian bike path and booked a new hotel in Békéscsaba.

Try doing that in a tiny village in the middle of Yorkshire!

It was a long, straight ride but it was a surprisingly good Hungarian bike path without a hint of puncture vine. Adopting our heads-down-crack-on-new-ebike-cruising-speed we easily made it before dark.

Which was just as well as Storm Boris was now ravaging Central Europe, causing chaos to the areas we’d just pedalled through … Vienna, Bratislava, Budapest etc. We hunkered down for two days watching the rain fall and then finally braved the conditions for a cold, damp ride crossing the next border into Romania.

*A statue in Békéscsaba … they don’t seem worried about the cold*

A week ago we’d left Vienna in 35-40°C (around 100°F) under sunny skies. Now it was just 9°C (48°F) with a biting headwind and light rain.

Quite a change! Even the naked enthusiasts by the Danube might have had to put some clothes on!

Clare and Andy

Bath to Békéscsaba:

2,534km pedalled (1,574 miles)

11,350m climbed

132 hours in the saddle

Drum Bun across the Carpathians

Pedalling out of every village in Romania we were sent on our way with a cheery Drum Bun … bon voyage, safe journey, happy trails, good road.

It became the drum beat of our journey through Transylvania … calling out Drum Bun to each other as soon as we saw the sign, backwards and forwards, loud and joyous.

We even wished startled Romanians Drum Bun, occasionally greeting people who were simply sitting outside their house. It’s easier to say than most Romanian phrases.

And sitting on a bench outside your house watching the world go by is something older Romanians do a lot.

It’s part of the rustic charm of Transylvania, together with the conical haystacks, the horse and carts, the honey trucks, the Saxon villages.

At times it seemed we were pedalling through a living history museum.

Before coming to Romania, we have to admit that we thought Transylvania was a range of mountains. We were also a bit vague about the Carpathians … maybe they were further East?

We learnt that Transylvania is one of four historical regions, together with Wallachia to the south, Moldavia to the East and Dobruja by the Black Sea. The Carpathians are the mountain range, sweeping through Transylvania like a fish hook.

*The Carpathians Photo Credit:Wikipedia*

*Our route took us north of the Southern Carpathians, then across the Transylvanian Plateau*

Transylvanian Saxons were first invited to colonise this area in the 12th century. Initially they came from the Low Countries, especially Luxembourg, whose language is the most similar, then later from across modern Germany.

These people created the unique appeal of Transylvania but have now almost entirely disappeared, driven away by the deprivations of the communist era to Austria or Bavaria.

Having learnt about the ‘tragedy’ of the Trianon Treaty to Hungarians it was interesting to hear a different point of view. Transylvania voted to join Romania (not Hungary) on 1st December 1918 two full years before Trianon, with the date still commemorated as a national holiday, Great Union Day.

History is all about perspective.

As well as plenty of rural rustic charm, we pedalled through some delightful Saxon towns, notably Sighișoara with its narrow, colourful winding streets and Făgăraș with its stunning renovated castle and Orthodox Church.

Any google search for independent travel in Romania throws up many a dire warning. Don’t rent a car, the roads are terrible, the drivers suicidal.

We beg to differ.

Of course we went on quite a few rough roads, including our fair share of gravel tracks but surprisingly we found ourselves cycling on brand new tarmac a lot of the time.

Recognising that the legacy of a creaking infrastructure from the Ceausescu era is holding the country back, the government are half way through a €17bn investment programme to build new roads and improve existing ones, much of the money coming from the EU.

It shows … and some of it is even being spent on small country roads.

But it wouldn’t be a Clare and Andy bike tour if we didn’t find ourselves in some scrapes when the tarmac runs out.

One day we pedalled down a series of small roads through a chain of villages. The road became gravel, then a farm track, before reaching a narrow suspended footbridge.

There were some serious warning signs …

Andy went to investigate … the wooden boards did seem a bit rotten in the middle. Probably not worth the risk.

But maybe, just maybe, could it be ok?

As he was pondering, Andy gradually became aware of some loud shrieking noises behind him. It was Clare explaining just what she thought of the whole situation …

“NO WAY am I going across that bridge!”

“You are TOTALLY CRAZY. I would rather go ONE HUNDRED kilometres to get round!!”

“It says PERIL OF ACCIDENT … STRICTLY ANT-TER-DEE!!!”

So we did go round … not 100km but about thirty, back to the main road we’d been trying to avoid, back to the white van drivers late for their last delivery and worst of all back to huge swarms of flying ants that had come out to enjoy the evening sunshine.

*Another attempt to avoid the main roads*

As well as the roads, the drivers in Romania have been better than advertised.

Romania might have its fair share of boy racers and impatient white van drivers but most people have been pretty good. In fact, we’d put Romania in a solid mid-table position in our Clare & Andy Driver Courtesy League (Holland at the top, Argentina at the bottom) which positions Romania above the UK … who are flirting with relegation!

The other thing we were warned about in Romania were packs of dogs.

It’s common for villagers in Transylvania to let their dogs roam free, especially late in the afternoon. They get together with their mates and there is nothing they like more than chasing unsuspecting touring cyclists … rushing out to bark and yap at us, maybe worse.

Our natural instinct is to speed up and try to outrun them … but we’d read this is exactly the wrong thing to do. It triggers their chase instinct and they can easily out-pace and out-last us.

We discovered this for real when this little dog peeled off from his pack and chased us for over six kilometres, sometimes overtaking just to show us that he could.

He was completely harmless, only wanting to run alongside us for a bit of fun. It was only when we reached the rival dogs at the next village that he gave up and returned to his friends.

To be honest, most of the dogs we’ve seen on the street have been equally harmless, lazily raising an eyebrow as we passed by or politely crossing the road to let us through. Most of the barkers and yappers have been behind a fence with the real devil dogs properly chained up.

The one time we came across a more aggressive pack we did what the experts suggest (even though it’s completely counterintuitive). Slow down, stop, get off your bike, place it between you and the dogs, make a commanding noise and raise your arm as if you have a stone.

The only problem is it takes Andy a very, very … very long time to get off his bike. So long that Clare has likened him to a floundering elephant. Enough time for a snarling dog to take a piece out of him.

*Andy’s normal method of getting off his bike*

But adrenaline kicked in.

He leapt off, shouted “Oi! Oi!”, stood tall behind his bike and put his arm in the air. It worked … the snarls stopped and the dogs slunk away to a safe distance.

Andy had made himself Top Dog!

Vlad Dracula is another a ubiquitous presence in Transylvania.

He was a real 15th century Wallachian prince, engaged in endless battles with the Ottomans, but is also said to have inspired Bram Stokers famous fictional character, Count Dracula.

His signature was not fang marks on a victim’s neck but to have his enemies, including many Transylvanian Saxons, impaled on stakes so they endured a slow, painful death. Much more bloody!

Thus he became known as Vlad the Impaler.

To some Vlad is a hero for standing up for Wallachia and keeping the Ottamans at bay. To others he is a villain for his extreme cruelty.

He is certainly a hero to the Romanian tourist industry … he’s everywhere, either as his historical self or as a fictional vampire.

Before we started Andy had tried to persuade Clare to include the famous Transfăgărășan pass on our ride through Romania, a highway that no less an authority than Jeremy Clarkson has described as “the best road in the world!”

She was not at all keen.

Was it was the 1600m of climbing that put her off? Or was it was the stray dogs?

No … it was the bears!

29% of Romania is still forested, especially in the Carpathian Mountains, providing the perfect habitat for Eurasian brown bears. There are over 6000 roaming the woody slopes.

After a beautiful day of cycling through the rolling hills from Sighişoara to Făgăraş, Andy thought the Transfagarasan was worth one last try.

Would she like to go to Brasov, visit the famous Blad Castle and enjoy/endure more Vlad Dracula memorabilia? Or would she like to ride over that pass he’d mentioned?

This time Clare was extremely enthusiastic. That’s a proper cycle touring experience, she said, of course we should go!

“But what about the bears?”

“No probs … now you’re Top Dog, you can easily fend off a bear!”

Andy wasn’t sure it was quite the same thing.

The road is unquestionably beautiful but it also has a dark history. Built during Nicolae Ceausescu’s dictatorship in the 1970’s as a military escape route in case of a Czechoslovakia style invasion by the Soviet Union, it was dynamited out of the bedrock by untrained soldiers. There were many casualties, officially 40 deaths but unofficially it was in the hundreds.

Staying overnight at the bottom of the climb we had the first bit of range anxiety we’d had for ages, as this was our first high mountain pass on our e-bikes.

How much will a 1600m climb take out of our batteries? Even with a long descent, will we make it to or our hotel 110km away? Will we run out of juice just as we meet a large bear?

*Andy’s bike feeling nervous about his battery life*

Setting off bright and early, we wound our way up this extraordinary road enjoying the mountain air. Clare is now much faster than Andy at riding uphill on e-bikes as the power-to-weight ratio has moved in her favour.

Long time readers will be pleased to hear that Clare is now clipping in on both sides so that’s also increasing her uphill pace. She first tried the technique racing along the Danube, inevitably falling off the first time she stopped but she’s now adapted well and is enjoying the extra power.

Andy just has to watch her zoom up the climbs, disappearing from view.

To stay anywhere near her, he normally switches to purple (level 3 support) or even to red (level 4 turbo). But this time we made a pledge to stay in blue (level 2) to save our batteries, which made it quite hard work. Clare was kind, easing off to avoid wearing Andy out too much.

Emerging from the tree line, we paused to take in the view and pulled over next to a man who was playing with his two young sons.

He broke away from the game and stared hard at our bikes. “Are you thinking to go over the top on those?” he asked.

“Yes”, said Andy “it’s not far to the top, we’re about half way.”

“No, no,” he looked worried, “I don’t mean the climb. There are bears the other side, many bears, many.”

“Where are they?” asked Clare “In the parking areas?”

“Yes, yes. The parking. Also in the street.”

This was NOT what Clare wanted to hear. Much as Andy reminded her that people cycle over the Transfagarasan all the time, she could not get the image of a bear attacking us out of her head.

And we hadn’t seen anyone else on a bicycle that day.

And she was no longer feeling quite so sure that Andy’s top dog tactics would work.

Andy explained to the man that it didn’t matter as we’d be going downhill, so we could make a fast getaway. He smiled weakly and got back into the safety of his car.

We carried on climbing, carefully monitoring our battery consumption, admiring the views, watching the cable car, even enjoying a lunch of roasted vegetables at the top.

When we reached the summit, we’d both used 52% of our batteries for 27km distance at an average gradient of 5.1%. A few quick calculations … it should be OK.

Before enjoying the twists and turns of the descent, we first had to pass through 884m of the Bâlea tunnel. Then we swept down the mountain, all the time keeping a watchful eye out for dark brown bear-like silhouettes. By the time we reached Lake Vidrarul we’d only seen two bears, both surrounded by tourists in cars taking photos.

Not a bad result at all we thought.

Lake Vidrarul, formed by a dam at the far end, is a big lake. The road around it runs for 27km up and down through thick forest, which meant using a lot more precious battery power than we’d bargained for.

It also meant our escape speed was limited, should we need it.

And we did need it … we kept running into bears, one after another just as the man had said, usually with 2-3 cars in attendance. Despite the many warnings, some tourists continue to feed them … which of course is why they’re sitting by the side of the road in the first place.

We managed to slide by unnoticed.

But then we turned a corner to find a large male patrolling our side of the road. We stopped and decided to try the safety technique recommended by local cycling experts … wait for a car, ask them to drive slowly past the bear and keep the car between you and the bear.

We were lucky, the four young people in the next car to come along spoke perfect English, understood exactly why we wanted to do this strange manoeuvre and executed it perfectly.

In total we saw nine bears. In truth, none of them took any notice of us, even this mother protecting her two cubs.

From the dam at the end of the lake it was another 30km ride to Curtea de Arges and our hotel. We both pulled up with just 10% battery left.

Brilliant, thought Clare, that’s a good buffer.

Damn it, thought Andy, I could have used more power on the climb.

After all that excitement we decided to skip Bucharest and get to Bulgaria as quickly as possible.

But when John and Anne told us they were going to be passing through at the same time, we jumped at the chance to see them. It was so lovely to catch up with good friends, talk about normal life, eat and laugh together, explore the city a little.

*Anne and John are interailing to Turkey and back*

It seems ironic that the most popular sites in Bucharest are based on the excesses of Ceausescu and his wife and the personality cult they were obsessed with developing.

We joined the tour groups, gawping at the outrageously large Palace of the Parliament, the heaviest, most expensive and most ornate administrative building in the world. It cost over €4 billion at a time when Ceausescu had imposed a crippling austerity programme on the people with food, fuel, energy all rationed and many starving.

Then to their private villa with its famous gold bathroom fittings, swimming pool and nuclear bunker in the basement.

As Anne said, it was weirdly distasteful.

Romania has been truly delightful country for slow bicycle travel. An ever fascinating iMax view from our handlebars and none of the dangers we were warned about becoming real … not the roads, not the drivers, not the dogs, not even the bears!

*In Bucharest Photo Credit: John Coghlan*

So come to Romania if you’re looking for an interesting and unusual country to visit. John and Anne advise against the slow, unreliable trains … but take a tour, hire a car … especially rent an e-bike.

And when you come … we can only wish you one thing. Drum Bun!

Clare and Andy

Bath to Budapest

3,407km pedalled (2,117 miles)

17,678m climbed

176 hours in the saddle

*Clare was excited to pass 2000km since we left Nuremberg*

2024: A Cycling Odyssey

It’s impossible to over state our emotions as we pedalled that last kilometre towards the mouth of the Golden Horn, finally arriving in Istanbul on an overcast Sunday in the middle of October.

Gateway to the East, the junction between Europe and Asia. Through the centuries Istanbul has seen a huge number of mystics, merchants, nomads and conquerors pass through its walls … and now it was welcoming two emotional touring cyclists from Bath.

But why not feel the enormity of the moment?

Since leaving our car at Frank’s shop in Nuremberg in late August we’ve cycled 3003 kilometres (1866 miles). 39 days in the saddle.

And if we look at the whole trip since we left Bath last summer it’s 4332 kilometres (2692 miles). 56 days of cycling across 9 countries.

It was nine years since Clare first came up with the idea of cycling to Istanbul during a chat around our kitchen table.

And it was fourteen months since we were forced to stop our journey in Nuremberg because of Andy’s racing heartbeat from Atrial Fibrillation. Almost exactly a year since his catheter ablation gave us the chance to go back and try again.

During those nine years we’ve been on many bicycle tours to many amazing places. But Istanbul was always the dream destination, the big one, the journey of a lifetime … our personal cycling odyssey!

Yet the junction between Europe and Asia seemed so far away, much further than we’d ever cycled before. It just felt too big a challenge.

Those kitchen table chats went round and round in circles … can we really cycle that far? … can we be away for so long? … what’s the best way to go? … when’s the right time? … will we be limited by the post-Brexit Schengen visa restrictions?

The more we talked about it, the more we decided that no, we couldn’t do it. We weren’t getting any younger and various bits of our bodies were starting to complain in a way that they hadn’t before. Istanbul was just going to be too much!

But then we switched to e-bikes and realised we could travel much further each day for the same number of hours in the saddle. We discovered that whilst e-biking is still good exercise, we don’t suffer from the same level of exhaustion from hill climbing as we did on our old steel touring bikes.

Suddenly the cycling odyssey was back on!

Any bicycle tour of this length is not just about the pedalling …

It’s a lot of staring at maps and planning the best route for the next day.

It’s many hours spent researching the most appropriate places to stay.

It’s endless packing and unpacking of our panniers, trying to remember to put things back in the same place.

It’s taking the batteries off the e-bikes and recharging them every night.

It’s plastering on enough chamois cream or vaseline to keep the saddle sores at bay.

It’s washing out smelly cycling shorts in a hotel sink.

But best of all it’s about being in a bicycle touring bubble together, riding behind each other or side by side, sharing a lot of date nights, both equally consumed by the whole experience.

“A journey of a lifetime is measured by memories, not by time.” Debasish Mridha.

The final leg of this journey-of-a-lifetime got off to a rather bleak start.

Leaving Bucharest on a cold damp morning we cycled back towards the Danube across the featureless farmland of the Danubian Plain. Now widening out as it heads towards its delta, the river has always been a formidable barrier in this part of the world, protecting Romania from many an invading army.

And so it proved for us.

Amazingly until 2013, there was only one bridge over the Danube from Romania to Bulgaria, the ‘Friendship Bridge’ between Giurgiu and Ruse which opened in 1954. Even now there are still only two, the second being the ‘New Europe Bridge’ which is much further west near the Serbian border.

There are several ferries we could have aimed for but the best crossing point for our route was easily the Friendship Bridge. Now old and tired, it’s in need of substantial repairs which means lane closures and lengthy queues.

That gave us plenty of time to gaze across at the forbidding industrial landscape that greeted us as our first view of Bulgaria.

And to pick our way through the questionable cycle path that led to the border controls.

Before arriving in Bulgaria we knew even less about the country than we did Romania. So we decided to pedal first to the historic city of Veliko Tarnovo in order to learn a bit more.

Tucked into some dramatic bends of the Yantra river and surrounded by an amphitheatre of forested hills, Veliko Tarnovo is a gem. Capital of the second Bulgarian Empire (a two hundred year respite from Ottoman occupation between the 12th and 14th centuries) Tarnovo was also the site of the declaration of independence for the modern Bulgarian state in 1908.

To mark its status as the country’s historic and cultural capital, Veliko meaning ‘Great’ was added to the city’s name in 1965.

*Tsarevets Fortress, citadel of the 2nd Bulgarian Empire*

Clare scored us a great last-minute-midweek-hotel deal there, a 5-star boutique hotel with only four beautifully curated rooms, a significant upgrade on our normal digs which we have to admit added to our enjoyment of the city.

The worst room of the trip also came in Bulgaria, the bed so uncomfortable that Andy pulled the mattress onto the floor in the middle of the night. In the morning he realised the discomfort was caused by some spare wooden bed slats left under the mattress. What a delicate princess-with-a-pea he is!

After leaving Veliko Tarnovo we pedalled onto Elena, gateway to the Balkan Mountains that split Bulgaria in two, north and south and give their name to the whole Balkan region.

Here we stayed in a small workman’s cottage with a charming owner who re-assured us that the quiet pass we’d planned for the next day was indeed the perfect way to cycle over the mountains.

Then he went on to tell us that there are only three border crossings between Bulgaria and Turkey. Only three!

“Don’t go main road way to Edirne” he said, “Many big trucks from Istanbul. Many people coming in car from Holland or Germany.”

“Better you go Black Sea. Very beautiful. Especially Sozopol, much beautiful place.”

“Then you go through nature park to other border. Third border. Not many people go there. But oak trees, oak trees far as you see. Much better for bicycle. You go that way.”

So we did. And he was not wrong.

Those two days of climbing, first over the Balkan Mountains and then up through Strandja Nature Park to the Turkish border, were one of the highlights of the whole trip. The Balkan Mountains are covered in a carpet of ancient beech, hornbeam and spruce forests, Strandja Nature Park in ancient oak trees many of them well over 500 hundred years old.

With barely any cars passing by, the sun shining in a clear blue sky overhead and with every ridge and fold of the hills covered in a thick carpet of trees, it felt as if we had been plunged into a sparkling pool filled with fresh forest air.

Ever keen to preserve her battery, Clare once again stayed in blue (level 2 support) for the whole of both climbs. Andy gambled on purple (level 3) simply to try and keep up with her. It was cutting it fine … on both days he rolled up to our accommodation with just 3% of his battery left!

Once we got over the top of the Balkan Mountains and into Southern Bulgaria the landscape changed considerably. Gone were the lush forests, replaced instead by an open, arid, Mediterranean outlook.

The south also seemed poorer to us, more neglected. For example, we rode past several piles of fly tipping, something we hadn’t noticed before.

This got us to thinking about the pre-conceptions touring cyclists and other slow travellers bring to the countries they pass through.

We hadn’t expected to like Bulgaria very much and found ourselves noticing things that continually reinforced that view … the litter, the abandoned dilapidated buildings, our difficulty understanding the Slavic language and Cyrillic alphabet, the food always smothered in cheese (which Clare hates), the apparent brusqueness of the people.

We felt we were in a kind of negative reinforcement loop that was hard to get out of.

Many of the same things were also present in Romania but that was a country we expected to like. There we only found positive reinforcement … the rustic charm, the smiles from friendly people, the easier Latin based language.

This didn’t seem fair to Bulgaria somehow. But you can’t help what you think as a traveller passing through.

We decided we’d need a spectacular experience to shock us out of the negative spiral and see the country afresh through more positive eyes. The two days of riding up through the forests almost did it … they were amazing, inspiring, incredibly beautiful, almost enough to change the spiral. But not quite.

The Black Sea coast didn’t reverse the spiral either.

Much of the cycling was challenging, along busy roads or along some of the worst maintained cycle paths we’ve ever pedalled on.

One Sunday we were bumping down such a cycle path when the heavens opened into an almighty thunderstorm that forced us to shelter under the trees for an hour.

Eventually we took refuge in a pop-up fish restaurant full of people enjoying a family lunch.

Our host in Elena was right, Sozopol is a charming old town … full of meandering cobbled streets and pretty wooden houses, all huddled together on a narrow peninsula.

And Tsarevo, further down the coast, is a pleasant family resort. Both are notable for being unusually clean, swept and scrubbed each morning by an army of street sweepers armed only with straw brooms.

On the way up from Tsarevo to the Turkish border, we paused in the tiny village of Kondolovo, delighted to find a coffee vending machine with real Italian coffee!

These coffee machines are extremely popular in Bulgaria. They’re everywhere … on street corners, in bus stops, even in remote villages … and they offer a shot of surprisingly good coffee for a very low price.

At the border we were surprised to come across a number of coaches which must have driven up the main road from Burgas, each one taking 20 minutes or so to process. No matter … Clare cleverly sliced her way through the queue of traffic like a knife through butter with Andy following sheepishly in her wake.

Within minutes we had left the EU and the Schengen zone behind.

*Clare slicing her way through the border in record time*

From the border it was a three day ride across Eastern Thrace (European Turkey) to reach Istanbul. Turkey already felt very different … mosque minarets signalling the next village in place of church towers, women dressed in burkas, groups of old men languishing outside every tea shop.

But they all gave us a notably more cheery welcome as we pedalled through, waving and calling out encouragement.

The ride into Istanbul itself is notorious in the bicycle touring community for being especially difficult, highways full of impatient mad drivers, narrow side roads completely blocked by traffic, roadworks everywhere.

We followed the advice of a couple of young bloggers and hugged the Sea of Marmaris as closely as we could. It turned out to be a mix of the serene and the scary.

Serene as we cruised gently along coastal cycle paths, weaving our way between families enjoying their weekend stroll. Scary when we were cast out into the traffic, winding through suburbs in a desperate attempt to avoid any main roads.

*Scary … perhaps not the best time to try the pavement!*

But it wasn’t as bad as the warnings suggested so after reaching the Golden Horn we decided to carry on cycling through this crazy city taking in its sights and sounds. We even caught a ferry across the Bosphorus to Anatolia (Asian Turkey) … just to make sure we’d properly completed our journey from West to East.

By the end of the day we were weaving through the traffic like a local Deliveroo rider!

We’ve been lucky enough to visit Istanbul a few times before and it’s one of our favourite cities. An enchanting blend of Eastern and Western culture, it’s a vibrant modern city but with many layers of history to peel away … from Byzantium to Constantinople to the Ottoman era to the Turkish War of Independence.

Jam packed with people, Istanbul is chaotic, colourful and confusing with extraordinary experiences lurking around every corner.

A fitting destination for our cycling odyssey.

Now it’s time to turn around and travel west in order to get home. We have 23 Schengen days left to get back to Bath. Our rough plan uses 20 of them so there’s not much time for things to go wrong.

We can’t go on planes (as they won’t carry our e-bike batteries) but trains and automobiles are part of the plan. As are buses and ferries, lots of ferries … and a bit of cycling.

Not much cycling though, that part of the odyssey is done.

Clare and Andy

Bath to Istanbul

4,332km pedalled (2,692miles)

27,209m climbed

224 hours in the saddle

Striking out for Home

We’d made it to Istanbul! The dream had come true!

Now we had to get home.

We couldn’t fly with e-bikes and didn’t want to cycle all the way so we were looking at ferries, trains, buses and maybe a man-with-a-van.

You might think there’d be a ferry from Istanbul to, say, Athens? But no … because of the delicate history between the two countries the ferries that operate between Turkey and Greece only go as far as the nearby islands.

If we could get to a Greek island in the Aegean we could take a ferry to Athens, cycle across the Peloponnese to the other side of Greece and get yet another ferry to Italy.

In Italy there would be just one last challenge remaining. Other touring cyclists had warned us that it was almost impossible to take bicycles on international trains, say from a town in Italy to Nuremberg in Germany where we’d left our car in Frank’s care.

We decided the worst case scenario would mean we’d have to jump on a train without them, pick up the car, drive back across the Alps to Italy to collect the bikes and then drive home to Bath. A hell of a long way around … but just about possible.

Before then the first task was to get across Turkey to the coast. Everyone we asked in Istanbul just told us to take a bus.

But past experience has made us nervous of buses as it’s difficult to squeeze bulky bicycles into the luggage compartment especially if the bus is full.

Even if you buy a ticket, even if the staff at the bus station say it’s fine, even if it’s not completely full … getting on a bus with a bike entirely depends on what the driver has to say about it. And we’ve been thrown off lots of buses at the last minute.

Instead, we looked around to see if we could find a man-with-a-van in Istanbul or maybe a one way van rental. Sadly, these proved to be ruinously expensive.

So still feeling quite fit, we decided to cycle the 400 hilly kilometres instead.

Before climbing back onto our bikes, we could get well on the way by taking a ferry across the Sea of Marmaris. Arriving at the terminal on a blustery day, tickets in hand, we were soon approached by a flustered looking official.

“Where you go?” he asked.

“Bandirma,” Andy smiled back.

His face dropped. “Oh no. Sorry, no. Big problem. Bandirma boat cancelled. Much wind. Sorry, winter much wind problem, sorry.”

Using Google Translate, he explained that it wasn’t just blustery in the middle of the Marmaris, it was a very windy Force 7, far too much for the ferry. The wind wasn’t going to calm down for at least a couple of days.

Helpfully, he took us over to a map.

“Other way possible,” he said. “This one” (to Mudanya, quite near our planned cycling route), “3 o’clock … maybe go? … maybe not?”

“Or this one” (to Yalova, a long way away from our cycling route), “go in 20 minutes. Bigger boat. OK … this one OK.”

So we went on the bigger boat. After all, what was one extra day of cycling?

As it turned out, we both enjoyed the 80 kms enforced ride to Mudanya that day. We felt good after 4 days off the bike in Istanbul, cycling first on wide main roads and then on a lovely quiet coast road, watching the late afternoon sun sink down in the sky.

But keen to get to the Aegean as fast as possible, we convinced ourselves it might be easier to find a man-with-a-van in a small town like Mudanya.

Again, everyone we asked kept telling us to take the bus instead. It’s different in Turkey, they said. Many bus companies in Turkey, no problem with bicycle, all they want is your money. Anyway buses not busy now, not holiday season.

So we took a deep breath and decided to give it a try.

They were right about the huge choice of long distance bus companies; there was a dazzling array to choose from. We bought tickets to Kuşadasi and waited. No problem, the ticket ladies said. Of course you can take bike on bus, don’t worry.

When the bus arrived, 20 minutes late, it was packed with both people and luggage. The driver was clearly not at all happy. But after a lengthy discussion with his colleagues, full of head shaking and pointing, he reluctantly moved some bags and helped us to jam the bikes in, front wheels removed.

The bus itself was fantastic. Lots of space, great leg room, a clean loo, plus free drinks and snacks served by two friendly hosts.

We settled gratefully back into our seats and day-dreamed … as long as the bikes survived, we’d have time for a mini Turkish holiday by the sea … we could explore the area on our e-bikes, potter around the old town, eat delicious Turkish food and visit Ephesus. We wouldn’t even be using any precious Schengen days.

Mmm … as long as the bikes survived …

And miraculously they did survive.

Despite bent mudguards, bells no longer working and loose fittings, there was no major damage. The mini Turkish holiday in Kuşadasi was everything we had dreamt of.

Wandering around the ancient port of Ephesus, it was easy to imagine a bustling, cultural city first of the Greeks, then of the Romans; or to imagine early Christians making a pilgrimage in honour of St Paul, St John and Mary, mother of Jesus, who was said to have lived there for her final years.

We were particularly struck by the ‘Terraced Houses’, luxurious Roman family homes with plumbing, heating and lavish interior frescoes built within strolling distance of the many temples, theatres, libraries, public baths and shopping centres; the remains of which still line the marble streets.

On the ferry across to Samos (the closest Greek island to Kuşadasi) we bumped into David, a lone touring cyclist from New Zealand who was nearing the end of a long trip from London to Istanbul and then around Turkey and Greece. He’s been doing it the hard way … no e-bike of course but also no apartments as he was wild camping most nights on beaches, behind mosques or on any patch of grass he could find. An amazing experience but very tough … full respect to him.

Chapeau David!

As well as being good company, David was brilliant at foraging for food. An endless supply of goodies emerged from his panniers … sweet figs, juicy persimmons, even some fresh fish he’d bought straight off the boat.

Now we’d arrived in Greece, we’d have to put our skates on, as we only had 23 Schengen days left. But … we weren’t going anywhere quickly as the Greek ferry workers had called a sudden 48-hour strike which meant that our ferry to Athens was cancelled. Two days later they extended the strike by a further 48 hours.

When we got to the front of the queue at the local Blue Star Ferries ticket office, the lady told us how lucky we were to have grabbed the last cabin on the next ship out.

“I must book it quickly before it goes,” she said.

“Well lucky and unlucky,” mused Andy, thinking about the delay.

She didn’t miss a beat. “No, no, no … you are very, very lucky,” she said. “You are forced to stay more days on the beautiful island of Samos. The sun is shining, the sea is still warm, what can possibly be nicer?”

And she was right, those few extra days on a beautiful Greek island turned out to be another wonderful mini break. As we slowly explored Samos on our e-bikes (the perfect way to get around this very hilly island) we forgot all about the strikes and our ticking Schengen time-bomb.

We stayed in an aptly named apartment called Heavens Door with a view to die for. We ate fish for lunch, drank cool white wine and even swam in the sea.

We sent grateful thanks to the ferry workers!

However, the delay from the strike did create one onward travel headache … we now only had 2 days to cycle 240km across the Peloponnese from Athens to Patras. Too much for us … now that we’d lost fitness and gained a few pounds from all the mini breaks!

Arriving in Athens at 3 o’clock in the morning, we found a friendly hotel foyer to hang out in until dawn and then managed to book ourselves and our bikes onto a small suburban commuter train that ran out to a place called Kiato, cutting the ride down to just 120km.

It was a national holiday in Greece, celebrating the moment in 1940 when they said “Oxi” or “No” to Mussolini when he told them to allow Axis troops to enter the country or face war. It’s been celebrated ever since as a source of great national pride with parades, flag waving and marching bands.

Oxi Day made for an easy introduction to travelling with e-bikes by train as we practically had the 6:15am to ourselves.

The ferry to Italy was almost a mini cruise, steaming for 24 hours through the Ionian islands, past Corfu and then up the Adriatic.

It had always been our plan to cycle for a few days in Italy as long as the weather was OK and we had enough spare Schengen. We wanted to get a taste of Italy as we hope to come back and explore more of the country by e-bike another time.

Taste is the right word … as Italy lived up to its culinary reputation, enticing us to stop for extended pasta lunches every day, always washed down by a glass or two of Italian wine.

And we needed that pasta to power us, as Italy also lived up to its reputation for brutally steep hills. So steep that on the second day of cycling from Pergola to Carpegna we even had to recharge our batteries over lunch, something we’ve never contemplated before.

Which was easier said than done.

Most of the electrical sockets were old fashioned Italian 3-pin plugs, which our 2-pin European adaptors didn’t fit into. And it was All Saints Day (a public holiday) so none of the shops were open.

Furthermore, we found ourselves at the epicentre of a famous truffle festival which meant that the restaurants were jam packed, full of contented gourmands enjoying this special delicacy.

But the Saints must have been smiling on us. We rounded a corner to find an open supermarket, stocking the adaptors we needed. Then on the edge of town, we cycled past a restaurant with just one free table available on the terrace.

So whilst the batteries recharged, we recharged ourselves with Tagliatelle smothered in Black Truffle shavings and a couple of glasses of delicious Verdicchio to wash it down. It was perfect!

But … we still had 60km to ride and several hills to climb, including a 750m summit finish to Carpegna. Maybe it was the wine that made us forget the clocks had just moved back to winter time. We’d be lucky to get there before dark!

Fortunately, the e-bikes were also feeling nice and replete. They were happy to ramp up their power and speed up the hills in the glorious late Autumn sunshine, whilst we revelled in the stunning landscape of Le Marche region.

It will go down as one of our more epic cycling days (and the only epic cycling day with a good lunch!)

Appropriately, the Italian food bicycle tour ended in Bologna, famous as Italy’s food capital. Here, we indulged in even more pasta and gelato and enjoyed wandering through the porticoes to visit the sights … Europe’s oldest university, the famous two towers, the unfinished Basilica.

*Strolling through the porticoes of Bologna*

There was one final treat in Bologna. We were amazed to find a train with two bookable bike spaces that would take us all the way over the Brenner Pass, through Austria and then onto Munich. Bike spaces that were booked out for every single day, except for the one day we wanted to travel!

A glance at the amazing train travel website that is ‘The Man in Seat 61’ told us that we would be travelling on a brand new, shiny red, Austrian train with easy access, luxury accommodation for the bikes, comfortable seats for us and even a buffet car to help pass the 8 hour journey.

But when the train rolled in (only 25 minutes late), it wasn’t red, it wasn’t shiny, it certainly wasn’t new. It looked tired and old.

Another strike!

The previous day, the Italian railway union had called everyone out in protest at staff safety arrangements after a conductor was attacked near Genoa. Fair enough. But it meant that all the trains were in the wrong places. Which meant that the Austrians had to pull this one out of retirement from a dusty siding, as an emergency measure.

We were soon joined on the platform by two incredibly helpful female conductors, one Italian, the other German. Follow us, they said. We’ll take you to the carriage for the bicycles. We followed them to the far end of the train.

Oh dear, they said when we got there. It hasn’t been connected. Never mind, follow us, we have a guard van, you can put them there. We followed them to the other end of the train.

But the rolling door to the guard van was jammed shut. Oh no, this is no good, they said. Go to the next carriage and put one bicycle at each end.

Which we did, lifting the heavy bikes up precipitous steps, then jamming them uncomfortably between the loo and the train door.

The train set off but we didn’t think our efforts would be up to Health and Safety rules.

When they came through the train to check the tickets, they agreed. No, no this doesn’t work. Go to the next carriage. There you will find hooks to hang them on.

We lugged the bikes through the train. Unfortunately, those hooks were designed for the sort of streamlined road bike beloved by Italians, not our heavy e-bikes with their thick tyres. They simply didn’t fit.

Oh dear … problem after problem, they said. But don’t worry, it’s not your fault. It’s because we changed the train. Phew, we thought … they’re not going to throw us off.

Suddenly Andy had a bright idea. Could we take the bikes off the train at the next station, go back to the guard van but lift the bikes up through the passenger door and into the guard van from the inside? Mmm, they said. Yes, yes, maybe this could work.

Verona was the next station and half of Italy seemed to be getting onto our train. Not surprisingly the doors to the 1st class carriage were also jammed, so all those passengers now had to climb on through the guard van. The two lovely guards continued to be friendly and sympathetic, the other passengers a bit less so!

After much gesturing and shrugging Italian style, we managed to get the bikes into the van, where they lived in luxury for the rest of the journey.

The platform in Munich was on the opposite side of the train. On that side, the guard van door rolled up without a hitch so the bikes came off very easily. We celebrated, perhaps a little prematurely, as we still had to get onto the connection to Nuremberg.

This turned out to be a sleek German Inter City Express high speed train, travelling all the way to Hamburg. It didn’t look at all like the type of train you could take a bicycle on.

But we found one carriage with two huge bicycle images printed on the outside. With easy roll-on access, there was a lovely space for the bikes. The only problem was that the tyres were again too thick to fit onto the safety attachments. The more officious conductor took one look and started scrolling through his regulations.

Oh no! Were we going to fail at the final hurdle?

He lifted his head, smiled and asked us Can you lock the bicycle to this attachment?

Yes. Yes! YES! … we can!!

*On the train from Munich to Nuremberg … phew!*

We had made it to Nuremberg, ready to enjoy a celebratory curry with Frank as a thank you for looking after our car. Lots of great German beer, lots of laughter.

From Nuremberg it was a two day drive back to Bath, arriving in Phileas Fogg style, exactly 80 days since we’d set out. We cruised through the French customs without incident … despite the strikes we’d only used 17 Schengen days to get home from Istanbul, so we still had a whopping 6 days left!

All this public transport has taught us a few lessons for future e-bike tours:

Ferries are the best – there’s plenty of room for bikes, no fuss, no extra charges.
Bookable trains are easier than we thought (with an extra charge for the bikes) – as long as they come with a friendly conductor.
Buses are a last resort – e-bikes are simply too big to go in their luggage compartments, it’s rude to try.
Most of the staff on the ferries, trains and buses are incredibly helpful. They’re on your side and will get you on board if they possibly can.
It’s more difficult than you’d think to find a man-with-a-van in Turkey.

When we first set out on this odyssey, both of us had secretly decided it was probably our last long bicycle tour. But after a few weeks on the road, we both realised that we’re not ready to hang up our cycling shorts just yet.

The e-bikes are simply too good and there are too many wonderful places to explore.

Clare suggests going to Morocco next … to experience an African adventure.

Andy suggests Italy … to eat more pasta.

Watch this space.

Clare and Andy

Nuremberg to Istanbul to Bologna (this year)

3,746km pedalled (2,328miles)

28,014m climbed

193 hours in the saddle

Bath to Istanbul to Bologna (the whole journey)

5,075km pedalled (3,153miles)

35,803m climbed

264 hours in the saddle

Crossing the Delaware

On Christmas night in 1776, George Washington famously led part of his army across the icy Delaware river in a surprise attack against the British.

Coming just six months after the Declaration of Independence was signed in Philadelphia, it was a bold and desperate act from a desperate general.

After many defeats including the loss of New York, the morale of Washington’s ragged army was at an all time low as the harsh Pennsylvania winter set in. Without food or warm clothing numbers were shrinking fast, he was losing more men to disease and desertion than to battle.

But, in a heavy snowstorm, he surprised the British troops enjoying their Christmas festivities and scored an important victory. His daring raid revitalised the patriot army and gave new life to the American Revolution that would eventually lead to Washington himself being declared the first president of the United States.

We too had to cross the Delaware river to start our American cycling adventure, heading east out of Philadelphia and into New Jersey.

It was perhaps a little easier … we had the huge Benjamin Franklin bridge to carry us across instead of flimsy boats, the weather was a lot better and we weren’t carrying any heavy artillery (not even a hair dryer!)

But it was still a little daunting.

Like the rest of our cycling experience in America so far, it turned out to be much easier than we expected. A path dedicated to pedestrians and cyclists kept us well above the busy road and rail track, and gave us some great views back to the city.

*Cycling towards City Hall, Philadelphia*

Did we say “cycling”?

It turns out that no one in America understands what that means … so what we really mean is “biking”. In the States we are bikers!

And the biking has been great. There are plenty of quiet roads or bike lanes to choose from. Even on busier roads, motorists are very courteous, waving us across at junctions, letting us go through lights first and giving us a wide berth as they pass. In urban areas cars seem to glide gently along … no horns, no hurry.

In fact American drivers are so polite that they go straight to the top of our ‘Car Courtesy League’ pushing the Irish down into second place. Let’s hope it continues!

We learnt about Washington’s crossing of the Delaware from the Museum of the American Revolution museum, one of many excellent museums and art galleries in Philly. It even features Washington’s perfectly preserved war tent, a tent so famous that it has its own high tech multi-media show.

*The Liberty Bell, in front of Independence Hall*

Other visitor attractions include important symbols from the struggle for freedom from the British … the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall and the Benjamin Franklin Museum.

As the most favourite of favourite sons, you can’t miss Ben in Philly. As well as the bridge there’s a highway, a borough, a park, a science museum, a football stadium, a gentleman’s club and several schools all named after him.

To be fair he did have quite a life … founding father, printing entrepreneur, newspaper publicist, diplomat and inventor. His many inventions include bifocal glasses, the lightening rod and kite surfing. It’s true … as a keen swimmer, he created a kite that pulled him backwards and forwards across his pond!

*The Glass Armonica, a musical instrument invented by Franklin. It uses the same principle as rubbing a finger around the edge of a glass*.

Despite these many achievements, Benjamin Franklin was not the highlight of our visit to Philadelphia. The highlight was the Barnes Foundation and its extraordinary collection of impressionist art.

*Promenade with Child, Pierre-August Renoir*

Having made his money inventing and marketing a disinfectant that became popular for treating venereal disease, Albert C. Barnes started collecting modern art in the 1920’s at a time when Impressionism was nowhere near as popular as it is today.

Once overhead saying to a friend that … “I am convinced I cannot get too many Renoirs” … he stayed true to his word, eventually hovering up a collection of 181 Renoir paintings. To that extraordinary number he added 69 by Cézanne, 59 by Matisse, 46 by Picasso and several more by Van Gogh, Rousseau, Modigliani and others.

The Barnes Foundation is unlike any art gallery we’ve ever been to.

We were very lucky. This is a quiet time in the visitor cycle, allowing us to wander through the small, intimate rooms almost alone.

They are left exactly as Albert Barnes arranged them at the time of his death in 1951. The paintings are not displayed chronologically or by artist, but by theme or colour. Interspersed with African masks, native American jewellery or Victorian iron doorknobs, Barnes believed that art, like life, should not be segregated.

The effect is astonishing. Breathtaking.

And for the cheesesteaks!

This famous local delicacy is a long, crusty roll filled with thinly sliced, freshly sautéed ribeye beef and melted cheese … with just the right amount of drip.

As we cycled (sorry … biked) towards Atlantic City we soon came across another slice of Americana. New Jersey is the spiritual home of the great American Diner, with more diners than in any other state. They are perfect places to refuel … sitting at a counter, munching our way through an enormous portion, letting the ketchup run down our chins.

After a lunch or breakfast like that, it’s a wonder that we are able to pedal on at all!

Altlantic City itself was disappointing, much faded from its glory days as the prime East Coast beach resort and city of bootleggers. Today it’s dominated by cheap candy stores, kiss-me-quick arcades and casinos.

At this time of year, we’re expecting a few enforced rest days to shelter from the rain. The first one came sooner than we hoped … after just two days of cycling we were itching to move on.

It doesn’t rain gently here … this is proper rain. Big, strong American rain!

Not having the fortitude of Washington and his men, we were glad to be safely tucked up inside our hotel, watching it pour down across the parking lot.

But there was a bonus.

The following day the tail end of the storm created a strong tailwind that swept us down the Jersey Shore to Cape May, a beautiful preserved Victorian seaside resort that boasts one of the top 10 most beautiful beaches in the country.

It was as we crossed back over the Delaware by ferry that we heard the Queen had passed away. It was a moment of mixed emotions … joy at her long life well lived, sadness that she’s gone. She has been ever present in all our lives and a such a strong, calming influence.

Knowing that Americans love their flags, we’ve attached a couple of small Union Jacks to the back of our bikes. We were amazed to see how many people flagged us down to ask us if we’d heard the news that our Queen had died and to tell us how sad they were feeling.

So whilst Washington famously crossed the Delaware to score a symbolic victory that led to pushing the British out, we British Bikers have been a lot more fortunate.

We’ve crossed the Delaware to a very warm welcome.

Clare and Andy

Same Same but Different

On cresting the top of a small hill, an Amish horse and cart suddenly pulled out right in front us.

Pausing to enjoy this unusual sight, we swept down the hill behind them. It was easy to catch them up, then cruise past with a wave and a polite nod in return. But the road turned sharply upwards and our legs soon became no match for their horsepower.

Once again we overtook them on the next descent, once again they easily passed us on the next climb. Did we see the hint of a smile? Probably not, the self styled plain people don’t believe in gloating!

We were cycling on the backcountry roads of Lancaster county in Pennsylvania, between the small towns of Oxford and Strasburg. This is the beating heart of Amish country with a community of around 43,000 living and farming here, the largest group in America.

Horse drawn buggies are the family saloon of the Amish world. They are normally enclosed grey boxes with enough space for mum, dad, a few kids and the weekly shop.

*Parked outside the local grocery store*

The open cart we tried and failed to race is a traditional 16th birthday present given to a young man to take his sweetheart out for rides through the local covered bridges. Not for nothing are they known as ‘date buggies’ and ‘kissing bridges’.

We passed scores of identical farms each with a weatherboard house, a barn, a grain silo or two and a washing line full of simple, old fashioned clothing swaying in the breeze.

No cars, no motorbikes and no other ‘English’ people (all outsiders are known as ‘the English’ to the Amish.)

After a while buggies became so common they were unremarkable. More striking were the traditional single room schoolhouses, a young female teacher bravely managing a single class of 6-14 year olds. As were the horses ploughing the fields or carrying away newly cut corn.

It was a magical experience. A peep into another world.

Locals tell us the Amish are a happy community, living at peace with themselves and with their ‘English’ neighbours. Few young people are leaving and the population is increasing quickly.

But they do have many idiosyncrasies.

Take their attitude to bicycles!

The Amish are famous for rejecting most forms of modern technology, although it’s a little more nuanced than that. New technological innovations are carefully considered by the elders of each community, both for the value to their way of life and the potential disruption.

Tractors are generally banned, 1950’s style washing machines are allowed, mobile phones are only permitted for business phone calls.

On the face of it, bicycles are a perfect low tech mode of transport. Indeed, they are used extensively by Amish communities in Illinois and Indiana. There’s even a group in Ohio who have embraced e-bikes.

But in Lancaster County, bikes are banned. Instead both children and adults get around on specially designed scooters.

It’s difficult to find out why this is …

Some say the decision was made in the late 1800’s when the bicycle was first invented. At the time they were expensive and impractical for the rough 19th century country roads. Once a decision has been made here, it’s hard to get it overturned. Precedent is a powerful thing!

Others say that the bicycle has the potential to take young people too far away from home.

And others that the humble scooter has now become an enduring symbol of Amish life in Lancaster County, together with beards, buggies and bonnets. It’s much too symbolic to be superseded by bicycles.

We’ve decided to stick with our bikes!

After crossing the estuary from Cape May, we stayed in Rehoboth Beach, home to President Biden’s ‘Summer White House’. We then cycled for three days through the sorghum, sweetcorn and pigeon-pea fields of rural Delaware before heading up to Lancaster. It all felt green and clean, gentle and well organised.

Most of the ride was in delightful early fall weather … sunny days, not too hot, a softness to the air.

But we did get a complete soaking in northern Delaware and had to take cover in a small copse of trees for an hour or so. This also gave Andy an opportunity to try out his new piece of kit … a bright yellow rain cape, ideal for proper American rain.

Clare says he looks like the worst touring cyclist she’s ever seen, especially as the cape inflates like a balloon from behind.

He might look like an idiot … but at least he’s dry!

Andy has also experimented with a major change to his bike … some trekking or butterfly handlebars.

Over the years, he has cast many an envious glance at the proper adventure touring cyclists who often put these handlebars on their proper adventure touring bikes.

Andy thinks they’re a winner … lot’s of different hand positions, easy gear changes and a more upright riding position to enjoy the view.

Clare thinks they look like antlers!

She’s decided to stick with her drops … and her rain jacket. Once she finds something that works for her she doesn’t much like change (which Andy secretly thinks is just as well.)

We left Lancaster and the Amish to cycle up the Susquehanna River into industrial, upcountry Pennsylvania. Close to Harrisburg, we passed the haunting remains of Three Mile Island, the site of America’s worst nuclear accident in 1979. Now closed, the decommissioning process should be completed by 2079!

We popped into McCleary’s pub in Marietta, and ended up staying all evening, talking politics at the bar and then dancing to some classic American tunes from a great live band.

Pennsylvania is a ‘swing state’ often switching back and forth between Republicans and Democrats. The senate race for the upcoming mid-term elections in November could even decide the overall balance of power.

Perhaps because it’s election time, we’ve found that lots of people here are keen to talk about politics and the divisions they see in American society today. Over the last few days we’ve heard the full range of political opinion … from Trump supporters to mainstream Republicans to Democrats and some Independents.

Whilst there’s little agreement on how things should be done, we’ve noticed that what people want is often much the same. The list of things people reel off usually includes fair rewards for hard work, a safe and peaceful place to live, opportunities for their children etc.

But most people here do seem worried that political differences are increasing and becoming more divisive.

We’ve now arrived in Gettysburg, one of the most famous symbols of the American Civil War. Sometimes called the ‘Brothers War’ (as friends or even family members found themselves on opposite sides), it was a time when political differences led to a brutal, bloody conflict.

Gettysburg was a humbling place from which to watch Queen Elizabeth’s funeral. Amongst her many other virtues, she was known for listening and trying to understand a range of different opinions.

Perhaps the Amish can also teach us something about resolving conflict.

In 2006 an ‘English’ neighbour killed five little girls at an Amish school just a few kilometres east of the area we cycled through, before turning the gun on himself.

It was the Amish community’s response that astonished everyone. Within hours they reached out to the gunman’s family offering forgiveness and compassion, realising that they were suffering too.

So same same but different can be OK, at least in Lancaster County.

Clare and Andy

725km pedalled (450 miles)

3,501m climbed

29 hours in the saddle

Land of the Free

Riding a bicycle is a great way to explore a battlefield.

And Gettysburg is a wonderful battlefield to explore.

Beautifully preserved as a national treasure, the site is littered with memorials to the men who fought to a standstill there over three brutal days in July 1863, at the height of the American Civil War.

*The Pennsylvania Memorial at Gettysburg*

Some places that saw the worst of the fighting are legendary … Little Round Top, Pickett’s Charge, the Wheatfield.

We stood alone in the Wheatfield at sunset, having cycled around the park after the crowds and tour buses had left for the day.

It’s now a peaceful and beautiful spot but it was impossible not to be moved by the imagined horrors of that day.

This small field changed hands four times in a series of confused attacks and counterattacks. By the time they had finished, over 6000 men lay dead and injured on the ground.

Two days later, we came across an even deadlier crop … the Cornfield at Antietam.

Nine months earlier, in September 1862, twenty five thousand men fought backwards and forwards through this field, firing at point blank range through the thick, high stalks of corn.

*The corn is ready to harvest as it was in September 1862*

It seems we picked some of the most brutal civil war sites to visit. Gettysburg was the bloodiest battle of the war. Antietam was the bloodiest single day. Both were important as they fended off Confederate invasions of the north.

Antietam had a wider impact as it gave Lincoln the ‘victory’ he needed to issue the Emancipation Proclamation, extending the objectives of the war to free the slaves as well as to preserve the union.

That proclamation meant that John Browns body was probably spinning in his grave. Spinning with delight that is.

A fireball abolitionist, John Brown led an ill feted raid on the weapons store at Harpers Ferry a few years before the war, hoping to incite a slave rebellion. The raid failed miserably and he was strung up for his trouble but it proved to be one of the catalysts for the war … and for the eventual freedom for the slaves.

*The Shenandoah and Potomac rivers meet at Harpers Ferry*

Today, Harpers Ferry is one of the main stopovers on the C&O Canal Towpath, a bucket list trip for many American touring cyclists as it’s part of a bike trail that goes all the way to Pittsburgh.

We hadn’t seen a single touring cyclist on the winding roads of New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland or Pennsylvania … but now it became impossible to miss them. On a pleasant Sunday in September the C&O transformed into a pannier clad bicycle super-highway!

*A Lock Keeper’s Cottage – popular for overnight stays*

Beautifully maintained as a National Park, the canal path led us through an old lowland forest full of American Sycamore, Silver Maple and Box Elder, so thick their branches only offered the occasional tantalising glimpse of the lazy Potomac river beyond.

Most of the trail is made from small pieces of ‘crush and run’ gravel which are then covered in stone dust. It’s smooth as silk.

Closer to Washington the trail became a bit rougher, full of sharp stones and tree roots. We were happy that our new German engineered Ergon saddles kept their promise to dampen down the vibrations.

After a 100km our bottoms were ready to stop, so we were also very happy when the canal dropped us off right in the centre of downtown Washington DC.

Washington is justly famous for many reasons … the White House, the Lincoln Memorial, Capitol Hill. But for tourists it has simply become famous as the capital of “Free-Stuff-To-Do”.

This is mainly down to an English chap called Smithson who died in 1829, leaving some money in his will “to found at Washington, under the name of the Smithsonian Institution, an Establishment for the increase & diffusion of knowledge among men.”

He’d never even set foot in the United States so why he did this remains a mystery. To create a legacy? Or from a chip on his shoulder at his treatment by the class-obsessed English?

Whatever the reason, the American President was naturally curious to find out how much dosh was involved, so he sent a diplomat to London who duly returned with 105 sacks stuffed with 104,960 gold sovereigns.

It was worth about half a million dollars at the time, roughly $13bn today. That’s enough for a few museums!

Today the Smithsonian Institute is the worlds largest education and research complex.

*The excellent Museum of African American History & Culture*

Including government buildings, we visited the following …

Capitol Hill, the Library of Congress, the White House Visitor Centre, the Museum of American History, the Museum of African American History & Culture, the US Holocaust Memorial Museum and the Museum of the American Indian.

Plus memorials to Vietnam, Korean and WWII veterans, to Martin Luther King, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, Ulysses S. Grant and of course to George Washington himself.

Phew!

Clare began to think that sightseeing was even more exhausting than cycling.

On Capitol Hill we were lucky enough to see the Senate Chamber in session and to hear them debate the issues of the day. They didn’t hold back … the issues we heard were related to Iran, the war on drugs and abortion.

It was all free! And all a bit mind blowing!

A little exhausted, we cycled each evening past the White House just hoping for a chance to personally thank Joe or Jill.

Sadly, they were busy.

It’s just as well there is so much free stuff to do in Washington DC as America in general is much more expensive than any other country we’ve cycled in.

This is partly due to our $ to £ exchange rate. But we’re also finding the things that cycle tourists typically spend money on (accommodation, food & drink, entrance fees etc) are pretty expensive in $ too.

Fortunately the most important staple of any bike tour, bananas, are still affordable … at about 20 cents each.

Washington is another US city that is super-easy to get around by bike. The streets are quiet and very wide, so traffic isn’t a major problem.

The pavements (sorry, sidewalks) are also wide with cyclists encouraged to use them … which did feel a bit odd at first.

But it’s the National Mall that makes Washington so good for visitors on two wheels … it’s a two-mile bike-friendly paradise that contains all the main attractions.

Apart from legally riding on the sidewalk, there are a few other rules of the road we’ve had to get used to in the US of A …

4-way All Stop Junctions: Cars from all directions have to stop, then they politely take turns. At first we kept stopping too, but most of the drivers waved us through even when it wasn’t our turn. Now we slow down and cruise through, just checking to make sure it’s safe. It seems to work!

Right Turn Lanes: On major roads an extra lane often pops up for traffic that’s about to turn right. This means that we have to hold our breath and move across to the middle lane if we’re going straight ahead. A bit scary!

Right Turn on Red: Cars and bikes are allowed to go through a red light in order to turn right when there’s space. As long there isn’t a sign saying they can’t. Until we learnt about this one, we got tooted at quite a bit while we waited for green. We’re used to it now!

Cycling rules can also be different in each state … so we must remember to check before we ride on the sidewalk in Virginia.

While we were in Washington, we saw the original “Star-Spangled Banner”, carefully preserved in a darkened room. It’s the flag that flew steadfastly over Fort McHenry in Baltimore whilst British warships were pounding it in 1814 and has since become a legendary icon.

A young man called Francis Scott Key witnessed the bombardment, becoming so moved by the defiance and symbolism that he wrote it down in a poem. 117 years later this poem became the American national anthem. You probably know the last few lines …

“O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave

O’er the land of the free

And the home of the brave?

Ironically it’s set to the tune of a popular 18th century English drinking song!

In Gettysburg, an old injury in Clare’s knee began to get quite painful. We decided to stay on for a couple of days to rest it and it seemed much better on the ride down the canal path to Washington DC.

But now we’re turning our handlebars towards Virginia, she has to choose whether to test it again in the hilly country roads of the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Shenandoah Valley as planned. Or to cruise gently down the flat lands of the coast instead?

After enjoying the land of the free, she has of course opted for the home of the brave!

Mountain mama!

Clare and Andy

1006km pedalled so far (450 miles)

5,370m climbed

45 hours in the saddle

Country Roads and Rail Trails

We hold this truth to be self-evident. When cycling the country roads of Virginia it’s essential for the pursuit of happiness to find some authentic country music.

And we found ours right in the heart of the Shenandoah valley … at the Grottoes Bluegrass Festival in the midst of the Blue Ridge mountains.

Headlined by ‘Seth Mulder & Midnight Run’ and by ‘The Bluegrass Brothers’ (check them both out on Spotify, they’re very good), it’s a small local festival … perfect for a sunny Saturday afternoon in October.

*The crystal clear water of the Shenandoah River*

Clare’s personal pursuit of happiness was going very well as her knee injury had now recovered. A few days of extra rest in Alexandria, sheltering from the after effects of Hurricane Ian, had worked its magic and she felt strong and fit again.

Both of us had really enjoyed the three and a half days it took us to climb up through the hills to this little music spot in Grottoes.

We settled down to watch the support bands, happily drinking coffee, eating muffins and jigging along to the music.

After a while, Clare wandered off to take some photos. Smiling, she stepped aside to let some people past … and suddenly, surprisingly … found herself flying backwards through the air.

She had back-flipped over a guy rope that was holding up a large gazebo and landed heavily on her coccyx, the whiplash then banging her head on the ground.

It hurt! A lot!

And the pain was not in a good place for sitting on a bike … with half a day of hilly riding still ahead of us.

It turns out that an injured lady at a bluegrass festival is something of a man-magnet. By the time Andy arrived at the scene he had to join the queue. Ice-packs were applied, painkillers offered, a rug to lie down on.

She was in good hands … one of her rescuers was a retired cowboy from Montana, still very lean and strong!

We stayed on to see the headline acts from the back, no longer jigging. Then Clare bravely declined the multiple offers of pickup truck lifts and got back on her horse to painfully pedal the 30km to our hotel in Staunton, arriving well after dark.

The next morning her bum was very, very sore.

Amazingly, in this hour of need we were rescued by the kindness of strangers, now firm friends.

Way back in Rehoboth Beach in Delaware we had chatted to two lovely people, Maura & Jerry, for about fifteen minutes and made vague arrangements to maybe meet up in Maryland where they live. In the end we didn’t cycle close enough … but we had stayed in touch.

As Clare was listening to more steer wrestling stories from the cowboy (the steers getting bigger and bigger), her phone rang. It was Jerry … they had some good friends, Marian & Paul, in Staunton … would we like to meet them?

So on Sunday morning we found ourselves heading to an art festival in nearby Waynesboro, then onto a country craft brewery, then back to their beautiful home for dinner.

They introduced us to their neighbours, Tammie & Howard, who invited us back for more delicious food the following evening.

We enjoyed two warm and fun evenings. It was a real privilege to share stories with people who live in this beautiful part of the world and know it so well.

But we still had to find a way back over the Blue Ridge, as there was no way Clare could cycle over the mountains. We tried the local train (no daily service), bus (no space for bikes) and car rental (no cars available).

Once again we were rescued by our new friends. Marian & Paul stuck our bikes onto the back of their car and drove us over to Charlottesville.

Charlottesville is mainly known as the location of Monticello, the home and plantation of Thomas Jefferson, 3rd President of the United Stares and the main author of the Declaration of Independence that, of course, includes these famous lines …

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

A week or so earlier we’d also visited Mount Vernon, the home and plantation of George Washington the 1st President.

*Dining room at Mt Vernon (this shade of green was very fashionable in the 18th century)*

Both men come with some baggage and contradictions that America is still wrestling with today:

As well as being revered founding fathers, both of them were large slave holders.
It’s now generally acknowledged that Jefferson fathered six children with Sally Hemings, an enslaved women living on his plantation who was 30 years his junior.
And many people think the Declaration of Independence only really refers to the equality, liberty and happiness of land-owning white men.

But Monticello and Mount Vernon are very interesting places to visit, not least because the organisations that run them are refreshingly open and honest about both the good and the bad sides of these famous men and of the challenges that were faced by the enslaved people who worked for them.

This openness and criticism is true of many of the museums and historic sites we’ve visited in America, a trend we’re told that has developed mainly in the last decade or so.

*Living space for enslaved men at Mt Vernon (two to a bed)*

From Charlottesville we took a train 100km (62 miles) southwest to Lynchburg, partly to find out how well Amtrak manages bicycles as we’re planning a longer train journey to the south next week.

*Bikes on Amtrak is fairly easy. Take off the front wheel and hang her up.*

But mainly it was because we knew we could pedal from Lynchburg to Petersburg in four relatively short days, without too many ups and downs and too much strain on Clare’s sore posterior.

For the most part, these four days were a series of lovely bike rides … on smooth, quiet back country roads … beneath dappled sunshine … in ‘just right’ Goldilocks temperatures … past endless oak, hickory and maple trees that were transforming before our eyes into their fall colours.

We were accompanied by the continuous pop-pop noise of acorns hitting the ground, like the sound of toy guns … an echo perhaps of the soldiers who marched and fought here in the last days of the civil war.

By chance, we had chosen to follow (in reverse) the route of ‘Robert E. Lee’s Retreat’ in April 1845, the final march of a starving Confederate Army as they tried to escape back to the south.

Relentlessly and ruthlessly pursued by the Union Army of Ulysses S. Grant, they eventually surrendered in the tiny village of Appomattox, marking the beginning of the end of the conflict. Today it’s a humbling place to visit, quite different to other civil war sites, full of pathos and quiet dignity.

*The room at Appomattox where the surrender was signed*

From Appomattox we rode for 35km (22 miles) along the High Bridge Rail Trail, one of many such ‘rail-to-trails’ that now criss-cross America.

In the industrial ‘Gilded Age’ of the late 19th century thousands and thousands of miles of rail track were built across America, often by competing companies. Many quickly fell out of use and are now being gradually turned into biking and walking trails.

According to the Rails-to-Trails Conservancy over 40,000km (25,000 miles) of track has already been converted nationwide, with another 14,500km (9,000 miles) in the pipeline.

*We also enjoyed leaving Washington on this rail trail*

Most American touring cyclists we’ve met have told us that they try to stick to these trails as much as possible. Having now experienced some of the busier country roads of Virginia, we can see why that is.

The country roads can become very scary!

The problem is that these busy roads are narrow and the cars are big and wide, especially the ever popular pickup trucks.

Most drivers are very courteous but there is a sizeable minority (usually in pickups) that are pretty aggressive … overtaking us on a blind bend or before the crest of a hill. We’ve seen many a near miss on this trip … but fortunately we’ve only had to jump off the road ourselves once.

*No pictures from busy roads … but we’ve seen a few ‘interesting’ signs*

Thinking back, we haven’t seen any other cyclists braving the country roads of Virginia over the last couple of weeks.

Not a single one!

No other touring cyclists, not even someone out for a pleasant weekend ride.

A park ranger on the High Bridge Rail Trail was so surprised to see us that he flagged us down. He told us that he used to see lots of people touring Virginia by bicycle, but that we were the first he’d spotted for many years.

Why?

“Because it’s become too dangerous!”

Oh?!

“Y’all stay safe now.”

OK (gulp).

*Taking refuge for a picnic in a church BBQ area*

Well … if you can’t beat them, join them!

As soon as we got to Petersburg, we rented a car and drove back into the mountains to see the fall colour in all its glory. As the leaves were at their finest at slightly higher altitudes, we chose to drive further south into the Highlands of North Carolina.

It didn’t look that far on the map but it turned out to be a 1000km (640 miles) round trip. To see a few leaves? We’d never do that at home!

But it was definitely worth it!

As we drove along the famous Blue Ridge Parkway a tapestry of colour spread out before us … vibrant yellows, burnt orange, dark red and the blue green for which the mountains are named. The sea of trees rippled down towards the coast like waves on a shallow beach.

It was awe inspiring!

Best of all though … there wasn’t a single cyclist to slow us down!

Clare & Andy

1,692km pedalled so far (1,051 miles)

12,100m climbed

90 hours in the saddle

A taste of southern comfort

We knew we’d reached the deep south when the menu changed … Shrimp and Grits, Spicy Southern Fried Chicken, Crab Cakes, Corn Bread with Marmalade and Fried Green Tomatoes.

Best of all was the southern breakfast classic … Biscuits and Gravy. A light scone made from buttermilk, then smothered in a thick, creamy sausage sauce.

Comfort food at its finest!

We’d arrived in Charleston, South Carolina on an Amtrak train … the fabulously named ‘Silver Meteor’ that takes 28 hours to trundle down the 1,389 miles of track from New York to Miami every day.

It was our first experience of taking our bicycles aboard a long-distance train and it turned out to be surprisingly easy. They were safely tucked away in the baggage car whilst we happily watched the world go by from huge, comfortable seats … even in economy ‘Coach Class’.

Between handing back our rental car in Petersburg and boarding this train from Richmond to Charleston, you might be relieved to know that we did actually do some pedalling … a 300km (186 mile) loop around the Virginia Peninsula to visit the famous ‘historic triangle’ of Williamsburg, Jamestown and Yorktown.

Many of you will also be relieved to hear that Clare’s backside was feeling much better by now and she could enjoy cycling again, especially as the roads were flattening out the closer we got to the coast.

Ironically, the historic triangle saw both the beginning and the end of British colonial history in America, neither giving great cause for national pride.

Jamestown marks the beginning of the colony. Three ships arrived there in 1607, carrying 104 men and boys to establish the first permanent settlement in the New World.

Those early years were characterised by infighting, starvation and disease; by broken promises and ill treatment of the local Powhatan Indians; by the introduction of slavery and indentured labour; and by the development of tobacco as a cash crop.

Surrounded by swamps and mosquitoes and without a good supply of water it must have been an extremely tough life.

*Graves from ‘the starving time’ at Jamestown*

Today it’s a fascinating and peaceful place to visit, right on the banks of the James River. The site itself is an archaeological national park but there’s also an excellent recreation of the original ships, the fort and a local Powhatan village.

If Jamestown is the beginning of the British colonialism, then Yorktown just 20 miles away, is the beginning of the end. In 1781, a large British army under General Cornwallis became trapped there between the American patriots and the French navy. After a short siege they were forced to surrender, setting in motion a chain of events that confirmed full American sovereignty two years later.

*An American Patriot firing at the British*

Halfway between them is a place with a more respectable history for us Brits.

Williamsburg was the first substantial town built by the British, on higher land and with a good water supply. It’s now a charming ‘living history museum’ of eighty-eight original 18^th century buildings, the town brought to life by daily displays of fife and drum, costumed actors debating the issues of their day and demonstrations of all manner of historic trades … from wheelwrights to shoemaking.

*Virginia’s Capitol building in Williamsburg*

Much to our surprise, we found ourselves enjoying the comfort of a time-share property during our stay in Williamsburg.

A self-catering apartment had popped up as a last-minute option online and was 1) a great deal; 2) near the town centre and 3) not a motel … so it was impossible to turn down.

Only as we pedalled up to it did we realise that it wasn’t the small, anonymous apartment block we’d expected … but was actually a large holiday village full of vacation homes and condos.

Predictably Clare got the hard sell as she checked in … would we come to a presentation?

The more she refused, the better the enticement got … until eventually they offered to pay for our entry into all the local attractions and to buy us dinner at a local fish restaurant. Oh … okay then … thank you very much!

Dutifully we attended the presentation but it didn’t take too long for the salespeople to realise that time-shares … (sorry, “vacation ownership”) … and bicycle touring don’t really fit together.

The apartment was great though, a perfect base to explore the area. In fact, it became our favourite accommodation of the whole trip!

As we ended up staying for a week, we needed to get some stores in, Andy volunteering to do the supermarket run a few miles away.

He couldn’t resist a few extras, just managing to stuff all the shopping into his panniers. But he’d taken so long it was now pitch dark and starting to rain. The bike was incredibly heavy … probably all those vegetables … or maybe too much wine, beer and chocolate!

Finding decent accommodation at a reasonable price has been one of the challenges of bike touring in America. Self-catering apartments worked well in big cities but the choice in smaller towns and rural areas was much more limited.

B&Bs in America tend to be historic houses, very expensive, usually full and … to be honest, not always that comfortable.

*This historic B&B had a quirky museum in the basement*

So we ended up staying in a lot more hotel and motel chains than normal. The rooms are big and the beds are both huge and comfortable, with a choice between an extra-wide (6 foot) king bed or a ‘double double’ … two queens. Many of them also have that ultimate cycle touring luxury, a guest laundry.

Perfect after a smelly day in the saddle!

In all our travels through Europe, South America, Asia and Australia we’ve only taken our bicycles into our room a couple of times. Normally they sleep in a garage, shed or in a meeting room. But in America, we’ve been encouraged to bring them into our room most nights … which means they’ve been extremely happy and comfortable.

Almost purring with pleasure!

But … and it’s a big but … most of the affordable places to stay are aimed at long distance car drivers so they’re usually several miles outside a town, clustered on a strip next to the nearest highway.

Stumbling along the grass verge of a busy road for something to eat at a Taco Bell, Ruby Tuesday or Denny’s in the middle of an American strip mall is not quite as charming as wandering around the streets of a quaint little European town.

That said Denny’s, a chain of diners, has become a bit of a favourite.

We’ve enjoyed plenty of great meals out, often finding that the best food comes from the least inviting looking places.

America is famous for its large portion sizes … but most restaurants seem happy when we share a main course. Occasionally we’ve said yes to the polystyrene take out box to turn one half of tonight’s fried chicken into tomorrow’s roadside sandwich.

One thing that shocked us was the massive amount of single-use plastic still used in the States. A plastic cup wrapped in a plastic bag. Plastic cutlery and plates for every breakfast … each knife, fork and spoon wrapped in their own plastic. Coffee from a trendy café served in take-out cups, even when you’re drinking in.

*Even lunch with the lawmakers at the Capitol building in Washington came in single use plastic*

In Charleston, hotels in the historic centre were at a significant premium so we stayed on the other side of a huge bridge that crosses the Cooper River. At 4 kilometres long it was quite a daily commute to see the sights!

Apart from eating plenty of shrimp and grits, we really enjoyed wandering around the tidy streets of Charleston, visiting historic houses and gazing out across the harbour to Fort Sumter where the first shots of the civil war rang out.

Charleston is also home to the USS Yorktown, a famous old aircraft carrier where you can scramble up to bridge, lose yourself in the maze of narrow corridors below deck and marvel at some real Top Gun planes.

This was the second time we’d seen some aeronautical wonders as we’d previously visited the Air and Space Museum near Washington where we saw the space shuttle, Discovery … a proper bucket list tick for Andy.

Plenty of tour companies offer cycling holidays between Charleston and Savannah … “through picturesque countryside imbued with southern charm on a journey you will never forget.” This route is also part of the East Coast Greenway … a “safe walking and biking route that runs from Maine to Florida.”

It was enough to seduce us into the romantic notion that we would be gently cycling for three days on back country roads lined with ancient evergreen Southern Live Oak, each tree dripping with Spanish Moss.

And for much of the time it was just like that … magical!

This whole area is a low country gem. A diverse habitat of forested wetlands, tidal marshes, creeks, barrier islands and beaches. But the marshes and islands mean that there are not that many connecting roads. And we had made the rooky error of not checking it out thoroughly enough.

It turns out that the East Coast Greenway follows busy highways for roughly half of its journey between Charleston and Savannah … including the notorious (for bike tourers) or historic (for everyone else) Route 17 Coastal Highway. And the bicycle tour companies ferry their guests around the main roads in vans … so that they can concentrate on the best bits.

For the first two days, we kept away from Route 17 by heading inland to Waltersboro then back down to the charming, sea-island town of Beaufort, an extra 70km (44 miles) for two of the longest rides on this trip.

But on the third day, an 85km (53 mile) ride into Savannah it was impossible to avoid the highways. There was simply no way around them. We put our heads down, tried to ignore the trucks and played dodgems with the debris at the side of the road.

After 25km (15 miles) we pulled into a small maritime museum to draw breath.

As the two volunteers that worked there enthusiastically described the unique marine environment of the area, we might have vented our frustrations at just how difficult it was to cycle through it.

Before we quite knew what was happening, Tim (one of the volunteers) had strapped our bikes to his car, bundled us inside and was driving us the rest of the way to Savannah.

His shift was just finishing anyway, he explained.

It was only half-way there that we discovered he actually lived in the opposite direction!

*Rescued by the kindness of strangers (again!)*

If Charleston is a precious gem, then Savannah is even more stunning. Smaller but richer in colour. A lush green emerald of a city covered in oaks, magnolias and cabbage palm trees, highlighted by colourful and elegant townhouses.

Some of these are found on Jones Street, often described as the prettiest in America. In fact, this street is so desirable it’s the origin of a famous saying … “Keeping up with the Joneses”.

Like all the other US cities we visited, Savannah was a great place to cycle around. Our self-guided tour took us through historic squares and past antebellum mansions, before finishing at a quite remarkable church.

The First African Baptist Church dates back to 1773 and is the earliest church in America to be organised for enslaved people. Amazingly, the building was constructed at night after long days of hard labour in the plantations and often a long walk into town.

First the walls went up to keep out suspicious eyes. Then as the rest of the foundations were dug out, they secretly added tunnels leading down towards the river and a basement that eventually became the first stop on the ‘underground railroad’, a support network for slaves who were escaping north.

It’s an extraordinary testament to the skill and perseverance of these people and an important story to tell.

Not that the terrible experience endured by the enslaved people of Georgia or South Caroline is that visible. Amongst all the beautifully preserved houses there are relatively few memorials to African Americans … a notable difference to the brutal honesty we found in museums further north.

Having enjoyed the Silver Meteor Amtrak train so much, we rode to the outskirts of Savannah early one morning before dawn to load our bikes back in baggage car and sink once again into those luxurious seats.

This time the train took us all the way to West Palm Beach and a final couple of days of cycling down the warm Florida coast to Miami and our flight home. We were blown along by the growing winds of what became Hurricane Nicole, only the third hurricane to hit Florida in November since records began.

To be fair, it was only upgraded from a tropical storm to a hurricane for a few hours … but it was windy and rainy enough for us!

On our last day the winds died down and the sun came out again so we could relax on Miami’s South Beach, reflecting back on a what a great experience we’ve had. Surrounded by art deco hotels, it was a small taste of the exuberant yet chilled lifestyle that Miami is famous for.

Overall, we’ve cycled 2,527 kilometres or 1,570 miles on our USA East Coast adventure, enough to get a feel for a small part of this vast country.

How did the cycling compare to other trips?

We’ve had some amazing views from our handlebars and met lots of lovely people … helped by our flags, as we hoped.

The quality of the roads has been so good that we haven’t had a single puncture. Even the gravel bike trails are smooth and beautifully groomed.

It’s been easy to pedal around some amazing cities.

But sometimes more challenging to cycle on busy roads in the countryside.

Bike touring in America is not quite the same as cycle touring in Europe and it’s not just the difference between ‘biking’ and ‘cycling’.

Most Americans go long distance biking on specific trails or known routes … they don’t make it up as they go along like we do. (We did meet one couple from Montana who also made up their own routes but that was on a train … as they were escaping from Route 17 at the time.)

This seems to be because there simply isn’t the same extensive network of small, quiet country roads to cycle on in the States as there is in Europe … so you find yourself on busy main roads more often than you’d like. And because drivers are not used to seeing bikers, those roads can be a bit scary!

It’s often said that America is a ‘car society’. Everything made easy to get to in cars.

As we found ourselves pedalling away from another charming town centre to yet another motel by another highway, we decided that really and truly … we were the odd ones out. We were the ones that didn’t have a car.

But we’re very glad that we’re odd. If we weren’t, we would have missed out on this wonderful experience.

Thank you America … hope to see y’all again!

Clare and Andy

2,527 km pedalled (1,570 miles) … our 2nd longest ride so far

14,965 m climbed … easily the flattest

139 hours in the saddle … with 41 days of cycling