The Long Ride East: I ran out of time in Schengen, so I rerouted to the Balkans

It’s almost time. I have been hibernating in southern Albania for the winter since mid-December, and I am itching to get back in the saddle.

While I began my travels in Ireland last spring, I started this leg of my tour to raise money for the Cairn Project on July 1 after catching a ferry from Hampshire, England to Caen, France. I was hosted by a lovely French woman, Dominique, in Caen, who was so kind to wait up for my 11:45pm arrival. The following morning she made me a fueling breakfast of applesauce, fruits, and nuts (and coffee, of course!), and we sat out on her back patio enjoying the sun. 

“I’ve been looking at the Eurovelo routes,” I said, speaking slowly at her request. “I want to get to Turkey, but I’m not sure which route would be the nicest to take.”

Dominique retreated into her sleek apartment and re-emerged with a folded up map. She opened it and splayed it on the table. “I recommend you to do the Eurovelo 6. I cycled it with my brother, and it is very beautiful.” She traced her finger along the map, stopping it to point out places of interest. “This route goes all the way to the Black Sea.”

That was enough to convince me. I was going to cycle the Eurovelo 6. 

I wanted to cycle for a cause. I applied to be a Trail Blazer with The Cairn Project. I chose this organization because their mission is one that’s close to my heart. They are a nonprofit that crowdsources funds to advocate for equity in the outdoors and create opportunities to get more women and girls outside. I set a goal to reach $2,000 by the time I get to Turkey. 

Over the next three months I and my little pink bike, Dusty Carnation, would cycle the Eurovelo 6 following the Loire River and parts of the Saône in France, the Rhine in Switzerland, and the Danube from Germany to Hungary. I cycled in the sweltering heat (which I LOVE), torrential rain, chilly temps, and headwinds that turned forward motion into an act of defiance. I feasted on some of the best cheeses and pastries as well as on some of the most basic camp foods. I camped in some beautiful places but was also hosted by many wonderful people along the way. 

In Bratislava I planned to only stay a couple of nights, but I got along so well with my host that I ended up staying an entire week. 

In Linz, Austria, the couple who hosted me fixed the most nourishing vegan dishes and offered to host me for an additional night. 

In Ingolstadt, Germany I spent three weeks with one of my dearest friends, who I had actually met a couple years ago when I hosted her for several weeks at my home in Phoenix. I cried almost as much leaving her as I did when she left me!

In Budapest, I met up with a lovely Hungarian who took me around to parts of the city I would otherwise have not seen, and learned so much about the country’s history and current culture, including the unique language which is deemed one of the most difficult to learn.

Living in Phoenix, the desert, I forget how much water there actually is on this planet. Cycling 2,300 kilometers (1,430 miles) along those rivers was a humbling reminder of our Earth’s abundance. The views in each country were absolutely gorgeous and uplifting, especially on sunny days. I cycled over bridges, into quaint towns with colorful buildings and cobblestone streets, and through bright and happy sunflower fields. I met other cyclists, and even decided to up my campfire game after meeting a couple who were using a collapsible stove to cook their meals. It has been a gamechanger.

I’ve also had plenty of tough days. The Eurovelo 6 is pretty easy cycling, though it still managed to take me out in France when a hidden snarl of branches on a small descent sent me tumbling. I dealt with a painful bruising of my breastbone for a solid four weeks and still sport the scar on my knee like a faint memory of the spill. 

I’ve gone through some bouts of depression during my travels, and loneliness. I’ve shed many tears when I think about how much I miss my daughters, and how I wish I could turn back the clock and hold onto their cute kid selves a little longer. Or how I wish they were here with me, because everything I see and everywhere I go I think about how much they would enjoy it.

By the time I got to Budapest, I had only 13 days left before I had to leave Schengen. Schengen is a group of countries in Europe that have agreed to maintain open borders for one another. For American citizens, it means we can travel visa-free through all of the countries in this group for up to 90 days in a 180-day period. That also means that once you’ve used up that 90 days (and they’re not consecutive), you have to leave Schengen for another 90 days before you can go back in. 

It was highly unlikely that I would make it all the way across Romania to the Black Sea in 13 days - and that’s not factoring in the route from Constanta to the border of Turkey. Not to mention, it was the first day of October and I didn’t want to be camping in freezing temps.

So I decided to reroute and head down to south Hungary into the Balkans. Most of the Balkan countries are not part of Schengen. As an American citizen, I can stay in each Balkan country (except Croatia) for 30 days and in Albania for up to a year. So I could easily hibernate for the winter. I cycled 597km (371 miles) from Budapest to Sarajevo, Bosnia & Herzegovina, crossing over Croatia to burn through more Schengen days. 

The thing about going from cycling the Eurovelo 6, a relatively easy and flat route, of which 74% follows dedicated cycle paths or roads away from traffic, to cycling the Balkans is that you’re putting your body and mind through quite a system shock. The Balkans are very, very hilly, and the grades are steep. I’ve met several other cyclists out here, and they all say that the Balkans have been some of the toughest cycling they’ve done. On my route along the Trans Dinarica in Bosnia & Herzegovina, I pushed my body so hard that I woke up one morning with a high fever and intense nausea. I ended up renting a room at the only open hotel in town for two nights while I recovered. I couldn’t eat for nearly three days, and the nausea lasted for a good two weeks after, though at a much more manageable level.

The environment is also very different. You’re no longer cycling along dedicated cycling paths (except for a long stretch in Sarajevo). Most of the time, at least in Bosnia, you’re on busy roads. Though I do my best to plan my route to take smaller mountain roads that see much less traffic, sometimes a stretch along the motorway is unavoidable. The drivers aren’t quite as keen on sharing the roads with cyclists, so it gets pretty hairy at times. 

Once I made it to Mostar, I took the Ciro Trail to Croatia. It was such a nice change of pace because most of it was off-road and away from cars. I didn’t see anyone else out there. It was certainly challenging, mostly because of the loose gravel paths, the numerous dark caves, and an intense storm with high winds that emerged in the night. I thought my tent was going to blow away with me inside of it. I’ll provide a link to a separate post about the Ciro Trail once I have it published. It was definitely memorable.

15 weeks ago I crossed the border from Croatia into Bosnia. Coming off the Ciro Trail, I said goodbye to Bosnia and re-entered Croatia. Croatia has a funny shape, making it kind of wrap around Bosnia in a weird little side-hug type of way.

After leaving the border patrol area, I was gifted with the most stunning view on the descent. It was Dubrovnik. 

Now, Dubrovnik is a well-known tourist destination in Europe, but I knew nothing about it. Once I descended 1,000 feet into the city, I realized that Dubrovnik has recently grown in popularity after filming scenes of Game of Thrones within their town walls. I’ve never seen the show, so that didn’t interest me at all. But the town’s structure inside the walls was mesmerizing; a maze of polished stone streets and steep staircases. A stone labyrinth shaped by centuries of defense, trade, and daily life. 

I opted to stay a few nights, mainly because all the bumpy gravel riding on the Ciro trail had cracked my rear rack. Unfortunately (foolishly?), I hadn’t installed the spacers on my panniers correctly, so they had been bouncing up and down, putting pressure on the rack. Stupid mistake, I know. I took my bike to Dubrovnik bike adventure shop and purchased a sturdier rack. The owner/mechanic was really nice and helped me stabilize my panniers with some electrical tape until I could get the spacers on correctly. I ended up having to superglue the spacers in place, because they kept popping out every time I unclipped the bags from the rack. 

On one fine day I took a ferry to Lokrum Island, a green and lush nature preserve about 600 meters from Dubrovnik. It was a little pricey to take the short ferry, but totally worth it. The sun offered warmth so generously as I trekked through all of the enchanting nooks and paths around the island. There were so many peacocks roaming free, and trees and plants that were lush and watchful, framing the paths so it felt like I was moving through a fable. Perhaps the most memorable part of the experience was my encounter with an older English gentleman. 

“You were on the ferry with me - I let you go before me!” He exclaimed as I meandered next to him on the hike up to the ruins of Fort Royal. “Oh yes, that’s right!” I recalled. 

“I try to do as many kind things in a day as possible,” he explained. We had a lovely chat about the power of kindness. When I asked him if he was traveling solo, he told me that he had lost his wife 18 months ago and he brings her with him when he travels. “What’s her name?” I asked. “Margaret,” he replied. He told me the story of how they met with so much vigor his eyes lit up. It was a moment that will remain on my heart.

Fort Royal on Lokrum Island

After burning through the rest of my Schengen days, I got back on Dusty Carnation, and cycled 48km (30 miles) to Montenegro. I was greeted by a clever border patrol agent who asked me to turn off my engine, before cracking a cheeky smile and handing me back my passport.

Another stunning descent from border patrol. This time I saw the expansive mountain range to my left and a breathtaking coastal view straight ahead. I admired the sea from the edge of the road in Igalo, and cycled a long stretch of promenade until I arrived in Herceg Novi. 

There I met with a local woman who would let me stay in her little house on the mountain in exchange for helping with renovations (and caring for the numerous animals she had collected). It was a charming little stone block house, surrounded by a garden that was ripe with potential. The shower was outside, as was the ‘kitchen’ sink. I stayed up there for an entire month, working in the garden on the sunny days and working inside the home painting and sanding on the rainy days. 

The day after American Thanksgiving, while my compatriots back home were rising early to battle over coveted items that would only see such discounts once a year, I cycled around the Bay of Kotor. I am definitely going to write an article about this part of the trip - it was sublime.

Once I left Kotor, that is when the real climbing began. I climbed 30km up the Serpentine road, taking 25 switchbacks. It took me a good three hours. It was overcast and I was greeted with an occasional drizzle throughout the day. The views from up there certainly take your breath away, but you definitely have to work to get it. I was pretty cold once I got to the top, but determined to make it to Lipa, where I knew there would be plenty of space for camping. 

Even a light rain is entirely soaking when you’re on the descent. Between that and the sweat, I was growing rather chilled. I continued the climb, stopping to snack on some leftover bread and cheese on the mountain. I shivered under my clothes. The sun sets about 4pm at this time, and it was already 3, so I knew I probably wouldn’t make it to Lipa afterall. 

I also couldn’t feel my feet, they were so cold, so I scrapped the idea of camping and decided I’d keep my eyes peeled for a guesthouse or hostel. 

I had a chilly descent into Cetinje, and (cyclists relate) heard the Hallelujah chorus when I spotted a supermarket. I went inside, my lips shivering from the cold, and attempted to ask someone if there was a hostel or place to sleep. She couldn’t understand my English, and I didn’t have Wifi, so I couldn’t translate. I got back on Dusty, thinking there might be a little town up ahead. Not only did I cycle into a town, but a super cute one! 

I spotted an adorable, aesthetic-y bakery so I popped in to grab a coffee and connect to the Wifi. As I sipped my brew and warmed my bones, I found a nice little rental just around the corner. I cycled over after finishing my cuppa, and booked a room. It was a very comfortable and nice hotel room, at a nice price - less than some of the campsites I stayed at in France. After a hot shower and a romp around town, I went to sleep warm and cozy.

From Cetinje I cycled 79km (49 miles) to the Albanian border. It was tough, with over 4,000 feet in elevation gain and 20% grades at times, but the fall foliage and the expansive views of the mountain ranges made the climbs so worth it. The days were only slightly chilly, quite comfortable in fact.

I was excited to get to the border, especially since I had climbed so much that day. I enjoyed the descent, swerving to avoid potholes and cracks in the roads. I passed by locals harvesting their fruits. 

Much to my dismay, however, I came to the end of the road… literally. The border crossing was not there and in its place was a big concrete wall forbidding anyone to enter. The road was entirely wiped out. For a brief moment I considered lifting my bike over and walking it across, but the fear of crossing a border where I wasn’t supposed to and being denied entry made me rethink the idea. 

To my horror, I realized I would have to cycle all the way back up the marvelous descent I just rode. I made my way back and rerouted - which would add an additional 20 or so km to my ride, and I wasn’t going to make it to Albania today.

The next several kilometres felt like hell. I hopped off the bike several times to push. I was just depleted. I didn’t have much left to give. But there were no villages nearby and as far as I had seen there wasn’t a decent place to set up camp. 

When I got to my next descent the sun was setting and the air was growing colder. I cycled down to a junction where there was a petrol station. I spoke to some locals who pointed me to a small village called Vladimir and told me where I could find a room. I cycled the 2km into the village, which was basically a small strip with boutique restaurants and twinkling lights, and even a casino. I stopped at the pharmacy where I had been told the rooms were, and the tech called the landlady for me. The room was very basic, but it had a heater so I was more than happy. 

I finally made it to the border the next day, and began my trip down the coast of Albania. I stopped in a quiet town called Tate, which looked pretty abandoned in the off season. Then I made my way to Durres, which is a very cute coastal city and still very much alive compared to the other towns I had cycled through. I rented an apartment there that had an oven, which I took full advantage of (it’s been so long!), and I ended up staying three nights to avoid cycling in the rain. 

I enjoyed my time in Durres. The apartment was very nice with a perfect view, as it sat right on the beach. I couldn’t plug in more than one appliance at a time or the entire electricity would go out - but that was no big deal. The beaches are lovely, and it was December, the entire city was decorated for Christmas. Every restaurant and shop was decorated with their own display of Christmas themes and twinkle lights. 

It was here that I discovered what is now my favorite Christmas treat, melomakarona! It’s a Greek Christmas cookie made with honey and orange and other spices. It tasted just like Christmas.

Melomakarona - Greek Christmas cookies

The next town I visited was Fier. I had planned to stay only one night but I met a local right before I left town who invited me for a coffee. We had a nice chat and he offered to show me around the city. He had his own bicycle, his mode of transportation, and together we cycled to the archaeological site, Apolonia. On the way back we stopped at his uncle’s house. He was so cute and sweet. Didn’t speak English but that didn’t seem to matter. We shared Turkish coffee and raki, the latter being too strong for me! He showed me around his garden and they loaded me up with citrus fruits from his tree for my journey.

The next day I cycled towards my final destination for the rest of the winter, Himarë. The rest of the route was 107km (68 miles) and over 6,000 feet of elevation gain. It was very tough, and as I cycled over the mountain, the temperature began to drop. By the time I made it to Llogara National Park, near the top of the mountain, I was plum worn out. I decided to splurge on a hotel room, mainly because all of the guesthouses and campsites were closed. I could’ve found a place to pitch my tent, but I had been sweating all day pedaling on the relentless climbs, and the cold temps made my sweat chill. 

The hotel was very nice, though the room was quite basic. I watched the fallow deer outside my window. I took the opportunity to have a sweet chat with my daughter on the phone in the lobby, old Christmas tunes playing in the background. I enjoyed how festive the hotel was decorated. I even heard through the speakers a version of Sleigh Ride that I haven't heard since I was a kid, though I haven't been able to pinpoint who produced it.

The next day was a mind-f*ck, excuse my language. I cycled up until I got to the Cike Mountain trailhead. The descent looked delicious, and I reveled in the speed and the views of the coast. But there would be no glorious finish at my destination. No, no - there was more climbing to do. 

As I got closer to Himarë, I could see the culture changing. The northern part of Albania is very Balkan, but now I could see the Greek influence in the white and blue stone buildings and chapels. Dhermi in particular was a picturesque little village just on the edge of the mountain with a nice view of the coast.

I finally made it to Himarë, and met the loveliest couple at the hostel I would be living and working at for the next three months. They were from Taiwan and Malaysia, and had been traveling together for the past five years. They showed me around and taught me the ropes. I was relieved to have women roommates. We set up the projector outside on Christmas day and watched a movie, and we had such fun and inspiring conversations. Sadly, they left about a month later, but another couple came in, this time a man and woman from Italy and Mongolia. They are cycle travelers too, so we have a lot in common!

I couldn’t have chosen a better place to work for the winter. The hostel is so homey and I love the open outdoor living spaces. While it can get cold and rainy, the weather has been mostly temperate and sunny. I spend my days keeping things clean and tidy, picking oranges, taking care of the garden, and taking care of the sweet dogs and cats on the property. We don’t get many guests, but one or two will pop up here and there, and it’s always fun to talk to other travelers. 

While I had no idea I’d be spending so much time in the Balkans when I first started cycling in Ireland eight months ago, I’m grateful that I’ve had this opportunity. It’s really freakin’ hard climbing all these steep mountains, but the culture, the views, and the feeling of badassery when I reach the top of the mountain create an indelible experience I wouldn’t trade. 

Soon, I’ll be back on the bike, and I am so looking forward to it. I’ve been lifting weights here at the hostel and exercising, trying to stay fit for the climbs. I’ve also been working on my mental game, because most 20% of it is the physical challenge, the other 80% is mental fortitude. I have many hills to climb still, as I make my way to Greece, back up to North Macedonia (weather dependent), and through Bulgaria. 

The route isn’t fully set yet, and that uncertainty is part of the adventure. What keeps me moving forward, mile after mile, is the thought of reaching Turkey—of experiencing a new country by bike and, most meaningfully, timing my arrival in Istanbul to see my daughter during her layover. After all the kilometres behind me and the many still to come, that reunion feels like the greatest reward.

Women Belong Outside

I am raising money for the Cairn Project, a nonprofit that promotes equity in the outdoors and helps more women get outside. Visit my ambassador page at the link below to learn more:

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