A (mostly) Glorious Autumn Ride Around the Carpathians, Romania
This used to happen all the time: taking advantage of living in a border free Europe. I can just jump on the bike and go if there appears to be a few consecutive favourable days weather wise. There was – and I did. I have my short trip check list and on Tuesday morning I happily loaded the bike and discarded clothing as I warmed up with the day. Despite there being no borders I had opted to take the ferry across the Danube to Romania and it’s only when my dithering sun-drenched packing neared completion that I checked the time and saw the ferry leaves in 2 hours … and it’s a 2-hour ride away. The whole point of living in mainland Europe is not having to rush to a port, but rush I did. Turns out the port is actually only 90 minutes away if you want it to be.
Typically the ferry, that you can see loading on the Romanian side, was late. So I caught my breath, recalled all I forgot to pack and crossed over to the roaming side.
I kind of know the way to the Carpathians but god, so many towns beginning with ‘C’ on the way to the big ‘C’ mountain range. It’s hard to recall the route, Corabia, Caracal, Carcea, Craiova, Cruset, Ciorari, Cornetu, Capreni, Carbunesti Sat and Cojani. You didn’t bother to read any of those names did you? No, neither did I, I just knew I was heading to a town the name of which begun with a ‘C’, that didn’t help me much.
Anyway I got to my destination, the foothills settlement an hour before dark, decided to find a place via signs not Booking.com, went a got supplies and ate in their garden as the sun set on the distant hills, the ones I would be riding as it rose next morning.
Early night, place to myself … until bang, a door slams, then again and again, slowly I become more aware. Turns out a school bus had arrived; the rooms filled with screeching hormonal teenage girls and testosterone filled whooping boys. I was outnumbered and over aged and by midnight I was distraught. Out of options I took my bedding down to the dining marque a made a ‘den’ between some tables, should have bloody camped.
I finally got some sleep; I must have, I dreamt. But at 3am I woke with a dark fear of bears that I couldn’t shake so took my mobile bedding back to my room. It was quite now; I bloody wasn’t at 6am when I started my day. Dropped the tank bag contents down the stairs as I hadn’t done up the zip, the landlord comes out, ‘that’s what happens when you don’t get enough sleep’ He got me a coffee, a peace offering.
And off I took, into the dawn, into the mountains, into tranquillity. The road to myself, the whole range in fact, off season and off road. I got to a summit, rode the frosty grass and parked up to look down at the misty plains to the south and into the sunrise.
There was utter silence, not even a plane flew overhead. That kind of silence, so rarely heard, is like a rapid recharge, you don’t need of for long and it induces an internal reset. That and the colours of dawn and autumnal trees below was truly glorious.
Why don’t I do this all the time? I could do this all the time, I’m going to do this more often. But I think it’s more appreciated when not regular. For example, we have here in Bulgaria, a long hot sunny summer, its guaranteed and consequently squandered, a week can pass without me getting the bike out. In the UK a sunny say was never wasted, too rare, it has to be worshiped even if it’s just washing the bedding and getting it dry on the line. That’s what I was doing with this Carpathian dawn, not laundry, I was worshiping the weather from on high, a high. It wasn’t even that cold. Back on track, hairpins and not another vehicle.
Stop and photograph or ride like Rossi … the retired version.
Down the other side and, as I said and witnessed in Extremes Beyond the Screen riding the Silk road, a mountain has two sides, in this case, the north side was the frozen sub-zero side, running beside a river. I even had to take off my fingerless gloves.
I didn’t have a plan other than to keep this vibe and by luck and not following signs, I wove my way through timeless villages. Their winter wood just delivered in the form of 4-meter trunks half a meter thick, and the obligatory bent over babas dressed in black with head scarves and woollen shawls, and that’s when it struck me. This look, a look that has certainly lasted since the 80’s when I first saw it, will die out, (like thick firewood) it’s on its last generation. My mother-in-law had her 70th this month, she doesn’t dress like that, she never will. The bent babas will rest in crooked coffins made of soft wood and the look will become buried history. This sedate ride through the terraced valley villages of communities, horse and cart, wood heat, log stacks, hay stacks, cows led to graze down the middle of the street, bicycles and scythes, is an honour to take in, ride through, and I have a feeling it won’t be seen much longer. I didn’t take photos, felt too intrusive, I just rode slowly, took in the authenticity of it all, a moment in time. Golden years all framed in golden low light bouncing off the turning trees. People go to Maine to see the colours, this more than changing trees its unchanged times that have just about stayed traditional. A visual treat.
Anyway, back briefly to the grim reality of the cost to fill the tank and a bit of pump envy from some other drivers I like your bike – I ride too and off to the Transfăgărășan. The peeks were snowed covered, I didn’t know if the pass would be open, it’s been closed to me as many times as I’ve traversed it. Didn’t matter, still no vehicles about. Up a wove past the place the concreted barriers are placed when snow blocks the route to summit and up the iconic pass winding my way into deep blue sky pierced why white pinnacles.
Don’t stop for trinkets, through the tunnel and fill my water bottle from a spring. Then just sit and take it all in. I love being Mr. Off Season and the bike loves being off road.
Just taking my time, no destination in mind, winding alongside a river the canyon walls an explosion of colour, the only frustration being that it just can’t be captured, has to be felt, around every corner a new view and leaves falling onto me like snowflakes, a carpet of autumn to ride on.
All to myself and on and on it went just followed my front wheel and hope there are no hidden potholes.
I didn’t want to camp, didn’t have my tent, reluctantly looked at Booking.com, the first place twee, the next a biker haunt – tacky, the third closed, the majority shut for the season. Then as I scrolled down further up came a container. Perfect. The owner came and met me, told me to get supplies while he got firewood and then I followed his pickup down dirt tracks across fields, and into a pasture where there was nothing but an off grid converted twenty-foot shipping container and a barn.
Absolutly perfect, no way a school bus could get up here. Open the wine, light a fire and take in the surroundings, the day, the season, the country, the continued tranquillity, the opportunity taken, the independence exercised, the health that allows, the money that facilities, the bike that traverses, the will that yearns, that need that drives, the knowing that you’ve found what your heart desires. The perfect day on the road and off it.
Rain pattered in the night adding more to the atmosphere. Had to lock the container doors when I left, how nostalgic, when was the last time I closed a container? Certainly never bent down to reach the handles before. Retired trucker, writer, but for ever a biker, a traveller and always in awe of nature, pure authentic, undisturbed, and soothing to the soul. Sometimes you get a face slap reminder of how lucky you are, other times it arrives in a soothing caress of reassurance that despite the pit falls, the hurdles, the bad judgement and decisions, what you are experiencing right now is a reward, sculpted, wrapped and personalised, the best belated birthday present. So that’s the season fully immersed in. I pity the poor people who don’t get it, so happy to be self – containered. But in the night I couldn’t help but design in my head the luxury of graduating to a forty foot one. Probably like people with big TV’s dream of bigger ones. No screen here, no filter, no electric, just solar charged, and so alone, so simple. Seems I do have something to write about.
What’s stopping you?
