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Rain racing

Torrential rain was forecast all day, so I was very pleased to set off in the dry. I wanted to get as much as possible done before the water hit me.

So I thought I might take the off-road route for the first 50km. It’s ok to go off road when it’s dry, but I retreat to tarmac once the heavens open.

I was rewarded with beautiful views of brooding hills under bruised skies, and autumnal woodland descents on gravel.

At 10am on the 50km mark I arrived in a small town with a cafe called Burek King. Providence was giving me a sign so I went in for a snack.

I ended up staying four hours. The sky opened and streams formed in the road. I thought I’d be there a couple of hours but it just kept coming.

At 2pm I restarted my journey as the rain abated slightly. I only got a few miles before the heavy stuff started again.

As I pathetically sheltered under an inadequate tree, an older man in a house on the road about 50m away beckoned for me to join him. This conversation was entirely in international sign language from distance:

Hey! Why don’t you come in here? You look cold and wet?

Who, me?

Yes!

Are you sure?

Absolutely! Don’t think twice, now come over!

That would be amazing, thanks!

Antonio, as I later found he was called, offered me hot coffee, grapes, and wafer biscuits. We could barely speak a word to each other, and given he couldn’t grasp Google translate we conversed using sign language and sprinklings of German and Italian.

I learnt that he was an apple farmer, about to have his 70th birthday on 7th October. When I told him about my journey and birthday in October he compared me to Abraham, although I don’t know if that’s related to age, travelling, or both.

I gave my thanks and farewells and soon found myself riding a deserted hill road through to the Croatian border.

Out in the countryside and with absolutely no chance of shelter, biblical rain began without a pause. It was so hard that any exposed skin literally stung. I could stay hydrated just by opening my mouth. The sky was black at 3pm, full beams on the cars.

As I rode, mountain streams next to me became roiling rapids. Cars soaked me as they passed. Drainage systems failed, unable to cope with the rapid volume. Fields were flooded. It was heavy and utterly relentless.

5km from my destination I reached a flooded road. Some cars were turning. I waded in, pushing my bike through thigh high water, coursing sideways off the mountain.

It was a relief to arrive at the accommodation and make use of the hairdryer to dry my sopping clothes!