DAY THIRTY-NINE: EUROPE MEETS ASIA

Day Thirty-Eight (Kırklareli to Çerkezköy) Daily Distance: 97.48 kms

Day Thirty-Nine (Çerkezköy to Istanbul) Daily Distance: 117.86 kms

Total Distance: 3624.29 kms

Summary (Poynton to Istanbul): 3,624.29 kms [2265.18 miles] in 39 days, comprising 34 cycling days and 5 rest days. On average, we rode 105.48 km [65.92 mi] per day over 5 hours and 18 minutes, at an average speed of 19.91 km/hr [12.44 mi/hr]. My maximum speed was 68.5 km/hr [42.8 mi].

Day Thirty-Eight was flat tyre day. Jim had three in half an hour. I had my second of the trip late in the day, and blame a combination of my previously mentioned very-worn tyre, and a huge reverse pothole in the road – you’d understand that a lot better having seen Eastern European roads.

It was also the day that my future career was defined for certain: the Pied Piper of the 21^st Century, because that’s seriously how you feel as kids come running to the side of the road in every Turkish town as you ride through. And in case you’re wondering too, my name is ‘Parri’. Or Cameron. It depends.

We had lunch in a very traditional ‘lokanta’ where there was no menu and we just got what the owner thought we might like. We did. After that we headed into our final stop over before the big grand Eurasian city finale, Çerkezköy.

Çerkezköy was most memorable for the Corner Bar. Searching for a beer, we were directed to this dark, two-story pub where the staff were friendly and the ladies too friendly, if you know what I mean. We downed our beers quickly and got out as fast as we could.

The following day began with the excitement of Jim having to change (another) flat tyre, followed reasonably quickly by two revelations about the day ahead: (1) the road into Istanbul is NOWHERE NEAR as flat as the map may indicate, given that it rolled up and down to heights that equalled our sense of excitement as each pedal drew us nearer to our final destination; (2) Çerkezköy is more like a far outer suburb of Istanbul than a separate city, given we were riding through highly developed – and busy – land all day.

The less said about our arrival into Istanbul, the better. Let’s just say that they obviously haven’t seen many bikes sharing roads with them over the years. The city is SO colossal that we actually seemed to enter it 60 or so kilometres before our arrival in the centre. For a big chunk of that distance, we were riding on a 12-lane highway with trucks and cars within touching distance on either side: harrowing.

Jim, Alan and I took the traditional method of approaching such a situation: it was heads down, concentrating all the way – and more importantly, praying for a desirable outcome. Dan on the other hand seemed to develop a new tactic for dealing with this by glaring at and even kicking cars that cut him off. (He wants it noted that in every case they well and truly deserved it, and the driver of the one car he actually made contact with looked back at him with a very guilty look. Consider it noted.)

At 6:18pm that evening, approximately 200m after Alan was the lucky recipient of the last flat tyre on the trip, we arrived into magnificent Sultanahmet Square, in between the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia. It was comically really, with Alan wisely deciding not to change the flat so close to the end, but rather just pumping it up enough to literally limp across the finish line. We documented the moment with some photos:

and celebrated our achievement as dozens of tourists stared us down, seemingly aware of what we’d just achieved, and we then headed to our final hotel to ditch the bikes for good!

The following day Alan and Dan had to prepare themselves for flights home, since they only had the one day in Istanbul, so Jim and I thought we’d take the opportunity to do the same. We wandered to the Grand Bazaar where after asking a few locals and being directed from shop to shop we ended up finding a man who, from underneath a nondescript stairwell, sold us big bags to send our bikes home in. Amazing!

We pulled the bikes apart, carefully wrapped them in cardboard, fit them into the bags and tied rope around to create makeshift handles. The others had to see the Blue Mosque (situated just 50m from our brilliantly positioned hotel) the Basilica Cistern and Hagia Sophia, and then we had our final meal in a very smart Turkish restaurant before saying our goodbyes.

In the following two days, Jim and I enjoyed the rest that Istanbul has to offer – from the Spice Markets, to lunch under Galata Bridge, to a visit to my friend Mr Delicious and his Turkish delight / baklava store and, finally, a mind-blowingly awesome cruise up the Bosphorus to the Black Sea – imagine the Grand Canal of Venice, but wider, longer, more modern, and overall just more impressive.

We had also wanted to ride to Asia but one of my only disappointments of this trip was that this was not possible since it is not legal (there are only two bridges crossing the Bosphorus and both act as motorways). To be honest, we did consider giving it a crack anyway, but a quick session with Google lead me to the blog of a man who tried the same some time ago and ended up being stopped by a policeman halfway across the Bosphorus Bridge. The policeman waved down the next lorry to drive he and his bike across. It was some consolation that our boat trip did enable us to have a brief visit to Asia since we disembarked on the Eastern side of the river, so I suppose now we can really say that we crossed the entire continent!

So this is it: the fat lady has not only sung but she is back in the changing room getting out of her lycra. The final blog has been written and the bikes have made it back to the UK (Javier has already been cleaned and out and put back together, albeit with slightly wonky handlebars?!).

The continent has been conquered, but most important of all, my amazingly generous family and friends have smashed my fundraising goal for this trip: the final tally stands at £3,672 raised for Parkinson’s Disease! THANKS!

I’d also like to send a big thanks to Jim, Alan and Dan for introducing me to touring, for the companionship and for all the laughs and stories along the way, plus to Edith for the lucky heather and Irene for organising me in so many ways.

Louis L'Amour once famously said, “There will come a time when you believe everything is finished. Yet that will be the beginning“. Never before has a quote been so appropriate for me. So until New Zealand 2013, from this happy cyclist it’s “over and out”.

DAY THIRTY-SEVEN: THE FRIENDLIEST TOWN IN EUROPE

Day Thirty-Six (Sliven to Elhovo) Daily Distance: 66.25 kms

Day Thirty-Seven (Elhovo to Kırklareli) Daily Distance: 107.04 kms

Total Distance: 3408.95 kms

Day Thirty-Six had initially been pencilled in as our last rest day but that disappeared with our re-schedule a few days back. It was only a short 66 km day, although it still proved a tricky one once hills and heat were thrown together in a challenging mix. Thankfully we made it to Elhovo in time for lunch and for a restful afternoon once domestic chores like washing were complete.

The highlight of the day was definitely seeing our first sign for 'Istanbul' - weeks ago I never thought that the moment would arrive!

Early today, to our delight, we crossed the Bulgarian-Turkish border and from this moment it was clear to all that Turkey was going to be a winner from an “interaction with the locals” point of view – they were charming, interested in us and our story, and happy to help however possible. The man who sold us visas was even keen to put me in touch with a cycling club in Edirne who he was affiliated with, I think, but unfortunately I couldn’t quite work out what he was trying to say to me.

Our next noteworthy escapade was our introduction to Lalapaşa, Turkey.

By midday we were ready for lunch, so stopped in on this small, seemingly insignificant town. We perched ourselves on a small brick wall and began our lunch. So far, nothing different to the usual routine: cheese and tomato sandwiches plus some yoghurt and bananas. I also spotted a fruit stall across the road so bought some peaches for us to share. Before we got to them, however, a Turkish man strolled across the road from his tea shop and delivered us four small glasses of tea. No words, since neither his vocabulary nor ours would allow them, but some broad smiles from both sides acknowledging this lovely gesture.

We weren’t sure how to thank him (money didn’t seem appropriate), so we sent Alan to my fruit friend to buy grapes for the Tea Man. First he refused to take further payment for the grapes, and then after Alan tried – through the art of mime – to indicate that the grapes were not for us but for Tea Man, he obviously misinterpreted Alan’s repeated waves in the direction of the tea shop so he walked into the shop (which was not his) washed the grapes, poked two little holes in the plastic bags so that they would stay cold but the water would gradually drain, and returned them to us. Alan then tried to hand deliver the grapes to Tea Man but confusion reigned supreme and eventually he gave up. Not wanting grapes as well as bananas and peaches, Alan then took the grapes and plonked them in the middle of four men sitting around a nearby table – once they established that the strange tourist likely had no sinister motive, they seemed well chuffed!

In the meantime, Jim had gone to a shop on the other side of us to buy water, and as he was about to pay for the four bottles, a stranger behind him leaned forward and, in Turkish, he (Jim thinks) insisted that he pay for them instead. We suspect that Water Man had witnessed the preceding tea / grape shenanigans, but will never know, since he hopped into his car and drove off immediately after exiting the corner store.

All in all, free tea, grapes and water thanks to a contagious chain of kindness among strangers. Doesn’t sound like much, but it was truly one of the most amazing experiences I’ve had in my many years of travelling. It was enough to put a smile on my face for the whole day. This is proper travelling.

This series of events gave me an instant flashback to a promotional video for charity organisation ‘Life Vest Inside’ that I somehow stumbled across recently. I do think it’s worth your time to check this one out as corny as it may be.

As proof of the friendliness of this country, consider this: roday, at least one in four drivers waved at us or gave a friendly toot; at least four in five locals on the street waved and smiled or shouted greetings at us; and five in five school children clambered to the road side or school fence to wave, gawk and yell "hello! what's your name?", which is clearly the first thing they're taught in English classes.

School kids from one of the many schools we passed fighting to talk to us.

Tonight we ended in Kırklareli at the only hotel that we could find – it towers above all other buildings, but is still quite old, possibly proving the theory that Kırklareli was one of the first organized settlements on the European continent. We had dinner in the rooftop restaurant as we listened to the beautifully haunting call to prayer, and watched the sun set over this, the last country on our trip, knowing that it is home to the friendliest town in Europe.

JAVIER THE JAMIS

Someone who is obviously very keen has asked me to describe my bike. Poor thing has carried me 3,400kms across Europe but hasn’t had much of a look-in. So even though it's very late in the piece, introducing Javier the Jamis:

Before I found him, I thought Jamis was pronouced like Yam-is (not sure why, but it is more eloquent) but the bike shop guy called him a Jam-is, so in line with the duel pronunciation thing, I've gone with Javier, pronounced Ha-vier or Jay-vier depending on where you're from and how you're feeling...

He’s a Jamis Aurora Elite 2012 with a 62cm chromoly steel frame which, size-wise, conveniently makes him as disproportionate to the population of bicycles as I am to the population of humans. Unlike me, however, he obviously watches what he eats since he’s a skinny 12.2kg (27 lbs). But he doesn’t look lanky? I’ve more than made up for it with super heavy bags though. As an ‘experienced tourer’ (surely I’ve earned the right to call myself that after three thousands k’s?!) I now know that I am carrying approximately twice as much as I need, seriously.

He's got a Shimano 10-speed cassette and chain, so 30 gears in total, which help me smash it out on the descents or sit back and relax on the ascents. Take it from me, with heavy panniers (or even without) the latter is much less enjoyable. Instead of regular grip shift or rapid fire gears he has shift levers which essentially means that while they are still derailleurs, the gear change mechanism is at the end of the low section of the drop handlebars rather than on top of the handlebars as I'm used to. Even though I was at first very apprehensive about these, to me this large difference has been surprisingly inconspicuous.

Javier: fully loaded

Mavic A119 double wall rims have been fitted with Vittoria Randonneur Pro tyres which look nice, and seem to be reliable and efficient – except for the very major fact that the back tyre started to badly wear out at about 2700kms. This should be no great surprise given the weight of my heavy panniers and of course myself, plus shocking roads with approximately 17,822 potholes (which is 17,822 too many) but still, I’m the only one of four on this trip with this problem and Javier has, by far, the newest tyres of his friends, which gives the Vittoria's a big fat F in my book. Anyway, I found a temporary solution by swapping the front and back until I get home and replace it.

The only other fail that Javier gets is for pedals. Simply put, he didn’t come with any. No doubt this is because people who purchase this would almost certainly use cleats, but unfortunately I was not able to find any in the entire country of England that would fit my flippers ... I mean feet. Sad really isn't it? (But not as sad as the first time, when I was a teenager, that I was told by the ice skate rental people that the size of my feet made this hobby impossible. Or the time my Dad sat me down to explain that my dream of being a jockey would never be realised.)

Abd yes, I agree, it seems strange to pay over £1,000 for a bike that you physically cannot ride out of the shop. The bike shop guy agreed that something isn’t right about that, and so kindly gave me the pedals that usually come with the Jamis Aurora (as opposed to the Aurora ‘Elite’, i.e. Javier) . So the ‘Elite’ version comes with less?! I suppose they think it’s so super-dooper elite that it doesn’t even need pedals to move, hmmm?! Anyway, as it turns out I am very glad I splashed out for the Elite, because as previously described, those pedals failed me on only Day Five!

Finally, it's important to note that he's got disk brakes rather than direct pulls (v-brakes). This means there is a small disc (rotor) mounted on both wheel hubs, and brake pads made of metal (rather than rubber) are used to stop the rotor - and therefore the wheel - rather than the wheel rim as with traditional v-brakes. They are super effective and not as affected by weather so definitely a valuable addition.

So that’s it, Javier in a nutshell. Hope that clears it all up for you. (By the way, if you made it this far through this particular blog then you are either really keen, or care lots about bikes, or maybe you just have a really boring job?) Any questions, please just shout out...

DAY THIRTY-FIVE: 3,000 KILOMETRES, 400 SHEEP, 4 DAYS LEFT, 2 HALVES OF BULGARIA, 1 PREMIERSHIP

Day Thirty-Four (Levski to Veliko Tarnovo) Daily Distance: 68.57 kms

Day Thirty-Five (Veliko Tarnovo to Sliven) Daily Distance: 110.71 kms

Total Distance: 3235.66 kms

As previously mentioned, our departure from Levski was delayed so that I could watch the AFL Grand Final. Well, THE SYDNEY SWANS WON THE 2012 PREMIERSHIP! THE SYDNEY SWANS WON THE 2012 PREMIERSHIP! THE SYDNEY SWANS WON THE 2012 PREMIERSHIP! THE SYDNEY SWANS WON THE 2012 PREMIERSHIP! THE SYDNEY SWANS WON THE 2012 PREMIERSHIP! THE SYDNEY SWANS WON THE 2012 PREMIERSHIP! THE SYDNEY SWANS WON THE 2012 PREMIERSHIP!

Oh and some cycling occurred as well ... we had a short riding day to Veliko Tarnovo. Again it was in searing heat – at 6pm well after our arrival it was still 37◦C! But these are all trivial matters, and I can’t remember the ride anyway, as I was situated somewhere between Cloud 9 and heaven for the entire day. A fifth premiership for the mighty bloods! (I think even the Bulgarians celebrated the big win – the following day on arrival into our hotel the towels were arranged nicely in the shapes of swans, truly!)

On top of the big footy win, I also happened to have the best meal of the trip so far: tender chicken breast fillets in a cheese and mushroom sauce on a Bulgarian hot plate, followed by an amazing white choc / caramel cake thing, plus some mojitos to celebrate!! Naturally, after dinner I watched a replay of the Grand Final to compensate for not being able to celebrate with the masses at home.

If Day Twenty-Eight provided the cycling highlight of the trip so far, then Day Thirty-Five was the opposite. After gradually climbing for three hours – and forty kilometres – we reached the summit of ‘Stara Planina’, one of the highest peaks of the Balkan Mountains. It wasn’t a bad morning actually, but what followed easily claimed the prize as most disappointing part of the ride: gale force winds into our face as we descended for 22km from the peak, meaning that instead of coasting at 30-40km/hr, we had to pedal hard to even travel at 20km/hr! Not happy. To rationalise it, I remembered a quote that used to hang on my sisters wall when we were younger, “You can despair because the rose bush has thorns, or rejoice because the thorn bush has roses”, which helped lots and made me thankful that we didn’t face winds like that on one of the previous flat days! L

Stara Planina - obviously this was taken before I realised the disappointment that would follow...!

It was just another example of how tough Bulgaria has been to cycle across. By far the trickiest country on this trip, Bulgaria is huge, at some points being flat and windy and at others steep and bumpy, with relatively unexciting scenery. For us it has also been dry and scorching hot which hasn’t really helped our cause given we’ve had to cross about 500kms of the country! Also not helping was that Day Thirty-Five gave me my first puncture of the trip, although it was made less painful and even entertaining because of the hundreds of sheep and lambs that swallowed me up as I tried to fix the tyre!

We realised early on that this country displays a distinct two-tiered economy, with horse / donkey and carts seen everywhere carting small amounts of corn or wheat, but being regularly overtaken by enormous trucks carrying tonnes of corn or wheat, clearly owned by large, multi-national companies. The towns are very small, usually with one main street that is badly paved, and several smaller side streets that are not paved at all. Families appear to live with their extended family members in individual houses that probably have electricity and possibly water mains, but locals don’t often appear to be doing much at all but sitting in front of their houses wondering what four MAMLs (middle-aged men in lycra – thanks to Paul Wilde for that one!) are doing passing them.

I didn’t see many buildings that might act as a school, which could either be the cause of or consequence of there being WAY too many school-aged children wandering the streets during the day. With expansive, albeit dry, land everywhere that seems ready for farming, we wondered why the locals weren’t doing just that, until we realised that probably they don’t own the land and so can’t do anything but comb the empty, already harvested corn fields for uncollected corn cobs that they can then use or sell to make a Bulgarian Lev or two.

I found this interesting enough to research: basically Bulgaria went from being predominantly reliant on agriculture to, under Russian leadership and with Eastern Bloc and other large world socialist state economies to rely on for income, one mainly focussed on technological and scientific research (which having seen what I have, I find very hard to believe). At the collapse of the USSR, though, they gained competitors much more advanced than them, and so lost those huge markets which led to an economic collapse in 1997.  Now, the average wage in Bulgaria is €385 per month, which is just 45% of the EU average. Given that that average includes the huge city of Sofia, I wouldn’t be surprised if the average where we have ridden is less than half of that.

In saying all of this, as we have crossed the country it has changed quite considerably. Roads have become newer and less pothole-ridden, roadside rubbish less prolific, and these poorer towns I describe less frequent, replaced with slightly larger and more financially gifted ones. Think of it like Germany or Italy but with a richer East, rather than West or North as in those countries.

The short of this is that Bulgaria is clearly not a country that is dealing with the transition from Communism very well – a minor surprise to me who, having visited Bulgaria many times previously, didn’t realise this since my visits have always been to the much wealthier capital, Sofia.

This may sound a negative summary of this country, but in fact it has been utterly fascinating every day. I won’t miss the heat or the dodgy roads though, and to be fair since our next country is the last on this adventure, with only four days to go, I say: bring on Turkey!

DAY THIRTY-THREE: YOU KNOW YOU'RE OLD WHEN...

Day Thirty-Two (Lom to Byala Spartina) Daily Distance: 100.20 kms

Day Thirty-Three (Byala Spartina to Levski) Daily Distance: 118.71 kms

Total Distance: 3056.38 kms

In Lom we met a lovely couple from Coventry, Jill and Peter, who are also riding to Istanbul. Having had dinner with them, we wished them good luck on their journey as they’re taking it slightly easier than us and so our paths wouldn’t cross again despite our similar itinerary. The next day they waved us goodbye from their hotel balcony in their pyjamas since they didn’t have such a great distance to cover and so would leave about an hour later. Well it would have been less than 30 minutes into their day that we met up on a steep, cobbled road – we had taken a leisurely 14 km or so detour on our way out of Lom! Forget fables about hares and tortoises, this was the real story on display (although they ride at far from tortoise-pace)! Later in the morning, as they passed us for the fourth time or so, I was convinced that they must have been thinking, “how on earth have these four men made it so far?!” (Truth be told, I’ve thought the very same thing to myself almost every day!)

It has been brutally hot for the past few days (a local today told us that it was 35◦C, but with no wind and steep-ish hills it even seems hotter) so yesterday we didn’t make it the full 140 kms that we had perhaps ambitiously hoped, settling for Byala Spartina after 100 kms. Not to worry, we’ve adjusted our itinerary over the next few days to make up the distance.

Today was equally hot, but with regular breaks we made it to Levski where, having seen nothing but poor farmland and run-down buildings all day (more on this in a future blog), we miraculously stumbled across the most modern hotel that could possibly exist in Bulgaria. Words really can’t describe our surprise at finding this absolute gem of a hotel, with its ultra-modern interior, impeccably clean, spacious, air-conditioned rooms, funky bar, and classy restaurant that is obviously the ‘place to be’ in Levski on a Friday night.

Because of the heat we have recently started leaving as early as possible, although I am thankful that our departure time has been delayed tomorrow so that I can try to watch the AFL Grand Final featuring my beloved Swannies – GO THE BLOODS!!!

On another note, having spent over a week riding beside the Danube we waved it goodbye as we left Lom, as that was the last time that we would see it on this trip. During the time we’ve paralleled it, I have gradually become more convinced that this should be called the ‘Distinguished Valley’ rather than the ‘Danube Valley’. By distinguished I don’t mean notable or renowned, although both of those it is, but rather I mean mature, aged, adult, grown-up.

You see, it is nothing to do with the valley itself but instead those that occupy it. And i’m not just referring to my fellow cyclists, but rather every long-distance cyclist we’ve seen on the paths and roads in this valley. With no word of a lie in 33 days I am the only long-distance (or ‘touring’) cyclist that we have seen below the age of 40. Granted, there are not too many 20-something year olds who can afford the luxury of an entire month off in summer, but it must also be noted that we have been riding during the traditional holiday period for Europeans, as well as the University break. This is to say that I really don’t think that twenty to forty-year olds are busy doing other things at this time of year, or settle for shorter cycling trips, or cycling trips in other locations – I think that twenty and thirty-year olds just don’t do touring.

Rather than feeling disheartened or out of place, I feel lucky to have discovered the joy of touring (and ‘caught the bug’) at such a young age as 28: Jim caught it only 10 years ago; Dan, eight years; Alan, just three. This blog has I’m sure made it obvious that this trip has been an absolute delight for me. I have seen a lot, laughed a lot, listened a lot, eaten a lot and of course, cycled a lot, but above all else I have learned a lot: about cycling, geography, Hungarian food, the town of Érd, Europe, Europeans, and my parents generation – you know, the distinguished ones.

The latter is thanks to countless hours spent observing and talking to the three wise men, who the other night pointed out that my next touring buddies will have a lot to live up to given that I have nearly two centuries worth of experience and stories beside me on this trip! So it based on these observations and experiences that I have compiled a list of telltale signs that...

You know you’re old when:

·         The focus of drinking games changes from not spilling while drinking, to not dribbling while drinking;

·         Singing songs from the 60’s and 70’s at the dinner table (in unison by lyrics but not necessarily tune) becomes a source of pride rather than embarrassment;

·         You know all the answers, but nobody asks you the questions;

·         Waking three or more times a night to pee is perfectly normal;

·         You don’t care what others think of your appearance;

·         The prospect of a beer garden is exciting more for the seats than the beer;

·         A 60-year-old can be sexy (and every 20-year-old, 30-year-old, 40-year-old and 50-year-old still is);

·         The following statement is true: “It takes me all night to do what I used to do all night”;

·         Happy hour is a nap;

·         You think that an MMS is a form of multiple sclerosis rather than a specific type of SMS, woah;

·         More sunscreen is applied to the top of the head than the front of it;

·         You think that Kosovo and Macedonia are regions, not countries, and possibly that there still exists a country called ‘Yugoslavia’;

·         Most of your sentences begin with, "When I was your age...";

·         When faced with a steep descent on your bike, instead of thinking of fun and excitement, you’re wondering what conditions are like at the local hospital;

·         Your most successful selling point to young European ladies is “I’m very rich, you know”;

·         Anything after 11.00pm you feel is past your bedtime;

·         It takes up to a day to recall authors, musicians, book titles, bridesmaid’s names, quotes etc;

·         A blog is an abbreviation of a ‘brown log’, or a written record of bees, rather than an open online diary;

·         Any eatery or other venue that plays music at a volume greater than ‘moderate’ is known as a ‘disco’;

·         If a story is worth telling, it’s worth telling (at least) every five days;

and finally, you know you’re old when...

·         You are a touring cyclist.

 ________

Post Script: I would like to acknowledge the contributions that my fellow (distinguished) cyclists have made to this list. I would also like to clarify that this was compiled with deep and great respect for individuals that are certainly not ‘old’, as proven by the fact that they have ridden further every day for the last month than most teenagers would or could in a week.

DAY THIRTY-ONE: DOES HAVING A BEARD INCREASE THE LIKELIHOOD THAT YOU ARE A DRUG SMUGGLER?

Day Thirty-One (Negotin to Lom) Daily Distance: 106.02 kms

Total Distance: 2837.47 kms

Today we spent our first day in Bulgaria as we enter the final stretch of this adventure. The landscape was dry and harsh but interesting in similar ways to Romania, with small villages full of rundown buildings and groups of young kids yelling "hello" as we passed, but also because of the undulating terrain that we missed through Hungary and Romania. Plenty of time to explore it more though, since we have six or seven days here in Bulgaria.

We left Serbia for the last time this morning - the thing that I will probably miss most about that country is its directional cycling signs like the one we saw immediately on entry: "Welcome To Serbia: Leave all your hope... because you don't need it - just have fun :)" (Ed: that is what is printed word for word - including the smiley face - on a big government-produced sign!)

These often proved very entertaining, so I was happy that we did get one last giggle today from the following sign:

"A bicycle can't stand alone - it is 2 tired."

Anyway, we said farewell to the Serbian signs and 1.9km later reached another sign which marked the Serbian-Bulgarian border, where I made some new friends:

As we passed the border, the two police officials said just a handful of words to me, but five of them got me thinking intensely for the rest of the day, so I must share them with you.

Firstly, the friendly female one said “Zdravey. Hello. Document?” at which point I handed across my passport, she had a brief peek inside and then gave it back to me. "It's OK", she said. “Blag-o-dariah”, I said. At Alan's request, she repeated twice slowly this complicated word for 'thanks' in Bulgarian.

I was about to cycle away when her colleague, a middle-aged Bulgarian man, looked me up and down, and in a rough Bulgarian accent but with surprisingly articulate English said, “You do drugs, like Armstrong?” as he simultaneously pulled out his mobile phone as if to say “we're done with you, boy!”. It’s hard to recall exactly, but at the time I think my thought process followed a route something like this:

“Drugs. Did he just say the word drugs? I think he did. By ‘do’ drugs does he actually mean ‘have’ drugs? Does he think I’m a drug smuggler? Do I look like a drug smuggler? I do have a large, scruffy beard? But my Dad never mentioned this as a side effect of having a large beard. Maybe my Dad has never mentioned it because he’s never encountered this before. I don’t think he’s been to Bulgaria after all. Or has he? Maybe he has had this problem before, but at the time he thought it arose not because of his beard but because he actually DID have drugs on him, so didn’t think it would ever be a problem for me. No, he’s much too sensible for that. Anyway, I have to answer this guy, he has a gun on him. What do I say? Surely ‘no’ is the right answer. Yes, I’ll say ‘no’.

*brain takes a moment and prepares to send a message to the voicebox*

Hold on brain, I've just realised something: he mentioned 'Armstrong'. Ohh, he means Lance Armstrong. He has seen that I’m wearing a Lance Armstrong jersey. I didn’t even know that Bulgarians knew Lance Armstrong. OK, so he doesn’t think I’m a drug dealer. The beard can stay. Dad’s in the clear. But he thinks I’m like Armstrong. Is this a compliment? I mean the guy has won seven TdF’s. Maybe he thinks that to be riding through Bulgaria I must be as fit – and brave – as Armstrong is. But then again, he is about to have his titles stripped from him: it’s probably not a good time to be compared to him. Maybe he thinks that to be riding through Bulgaria I must be on drugs like Armstrong. But is Armstrong even on drugs? Anyway, I have to answer this guy, he has a gun on him. What do I say? Surely ‘no’ is the right answer. Yes, I’ll say ‘no’.

*brain takes a moment and prepares to send a message to the voicebox*

Hold on brain, I've just had a thought: was what he said even a question? And if it was, was it a rhetorical one? Maybe I should say nothing and just get out of here quickly. No, he might get angry if I ignore him, I need to acknowledge the giant, charging elephant (on a bike) in the ... border. Maybe I should say 'yes' and pretend that I’m like Armstrong. No, that would be a bad idea. Bulgarian jails are probably not nice places. I can get locked up for having drugs. I don’t think he’d lock me up for not being like Armstrong, though. That’s settled then, I’ll say ‘no’.”

*brain takes a moment and prepares to send a message to the voicebox*

“Ahh, no” I said, and then rolled through the border.

DAY THIRTY: "MAI MARE ZI DIN LE TOUR DE CONTINENT"

Day Twenty-Eight (Bela Crkva to Dubova) Daily Distance: 120.39 kms

Day Twenty-Nine (Dubova Rest Day) Daily Distance: 20.19 kms

Day Thirty (Dubova to Negotin) Daily Distance: 118.36 kms

Total Distance: 2731.45 kms

If Érd is twinned with Poynton, then this Serbian town should be twinned with every town in my country of birth, ‘Straya’:

After a training hill first thing in the morning, we crossed back into Romania from Serbia after only 45 minutes, and almost immediately began the biggest climb of the trip. It took us about 10km up a steep, winding road and it was only after 35 minutes at the top that we realised that Jim was MIA. Passengers in a passing car noted seeing him “looking at his bike a couple of hundred metres back”, so I rode down to see him and naturally I descended nearly 2km before I found him with a flat tyre walking his bike up the hill (please do not ask me to explain his logic for walking to the top before only then fixing the puncture, for I can only explain what I myself understand). Once we fixed his flat we had what was my (cycling) highlight of the trip so far: a mammoth descent into the beautiful Danube gorge.

On arrival in the gorge, I set about changing my opinion of Romania by making new friends, and so spent 20 minutes or so riding side by side with a galloping horse dragging a cart with one father and five children, all eager to talk to me even after their obvious discovery that I speak absolutely no Romanian.

As you may be able to see in that photo, we formed a truly special bond, and they seemed sad to wave me goodbye as I pulled off the road and into a small town for lunch in its local “disco pizzeria”, as Dan called it. After lunch we became slower as the scenery became more impressive, since photos took priority - until which point I declared to the others that something would have to go dramatically wrong for this not to be “mai mare zi din le tour de continent” (“the greatest day of the tour of the continent”).

Fisherman on the lake-like Danube.

Nothing went dramatically wrong, although some members of our party may say that we had to cover more distance than desired before we found our lodgings, since corner after corner revealed dozens of fisherman who had clearly travelled a distance to find their favourite spot, since there was not a town – or even house – to be seen all afternoon. I’m sure that those same members of this party would also tell you, though, that it was worth the wait. We stumbled across a lovely B&B set in the middle of spectacular scenery right on the banks of the Danube, with colourful un-touched hills all around, and a view to Serbia across the (at least) kilometre-wide river.

The view from our Dubova B&B.

Jim and Alan were in equal parts astonished and thrilled to find the Sunday Manchester City game on Romanian television, but much less happy that they dropped two points to Arsenal. We had a lovely meal cooked by our host, who is obviously the owner, manager and sole staff member responsible for cleaning, cooking ... and teaching Romanian.

Yes, on our rest day I utilised all of my mime skills to explain that we wanted to stay for a second night and have a meal again that night, and this led to a half-hour Romanian lesson – and I don’t even think she will add it to our bill! I can now proudly count to ten, ask for a range of meals, articulate all the time-appropriate greetings and can also utter a long list of suitable pleasantries. Romanian is strikingly similar to Italian (one, two, three = unu, doi, trei; good evening = bună seara; wine = vin), French (hello = salut; excuse me = pardon), and Russian (yes = da), although when they establish that we don’t speak Romanian, the locals always surprisingly want to try to talk to us in German. This taught me two important things: that Romanian is a Romance language (like French, Italian, Spanish and Potuguese), as in derived from Latin; but also that Romania has previously had a large Germanic population.

The rest of the day I sat by the water reading my book, rode into Dubova for lunch, and performed a little maintenance on my bike.

All in all, a great couple of days with some lovely locals to remember. Consider my opinion of Romania changed!

DAY TWENTY-SEVEN: PEDALLING WITH PONIES, CYCLING WITH CANINES, DRIFTING WITH DONKEYS

Day Twenty-Six (Hódmezővásárhely to Timişoara) Daily Distance: 131.68 kms

Day Twenty-Seven (Timişoara to Bela Crkva) Daily Distance: 124.72 kms

Total Distance: 2472.51 kms

(First, I’d like to give a big shout-out to all the kids of LZ15 at Mission Heights Primary School. Some of you may have seen their message of goodwill and encouragement posted in response to a previous blog, 2000kms = Civic Reception. From the four of us, a big "thanks and hello” from Serbia. If I get time in the next few days I will even try to answer all of your questions!)

As we departed ‘Hod’ the landscape became very flat and wide, with less dense surrounds and more expansive agriculture. It didn’t take us long to pass Makó and reach the Hungarian-Romanian border, the first at which we had to stop and present passports (even though both countries are part of the European Union). After crossing into Romania, the first new country for me on this trip, we had a short nasty period into the wind before we turned in a more favourable direction, towards Timişoara.

The Grocer went to work just before midday and we found some park benches to have lunch on while the locals gawked at us. We’ve received strange looks from many people since we left Vienna, when the long-distance cyclists dried up at an even quicker rate than did the land, but this is the first country where every single person has properly looked us up and down, much like a top fashion critic would a catwalk star. It’s actually been quite pleasant having school kids cheer at us and wave us by. After all, they are the only Romanians that seem allowed to smile. Perhaps there isn’t much to smile about: the countryside gave the impression that Romania is a poor country, with many rundown buildings, dry crops curiously un-harvested and rubbish spread absolutely everywhere, while the clothes of many were old and tattered, the cars few and far between – and more often than not with German license plates, the dogs thin, aggressive and seemingly unhappy, and the bikes grey and rusted.

Romian 'Countryside'

Understandably, much of that changed when we reached the large city of Timişoara which seems to be adapting for tourists: we stayed in a large modern hotel overlooking a wonderful main square. But still the sense that it is an underprivileged nation remained, and was reinforced when we had a tasteless, plain, small dinner in a prominent, central restaurant (the disappointment was probably magnified due to the stark contrast with Hungarian food, our newfound love).

We had more of the same rubbish-lined highways today as we headed due-south from Timişoara, although there is something so special about sharing the roads with donkeys, cows, stray dogs and the odd horse and cart:

Mid-morning there was a disagreement about whether to stay on the main road, which was noisy and busy (Dan), or divert to the smaller roads which were quieter but longer (the rest of us), so we split into two and I agreed to accompany Dan on the shorter route. We met up for lunch after Dan and I enjoyed a 40-minute longer break than Jim and Alan, who arrived quite tired having spent their morning on rocky unsealed roads.

The afternoon seemed to go on and on, and even once we reached the milestone of the Romanian-Serbian border (the second - and last - new country for me on this trip), the roads seemingly became longer, straighter, and less interesting after we passed several towns, all quite far from one another, before reaching our destination, Bela Crkva. While distances in the record book do not agree, this was by FAR the longest and most trying day of the trip given wind, gradient, traffic and tediousness. Therefore, it wasn’t good news when we discovered that the one hotel in town was bordered up, although we eventually found a bed at a rundown lakeside resort that was like a ghost town (it is presumably very busy in peak season), which thankfully included a staff member willing to whip up a meal slightly better than the previously mentioned Romanian experience.

Tomorrow we head back into Romania. Here’s hoping for less rubbish, more smiles, and definitely more donkeys.