The morning from hell
Day 9 of cycling – what a day. Not sure where to start. I had a dog chase, almost got hit by a car, and got pushed off the road by another car, all that before 8 o’clock! Sometimes you wonder if the universe is testing just how much you really want something, or if it’s just decided you’ve had enough fun for one lifetime.
Highway to hell
The first hour or so was absolutely brutal, sharing the road with an endless stream of cars and trucks that seemed determined to remind me I didn’t belong there. From time to time I tried to use the walkways, but they were in such bad shape, cutting on and off like a drunk person’s attempt at drawing a straight line. When I reached one of the cities, there were some bike paths for a while (a brief moment of hope!), but after exiting the city it was back to playing dodge-the-metal-death-machine with cars whose drivers had apparently developed selective blindness toward anything with two wheels.
Navigation adventures in wonderland
My bicycle computer, clearly having developed a sense of humor, took me on the longer path through the hills. Fewer cars, which was nice, until I reached a part where the “road” was apparently just a suggestion and only gravel remained, uphill, naturally. Because nothing says “you’re almost there!” like struggling up a gravel climb while questioning every decision that led to this moment.
The dog pack chronicles
Throughout the day I had quite a lot of dog chases, I lost count at 10, though I suspect my brain started blocking them out as a defense mechanism. Some were genuinely terrifying because you don’t want to run into a pack of mountain guard dogs. These aren’t your friendly neighborhood golden retrievers, they’re bigger, angrier, and seem to have a PhD in intimidation. Just hearing them bark in the distance is your cue to channel your inner Tour de France sprinter.
For some encounters, I couldn’t tell if they were friendly or plotting my demise, but I wasn’t about to stick around for a proper introduction.
Near-death experience of the day
On one of the very small roads, I had a close call with a truck that was so scary it probably aged me five years in five seconds. The driver had plenty of space to move over but decided to play chicken with a cyclist instead. Rather than doing the logical thing and going to the right side of the road, he chose to push me toward what I can only assume was certain doom.
It was one of many points throughout the day where I seriously considered calling it quits and hitchhiking to the nearest airport.
Bosnia: Beautiful but mentally defeating
Here’s the thing, Bosnia is genuinely beautiful with stunning mountains and breathtaking views. But this country mentally defeated me on a bicycle. It’s definitely not a place I would cycle again, and I wouldn’t recommend road cycling here to my worst enemy.
The cars and other vehicles literally don’t see you. It’s this bizarre selective vision where bicycles simply don’t register in their reality. I had people passing other cars and merging directly into my lane, probably five or six near-death experiences throughout the day. Even in cities, cyclists are apparently invisible beings that exist in some parallel dimension.
You have to be hyper-vigilant every single second, which is exhausting when you’re already fighting mountains and gravity. Bosnia gets zero out of 10 for cycling infrastructure and zero out of 10 for drivers. It’s officially the worst cycling country on this entire adventure (and my cycling career).
Mountain torture: The sequel
As if the traffic wasn’t enough punishment, the climbs decided to join the “let’s break this cyclist” party. The worst part was a 10-kilometer climb followed by just three measly kilometers of recovery before another brutal 7-kilometer ascent. It’s like the mountains were laughing: “Oh, you thought that was hard? Hold my beer.”
Those two climbs alone nearly extracted my soul. All together, it was almost 40 kilometers of pure climbing torture.
Tomorrow’s big question mark
I arrived quite late, exhausted in every possible way, and honestly, I’m not sure about tomorrow. It’s supposed to be the final day with 200 kilometers, but after today’s psychological warfare, I’m questioning whether I can or even want to tackle that distance in one day.
It feels like I’ve used up eight of my nine lives today, and I’m essentially playing Russian Roulette with only one chamber left. I’ll see how I feel when I wake up, but right now, optimism is in short supply.
Sometimes the road teaches you that reaching the destination isn’t just about physical endurance, it’s about surviving long enough to tell the tale and keeping your sanity intact in the process.
Bosnia, you beautiful, terrifying beast, you nearly won today.
Every close call survived, every mental battle fought, every moment of wanting to quit overcome brings us closer to supporting children through SOS Children’s Villages Croatia. Tomorrow will decide whether this story ends in triumph or pragmatic retreat. donate.wheres-marin.com
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