“Are you sure you want to go up there with the bike?” asks the first person coming down the mountain. And the second, and the next one too. “How do they mean: ‘if I am sure’?” I wonder. As I am in the middle of a mountain path, pushing my heavily loaded bike up over a stony track, as steep and un-drivable before me as behind. Are they expecting me to turn around? Of course I am sure I want to get up there. As much as I kew all along it wasn’t going to be an easy way.
“How hard can it be?” that’s what I thought and that’s exactly why I decided to cross that mountain on a military track.
And how hard was it? It took me about an hour sometimes two for one kilometre of distance. Meanwhile I completely forgot a bike was a vehicle to be ridden and not to be carried.
Early in the morning I cycle out of one cold valley, into the next one. My view changes from beautiful to magnificent and at each new mountain range exposing itself I wonder if it is the one I decided to cross today.
I pass a little farmers shop, where I buy my food for the day; a hazelnut pastry for breakfast, dry meat and cheese. Already hungry I can contain myself and keep cycling a little longer until I have my breakfast, finally with the view on todays project.
High and steep the mountain before me, seems to have little ways to pass over it. Madly excited about what is to come that day I drink my coffee. “How hard can it be?” I wonder, knowing there are barely 10kilometres ahead of me.
If I had time to build up some ego, I got put back into my place instantly. The first bends are as steep as they could be, within minutes I am drenched in sweat. As I stretch my will just one bend further to have a quick break and breath. I notice; this road is too steep, to stop and then get back on the bike. For the first time I have to push instead of ride until I reach a slightly flatter part of the road.
Slowly I make my way upwards until I seem to see a wall at the end of the road. I stop and look a bit harder, when I notice, this ain’t a wall, it’s the road. Almost vertical. I can only laugh, how absurd to be here. I go through it, riding one part and pushing the last one until a new view on different mountains appears at the next bend. They almost make me cry, too beautiful to be true, how awesome to be here.
As in the afternoon I am approaching the last 3 kilometres I am tempted to have a siesta: “Almost there.” I think, as I have s short break on the now stony path.
That’s when I encounter the first person, telling me the road ahead was un-ridable by bike. Adding my bags to that statement I already prepare for some pushing instead of riding. But I still believe I will be up there soon.
It has already been steep, and gets even steeper. Every bend exposes a new invention of difficult floor. Stones and gravel, occasional holes, turn into sharp rocks, deeper holes, drenches transforming into almost steps. If earlier on I had been pushing my bike, I was now carrying it.
People kept on passing me from the top, telling me the road ahead was much worst than what I was stuck with at that moment. Which I consistently didn’t believe possible until I discovered it to be true.
Eventually, even though I appreciated the quick chats and useless advice we exchanged, I felt like they regretted my choice to get up there by bike more than myself.
In fact I didn’t regret my choice at all, I genuinely wanted to figure out, how hard it could be.
This time something changed. Not once was I wondering “Why am I doing this?” Every bend exposing an even steeper inclination than I had thought possible, only made me laugh. Sometimes I took breaks every ten minutes, sometimes I eat more nuts than a squirrel, sometimes any hard floor to sit on felt like a feathered bed, then a new mountain range exposes itself in front of me and I just can not believe how beautiful that world is.
The light turned golden and all of a sudden, I lift my bike for the last time that day. Over a rock on to green short grass, covering the stony floor. I reach a little natural platform overlooking hills and mountains until the horizon. I feel a bit on my emotional edge. I know if any slight thing goes wrong now, I might just start crying. “Let’s not do this again!” I tell myself, already knowing that by tomorrow I will have forgotten that statement and only remember how inspiring it had been, to get up here, wanting to do it all over again.
I just sit there, enjoy the last rays of sunshine and the quiet peace up here, breathing the scent from the pine trees around me, feeling the warm wind on my face. I am not moving anywhere anymore today.
When I think back of the first bends of that day I can only laugh again. What if I had known how much harder it would get? I didn’t, and my guess is, I would have done it anyways. And I know I will do it again.
“How hard can it be?”
Thanks for stopping by, have a lovely Thursday!
All photos and words are owned by ©kesityu taken and written by myself.
