As previously mentioned, May became my official “month off”, which in cycling terms means I barely touched my bike for two weeks and called it “recovery.” After April’s Mallorcan torture session left me questioning both my life choices and lung capacity, my body staged a well-deserved rebellion.
The great bicycle boycott of early May
Most of the month was quieter than a Danish hill (which, as we’ve established, is very quiet indeed). I barely managed to scrape together 500km, which for me is like a bibliophile reading only grocery lists. The breathing issues took a few days to resolve, apparently, my lungs needed time to process the trauma of being asked to function at long climbs and even longer distance. They’ve behaved themselves since, fingers crossed, though I suspect they’re plotting their next revolt.
Taking flight: A brief return to the skies
At least May wasn’t entirely grounded, I managed to open my gliding season with exactly one flight, which went surprisingly well despite a winter break longer than a Danish winter itself. It’s like riding a bicycle, except you’re thousands of feet up and the consequences of forgetting the basics are considerably more dramatic.
Getting back in the cockpit after months of terrestrial existence felt like reuniting with an old friend who might occasionally try to kill you. The muscle memory kicked in beautifully, proving that some skills survive even extended hibernation periods. One successful flight was enough to confirm I still remember which lever makes you go up versus which one makes you meet the ground in a hurry.
This year, I’m finally committed to dedicating proper time to gliding and getting closer to finishing my license. Because apparently, I’ve decided that cycling across continents isn’t providing enough opportunities for questionable decision-making, so I need to add controlled falling from great heights to my repertoire.
From vacation to mission: How Croatia became complicated
I knew I wanted to return to Croatia with my bicycle as part of my vacation, because apparently, I’m constitutionally incapable of taking normal holidays that don’t involve voluntary suffering. But then I had what can only be described as a “sudden attack of meaning,” transforming a simple bike tour into something more significant.
I quickly shifted all my time and effort into arranging this bright idea. For years, I’ve been following the amazing work of SOS Children’s Villages Croatia, so I reached out to see if I could fundraise for their cause while pedaling across continent. Their swift and enthusiastic response was like rocket fuel for my enthusiasm, prompting me to reach out to friends who were all surprisingly supportive of my latest scheme to torture myself for charity.
The rest of the month was spent arranging small details, because apparently, “just bike to Croatia” isn’t detailed enough for modern logistics. All information is now available at donate.wheres-marin.com, where you can watch me suffer for a good cause.
Route revision: More countries, fewer Alps
I’ve also finalized my route, and this year I’m going through 8 countries instead of 5, adding Czech Republic, Hungary, and Bosnia and Herzegovina to my collection. Think of it as bicycle stamp collecting, but with more hills and questionable life choices.
This route strategically avoids the Alps, which last year caused more drama than a reality TV show, complete with weather tantrums, storm chasing, and temperatures that made my Nordic blood actually feel cold. The full route is now available at wheres-marin.com/navigate/, alongside previous years’ routes for those who enjoy studying the geography of my poor decisions.
The weather forecast for my departure is currently “very questionable,” which in meteorological terms translates to “pack everything you own and pray.”
The great bicycle betrayal
Unfortunately, just days before this epic journey, everything came under question faster than my sanity during kilometer 285 of Mallorca. I discovered a crack in my bicycle frame, apparently, even my bike was traumatized by our Mallorcan adventure and decided to stage its own dramatic breakdown.
After consulting with several experts and service shops (all of whom delivered the verdict with the enthusiasm of doctors giving terminal diagnoses), they unanimously agreed it’s not safe to ride. My “all-covering” insurance and extra bike insurance proved to be about as comprehensive as Denmark’s mountain ranges, sending me into full panic mode searching for Plan B.
Plan B: Archaeological cycling
I do have another bike, a 15-year-old aluminum road bike that was supposed to be my winter bike but has seen less winter action than a beach umbrella. Its current state can best be described as “questionable,” and it’s definitely not ready for a cross-European expedition. It’s like asking a library book to survive a hurricane.
So my last few days before departure will be spent in panic mode, frantically preparing this archaeological relic for a transcontinental journey. I’ll be transforming a bike that hasn’t seen serious action since iPhone 4 was cutting-edge technology into my chariot for 2,000+ kilometers of European terrain.
Wish me luck and I hope I can actually get everything ready in time to start this amazing journey once again, and hopefully reach the finish line with both myself and my backup bike still recognizable as their original selves.
Because apparently, the universe has decided that my cycling adventures need more plot twists than a daytime soap opera.
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