After I was confirmed that there is no place to get proper food at CP2, my straight reaction was: „ok, so I’m leaving”. There was no point staying there and having a rest, as I needed a proper meal, nothing else. I started the actual Gavia Pass climb, some sections, even if they weren’t really, felt like a 20% gradient. I must have been in proper power drop, but as there was no other option for me than moving forward, I tuned myself into an „empty moving mode” where you are moving forward, but don’t use almost any power. I believe that after being in this situation numerous times before, I have already mastered that ability. It was just rolling to the top and waiting for the first occasion for food and cycling fuel.

As I was expecting, just before the top I was passed by Christoph and Will. They were much faster than I was. We had just a quick „hi, how you’re doing” and they were long gone.

The top of the pass was probably super nice, but seriously I wasn’t paying attention to the views. I was constantly thinking about some good food spot. Close to the bottom on the southern side of Gavia, I noticed a little restaurant open. That was it. Double spaghetti carbonara, some bread, drinks, coffee, snacks for the road, and another spaghetti to go. It was what I needed and I took my time there. I knew that after such extreme depletion of my body, it will not be enough just to feed it up again. It will take some time until the system will get back to normal and I knew that it was a huge mistake that I allowed this situation to happen. But, this is the game that we all play during these races right?

I started again after probably 30 minutes brake. My plan for the rest of the day was to get to Trento and see how well I feel for another night after most of the Alps will be done. The close race of the chasing pack started again. The whole group took the same main road SS42, which was a typical crazy Alpine main road with big traffic and crazy Italians driving super fast and dangerously. To stay in the game I forced myself to use this road as it was the fastest option to get out from the Alps, but honestly, I didn’t feel safe riding there. Unfortunately, my body didn’t take well the spaghetti, and I had to stop a few times because of the sort of short-term diarrhea. I’ll spare you the details here, but it wasn’t easy and nice and after this incident, I was sure that I needed a hotel room and a proper shower.

SS43 was another Strade Statali that was probably the fastest way south to Trento, but this I decided to avoid, by taking a cycle road alongside it. The traffic was getting worse every hour and that section had a few pretty unpleasant tunnels that I didn’t feel comfortable going through. A few kilometers before Trento, I entered a known already route from TCRNo5, and the whole ride south to Bassano del Grappa was like a travel back in time. But before I’d ride further I had to stop that night. My bibs were dirty and if I would continue like that any longer, I would have to scratch later on because of the saddle sores.

I stopped in Trento for a big Ice-cream and lots of coke. Nothing better for stomach issues. Managed to book a hotel 12 kilometers away, but directly, on my route. It was looking perfect and I was super motivated to go there. While crossing Trento I met Krystian, and it felt funny, because usually, we see each other daily, doing messenger work in our home city, Wroclaw. Meeting him here and racing together for a moment was something different. The funniest thing was, that while we chatted about our plans for tonight, it appeared that we are heading into the same hotel for the night. How crazy is that? A short while after we left Trento our routes split, and only 10 kilometers later they joined back again to meet up at the entrance of the hotel Al Ponte.

I checked in, Krystian also, and we did split into our rooms. We didn’t talk much, we were both pretty tired. I ordered some food and drinks, had a shower, washed my bibs, and jumped into bed. It was about 9:30 PM and I set my alarm for 2,5 hours. A few minutes after midnight I was getting myself ready to leave. I ate my extra spaghetti to go and took my bike out of the room into the elevator. Once I got to the main hall, I noticed the rain and the lighting outside. It was a proper storm. Flashes shooting all around. I was sure that I can’t ride right now. It was too dangerous and the lightning was just above me. I waited about 40 minutes in the reception, trying to sleep a bit on the floor, but it wasn’t working well. Somehow after 1 AM, I decided to start. The storm was following me a lot that night, but it was all the time somehow next to me rather than above, so I managed to get to the bottom of Monte Grappa without too many issues.

Being here again after five years was a wonderful feeling and I was tempted to leave it all and start climbing this remarkable mountain. I could see the light on the top that was summoning me to restore my deep memories of this place. Anyway, the dawn came quickly, and together with the day, new energy came, and I became determined to leave Italy as fast as I could.

Crossing the whole Venetian Plain was hectic, and completely as I expected it to be. It was dangerous, with lots of trucks, fast cars, and no shoulder. I could feel that the chase of the other riders is on. With the leading trio around 5 hours ahead and all the chasing pack, probably 5-6 riders being around one close to each other, the pressure was hard. I decided that I’ll continue without any stop until Slovenia that day. 250 kilometers later I was crossing the border in Gorizia and stopped at the same Slovenian petrol station that I have used in 2017. It was one of the best brakes for the race.

Slovenia was the country where I felt at home again. Amazing people, great roads, good and lots of resupply options.

I noticed the wildfires, not far from the border. It was hot, and the helicopters were all around the place coming there and back, dropping water on the mountains nearby. It was worrying at first but after I was assured by the Fire Brigade that I’m good to go my way, I pushed through.

The route that I had planned was different from these few riders before me, but I didn’t expect that it will be only me really (and as I found out later Fiona and probably only one more rider from the whole 250), who will take that radically north option. At that moment there, I felt relieved, that everybody is taking a different route. I had enough of the pressure that was arising in Italy, by having all the other riders around me. I believe that in this section I truly found myself, my pace, my speed, and my race for my own. Anyway, I took the road north towards Ljubljana, and then straight east towards Zagreb, where I planned south-east to Bosnia, and through Banja Luka and Sarajevo to Montenegro. In my planning I found this route to be a bit longer than all the others, but it had less elevation, was much cooler than the southern option and I believed that it will be much safer.

Don’t get me wrong. There was still a lot of climbing to do, but instead of having the climbs from Italy to Montenegro, I had them only starting from Banja Luka. The Slovenian part was mostly rolling hills, and generally downhill, with perfectly paved roads with low traffic. Croatia wasn’t as good as Slovenia, but when I got to Zagreb, it was already 10 PM, so the traffic was much lower, and after I crossed this amazing, huge, and remembered as, never-ending city, it was already late, so I could take the main national road for a while there, what allowed me to cover a lot of ground in a pretty good time.

Although I was confident about my choice of action here, some dot watchers weren’t, and for the first time in my racing career, I discovered a real mental downtime, because of that dot-watching-racing connection. It was when I got close to Ljubljana, I started receiving messages, like „Pawel, what happened” or „Why you are going the wrong direction” or „oh, no, you were doing so well”. I tend to ride races with my phone in airplane mode, but I also do switch it on from time to time, because of safety, my family at home, and generally to speed the time up a bit. Over there I regretted that. It was hard to answer and explain to my friends, even my family that it is all planned, and along with that, it was hard to stay focused. There was a moment when I doubted a lot about my activities and choices. What kept me going was the ride itself and the fact how great it was. The whole day was extraordinary, and the night got even better. I felt endurance in my veins and felt that cycling was the only thing I was there for. I managed to shift my mind that evening totally and focus on the progress only. I knew my plan was good, and I wanted to make it happen.

Not far from the Croatia and Bosnia border I decided to have a short bivi stop. 2 hours I thought, so I found a bit of grass, outside one of the small villages, pull my bivi out and fall asleep. I closed my eyes and the alarm went straight on. 2 hours passed like a second. I remember well that I wanted to switch it off and roll back to my bivi, but my companion who was camping there next to me pushed me, and said: „c’mon Pawel, you have to get up and continue.” A while later I was cycling towards the border crossing, I looked around as I wanted to speak with him. I was sure he rolled his bivi also and rode behind me. There was nobody around. I had never had that before, and that woke me up so much. It was scary and super intriguing at the same time.

Getting into Bosnia was another exciting moment. New country, new language, I have never been there before and didn’t know what to expect. I did resupply on the border and got to Banja Luka somehow late morning. After that, the whole climbing of that section started again, and it was much harder than I expected. Some of the climbs felt endless, but still, I was happy with empty roads, even if they were hard to get through. On one of the climbs, I met Nikica, the B&HardUltra Race organizer. It was nice and at that time I felt that Bosnia is just perfect for cycling.

It didn’t last forever. About 90 kilometers later my route joined the main road toward Sarajevo, and this is where the horror started. Traffic was so bad, and was pushing hard. I felt like an unwanted enemy on the road. Drivers didn’t have any patience, and they were always trying to slip through between me and the cars coming from the opposite side. I couldn’t stand that, especially since there was no shoulder at all. I went nearly to the middle of the lane and continue like that, so no car would be able to overtake me closely. Now they had to wait until there is a proper gap, and they didn’t like that. One driver got super frustrated and was honking at me a lot. When he finally got his chance to overpass me, he suddenly turned his wheels straight in my direction and shoved me with his car off the road straight onto the gravel shoulder. I fell off the bike, and he didn’t even stop. I was ok, bruised and scared, but generally ok. Cars behind him stopped, but only to honk at me and shout something at me, what I understood was, to take my bike off the road, so they can pass through. At that moment I once again hated all the car drivers around the whole globe.

I was lucky, the bike was ok, and I could continue. At first, the pain was pretty intense on my skin from all the scratches, but with time it was getting better. I was super happy when I took the final climb after Sarajevo and continue into the Bosnia-Montenegro border, where the traffic got much nicer and the road much smaller.

The last section before the border crossing was crazy. With roadworks all around and lots of gravel on it, the progress was slow and it was not what I was foreseeing. Eventually, I got to the little border crossing where I received another border stamp on my passport and together within the cover of the night, I entered my long-awaited Montenegro.

I’d heard a lot of stories about the country and the parcour that I was going to start soon, and only after the few kilometers, I was all but amazed about what I was passing through. It was dark, and I wasn’t able to see all the beauty of the place, but even with that, the road along Lake Piva was remarkable. There was tunnel, after tunnel, with the starlights flashing on the lake surface between them. I was trying to imagine the view in the daylight and was happy and thankful to be able to discover the place. I forgot about the race for a while there.

It was midnight when I finally got into the little town of Plužine, where the CP3 hotel was placed. The race team was all up when I arrived but I knew that I will not stay there for long. I was the fourth rider there and was happy to see the improvement and the northern route to work. I left after a few minutes, hoping to find some resupply in the city, and being super excited about the parcour that I was about to hit.

To be continued…

Check my TCRNo8 ride on RwGPS > here <

Cover Photo: James Robertson, The Transcontinental Race