Ken's Blog

Independent traveller? Long haul cyclist? Wasn’t sure how best to describe myself. Maybe a bit of both. Whatever the answer was, I’d not met anyone undertaking a venture similar to mine. I’d heard of others on the road, a country or two ahead, maybe one behind, but hadn’t actually run into anyone. Then Myles. He’d left the UK a day ahead of me, but had followed a very different route across Western Europe. It was not until south of Budapest that our paths had begun to touch, albeit separated by a week or so. He’d heard of my mission at a hostel I’d stayed in back in Novi Sad, Serbia, and had got in touch.

Realising we were both heading for Sofia, although by very different routes, we agreed to meet up. Perhaps, at first, just curious as to what sort of person the other was. But we’d hit it off over lunch and had decided to ride together, for a few days at least. We were, after all, both heading in the same direction towards the Turkish border.

I’d ridden with Manfred and Ute back in Bavaria. Great fun. But with Myles it was different. Shared experiences borne of three months or so trekking across Europe. Serbian dogs. The nightly hunt for somewhere to stay. Language difficulties. Even the fun of buying a ferry ticket across the Danube in southern Hungary. Myles had read my post on that one. It had struck a chord for him, which was reassuring for me. Good to know I wasn’t alone in encountering these little challenges.

Riding together had been simplicity itself. Both knew exactly what was required, what to look out for on the road to be safe. Lots of things that didn’t need to be said. We just did them. Similar strategies to locate a bed for the night. Not that there wasn’t plenty of things we could learn from each other. There was lots. But it was really about refinement. I suggested that if you could cross Europe you’d have sufficient experience to be able to continue far beyond. Different challenges. Yes. But we’d both already solved an awful lot, no reason why we couldn’t continue to do so, whatever they might be.

[You can follow Myles’ blog at http://www.mylesaway.wordpress.com]

The plan was simple enough. Myles and I would ride east together to Dimitrovgrad, stop the night and then go our separate ways the next day. He’d head for the Turkish border and Istanbul, I’d divert north for a while to stay at a friend’s house. Thirty kilometres or so outside Plovdiv we’d switch from the main road to the quieter roads and lanes. This would avoid the heavier traffic we expected once the motorway that ran parallel came to an abrupt end.

It started well enough. Good progress to the village of Poppvica. Lunch. The familiar Bulgarian ’Shopska’ salad. We then branched off the main road, a more direct route to Dimitrovgrad. No sign of the first turning we’d expected to see. Asking for directions always got the same response – head back to the main road. We persevered, determined to follow our plan. Two hours later, conscious of only a few hours of daylight remaining, we found ourselves back on the main road, just thirteen kilometres from where we’d left it.

Traffic wasn’t too bad. Not the large motorway over-spill we’d expected. Besides, we hadn’t any choice. We took it in turns to lead, setting the pace and allowing the other to rest a bit in the slipstream. Then a motel. It looked closed. It was. But a helpful lorry driver explained that there was another about five kilometres further on. Final push as the light began to fade. He was spot on. We’d not made Dimitrovgrad as hoped, but we’d a decent place to stay.

Over dinner we re-assessed our plans. We’d continue on together the next day to the town of Harmanli, about seventy kilometres from the Turkish border, and part company there. Leaving promptly after breakfast, we made good time, taking it in turns to set a very respectable, steady pace, despite the many long, drawn-out climbs.

(Photo Myles Mellor)

Then fog, on the long descent into Harmanli. Thick. Fifty metres visibility, maybe less. Condensation on my glasses made it even harder to follow the road, always wary of potholes. Eventually reaching the town, a visit to the cash point led to a chance encounter with Shirley. Together with husband Martin, she ran a campsite nearby. They’d moved here from the UK four years previously. Over lunch in a local cafe we explained our respective missions. We were joined a little later by Martin and a few friends.

Myles and I contemplated our next move. The fog had slowed progress somewhat, thwarting our respective ambitious plans for the day. I’d learnt that the road north into the hills was not good, a long climb up to the town of Topolovgrad fifty kilometres away. Daylight was not on my side. Decision. Remain in Harmanli overnight. Start again fresh in the morning.

Myles and I reached Plovdiv, the old Bulgarian Capital, with a couple of hours of light left. Tidy outskirts. A dedicated cycle lane, even if the kerbstones at road junctions were high enough to dismount the unwary. In the centre cobbled streets. Clean, well kept. We headed for the old walled city where we knew we’d find a travellers hostel.

Encountering a busy road junction, we decided on using the underpass. It had steps, together with a smooth metal cycle ramp. Fine for descent, but not enough grip to get the bike and all the kit up the other side. Until a woman came to my rescue. We didn’t just get up the other side, we flew.

(Photo Myles Mellor)

We found a small hostel with an impressive view across the city. Our room was in the roof, the ceiling sloping, a mattress each on the floor. Quirky. And ample space for our bags, a little more security than in the adjacent dormitory.

Wandering down into the city that evening, a pedestrian shopping area much more like something you’d find in Western Europe. Some familiar high street names. Unexpected.

Beyond Kostenec the road east ran steadily downhill, following the railway line along the valley towards the old Bulgarian Capital of Plovdiv. A train went past, the driver waving to us. Good progress. Uneventful. Then the small town of Belovo. On the outskirts they were stacked high on the pavement. Further in, shops full of them. Nothing else. Some businesses appeared to be temporary. Whilst stocks lasted. Toilet rolls. Kitchen rolls. Nappies. Many different colours. Looked like a lorry load to me.

Then swift progress to the sizeable town of Pazardzik, already more than half way towards the evening’s stop at Plovdiv. Early lunch and a chance for Myles and I to study our respective maps. Debatable who had the least useful map. Both big on scale, small on detail. Comes of having the entire country on a single sheet, together with swathes of Romania, Serbia, Macedonia, Greece and Turkey. You could have a stab at pronouncing place names – shown using the familiar Latin alphabet – but marrying them up to Cyrillic road signs was a bit more tricky. On a plus, you could go days without re-folding the sheet.