25.5.24

After ignoring the Sultans Trail for the better signposted and paved Euro Velo 6, it was nice to be back on the pilgrimage route – especially as it was ‘part 2’ of the trail.

But before we could get back pedalling, the Bryton, the cycling computer and third member of the group, was not having it. It told me it loved Belgrades Neo Noir vibe too much, how it dreamt of coming back in winter to trudge in the snow and watch the warm orange glow of living room lamps in the brutalist blocks across the river. Get over it mate. Time to move on.

With our departure delayed, the weekend drivers had risen and were clearly inspired by Furiosa’s recent release. We slowly climbed Avala mountain with cars mindlessly overtaking and beeping at will. Reaching the peak wasn’t exactly much fun, just exhaust fumes and exhausted legs.

However, once over the mountain, the fresh air and rolling hills provided the best scenery since Austria. We passed bountiful cherry groves and fields of wheat being worked by tanned farmers donning dark blue dungarees. It was bliss. More akin to Southern France than the flat Serbian plains we’d grown accustomed.

Beautiful as the countryside might have been, I still need to remind myself to be mindful and present – it’s easy to turn into the terminator on a bike. I say a little something to myself like ‘I am here, the road is here, the birds are here, my tyres are rolling’. Maybe a bit lame, but it helps ground me in the present despite being constantly in between.

We pulled into a small town to eat bread, avajala, cheese and some fresh apricots. It seems everyone grows produce in this area. Your dad. Your nan. If you have even a square meter of land you are growing something, and usually with great success.

We continued climbing and descending, I could see Max was not enjoying it as much as I was. I’d never understood how people liked climbing on a bike, but today I sort of got it. I felt proud that on 2 out of 10 hills had got the better of me – it was progress, a little mental distance between my horrid time doing the test run on the Isle of Wight.

Dogs. Finally. Mismatch groups of rag tag mongrel dog breeds flung themselves out of tall grasses and fencing to try and make their point. Running right up to us. At one point I had what must’ve been a descendent of a Yorkshire terrier at my wheel, almost in my wheel – this led to a ‘dafuq!’ from my astonishment at this tiny dog, well, giving it large.

After a couple more dog encounters we were on the homestretch. We pulled into Smederevska Palanka. We headed to a motel and asked for a room. They said ‘wait ten minutes, want a beer?’, say no more. We helped inflate balloons for a baby shower happening the next day then found our room.

After a shower we grabbed a burger and some pasta. A stray dog watched me eat my entire meal. I couldn’t look it in the eyes. I love you stray dog. I love every stray dog. I will take care of you all. Yes, plenty of space in my panniers.

We headed back to the hotel and fell asleep gleefully knowing tomorrow was just a 60km cycle.

26.5.24

I couldn’t turn the air con off last night and slept like a 5 year-old (or 14 year old in my case) fearful of the leg snatching monster hidden under my bed.

It was a nice start to the morning, I worked out, spoke to my mum on the phone and ate flavourless muesli whilst watching Sky News and footage of Max’s partners new dog, Finch. An impeccable name for a fluffy haired goldendoodle.

Heading out of town with only a short days riding ahead and the Southampton game at 4pm, spirits were high. Max and I spoke for the first hour or so of the journey about contentment and what doing a trip like this means for settling down.

No matter what, I tend to crave the opposite to my current situation. I’m cycling, free as a bee, yet I day dream of a house with a bed away from the wall, a garden with a dog running around, and a cup of tea on a rainy afternoon. It’s nostalgia, sentimentality, and homesickness playing with the mind.

As we reached a crossroads we noticed a classic Serbian diner and decided to stop. It was cowboy vibes, a big porch and meat on the menu. The waiter was kind and cheersed us with a mint cordial. That stuff is good, I wish it would leap over The Channel into our subpar British cafe/ bar culture (note, not pub culture).

After lunch we were in for a 2 hour or so cycle with one big climb into Jagodina. It was fine cycling, the sun was hazy and the big climb was actually fine and led for a spectacular descent into Jagodina where we found our apartment in no time.

We didn’t have the energy to explore, so opted for football, basketball, beers on the balcony and bed.

27.5.24

After a call with my brother, I cooked Max and I some porridge before we were on the road to Kruševac. Again, it was a short day and boy was I thankful for it. My legs were creaking.

We cycled through villages with people busying themselves in their gardens, lizards propelled themselves across dusty roads, and doves perched in pairs on telephone lines.

There were less wild dogs/cats today, but the few we noticed evoked a different feeling. We passed lame dogs, tiny dogs, injured cats and of course some just laid to rest on the side of the roads. I’m fond of pets, but no where near the extent Max is. I can see his struggle when we pass tiny puppies eating flies off the tarmac and looking on at us with hope of water or scraps.

We stopped for lunch at a bakery. A guy in line spoke English to us, he recommended we have the yoghurt drink with the Burek – it literally would’ve been rude not to. It was essentially a Serbian take on a Cornish pasty / Greek spanakopita – tasty.

We continued without much fuss and pulled into town around 2.30pm and waited for our host to arrive. I checked the prices of the local gym and when I got back Max was with the host who seemed shocked to see me.

‘It is two guys’ he said to himself looking distantly into the ground. Then I knew it was 2 guys sharing a bed that had unsettled him. After letting Max into the flat, he overstayed his already prolonged welcome for about 40 minutes.

On his departure, the dinge of the apartment took centre stage. It smelt like mould and cigarettes. A painting hung above the bed of a boy crying – my mind immediately assumed it was a deterrent aimed at stopping unhappy husbands/wives sneaking off to his rental and making it their love nest. Art is a truly affectual medium.

I couldn’t face sitting in the flat so went to the Soviet-core gym around the corner. I worked out using only what can be describe as the former limbs of a communist transformer. I loved it.

We spent as much time as possible outside of the flat then watched the penultimate race around the world before bed.

28.5.24

Keen to breathe fresh air and not bump into our host, we were out in a flash and heading to Nis where we’d rest for a day.

It was nice cycling – mountains ahead and hills running alongside us on one very flat road. We again stopped for lunch and had Burek with yogurt.

Within an hour of lunch we were passing the outskirts of Nis, cycling through its old fortress and stopping at what once was a mosque – now an art gallery.

Finding our hotel at the top of a hill was a sick joke after an 80km day, but the bizarre mix of regency architecture and Catholicism in the lobby made up for it. Jesus and cherub paintings lined the walls with draped curtains and a low hanging chandelier almost banging our heads. It made me feel like a statesmen – but Max saw it more as a tack palace. I’m easily pleased.

After a rest, we grabbed not only pasta from one place, but gyros and a waffle from another. A crazy but appropriate amount of food. We got back and whacked on BBC World Service before bed.