Squalls

With great effort, we carry all our equipment, including the dismantled trailers, down the narrow steps of the truck stop into the yard. Then I put the wheels on the hangers. After loading our bike trains, we turn our backs on Belgrade and head north in the direction we came from the day before yesterday. According to our map, there is a way around the capital. However, this option costs an extra day. But what’s a day when you’re risking your life in this crazy traffic? One of the most important rules for us is to avoid heavy traffic on side roads as much as possible. Unfortunately, we haven’t found any side roads in Serbia so far, and if we did, they were heavily congested with traffic. According to some Serbs, the average person here earns around 100 euros a month. However, gasoline costs almost the same as in Germany. How the many car drivers can afford the fuel is inexplicable to us. Perhaps we are here in northern Serbia on the main traffic routes to Belgrade purely by chance? We do not know.

The headwind that made our progress difficult two days ago has increased and is now blowing its gale-force gusts into our backs. We fly over the asphalt at 22 to 26 kilometers per hour and have to cheer all the time despite the cold. Fortunately, this morning the trucks roar into Belgrade so that we are not so endangered on our side of the road. “This is where the fun ends! We have to turn off towards Pancevo,” I shout to Tanja. “What do you mean, fun?” she asks quite euphorically through the wild surfing on the main road. “From now on, the road will lead us south again. So we have to fight the wind,” I explain. “Oh no!” “Oh yes!” I moan as the first gusts of wind hit my ears. It doesn’t take long and we feel like we’re fighting against a whole armada of windmills. All the headwinds we have had to overcome so far are now being declared a laughing stock. We find ourselves in the self-exaggeration of superlatives. At least that’s how it seems to us because we’ve never experienced anything like it in our young cycling lives. “Wwwuuuuuu!” a gust of wind blows towards us, causing our speed to drop to 6 kilometers per hour despite our best efforts. Our handlebars sway back and forth. A little slower and we have to push. We cycle on the small front sprocket and have set the Rohloff to fourth gear. Our swollen thighs gyrate so much that it could make you dizzy. “Wwwuuuuuuu!” “Wwwuuuuuuu!” “Wwwuuuuuuu”, it races over us. The howling of the forces of nature silences the engines of the trucks behind us. Nothing warns us of the danger of big black tires. As if out of nowhere, the monsters suddenly appear next to us and scare us again and again and again. Cycling soon offers us new variations of a seemingly endless world of experiences every day. In the last few days, however, it seems that we have had more negative experiences than positive ones. I secretly mourn the beautiful, well-built, safe cycle paths. The tour around Lake Constance, the lovely Swabian Alb, the fantastic, culturally rich cycle path along the Danube, all this belongs to a world that lies far behind us. All the efforts we had there were just a little warm-up for the killer roads in Serbia, for the abnormal wind with its extreme gusts. “Wwwuuuuuu”, it blows under my helmet again, making my handlebars tremble and my good pedaling friends below me moan. We are making very slow progress. Maybe six to seven kilometers per hour. More often than we would like, we have to stop to drink and catch our breath despite the cold. In front of us is a narrow strip of asphalt, one half of which has been torn up by construction machinery and is currently being renewed. The construction workers are wearing thick jackets. They look up in surprise when we fight our way past them. Safety does not allow you to take your hand off the handlebars to say hello. In a few cases, we nod our heads.

Tanja and I take it in turns to track through the sea of wind. Once I drive ahead, once they do. We have to conserve our strength and at least try to reach Pancevo today. “You damn wind!” I shout against the eternal gusts and raise my fist to the sky, almost tearing my handlebars apart. “When are you going to stop?” I shout again, not wanting to give in to the nature that is making this day so difficult for me. With panting lungs, I pedal for my life and keep a close eye on the end of Tanja’s trailer. I concentrate on staying close to them to get as much slipstream as possible. Our speedometer shows just 35 kilometers per day. It is another 25 kilometers to Pancevo. I have no idea how we’re going to manage that. The will is the only thing that lets us stand up to the howling. Just don’t give up, I think to myself, not for the first time on this bike tour that started out so relaxed and leisurely. “What’s the big deal? We’re just sending you a bit of wind. Nothing has happened. There’s no need to complain. You’re healthy and well. You’re not going to ask yourself about the purpose of your adventures again, are you?” I hear inside me. “Oh, there you are again,” I reply to Mother Earth’s voice, which in this case speaks up at a very inopportune moment. “There are no inappropriate times to talk about thoughts,” I feel caught out. “Concentrate on your path. Don’t get distracted and accept your and your experiences. There is no point in constantly rebelling against it. You are here on earth to learn. What would happen if we let you continue to travel as if you were in paradise? What would you experience? What would you report on? What experiences would you gain? How would you mature if we didn’t constantly present you with new variations of feelings? See it as a gift to be able to experience so much. We have told you this many times and we will continue to send you our gifts of experiences. Until you have understood how to accept the things that are unchangeable. In the deserts, we always told you to let it flow. It’s no different on the bike here in Serbia. Let it flow. Accept it. Consume the experiences. Write them down. Report on your feelings. That is your job. Part of your task. Live life, let it happen, let it flow and be happy about new things. New experiences are to be valued like a treasure, keep filling your chest of stories and experiences. The treasure trove is infinite. One human life is not enough in a thousand years to make all the experiences that need to be made. So look forward to constantly experiencing new things, even if your lungs are burning. Even if your back hurts and your muscles start to tremble. Be happy to be alive and to be able to use your body the way you do. We don’t want to remind you what it means to be disabled. What it means not to have a healthy body and a healthy mind. You know exactly what that means and what limitations a person who is not healthy has. You, on the other hand, are free. You can and do live freedom in body and mind. Enjoy this wonderful gift. Enjoy gaining new experiences. For example, what it means to cycle into a headwind. What roads mean for unprotected wildlife. How many children, women and men have to lose their lives on them. How exhaust fumes burn your lungs. What a landscape looks like that is being abused by you humans. We can only tell you again and again that these experiences are important. Think about it, write it down and don’t give up reporting and telling about it… Wwwuuuuuu! Wwwuuuuuuuu”, further gusts of wind dissipate the words we have just heard clearly. I feel as if the wind has just spoken to me. Despite the encouraging words, I’m grumpy. Don’t want to understand what I just heard. Won’t understand what it means to let flow and accept. “Wwwuuuhhuu!”, a sudden gust of wind pulls us out of the saddle. Tanja and I get our legs onto the dusty asphalt at the last second and just manage to avoid a fall. “Ttttuuuuuuhhhhhttt!” at the same moment we are startled by the deep, menacing horn of a bus directly behind us. The driver shakes his head. He was apparently able to brake just in time. After the bus has crept past us, we get back into the saddle. I think about the situation, think about what Mother Earth or the wind tried to explain to me a few minutes ago and decide to accept the effort from this point on.

We reach a small village. We stop at a store to buy something. “Don’t you want to come inside?” I ask Tanja, who stays outside in the cold wind by the bikes. “You go first. I’ll come when you’re back outside,” she explains, which I don’t understand at first. Five minutes later, I step back out into the uncomfortably windy open air of the dusty road. “Why didn’t you want to come in?” I ask in surprise. Tanja just moves her eyes to the right and disappears into the store without comment. I immediately understand what she meant. An obviously drunk Serb prowls around our property like a hungry wolf. He pretends he’s not interested in us at all. He searches for nuts in the ditch. But keeps looking over at me. Then he disappears behind a house. Breathing a sigh of relief, I settle down on a wooden peg in the lee next to the store to eat my chocolate. It only takes seconds for the man to come around the corner. Startled to discover me, he pauses for a moment, looks down and then disappears purposefully into the store. It looks like he didn’t expect to find me right in front of our bikes. Tanja was right. It wouldn’t have been good if we had both disappeared into the store. After all, we were warned never to leave our equipment alone for nothing.

An hour later, we are panting through one of the many half-abandoned villages. People tend to stay inside their homes in this weather. “Let’s ask over there if we can get something hot to drink,” I suggest. In fact, the friendly woman in the tiny bistro is ready to brew us a Turkish coffee. While I sit down on one of the few chairs and watch our bikes through the broken window pane, Tanja buys white bread and tuna for our lunch in the store next door. Then we are the only guests sitting in the sheltered hut, eating our hot food and drinking freshly brewed coffee. It tastes delicious and due to the constant effort, we can hardly keep up with providing our bodies with the nourishment they incessantly and unconditionally crave. As we say goodbye to our lovely hosts, the woman gives us a bag of sweets. “Have a good and safe journey,” she wishes us with a laugh.

At 16:30, after almost 60 kilometers, we let our vehicles roll through the town of Pancevo, which is only about 20 kilometers from Belgrade. We had to take this detour to avoid the killer traffic in Belgrade. Of course, we didn’t expect these merciless squalls. But who knows whether something would have happened to us on the shorter, supposedly easier route? So we mainly just had to fight against the wind. We are pushing our bikes over several train tracks when a man shouts something incomprehensible at us. “Hurry up Denis! There’s a train coming!” Tanja calls out, understanding, and we hurry to get off the tracks. Sure enough, a little later the train thunders past. The level crossing barrier has no function whatsoever and the red lights of the hazard warning lights have been broken for a long time. Shaking our heads, we walk on. Plastic bags and dust fly through the air. The ugly things hang in the branches of many trees near the tracks. The wind blows some of them up into balloons. There is garbage lying around as far as the eye can see. “It’s unbelievable how it looks here,” I say in amazement, looking at the broken houses and buildings. Pancevo seems to us like a memorial to war. The houses are more or less completely run-down and some of them look as if they will soon collapse. We are sent to a guesthouse. A very poor-looking man explains to me in front of the entrance to the shelter that people who would otherwise have to stay on the street sleep here. “Here you are in front of the lowest category of accommodation. There are no showers and the toilets are in the corridor. I’m only here because I can’t work anymore. I’m ill, do you understand? The doctor told me I can only move very slowly. My heart and lungs are broken. It’s from work,” he says without taking a breath and stands in front of my bike so that I have no chance of getting away. “It’s terrible,” I confirm his suffering. “Yes, it’s terrible. I speak French, English and Russian. And what good did it do me? My father was a royalist. We were always politically active,” he continues, while I can barely hold myself up from exhaustion. “Sorry, I can understand your gloom, but I have to keep going,” I say, pushing my bike slowly. He carefully pulls his foot back and clears the way for me. “See you again,” I call out and wave.

Then we reach the only hotel in town, which is absolutely run-down. Adding to the desolation of the place, it flaunts its ugliness on the square. The wind chases the leaves that have fallen from the trees through the air. The swirling dust, our powerlessness and the cold of the day make me feel like the world is going to end at any moment. We would love to continue, but it is still 31 kilometers to the next town. Even if there were no squalls sweeping through the streets today, this distance would be too far. Apart from that, we don’t know whether the situation in Kovin is similar to the one here. I’ll never write my next update in there,” I say resolutely, entering the building of a communist era. “You can park your bikes in the underground garage,” says the grumpy man behind the counter. “But they’ll probably be stolen from us. The bikes are all we have and are very important for our trip. We want to take them to China,” I explain, pleading for some sympathy. “All right, you can park your bikes there in the checkroom. There’s someone at reception all night. You’re in good hands there,” he offers me, to which I thank him warmly.

We realize that the people here in Serbia are a bit dismissive at first. Definitely different from Hungary. Once you have overcome the first barrier, they usually become friendlier and sometimes have a smile for us. Of course, it is impossible for us to assign a character trait to an entire people in such a short time. They are just impressions that touch us every day. Basically, there are also very friendly, open people here. Nevertheless, they are different and we have to learn to deal with this mentality.

Like every time, it’s a real effort to lug everything we own into the room. Thank goodness there is an elevator. For 35 euros a night, we cheerlessly move into the unfriendly and sober Eastern Bloc room.

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