BIKE STOLEN!

A sad postscript to this blog. The bike in question, a TREK 7200 2006, was stolen from Cambridge railway station between 2nd and 4th September. Anyone with information about this theft should call Cambridge Police giving reference number 51105092011.

The Bike Ride

In September 2009, four Cambridge University students cycled halfway across Europe, from Berlin to Istanbul, to raise money for Camfed and the Teenage Cancer Trust. The trip took a month, crossing seven countries, climbing over two large mountain ranges and visiting four capital cities. It was a journey of over 1800 miles (Land's End to John o'Groats is less than 1000 miles), much of which was over the notoriously poor roads.

Undertaking such a trip was a big challenge for all involved. The team needed to average around 76 miles each day, with a few rest days thrown in, which meant that days of over 100 miles were a regular occurrence.

Don't let all this effort go to waste. Please dig deep and donate now.

www.justgiving.com/berlintoistanbul/ for Camfed

www.justgiving.com/berlintoistanbul2/ for Teenage Cancer Trust

Report: Berlin to Istanbul bike ride

September 2009

Writing this now, it seems like an age since the trip came into being on a cold April morning towards the end of rowing training camp. All keen boaties, our group knew each other well before setting off on the adventure, with much email correspondence in the weeks leading up to our departure. Finally though, we had landed in Berlin airport, and painfully watched our bike boxes being man-handled off the plane. Due to our tight schedule, we unfortunately were not able to see the centre of Berlin, but instead cycled through the suburbs and towards the Polish border in the evening light.

The first leg was due to take us all the way to Krakow, meaning three long days in the saddle. These were 105, 120 and 134 miles respectively, the latter turning out to be the longest of the trip, arriving at our hostel at 10.30pm. The first 100+ mile day was painful for all of us, having not had an all day ride with fully loaded panniers before. Fortunately though the countryside was flat, or shallow rolling hills passing through fields of crops and picturesque little villages, and the road had a wide, cycle friendly hard shoulder, so we were able to make fast progress, skirting the larger cities of Zielona Gora and Wroclaw.

Our first rest day was taken in Krakow, and was sorely needed, with all of us feeling stiff and unused to long hours of endurance based exercise. The experience was rather like waking up after a night of heavy drinking. However the Polish city was very beautiful, with the streets arranged such that one of the magnificent churches could be seen at the end. A commemorative event, complete with orchestra and fanfare, was taking place in the main square to mark 70 years since the beginning of WWII, with representatives from all faiths present in the procession. All too soon though, we were repacking our panniers and preparing to move on again.

The second leg was due to take three days until we arrived in Budapest, crossing the Beskid mountains in our southward jaunt. Immediately out of the city the road passed over long ups and downs, before eventually narrowing and twisting uphill to give some stunning views of the main range of peaks to be attempted the following day. Cycling in the heat of the day was hard work, but after passing fields being tended by hand (no fancy machinery here, only scythes and pick-axes), we passed into Slovakia, riding round the old, abandoned check-point. The next day was hard for me, both physically and psychologically as I was at the back of the group all the way up the main pass, and my knee had started aching like it had done in training. The scenery was stunning, with pine forests lining the valleys, and eventually the road peaked at the ski resort of Donovaly. Downhill speeds nearing 40mph were hit, but all too soon we were back on the main road; unfortunately this turned out to be so major we were stopped by the police who told us (very nicely!) to get off and walk to the next junction and follow a parallel road. Thereafter the road followed a valley into the last range of hills, and with a much calmer road it was much easier to appreciate the fantastic scenery and talk to one another, often cycling 3 or 4 abreast. Most of the time though, we were occupied with our own thoughts whilst in the saddle. Given the hectic nature of the past few months, it was wonderful to have hours to simply think and contemplate matters fully, across a whole different range of issues.

On the third day out of Krakow we crossed another derelict border into Hungary, and before long were on the plains following the road alongside Europe's mightiest river, the Danube (or Duna). It was a relatively short day (only 65 miles!), as we were stopping in Budapest for a couple of days to rest up and enjoy the sights. We felt in much better shape than the day in Krakow, and headed to some traditional baths to soak and relax. However lovely this experience was though, it was soon ruined when we realised it was a haunt for the local 60yr old gay community, particularly when one guy attempted to grope one of our group; we left rather quickly after that! The city itself has somewhat of a faded grandeur, with magnificent buildings lining every street falling slowly into disrepair. On the Pest side is the parliament building, modelled on London's Westminster but with crazy spires and towers. Across the river on the hilly Buda side is the old city, obvious from its distinctive stark white bastions. Also on the Buda side is the Liberty statue which towers over the whole city, from which point we watched the sun set over the city giving some tremendous views.

The third leg took us due east to Suceava, and would lead straight over the Carpathian range, allowing us to test our fitness on the most challenging terrain so far. First of all though, we had to cross the Hungarian plains, which made for a day or two of rather tedious cycling along long, straight roads shimmering into the horizon, whilst lorries rushed close by (there was now no hard shoulder). At the Romanian border crossing we had our passports checked for the first time, and were told to 'Be Careful!' by the officials there. Heeding this warning, we moved away, and although we were often honked at by lorries, this was often either in friendliness or warning rather than aggression. The roads were much better than we had expected them to be to cycle on, with just the occasional pothole to watch out for. The landscape was vastly altered though, and as we were now off the main trucking route, we could see just how much different this part of Romania was to elsewhere. Little villages lined the roadside where people sold their homegrown goods, whilst haystacks stood in fields and horses and carts trotted along the roads and farmers led their bulls by the nose on their daily business. All the suitable land was farmed, meaning that there was nowhere particularly great to camp – to this end we ended up knocking on people's front doors and explained our problem by some rather convoluted sign language. Once understood though, we were warmly welcomed and were humbled by their generosity, despite the families obviously being very poor. We made a note to take their addresses and let them know how our trip went once back in England. Throughout Romania, it was lovely to see how friendly everyone was, with many either waving or calling out as we went past.

On the fourth day out of Budapest, we had our first major problem arise in the form of a broken spoke. After being unable to repair it ourselves, we asked for directions to a bike shop, only to be welcomed into a man's home and given coffee whilst we waited for his English speaking son to help out. In contrast to the previous night, the family was wealthy, and once Ovi (the son) arrived, it transpired he was starting at Nottingham this year. He was very welcoming, and offered us his holiday home to stay in that night, some 50 miles away. With this in mind, we made excellent progress as we neared the foot of the Carpathians, but had barely gone 10 miles when there was another broken spoke. Now in the middle of nowhere, and again unable to open remove the cassette to fix it, we at first attempted to hitchhike back to the main town, but before long Ovi had again come to our rescue and given a lift back to Bistrita. He did not return for four hours, by which time any hope of reaching his holiday home that night had gone, but it was good to be moving again, and we eventually pitched camp at the base of the first pass.

We were now a long way behind schedule if we were to reach Suceava that night, and had an entire mountain range to cross too. We were up long before sunrise, and soon warmed up climbing a long, steady pass which curved through the pine forest up the ski resort situated near to what was apparently Dracula's castle. We were spread out on the climb, and as I happened to be leading the group at the time, was surprised when two dogs starting chasing me. Having grown used to them over the past few days, it was rather unsettling when they clipped my panniers causing a wobble, causing to me to sprint uphill as I've never done before. Fortunately they soon gave up once out of their territory, but it took a while for the adrenaline to stop pumping. We soon learnt that dogs were attracted to the spinning wheels and the best option was simply to stop, and even pretend to pick a stone from the ground, given their fear of humans. Down in the valley there was a thick mist, which turned to drizzle as we passed the 1000 mile point, then to steady rain for the first time for the whole trip. It was with relief to reach the shelter of Ovi's holiday home in the ski resort of Vatra Dornei, and the sun was shining once we had warmed up a bit, with a promise of inviting Ovi to Cambridge once term had begun. The road headed up another pass, looping round some hairpin bends, before peaking and leading to a lovely descent with wide sweeping turns. Again this valley was misty and drizzly, and I realised just how miserable cycle touring could be if it rained all the time! Thereafter the road led downhill out of the mountains, and we ate up the miles, and reached Suceava at darkness, despite a detour to see the UNESCO world heritage site of Voronet monastery with its wonderful paintings covering every bit of wall, inside and out.

Suceava had many similar monasteries, and where there were church services taking place, there was now a clear trend towards Orthodox in the worshipper's style. The town itself was rather small with dilapidated concrete buildings in the centre and many stray dogs in the suburbs making cycling slow progress. Once rested up, our penultimate leg was due to take us south on a road skirting the edge of the Carpathian range and into Bucharest. Now over rolling hills, we made good progress through fields of corn in gorgeous sunshine. Despite being ahead of schedule by the end of the first day, we had to have a long mechanical break the next morning to replace and repair tyres and inner tubes. Eventually we were on the move again, but at our daily shop stop, one of group overloaded their panniers which promptly snapped the rack, spelling disaster for their trip. A frantic search around the town ensued, and we were very lucky to find a Dacia garage with an ingenious mechanic who solved our problem and then would take no payment – another wonderful example of the Romanian people. Moving on again, the fields either side turned to vineyards, and the air became drier and dustier the further south we headed. With one day till Bucharest, we were a little behind schedule, and the next morning got off to a bad start with more punctures, and having no spares or patches after the last incident, we were effectively stuck. Again though, we were lucky to solve the problem by asking the locals, and were soon making fast progress towards the capital city.

After all the bad things we had heard about Bucharest, we weren't disappointed on the cycle in, passing endless dilapidated concrete tower blocks and packs of stray dogs. However, once we were on foot and able to explore the city centre itself, it was actually quite pleasant. The communist leader Nicolae Ceasescu had certainly left his mark on the city with a Parisian-style, fountain and tree-lined Champs Elysee with his intimidating, rectangular palace at one end. The rest of the town was similar in many ways to Budapest, and had a leafy park where we couldn't resist having a go in the skiffs.

The first day of our final leg initially led over the rather dull plains until we reached the Bulgarian border, and crossed over the mighty Danube, now around 1km wide, with the industrial shipping port of Ruse on the far side. Under the roasting midday sun, it was hard work climbing out of the valley, before the road led over beautifully rolling hills, which reminded me strongly of the Cotswolds in many ways, with neat fields visible in all directions. Our campsite for the evening was on a tiny village's green off the main road; our experience so far being the Bulgarians were less welcoming to strangers, but we didn't wish to judge too early – it may be they were simply more used to tourists here. The next day began much the same, though bitterly cold at first, before we headed into a forested gorge which climbed into the next valley, affording spectacular views over the arid landscape. We turned off the main road to shorten our route, but immediately the surface was massively potholed and our speed reduced. Stopping for water, we watched as the locals loaded the carcass of a bull into the back of their car, and were honoured when they came over to offer us the freshly cooked liver. Despite the surface, this little back road was stunning, passing through several miniscule villages and farms and giving gorgeous views of forested hills across the valley. These hills were beginning to tell though, as my legs were like jelly by the day's end.

The morning after was a few short miles downhill to Burgas, our first sighting of the Black Sea, where we had a lazy day on the beach, defiant of the overcast skies and horrible port nearby in typical British fashion. The route we next took followed along the coast, past rocky shores, sandy beaches and the unfinished castle at Sozopol, before it turned inland towards the border. The surface was uncomfortable, and as we were now passing through a disputed border area there was no habitation, just endless forests all around, and the road wiggled up and down long hills. We reached the top of the pass into Turkey at nightfall, and crossed out of the EU. We were forced to camp earlier than anticipated due to broken spokes, but these were mended and we moved off into the morning mist undetected one more. After Bulgaria, the smooth asphalt was soothing, but all too soon we turned off onto a bumpy side road which led through a series of little villages where the men would be gathered at a cafe and stare unashamedly as we rode through. If we stopped, a small crowd would soon gather, and sometimes we would end up with chai in our hand from out of nowhere. We had a problem though, in that we had no lira, and the nearest town with an ATM was 60km away. Running low on food, we tried to make good progress, but the road had turned to gravel and dust creating several punctures, and coupled with the headwind we made agonisingly slow progress. Adders and grass snakes were seen on the roadside, and the land around was arid, though farmed wherever possible despite the rocky hillsides. In the very late afternoon we eventually made it to a town with an ATM, but couldn't eat until we'd had several more cups of chai and talked to the locals and their children. It was a relief to be in the quiet road again, but the Turkish people were very friendly; this was demonstrated once more when we camped near a farm, whose owner bought us coffee and made a bonfire, whilst we shared our beer (we were obviously nearing the end of the trip!) and talked to him and his son (the women, again, being absent). Next day we were on much better roads, and passing through towns we were greeted by shouts or waves from the locals. In the afternoon, we peaked a climb, and had a view for miles of plains in front of us, with a large, hazy urbanisation on the very horizon, with a heavy smog hanging above – our first sight of our final destination, Istanbul! By the evening we were passing through built up commuter towns and army bases and camped near a dual carriageway with a view of the lights of the city.

We rose early for our final day. As we wished to avoid the motorway, we took a minor road; however this was of awful quality, going through all sorts of surface from gravel to rocks to sand to dust to muddy pools. It passed unfinished, abandoned tower blocks and went straight through the locals' rubbish heaps, and would have been unpassable for cars. Finally though we emerged onto tarmac, and the road led us steeply down into the morning commuter traffic and smog. Our end point was to be the Hagia Sophia, but before that we had endless amounts of tricky navigation. Istanbul seems to be the hilliest city ever, so what with the smog, terrain and with seemingly no priorities on the road, made for some tough cycling. Finally though we were on the coast road before turning off, a short climb over cobbles before rounding a corner to emerge, triumphant at our journey's end! All in all, we had cycled 1814 miles in 26 days (inc. 5 rest days) passing through 7 different countries, having met some wonderful people and seen some fantastic sights. Given the last leg had taken nearly a week, it was a relief to wash, shower and shave for the first time in days. It was only when I came to packing up my bike did I have my first puncture and first broken spoke, ironically after the trip was all done!

We had two days in Istanbul, which was a fantastic city. Everywhere we went there were endless signs of life; from the street vendors to the shoe cleaners, from the fishermen lining the bridges to the old men sitting drinking chai, from the mosques calling out to the wonderful inside of the hagia. Nothing however, could top the bazaars, where ones senses were simply overloaded with noises and sights and smells, and wandering through each shop tried to sell their goods. These bazaars were arranged such that all shops offering one particular thing were all in one place, so one could wander from a shoe district to a kitchenware area and then all sorts of clothes and then perhaps a wonderful array of spices.

After a month on the road, it was a nice to return home again, but it was an absolutely amazing experience, and one which I wouldn't hesitate to repeat, or even better in future. Many thanks to the Donald Robertson Trust for contributing towards this adventure. A selection of photos are provided below.