It’s been a bit over a month since I started my Baltic to Adriatic cycling adventure, and around three weeks since it finished. The scuba diving adventures have wrapped up too, and now I’m back in rainy, cold Denmark where July apparently means three weeks of rain with temperatures stubbornly stuck in the lower 20s. As I sit here, alternating between processing the whole experience and missing the Croatian sunshine, I find myself reflecting on this journey that somehow managed to be both exactly what I expected and completely different from what I anticipated.
No grand revelations, just gradual understanding
Knowing from last year’s cycling trip that the road wouldn’t give me any grand revelation or life-changing epiphany, I didn’t expect any this time either. The romantic notion that suffering through 1900 kilometres would somehow unlock profound truths about existence is mostly nonsense. What long-distance cycling actually gives you is much more subtle, it’s in the quiet moments between the pain, the small conversations with strangers, the way your relationship with discomfort gradually shifts without you noticing.
Comparing years: Easier despite being harder
Most people have asked how this trip compared to the year before, and honestly, I’m not sure I have a clear answer. Even though this was supposed to be significantly harder, doing more kilometres per day (200 instead of around 145 average the year before) with fewer rest days between, everything seemed easier somehow.
I guess since this was my second big cycling adventure, I was more prepared and ready. Not just physically, but mentally. I knew what to pack, how to pace myself, what to expect from my body when it starts complaining around day three. There’s something to be said for experience. It doesn’t make the hills smaller or the dogs less aggressive, but it makes you more equipped to handle whatever the road throws at you.
The other crucial factor was weather. This year, I only had one day of truly bad weather, that miserable second day in Germany where the rain seemed personally offended by my existence and decided to make me as wet and cold as possible for 115 kilometres. There’s nothing worse than being soaked most of the day while trying to maintain forward momentum. I really hate being wet and cold while cycling (which is ironic, considering I voluntarily go 20 meters underwater with a tank to look at fish, but underwater wet is completely different from surface wet, trust me – underwater is much worse).
I also avoided the worst of Croatia’s heat wave this time, so the maximum temperatures were a few degrees lower than last year. Those few degrees make an enormous difference when you’re grinding out kilometres in the sun.
The decision to do it again (or not)
I’m not sure exactly when I decided to do this trip again. Last year, when I finished, I said I probably wouldn’t do it again. But decisions like these are never really final until they are. My resolve wasn’t concrete until about a month before departure, when I was struggling to justify putting myself through the suffering once more.
I wanted something more than just personal masochism disguised as adventure. I needed to give myself a purpose, something to make this trip meaningful beyond my own twisted relationship with endurance challenges.
Finding purpose: SOS Children’s Villages Croatia
After quite a lot of thinking and soul-searching, I decided to reach out to an organization I’d been regularly donating to for some time – SOS Children’s Villages Croatia. I’d always admired their work providing homes, education, and hope for children who need it most, and the idea of combining my cycling adventure with supporting their mission felt right.
I reached out to them and quickly managed to arrange the details, getting their encouragement and support for the fundraising aspect. They were incredibly enthusiastic and welcoming to the idea, which was exactly what I needed to make this happen. It gave me the boost to do it with a purpose beyond my own suffering.
After asking a few extra people about the fundraising idea, they were all full of praise and encouragement. It was genuinely nice to hear such positive feedback from people I care about. The only regret I have is not starting the planning earlier so I could have reached out to more people and built more awareness for the cause.
I guess this is a lesson for the next adventure, don’t plan everything last minute. Which, of course, will be incredibly hard since last-minute planning is what I seem to enjoy most. There’s something thrilling about the chaos of under-preparation, even though it probably causes unnecessary stress. I’ll try to improve my planning in the future, though signing up for bicycle races is already forcing me to plan months ahead (and I hate every minute of that structured approach).
The journey, day by day: The complete story
Looking back at each day, they tell a complete story of challenge, growth, and human resilience:
Day 1: The journey begins (Copenhagen to Germany – 208km) The first day proved that the hardest part of any journey really is taking the first step, or in my case, the first pedal stroke an hour later than planned. Copenhagen’s endless suburbs tested my patience for two hours before I finally broke free into Danish countryside. The wind hit like a freight train, almost double what the forecast predicted, turning what should have been a pleasant cruise into an epic battle against relentless headwinds.
The magic happened when I met fellow cyclists, a group of Germans cycling from Sweden back to Germany. After losing them on a brutal bridge crossing due to wind, we reunited at a Danish shop, when I went for pastries (because when in Denmark, right?). The ferry crossing to Germany was pure relief, finally escaping that relentless wind and marking my first international border crossing, and already at day one.
Unfortunately, my mic settings were completely wrong, so all my profound commentary about Danish landscapes was lost to the wind. My voice was shot from screaming along to songs all day, and I was too tired to re-record anything coherent in the evening. Lesson learned: check your tech before departing!
Day 2: Rain’s mind games (Germany – 115km) 5:00 wake-up call from rain hammering my window like an impatient debt collector. The weather seemed to have a twisted sense of humour, every time I considered stopping, it would ease up, luring me back onto wet roads. The moment I committed to continuing, down it came again.
German railway efficiency turned out to be a myth, weird connections and scarce schedules made public transport backup plans useless. Between cities, I met a Swedish woman cycling in the opposite direction from Malmö to very close to my destination, Dubrovnik. Perfect symmetry, she had stories of what lay ahead, I had tales of what she’d conquered.
Around 115km, the rain returned with vengeance. Sometimes wisdom means knowing when to stop. Rushing to catch a train for the final stretch, I slipped on wet rails and fell, earning my first battle scar and a bruised ego. Nothing serious, but a reminder that the road always has one more lesson to teach.
Day 3: Perfect weather and Potsdam’s paradise (Germany – ~200km) After the previous day’s misery, the cycling gods finally smiled. A crisp 10-degree morning (though getting out of bed was still a battle), followed by gentle tailwinds that made every pedal stroke effortless. When the sun emerged, it transformed the day completely.
This was exactly what I needed, gorgeous forest bike paths, peaceful village roads, and those delightful guessing games where bike paths mysteriously end. The highlight was Potsdam. What a bike-friendly city! I barely lost any time compared to other German cities with their mazes of traffic lights.
I finished earlier than usual, which felt luxurious. Time to recover and mentally prepare for what was coming. My first truly hilly day and another 200km stretch. Sometimes the road gives you exactly what you need when you need it.
Day 4: Summer’s surprise and medieval memories (Czech Republic – 198km) It’s hard to remember every detail, and writing daily blogs is tough. I’m glad my mind forgets the bad things, that’s probably why we keep signing up for these adventures despite knowing how much they’ll hurt.
Summer arrived unannounced. What started as a pleasantly cool morning turned into 31°C by midday. I had to strip layers quickly and jump into summer gear. The hills bit back harder than expected, and I had an energy crash mid-day where I hit a wall completely. Sometimes your body demands a complete reset.
Border crossings between Germany and Czech Republic were rough. They always forget about cyclists in these no-man’s lands. But Czech village roads were quiet and peaceful. Before reaching my destination, I enjoyed views of old castle walls and stayed at an airport hotel (by pure coincidence on purpose) to indulge my aviation passion. There’s something therapeutic about watching aircraft after human-powered travel.
Day 5 would mark halfway, 1,000km minus the 80 I travelled by train. Day 5 of 10, but somehow it felt like the hardest half was still ahead.
Day 5: Medieval marathon and helicopter morning (Czech Republic – 194km) Started with bonus entertainment, helicopters parked at my airport hotel! I had to satisfy my aviation enthusiasm before departing. Five days in, it felt like I was just beginning despite covering almost 1,000km. Time works differently on the road.
Today was tougher than expected. The 2,100 meters of climbing got to me, but the hardest part was actually sitting on the bicycle. Frequent stops just to stretch and get off that saddle became necessary. Czech hills were beautiful from different angles, though everything started blending together.
The highlight: a little girl in a random village making faces and sticking her tongue out at me. Pure joy, no language needed. The landscape was scattered with medieval châteaux and wall remains, like cycling through a fantasy book with real historical significance.
The hardest climbs were saved for the end, especially the last one entering the city. I thought I’d have to walk but somehow managed. Wrong navigation was a blessing, supposed to do 198km but only did 194, and those four fewer kilometres felt like a gift from the cycling gods.
Day 6: Three countries, one hot day (Czech Republic → Austria → Hungary – ~200km) Really not a morning person, ready at 7, started after 8, with breakfast I was supposed to skip. Navigation nightmare: discovered day six was planned in reverse after 10km! Had to backtrack, testing patience when already questioning life choices.
32-33°C throughout the day meant survival mode activated. Ran out of water quickly, shops had weird weekend hours, so I had to ask locals for help. My German was better than expected! Austria was surprisingly flat for a country famous for mountains.
Vienna was a joy! One of my favourite cities and extremely bike-friendly. Took much less time than expected and even detoured through the city centre. The mathematics of progress: Day 6, 1,200km total. Tomorrow would bring three countries again, Hungary, Slovenia (special place in my heart from living there 5 years), and home to Croatia.
Day 7: Home Sweet Home (Hungary → Slovenia → Croatia – ~200km) The last day before rest! Late start due to editing day six’s video while falling asleep the night before. 26°C in the morning hinted at the brutal day ahead, reaching 35-38°C, with my bike computer showing above 40°C in direct sun.
Hungary under-delivered: roads not made for bicycles, careless drivers (3/10), worst road surfaces so far. The hospitality was lower too, though rural areas are always different. Border confusion had me passing between Hungary and Austria multiple times, unsure which country I was in.
Slovenia was brief but emotional, spent 5 years there and met awesome people. Then Croatia, my home country, for the final 25km stretch. Most footage would be bad due to something on my lens making everything foggy. The next three days looked challenging with big elevation differences.
Home. Rest. Repairs. Week 1 conquered: seven days, 1,400km, almost 60 hours of cycling.
Day 7.5: Rest day – Calm before the storm Natural alarm clock woke me based on recent routine, but only 45 minutes earlier than usual. Slow morning with rain, sitting and doing nothing felt like luxury. Bike maintenance at the shop, replacing the suspicious front tire.
Lunch with friends, bike cleaning, chain oiling. Shopping for energy bars and planning the final three days with lots of climbing. Elevation predictions are usually 25% less than reality, so predicted 2500m would likely become 3000m.
Packed lighter, getting rid of almost one full pack but keeping rain gear due to forecast. Ready for the final 600km and the last unconquered country. Then scuba diving, not completely rest, but enjoyable.
Day 8: Bosnia bound (Croatia → Bosnia – ~200km) Day 8 of cycling, day 9 of the trip. From hometown to the final country: Bosnia and Herzegovina. The hardest part with the most climbing, around 2400m each day, likely 3000m in reality.
Good weather but sunscreen applied too late, got sunburned. Croatia disappointed again with no real cycling infrastructure. Just putting a bicycle sign doesn’t make it a cycling lane! Roads get 2/10, drivers 3/10, though truck drivers give proper space.
30-minute border wait, then met a local who warned that “Croatia is better for cycling than Bosnia”, not confidence-inspiring! First 15km in Bosnia seemed similar to Croatia though. Boring scenery, mostly small villages. Back on the road felt good after rest day.
Day 9: The day Bosnia broke me (~200km) What a day. Dog chase, almost hit by car, pushed off road, and all that before 8 AM! First hour was brutal sharing roads with endless car and truck streams. Tried using walkways but they were terrible, cutting on and off constantly.
Lost count of dog chases at 10, brain started blocking them as defence mechanism. Bosnian mountain guard dogs are bigger, angrier, with PhDs in intimidation. Near-death truck experience on small road, driver had space to move but chose to play chicken instead.
Bosnia is beautiful but mentally defeated me on bicycle. Cars literally don’t see cyclists, bizarre selective vision where bikes don’t register. Five to six near-death lane merges throughout the day. You have to be hyper-vigilant every second while already fighting mountains and gravity.
Mountain torture: 10km climb, 3km “recovery,” then 7km climb. Mountains were laughing at me. Almost 40km of pure climbing torture. Arrived late, exhausted in every way, questioning whether I could tackle tomorrow’s planned 200km. Used eight of nine lives, playing Russian Roulette with one chamber left.
Day 10: Strategic retreat and wasp wars (Bosnia – 100km) 5:30 leaf blower wake-up call was Bosnia’s final spirit-breaking attempt. Decision to split 200km final day into two became crystal clear. Coffee therapy on the terrace instead of vehicular dodgeball.
Holiday meant less traffic, amazing how enjoyable cycling becomes without constant escape route calculations. Around km 30, got stung by something on downhill. Allergic reaction made skin feel on fire. Knee swelled for two hours, painful with every pedal stroke.
42°C heat with no shade, cycling in a human oven. Stopping every hour for liquids at cafes that were actually open. Reached hotel before 17:00 after 11:00 start felt luxurious. Tomorrow: early start to beat heat, final destination, two border crossings, 2,000m elevation over 100km.
Day 11: The bonus round – GPS trolling and border games (Bosnia → Croatia – 100km) Completely unplanned bonus day! GPS trolled me with fake borders and imaginary gravel mountain paths. Had to ask locals for real directions, border crossing I wanted was locals-only, not international.
Gambled on local crossing to save 10km but got politely denied by police. At least got nice downhill from the detour. Real border offered choice: hills or coast. Chose coast despite traffic warnings due to tourist season.
Brilliant choice, extended weekend meant most vacation travellers already travelled. Following coast was absolutely beautiful, finally some reward for suffering! Everything smooth until connecting to main Dubrovnik road.
Last 20km were absolutely hectic. I wouldn’t recommend driving a car there, let alone cycling. Those final 20km, from Dubrovnik to Cavtat, felt longer than the previous 1,000km combined. That road is famous for being infamous.
Mission accomplished and heartfelt thanks
After arriving at my destination, enormous relief. Sat on terrace for hours processing the incredible 11-day, 1900km journey. For the first time in two weeks, nothing to plan cycling-wise.
I was genuinely surprised how many people read these detailed blog posts versus just watching short videos. In our quick-update world, you took time for the full stories, the dog chases, near-death experiences, moments of doubt, and small victories that don’t make highlight reels.
Massive thanks to everyone who donated to SOS Children’s Villages Croatia. Your generosity was overwhelming. The donations continued during scuba diving adventures, showing investment in the cause, not just the spectacle.
The underwater chapter (coming soon)
I realize I’ve been completely neglecting the scuba diving part of this adventure in my blog posts. After surviving 1,900 kilometres of land-based chaos, I dove straight into two weeks of underwater exploration with Geronimo Diving in the crystal-clear Adriatic Sea.
From dodging Bosnian traffic to swimming alongside curious fish, the contrast couldn’t have been more perfect. While I was busy processing the cycling journey and posting daily underwater footage on social media, I completely forgot to document the diving experiences in proper blog form.
I promise I’ll do an extra write-up about the scuba diving adventures soon. There are stories to tell about the underwater world, the incredible visibility of the Adriatic, the marine life encounters, and how therapeutic it was to glide through water after grinding through mountains on two wheels. Plus, the irony of someone who hates being wet and cold on a bicycle but loves being underwater for hours at a time definitely deserves some explanation.
Consider this my official IOU for the diving chapter, because apparently, even on vacation, I can’t escape the urge to document everything. The underwater stories are coming, I just need to surface long enough to write them properly.
The unexpected lessons
The fundraising aspect completely changed my relationship with suffering. When grinding up hills in 38°C heat with screaming legs, thinking about children who would benefit gave external focus. It transformed pain from pointless self-infliction into something meaningful.
Daily blog writing became therapy, helping process each day’s experiences in real-time rather than just enduring them. The connections made along the route, German cyclists over Danish pastries, the Swedish woman cycling opposite directions, helpful road workers, remind you the world is full of good people doing interesting things.
The real reward
The real reward isn’t crossing finish lines or conquering mountains, it’s gradually expanding what you believe possible. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. When you survive almost 2000km of whatever the road throws at you, normal life problems seem remarkably manageable.
There’s deep satisfaction in proving you can commit to something difficult and see it through, especially when that commitment helps others. Every kilometre pedalled, every hill climbed, every moment of wanting to quit but continuing contributed to supporting children who need it most.
What’s next?
For now, I’m taking it easier in July and August, nothing major planned yet. The rainy Danish summer is actually perfect for recovery and reflection. But come September, it’s back to serious business with the Istria300 race. That’s going to require proper training and preparation, a completely different beast from this endurance adventure.
Will I do another long-distance cycling adventure like this Baltic to Adriatic journey? Ask me in six months when memory’s rose-colored glasses have worked their magic. Right now, probably yes, but with better planning and earlier fundraising preparation.
A final ask
If this journey inspired you in any way, please consider making a donation to SOS Children’s Villages Croatia, even a small one. Every contribution, no matter the amount, makes a real difference in providing homes, education, and hope for children who need it most. You can learn more about their incredible work and donate at https://sos-dsh.hr/
The Baltic to Adriatic adventure is complete, but the impact continues. Somewhere in Croatia, children are receiving support that will help shape their futures. That’s worth every hill, every dog chase, and every moment of Bosnian traffic terror.
The wheels have stopped spinning, but the ripple effects of this journey are just beginning. And now, back in rainy Denmark, I’m already plotting the next adventure, because apparently, I never learn.
Thank you to everyone who supported this adventure, read these rambling blog posts, and contributed to SOS Children’s Villages Croatia. The cycling may be done, but the memory of those 1,900 kilometres – and their impact – will last forever.
Leave a Reply