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.

DAY TWENTY-FIVE: NOT HUNGRY IN HUNGARY

Day Twenty-Four (Budapest to Kecskemét) Daily Distance: 93.53 kms

Day Twenty-Five (Kecskemét to Hódmezővásárhely) Daily Distance: 107.26 kms

Total Distance: 2216.11 kms

The food of Hungary has been an absolute gastronomic delight. It has set new levels for my taste buds that I dare say my wallet will not be able to satisfy anywhere else. It has continued to amaze us as we departed the capital overrun with tourists for the smaller towns in which there is presumably no translation for the word ‘tourist’. It has emphasised quantity, but at the same time remains a quality product. In every instance, our three or four course meals plus one round of beers and a bottle of red wine or two has lightened our collective kitty about as much as would a simple main-meal-each in the UK. It has been delivered to us with friendly smiles which mask the lack of English, but by wait staff more than happy to deal with tourists so uninformed they can’t even count to three in the local lingo. It has not been any less than outstanding on any single occasion. But most of all, it has of course meant that we have not once been hungry in Hungary.

Just before we departed our flash apartment in Budapest, a passing woman told Jim that we better have our water proofs on hand because rain was due across the east of the country that afternoon and the next day. We hoped that she was less proficient at weather-predicting than she obviously was at cooking (she was Hungarian). Unfortunately not: it began raining that afternoon, but only after we spent the last two hours of the day riding towards menacing clouds like this:

After riding on wet roads for a few hours – but never feeling a drop of rain – I was convinced that somehow, miraculously, we were going to escape it. Alas, we were a mere 2km or from the city centre of Kecskemét when it started bucketing down. As I was slightly in front at the time it started, the other three huddled under a tree getting gradually more wet and once they were so sodden that it no longer mattered, they gave up and came out from their hiding place and continued into the city centre. One kilometre down the road, they came across me sitting in a bus shelter, dry and warm (where did the phrase ‘old and wise’ come from?!)

SatNav lead us to a hotel right in the centre of the city that had a ‘Wellness Centre’ so it was nice to have a sauna and a spa to relax. That night we found a fabulous restaurant where Alan had “one of the best five meals of his life”, goulash followed by seared duck with red-wine soaked pear and duchess potatoes.

The following day we agreed to depart at 8:30am, but with gloomy grey skies and steadily falling rain, at 8:29 we decided that, much like a game of cricket, we shouldn’t start riding until the rain stops (if it started while we are riding, we thought, then it’s a different matter). So 8:30 became 9:00 became 10:00, although eventually we lost patience and set off. But not after Jim tried every means possible to convince us all to catch a train to our next destination. Honestly, we heard “choo! choo!” (complete with bending knees and circling arms, mimicking the movement of a train); we heard about the sole purpose of trains (“to avoid rain when you are on long cycling trips”); and worst of all, we heard him singing ‘All Down the Line’ (Rolling Stones), ‘Runaway Trains’ (Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers), ‘Last Train to San Fernando’ (Johnny Duncan), ‘The Last Train to Clarksville’ (The Monkees), ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo’ (everyone), ‘Trains and Boats and Planes’ (Peter, Paul and Mary), ‘I’ve Been Workin’ On The Railroad’ and a dozen or so more by the end of the day. When he ran out of train songs, it became RAIN songs, and when he ran out of rain songs, he started making up his own lyrics to suit ("leaving on a jet train", “spray wonderful things to me”)...........

Well, Alan and Dan are not cheaters, and I have been sponsored to ride across Europe, not to ride-across-Europe-except-for-that-one-day, so Jim was out-voted 3-1. Anyway, not for a single minute of the day did it stop so as a result I didn’t take any photos, I didn’t listen to my iPod, I didn’t have any profound thoughts or new revelations and so I am banishing it to the history books.

We were intending on making it to Makó but we couldn’t haul our drenched selves that far, so we settled somewhere 15km short of that, but with a 15km longer name: Hódmezővásárhely. I was overjoyed when we found the Kenguru Csárda (Kangaroo Tavern), although we’re still unsure of what, if any, connection exists between kangaroos and this small town of 45,000 on the Great Hungarian Plain, except that maybe they just love hairy mammals – the derivation of “Hod’s” (as we called it) name is “beaver field market place”, hmmm?



Kenguru Csárda in 'Hod'

This is pretty much the only reason we stayed here. Well that and I wanted to be able to say that I spent a night in ‘The Unpronounceable’: Hódmezővásárhely. Now THAT is a mouthful. Which I suppose is ever so appropriate for our last night in this gastronomic heaven!

DAY TWENTY-THREE: 2,000KMS = A CIVIC RECEPTION

Day Twenty-One (Györ to Budapest) Daily Distance: 138.94 kms

Days Twenty-Two and Twenty-Three (Budapest Rest Days)

Total Distance: 2015.32 kms

Having arrived in Hungary, the plan was to head from Györ to Esztergom, north-west of Budapest, and then into the capital the next day, but we decided to take on the whole stint in one day instead. So on day Twenty-One, we left our comfy, central hotel in Györ early to ensure arrival at a reasonable hour (it’s taken a while, but we’ve now developed a habit of booking ahead).

The morning surprised us all. First of all, given the experience we had riding from the border into Györ, during which we struggled to find roads that welcomed cyclists, we were expecting the roads out of Györ to be equalled unfriendly to cyclists. Secondly, our guide book mentioned with no ambiguity the difficulty of navigating out of the city due to heavy traffic and a lack of signs. Finally, we had expected fairly barren land as the map didn’t show many towns of significance. On the contrary, however, we found our way out of the city quite easily and onto relatively nice roads on which it appeared we were actually welcome, and we then spent most of the morning riding quickly through town to town, with little traffic on this Sunday to slow us down.

The signs clearly didn't stop us...

I had a confusing moment just before lunch when I thought my Dad had made a surprise visit to see us, but after running in circles for 200m (or more), I realised I’d been had.

After lunch with the flies in an empty industrial park, we embarked on an afternoon ride that was much less pleasant than the morning. The primary reason for this was our decision to upgrade from ‘B’ roads to ‘A’ roads given the distinct lack of traffic and the fact that the ‘A’ roads to Budapest were more direct. Unfortunately, however, the road surface was very poor and traffic proved much busier than expected. We finally made it to Budapest intact, however, and had a stunning descent into ‘Buda’ (the current city being derived from two previous, smaller cities, ‘Buda’ and ‘Pest’, divided by the Danube) as the afternoon was drawing to a close, and having covered over 130kms which finally pushed us over the 2,000km mark.

Again we fell on our feet, ending up in a very comfortable, large apartment that was able to house us for THREE nights – what a reward! I was given these two days off tour guiding duties so Alan and Dan opted for the open-top tour bus to do lots of sightseeing. In the meantime, I have done a load of washing and tended to my dirty and tired bike that has been abused for over 2,000kms in only its first month of life!!

As for Jim, his schedule has been very hectic, since his hometown of Poynton (I can hear the cheer all the way from the Poynton Sports Club as it gets its first mention in The Blog!) is twinned with Érd, a town of 65,000 located just outside of Budapest. As he is heavily involved in sport in Poynton (mainly cricket, lacrosse, and the Saturday afternoon drinking club) he has met with some of Érd’s sporting representatives to strengthen the sporting relationship between their two towns.(Now I know what you're thinking: "Never 'Erd of it...")

It is quite a good story really: who ever knew that anyone was crazy enough to ride from Poynton to Érd?! This is probably the reason that there was a request for Jim and his bike to be present for official photos which, in turn, is the reason we weren’t joking when we offered Jim one of our bikes to take to Érd. You see, Jim’s bike looks a little like one you might find at a metal recycling depo, and when it is moving it sounds very much like someone shuffling through the goods at that same depo!

We were also joking when during the lengthy build-up to this famous event we enquired as to whether Jim would get a Civic Reception or receive the keys to Érd, but in fact this was not a joke after all, as his itinerary for the day included a meeting with the Mayor (honestly!), two TV interviews (still being honest!), a personalised visit to the National Geography Museum, four special Érd t-shirts for the Ninja Turtles, some drinks at a local winery and a ride to the sign in Érd that Poynts to Poynton.

Jim shaking hands with the Mayor of Erd!

"Poynton 1976km", which given our 2015km travelled means we must have made a 39km detour at some stage!

Jim was genuinely overwhelmed by the reception he received and he can't wait to reciprocate when some crazy Hungarians decide to ride from Érd to Poynton. And rest assured, if they can handle the 2,000kms and the crazy English drivers, there will be a civic reception awaiting them, too! 

DAY TWENTY: BEER COUNTRY

Day Nineteen (Vienna to Bratislava) Daily Distance: 84.20 kms

Day Twenty (Bratislava to Györ) Daily Distance: 93.31 kms

Total Distance: 1876.38 kms

Yesterday, as we rode through the old abandoned border buildings separating Austria and Slovakia I knew that we were entering true beer country. They say that more beer was consumed in former Czechoslovakia than any other country in the world, at something like 150L per person per year, although to be fair the Slovakian figures have dropped dramatically since their 1993 split from the Czech Republic given how much the Czechs drink! In Slovakia, there are a huge number of beers to try, including all the imports you could imagine, Czech favourites like Pilsner Urquell and Budvar, plus local Slovak beers like Zlaty Bazant, Corgon, Saris, Smadny mnich and Topvar. So for obvious reasons we were excited for a Friday night in its capital, Bratislava.

It seems a good time to mention that for the entire trip so far, we have been keeping a detailed Beer Scoring Record (BSR). It involves a simple score out of 10 from each of us for each beer that we try, totalled to give a score out of 40. As you will see in the full BSR presented below, Jim started the trip by giving every single beer a nine, because apparently his Dad told him “there’s no such thing as a bad beer!” and it was only when we reached Rothenburg that he was convinced that the BSR is serious enough for it to demand his careful and sincere consideration.

I also must mention that it took us many days to perfect the BSR: at first, there were discrepancies between the exact time at which we rated the beer, which is problematic since there is a big difference between rating a beer after the first big gulp at the conclusion of a 130km riding day, and after the last small sip of the fifth beer, say (“not that we’ve ever had as many as five beers, dear wives...”). In addition, there is significant response bias likely to be seen if I rate a beer after hearing my three fellow cyclists rate it first. Plus, on which characteristics or qualities do we rate the beer? Taste? Body? Aroma? Ability to refresh? You get the point. (I demanded that we conduct a proper Randomised Controlled Trial but that suggestion was promptly rejected by the panel on that grounds that it would reduce beer drinking time.)

ANYWAY, given that we have now reached Beer Country, it should come as no surprise to anyone that the Pilsner Urquell we had last night in Bratislava is the highest scoring beer so far, although I must clarify that it is in fact a Czech – and not Slovak – beer. It was so outstanding, it demanded a picture in the blog:

Please notice Alan's near-empty beer - I clarify that he was still on his first, us our second! ;)

Second place so far is a tie between the Stiegl in Vienna, and my personal favourite, Heineken in Haarsteeg at Serva’s house. Definitely not high on the list is the Gaffel Kolsch that we had in Cologne – it wasn’t that terrible a beer, but it suffered horribly on the BSR since I only gave it a two – one point for every 100mls of it that I was allowed per serving (see DAY SIX: GOOD WEATHER, SHIT BEERS).

Enough about beer, I should pretend that this trip is about more than that. The scenery on morning Nineteen was by far the least inspiring of the trip to date. Nothing against Austria, it was just that we rode through chemical works to start off with, but only after we took a slight ‘detour’ in the morning and had to ask for directions from four proper bums who were drunk off their faces at nine in the morning (no, we had not stumbled across a large mirror...). Those lads certainly knew they were in beer country, although I suspect they didn’t know where they were, if you know what I mean. Oops, how did I get back to beer again? Sorry. So once we found our way, we rode down the longest, straightest gravel road with scenery that only belonged in the ‘OK’ category ... for nearly two hours! It looked exactly like this for the whole morning:

It would have been the least exhilarating morning of riding except it was on this ride that I discovered a new musical artist: Michael Kiwanuka. I had my iPod on shuffle when a song of his came up, and although I didn’t even know who it was, I thought “hmm this sounds nice”. I recalled that his name was recommended to me months ago and I must have acquired his album at that stage, so I then played the whole album while riding along that stretch, TWICE! And it was a wonderful morning as a result.

When that road finally took a turn, it suddenly revealed a very small cafe in which we had our standard morning coffee and only minutes after our departure, Alan had his second puncture within two days. This was best summed up by a local who rode past us minutes later and said but one word: ”sheisser!”. I can’t imagine what he would have said if he passed us again an hour or so later, just outside Hainburg, when Alan again suffered the same fate even though he’d gone to all the trouble of cleaning out the tyre and inserting a brand new inner tube the first time! Luckily we found a bike shop and he got a whole new tyre which seems to have fixed the problem.

We rode into the capital on horrible roads full of potholes and glass, with no bike lanes, and cars unwilling to share the roads. Thankfully, I knew the city well enough to direct us straight to our hotel, a rather plush Mercure that I had managed to book online for about a third of the rack rate. We headed into the city for dinner and the previously mentioned trip-best beers, before we had some lovely red at a local wine bar, and then a few more beers at a rowdy pub. It was a Friday night after all, and believe me when I say that despite what EuroTrip may make you believe, Bratislava is not a bad place to be at that time of week...

During the night I ran into the paparazzi. Maybe this is the guy that photography the Princess last week??

Today, Day Twenty, we continued through Slovakia following the Danube for the morning, although it looked distinctly different to normal. First it became extremely wide, so that the far bank was barely visible, and then it became like a huge lake filled with islands. Just after lunch with the locals (no English anymore), we absolutely flew down a path by the side of the river with a HUGE wind at our backs, meaning it was no trouble for me to cruise for 45 minutes at 30 to 40 km/hr! We then left the river and hopped from one country town to another, before reaching the point at which we had to cross from left bank to right, and therefore from Slovakia to Hungary given the river marks that border.

Upon entry into Hungary we realised that its roads are much less bike friendly than Slovakia’s, which now seemed highly developed in comparison. We passed no less than 20 “no cyclists” signs on the road into Györ, but we had no choice as it was the only road that existed from the border! After checking into the hotel, we went straight into town where we stumbled across a beer festival in the centre of the city, which had drawn an enormous crowd of thousands in the main square, with tents surrounding the square selling a huge variety of (presumably) local beers.

This seemed ever so appropriate given the last few days, so you can imagine how our night unfolded..! Well actually, we somehow avoided getting sucked in and instead enjoyed lovely Hungarian food in HUGE portions at a nearby restaurant. I guess we aren't that predictable after all!

But it was a stark reminder to us that we are indeed still deep in beer country, and how thankful we are for that.

___________________________________________________________________________

BEER SCORING RECORD

		DAN	JIM	ALAN	PARRI	TOTAL
TIMOTHY TAYLORS	HULL	7	7	7	6	27
STELLA ARTOIS	FERRY	3	9*	6	4	17
HEINEKEN	HAARSTEEG	6	9*	6	9	28
BRAND	VENLO	5	9*	8	7	27
LINDEBOOM		5	9*	6	5	21
BAVARIA		6	9*	7	7	27
GAFFEL KŐLSCH	COLOGNE	7	9*	5	2	19
BITTBURGER	KOBLENZ	4	9*	8	4	21
BITTBURGER2	MAINZ	6	9*	8	6	27
TUCHER	ROTHENBURG	5	7	4	3	19
LŐWENBRAU	PASSAU	6	5	5	6	22
OTTOKRINGER	LINZ	5	4	6	5	20
STIEGL	VIENNA	8	6	7	7	28
PILSNER URQUELL	BRATISLAVA	8	8	7	7	30

*Scores invalid; replaced by average of other three.