Day 63 – “a strange day”, Sliven to Burgas, 115km

A strange day, in part terrible and in part wonderful.

After leaving Sliven, the no. 6 highway which had so far been a perfectly quiet and wonderful road turns into a nightmare as all the traffic from the unfinished autobahn below goes through it… I endure a very unpleasant 60km of fast cars, transport trucks and wind before turning off to quiet, peaceful and gorgeous country roads. I arrive at the Black Sea at a tiny village south of Burgas.

Am chased by big, nasty dogs (strays) – first time this trip. No harm done, but it gets me thinking. Am wondering what I’m going to do for the infamous Turkish sheepdogs which have a truly bad reputation…I’ve heard that they are agressive, huge and can and do bite. I start getting used to carrying rocks, I look around for a good branch to transport and hit with, if necessary. Anyone know where I can buy pepper spray? Best get used to it now, I’m only a days ride away from Turkey…

A bit tough finding a place to sleep. People that I ask to freecamp nod their heads consistently “no”, they look at me with fear and confusion. I hear one woman mutter under her breath “but what the hell is she doing alone??”… It’s like the isolation from lepracy, from back in the day when..

Finally some friendly English-speakers point me to the “only” hotel. They have no free rooms, but to avoid the tears of desperation that are risking spilling out the owner gives me her own little bed and bedroom for the night, however reluctantly. She threatens me “you will pay 20 Lev for this!”, as if it’s some kind of punishment. She too is afraid and weary of me…why must they continue to treat me like some freak??

She will actually smile to me in the morning – realizing that perhaps in fact I am not crazy. She’ll want to charge me 10 Lev, but I will give her 15.

A few hours of rest was won, and it’s time to venture into Turkey.

At this point the only thing keeping me going is the relative proximity of the final destination – just a few more day of this, I continuously tell myself.

Apologies for bullet-point format writing, have no strength or time left to write properly – just bear with it until I get to the Turkish capital…

Kasia – your drained cyclist

Day 60 – “my day in images”, Sofia to Anton, 88km

Today, I cycled. I was tired and stopped earlier than usual because all I could think of was sleep and rest.

A good family in the village of Anton took me in for the night.

Today, I will tell my story via photos. Of me, the road, and my free camping spot for the night.

Time to rest!

Day 57 – “She’ll be coming around the mountain…”, Berkovitsa to Godech, 46km

…of which the first 23km were straight uphill! For sure that is the Ride to Read record as far as continuous uphill cycled in one day

It was a late start today. The early morning storm at 6:20 woke me up, it was thundering and lightening all around the motel, at which point I also realized I was sticky with sweat from the humidity. I turned on the air-conditoning (my, what a luxury!!) and was out again until 9:00.

Back downstairs at the coffee bar I enjoyed an American-sized latté and chatted, via 16 year old employee turned-translator who studies English in high school, with the bar lady. She doesn’t enjoy traveling alone, she tells me. It’s definitely not the first time I’ve seen this kind of a reaction – people can get used to the idea of bike travel pretty quick but the “alone” bit really makes them frown. Isn’t it funny though that I always hear this phrase at precisely the moment in my day when I’m speaking and socializing with others!

I guess that’s the Canadian in me, shining through. Alone, in my understanding (and without any addition of spiritual concepts) is trekking through the wild north through virgin territory that most likely hasn’t felt the footstep of man in decades, or more. In small, civilized and populated Europe you are never alone – this, however, is a concept that I have trouble explaining to Europeans.

…some of which I met, the bicycle traveller types, five minutes after leaving the motel. Les and Ruth are British, from Liverpool, and devoted bicycle travellers for many years – ever since they completed the world tour some 20 years ago. They tell me of crossing Canada by bike, in the late fall/early winter, of waking up, and then attempting to repack, a frozen tent! We have a bit of lunch and, inevitably, split ways, as I continue the climb to the capital and they detour to visit the thermal baths just 15km away from Berkovitsa.

And so begins my 22km climb to the mountain-perched town of Petrohan. I looked up the elevation difference between B. and P. – it’s approx 1,000m! With stretching breaks, lunch and refuge from quick, but intense, afternoon showers, it takes me about 3 hours to cover this distance. I watch my chrono flutter between 7 and 10km/h while I ride.

On the one hand I’m a fool for listening to a non-cyclist’s advice which steered me away from the main highway (which here equates to perfectly paved and very low traffic road) to a patchy, rough and country road. A word to the wise: when a non-cyclist encourages you to take the “lovely, scenic road where there are few villages and pretty views”, you can be sure this will be a mountain road where the loveliest view of all will be you, the cyclist, crawling along with a fully loaded bike at a thrilling 8km/h. On the other hand it is refreshing and nurturing to cycle in the cool of the forest; it’s a chance to chat with the trees again and realize that I’m quite fond of the sun when hidden underneath so much foliage. It’s the difference that let’s me choose free camping tonight – I don’t mind my own grime nor am I half as tired as usual, mentally.

There is a stretch of downhill and it’s getting late; I don’t want to see what is around the bend since intuition tells me it will climb again. Instead I turn into a gravel road decorated on both sides by farm homes and ask at one of the houses to put up my tent. The whole family is outside, sitting around a picnic table, and after the wife confirms it with her husband, she shows me to the field across the road, their field, where I am free to reign for the night.

The straw is freshly cut, the smell is tantalizing, and piled high in huge, round pyramids throughout the field. There is an ideal spot with large trees from the east which will provide much needed shade in the morning. There are almost no mosquitos and few ant hills. It is, in fact, the most perfect camping spot I’ve ever seen!

I fall asleep with lightening flashing, temporarily illuminating everything in the tent. I count the seconds between light and sound: raz, dwa, trzy…until I get to twelve – the storm is far away. There are noises scurrying in the grasses around me; I imagine that they belong to badgers, having seen a dead one on the road earlier in the evening… Now, it’s time to sleep.

Kasia – your peaceful cyclist

Photos:
- Les, Ruth and I
- a whole container of divine blackberries, for just 1 LEV (approx 0,50€)
- taking shelter from summer showers
- the Petrohan pass
- my map, learning cyrilic and a free-riding fly
- a potato and honey seller
- landscape
- camping spot

Day 49 – “Adopted by the Serbian nation”, Kanjiža to village near Kikinda (Serbia), 75km

My first full day in Serbia, although I’m still in the Hungarian speaking region. A clear example of political borders amounting to little more than lines on a map – here the majority lives beyond the official borders of their nation. I notice that all the signs are written twice in Serbian, in cyrilic and latin alphabets, and once in Hungarian.

The wind from the south is brutal. Here it is flat, open country. The roads are long stretches that fade into the horizon with that fuzzy heat haze always visible in the distance. The wind slows me down considerably, where I would usually ride at 25km/h or atleast 20km/h it is a struggle to maintain 15. Big transport trucks knock me about with the air pockets that form in their passing.

Yet there’s a profound philosophy in riding against the wind. Like the water that slowly, oh so very consistently and slowly, erodes the rock, so I too cycle steadily on. I know that the wind can decrease my daily mileage, but it cannot stop me.

But, all in all, there is no real reason to complain. The secondary roads are well paved, and only marginally inferior to those of Hungary and Slovenia. Signs are accurate and roads well indicated. I’m finding the Serbian divers very considerate, supportive and curious. I get a few honks here and there (I’ll attribute those to the tight shorts) and even a few honk-songs, beep-bibbity-beep-beep-bop, which I think is showing real support and appreciation for my efforts. Cars are noticeably fewer and the ones present fuller with people; for the first time this trip I see back seat passengers turn around when the car passes me to gape out the back window. I wave, and they wave back

So the day passes in it’s continuous hot daze. Around 17:00 or 18:00, as usual, I ask myself the daily question: where will I sleep tonight? I’m freshly laundered and showered so camping is my best bet, but not in a campground, since there are none, but rather free camping. Tonight, I’ll find a house and owner and ask to put up my tent for the night.

I continue to cycle, thinking out my plan carefully. I’ve been warned that this region is poor, that there are gypsies and Turks galore. “Watch your stuff! Don’t get robbed!”…so they tell me.

I ask for a sign – from my angels, from the universe, anything. An indication of which house, which family, which person to ask for one night’s safety and rest.

There is no need to wait long.

I see my host-to-be pushing a wheelbarrow along, she is going to see the neighbour about some milk. I think to myself, she reminds me so much of my friend Elise in France (first ever WWOOFing host-turned-friend); they have the same posture, frank and open expression, trustworthy body language. My heart swells with the affection it makes me feel for my friend whom I have not seen in a year. I realize that I have my sign.

I make my approach and ask, in mixed Polish-Serbian, if she knows where i can put my tent for the night? She says, my place is right over here, come with me.

It is a farm, right next to the main road. There are plenty of hens, sheep, cows and calfs in pens and several dogs hanging around. There’s a big garden with rows of tomato plants heavy with fruit that is still green.

I am welcomed warmly and served water, juice, coffee and home made liquor,the infamous Rakia. I am learning Serbian at an alarming rate but after a week of living in total incomprehension of the local language (Hungarian) my vigour to learn this one is double if not quadruple the normal passion. Their son speaks Russian too, so with three slavic languages at our disposal we are able to get beyond rudimentary interrogation to somewhat smooth conversation.

Where am I from? What am I doing? Are my parents worried about my cycling trip and do I have any siblings? Am I married?

Their son is still single, they announce suggestively. The father points out a house 100m behind us which is empty and also belongs to the family. You can live there together, he says to me, smiling.

I set up my tent in what seems to be neutral territory; neither the chickens or the dogs go there too much. I’ve become so used to not eating in the evening that at first I don’t understand why they are ushering me into the house when, by 21:30, I am ready to go to sleep! You must sit and eat, I am told. Everything is home-made and from the farm: the thickly cut slices of fresh bread, the pork sausage and bacon, the hard-boiled eggs. I indulge in real, quality food, to refuse to do so would be a shame, not to mention a big insult to my hosts.

Over slices of watermelon for dessert I am shown some family photos. The father worked all over the world in his youth, or so it seems: here he is with a camel in Syria, there near a lake in Iraq.

We delve into some Serbian poetry. I convince them to read me some (my knowledge of cyrilic is still too weak to attempt to read it myself) and the beautiful language flows over us. To my ear it is a jumble of understanding and unintelligible music. It speaks of the homeland, of nature, of war. The pleasure of listening to his reading must be written on my face, they tell me:

“At this rate, in five days you learn our language and in three months you too will write poetry in Serbian!”

I do love Serbian. This latinized slavic tongue has quickly moved up in my personal rankings as second favourite Slavic language.

Polish takes first place by definition (no personal bias there hehe)

It’s nearly 1:00 by the time I’m in my tent, and I know, from where the hot sun will rise, that I won’t be able to sleep past 6:00 tomorrow.

So worth it though, to give up rest for this incredible experience

Kasia – your Serbian-ized cyclist

Day 45 – “Randolph Westphal, the bicycle traveller and his Huskies”, Szegszard to Baja (Hungary), 65km

So, as mentioned in yesterday’s post, I did in fact rent a private apartment last night. I wrote it off as a personal expense – even though I haggled down the price, it was beyond the regular R2R daily budget. But, honestly, I was beyond caring how much I was going to spend for good rest. There was nothing cheaper within 20km, I had to take it or leave it and move on. I was in desperate need of quality sleep, a shower and an overhaul clean-up of gear and clothes.

Happy with my decision, I dropped into uninterrupted sleep for atleast 10 hours. Before the ride I used to remember some of my night dreams, perhaps wake up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water or read. Nowadays I don’t sleep, I pass out. I’ve never experienced anything quite like it – my body goes into full recharge and recovery mode and, if conditions are right, I sleep very deeply. Occasionally, I wake up disoriented as to where I am and what I’m doing. It’s quite strange.

Anyways, I pressed pause and play on my life for a good 10 hours and woke up a new woman. A big breakfast followed and a quick glance into EuroSport on TV, and one of the only sporting events I enjoy wathing: track & field, the European championships. I cheered on a few Polish runners and pole-vaulting ladies while cleaning up and reorganizing my stuff.

Fully packed and ready to go, I headed towards reception for a quick wifi connection. There, I met the owner and was surprised to see him showing me a bottle of wine. I thought that he thought that I had left it in the apartment and he was coming to give it back to me. I tried to explain that it wasn’t mine, until the young woman at the reception desk translated for me: it was a gift. The owner was obviously trying to show his appreciation for my ride and efforts, and I was very touched…but what would I do with a full bottle of wine? I held it for a moment, feeling how big and heavy it was; there was no way I could travel with it. In the +35 degrees I mimed fainting if I had more than a sip of it myself…perhaps, even if it was only 10:30AM, we could share it? No, they had to drive and work too…

We stepped into the reception area, I wanted to show my curious crowd the Ride to Read blog. They peered at the screen, slowly deciphering the English words. Then, the puzzle pieces came together for the bright-eyed owner and the young receptionist: Barcelona, Istanbul, alone and for charity. He didn’t hesitate when reaching behind him and extracting the 30€ I had payed for my accommodation the previous evening. He handed it back to me, without hesitation, as though completing some type of moral obligation – there was no way he would accept payment from a young cyclist pedalling for charity. I tried to convince him to retake the euros, but he was adamant.

I was again, very touched. In the now familiar blend of German, English and Hungarian we continued chatting, the term I’ve heard used since the first day when I left Barcelona I would now learn in Hungarian: bátor. He shook my hand and told me again that I was very brave.

Proud of the unique clientel the small motel drew, the owner went on to tell me of Randolph Westphal, who had also stayed at the Sió motel outside of Szegszard, a 50 year-old German fellow who travelled by bicycle around the world accompanied by his Husky dogs, raising money and awareness for cancer cures after his own experiences with the malady. He had been on the road for many years and had already cycled five times around the globe!

If you’re also interested in this man’s story, see http://www.randolph-westphal.de/

It’s always a pleasure to hear of these living cycling odysees, and I was especially happy to hear of a bike traveller who had dogs with him. The thought of a furry companion with me on the road had already crossed my mind more than once.

After explaining a route through the village, countryside and along the Danube to arrive at my next destination, Baja, I got back on the road in the blazing noon-time heat. A stop at the grocery store and then I unfortunately got lost trying to find the small trails we had discussed, defaulting to the main roads instead. But I was rested, inspired and Juan and I flew through the empty, sleepy countryside as though we had wings, or at least a half-dozen Huskies running alongside encouraging me to pedal ever more.

So, despite the late start to the day I was still able to make some headway, confident of reaching Szeged the following day. I have an important meeting there concerning this (temporarily) secretive fundraising project

Startling a deer out of its hide out in some bushes and fruit trees, I watched it leaping high through the wheat and corn fields and decided to investigate its spot for camping potential. It was perfect and would provide east-shade in the morning (very important unless you enjoy waking up to a tent-turned-sauna at 6:00!). Aside from a few field mice scurrying around me, it was silent and peaceful.

Time to rest again,

Kasia – your inspired cyclist

Photos – the heat must be making me woozy as I forgot to take photos of Sió motel and of my campsite. Instead, here a few shots of a popular crop in Hungary: sunflowers.

They are such a happy flower, like little golden soldiers always searching for the light.

Day 44 – Koposvar to Szegszard (Hungary), 86km

So sleepy and tired! Am eternaly grateful for my hosts in the town near Koposvar for allowing me to set up my tent there for the night…unfortunately, I did not sleep or rest well.

The ground was uneven and prickly, so I didn’t inflate my mattress so as not to accidentaly puncture it. The ponds and pools surrounding me made it extra cold and humid at night…I was far from comfortable. Around 5:00 the resident rooster started crowing. Not once, nor twice but non stop. Lying just a few meters away from the bird, I seriously considered getting up to wring its neck. I’d have roast chicken for breakfast
instead of Muesli. Or so I thought, until the neighbour’s rooster chimed in, and the one next door to him as well. When the geese and hens started flapping and screeching I knew I was sorely outnumbered. They had won, and I was sleep deprived.

And so, with eyes sticky with sleep, I pushed myself unto the bike and continued, trying not to imagine goose-down pillows and comforters, a quiet, dry and nice smelling bed…

Have never taken so many breaks, lie-downs and eaten so many snacks during the day. Ever. Somehow though by mid afternoon I power through the hilly roads accumulating today’s mileage to a miraculous 86km…just don’t ask me how I did it.

I rest tonight in covered, heated and cozy accommodation – a private apartment in fact (more on that in Day 45 post). I need the good night’s sleep, desperately. Plus its always a good opportunity to give me, some of my clothes and all of my dishes a good scrub

Goodnight!

Kasia – your very tired cyclist

Photos -

- The not-so-restful camping spot
- Me
- you can deduce from flags which countries these Hungarian words are referring to… !

Day 43 – “Ride, ride, ride girl!!” Nagikanizsa to Kaposvar (Hungary), 93km

Good weather is back. Spirits are high, thanks to a new fundraising idea set into motion… about which I wont make a peep until/if it comes to fruition.

Weather is brilliant. Body feels great.

…and even in modern day Hungary some of the older residents like to travel via horse and buggie. Thought it was really sweet (see photos). Another road user, although a very welcome one, to add to an already extensive repertoir

Late evening I stop in a small village and ask at a private house to pitch my tent. No one speaks a lick of English or German, but I keep flailing my packed tent around in an effort to explain that I don’t want or need to enter their home, a patch of grass will do nicely. From the first house, word spreads to the neighbours and to their friends and I am eventually shown to the town bar, confusion written on my face (do they want me to camp in the kitchen?), the owner shows me to the backyard. I can stay there, provided I find a spot of grass big enough for my tent; between poultry pens, ponds, pools, rose bushes and fruit trees there isn’t too much room left over. I thank them, choose my spot, and set up my traveling home in the fading light. A few more phone calls by my hosts to English speaking friends who translate for me that I am welcome to sleep inside, although by this time the tent is up and I am settled in decently well. I politely refuse the offer. Squirming into my sleeping bag, I habitually check available wifi networks and am surprised to see an open network available! Bingo

I write, answer emails, organize and so on until my eyes are so heavy with sleep that I really must give in and rest…

Kasia – your lucky-cyclist

Day 31 – Verona to Sossano – 65km

Camping in Verona city goes well, only we didn’t think both the garbage truck and street-cleaning guys would wake us up at 6:30 with their big and loud machines.

We down extra big coffees in an attempt to make up for not enough sleep and head out of Verona. The bigger the city the more difficult it becomes to navigate out of it while staying on small roads – in our case we end up back-tracking to the grocery store when the only road we see to Vicenza is the A4 autostrada…

There we meet Mauricio, a local who speaks Spanish with us since he learned Portuguese while living for a while in Brazil… he invites us to his home for pasta (of course!), promising to show us the road going through the smaller villages after lunch and siesta. Our bellies full, espresso’s tipped back and some cherries in hand, we head to his garden to find a spot to pass out on for 30 minutes or so. Deliciously comfortable wrapped in the only hammoc available, I tell myself that there isn’t much else I could be doing at this hour anyways…it’s 35 degrees out, 40 if you account for the hot air whipped up from the asphalt roads we ride on…

At around 16:00 we say our goodbyes with yet another kind soul willing and open enough to share his meal, home and time with us. A display also of trust in other human beings since we were briefly left alone with his son and daughter, roughly 10 and 12 years of age, when he went to pick up his youngest. A wave of gratitude sweeps over me as I realize not everyone in this fear-ridden world thinks the other a liar, thief, kidnapper or worse!

Back on the road, even at 18:00 the temperatures are over 30. We continue riding in this oven, on one of the treeless main roads, direction Vicenza, until Sossano. There, entering a bar in order to buy some bread (the bakery was closed by that time) we hear in the news on TV “northern Italia suffering from African heat for following 10 days…”

Bread in hand, we find a sweet camping spot in the village near park and tennis courts, fully equipped with fountain and apricot tree !

A good night’s sleep as I pass out still a little bit hungry…I’m looking forward to breakfast tomorrow

Kasia – your cycling-addict cyclist

Day 28 – Sospiro to Mantova -75km

Riding with the guys is simply put: enjoyable. We cycle with the similar efficiency, objectives and mentality which makes spending time together and organizing our life together on the road easy. How can I not get along with cyclists that pre-make lunch for themselves every day, and do so for me as well (in Pepe’s words “when you cook for 3 you can cook for 4 no problem!”) and are happy with a bit of coffee, chocolate and an evening massage in return!

Today was an enjoyable day of riding, with several breaks inbetween for coffee and bike reperations (Hannah, Sergio’s bike, has been acting up a bit). We cycled slowly through beautiful Mantova, enjoying the gorgeous lake and bike paths right in the heart of town.

We continued a bit more north on what is a part of the EuroVelo network – we had caught a 40km section from Mantova to Lago di Garda. Overjoyed at the momentary respite from cars, trucks and roadkill, we cycled along ignoring the falling sun. It was quite late when we started looking for a spot to camp, and a few refusals and false leads later and it was 9pm and we were cycling in the dusk. Finally, coming upon a big country home across from a cow field, we found a willing owner who let us set up our tents next to the house.

Unpacking my stuff and setting up my tent, I had no other thoughts in my head except to eat a little and go to sleep when…

I received an SMS. I read it realizing that it was a message from a friend of a friend of my parents (long live the international Polish network!) whom I had attempted to contact since she lived with her husband also near Mantova. I didn’t know where though, were they in a different village further away? No – in fact the contact in question, excited and flustered Ms. Ela, was only a few houses away and coming quick to sweap me away to a warm bath, dinner and a real bed! Feeling a little bit guilty at abandoning the guys for what would be a rainy night, I eagerly hopped in the car. I’m sure there is some type of camping or bicycle travelling law that states washing is always to be taken advantage of, not only for personal benefit but for the well-being of the group and society at large… Besides, I was curious to meet this lady and hear what she had to say!

And speak we did. “Pani Ela” as I addressed her, was firstly flustered with the rapidity in which everything was happening. So much so that we stopped for a 10pm espresso at her favourite bar, a moment to attempt to understand what this young girl, daughter of an acquaintance of her best friend from childhood, was doing. Biking through Europe? Alone? Why and did it hurt? Was I afraid? And more importantly – did I have a stable job, an apartment and a somewhat coherant life?

Nope! I don’t have those things right now, but quickly I saw the flame of interest and curiosity light up in Pani Ela’s eyes…she admited that she had encouraged her only daughter to travel abroad, she had dreamt of visiting her in exotic locations, and instead her prodigy had chosen a full-time job at Bosch, a house not 30km away, a husband and a baby girl were also in the picture. If only her daughter had been more adventurous and curious of the world like me! …then, Pani Ela sighed, she would have been more than a constantly baby-sitting grandmother, a little bored and more than annoyed with the provincial, hot and stuffy part of Italy she inhabited.

It made me smile to no end- I had just met the polar opposite of my own mom!

We headed off to bed, for some reason very tired at 1am…

Kasia – your finding-life-ironic cyclist

Day 27 – Pacienza to Sospiro (85km)

An unpredictable day, yet again.

The morning ride to Pacienza went quick, a flat 20km, a stop by the grocery store, and I headed to the heart of the historic center for a not very coordinated meet up with the Catalan guys. We had figured out the previous night that we were all near Piacenza, meaning that we could take advantage of a few more days of shared road before the inevitable Slovenia/Croatia split up takes place and I take to riding solo again.

On the way, already entering the gothic quarter, I cycled past a curious object closely observed by a priest, photographer and an excited elderly gentleman. I did a double-take and turned to take a photo, I had just gone past a rain-bike, a squat-scooter like looking red contraption that was in fact a type of covered partially-electric bicycle. I couldn’t let such an innovative biking opportunity pass me up!

Evidently, the photographer and excited gentleman (who I would learn was the engineer of the rain bike) weren’t about to let their opportunity pass them up either! The photographer, who was in fact a doctor with an intense passion for photography, started feverishly snapping shots of me, the bicycle, the engineer and anything else bello in sight! Those two charmers, their friend and I spent quite a bit of time together discussing the Ride to Read, the design and making of the rain bike and my supposed resemblance to Italian celebrity Manuela Arcuri…and on to another photo session!

The Italians were very sweet about it and the rain bike such a neat project; I did have to make a dash for it at some point though if I had any hope of meeting the Catalan guys! I headed to the main piaza where I imagined they might be…

A capuccino later and I got back on the road. There was no point to hang around waiting all day, obviously the guys were elsewhere! The next town, some 30 flat kilometers later, I meandered in, in all the way to the city center and BAM there was a cyclist speeding right towards me! I only had a milisecond to read the “pangeats” on his front pannier and there was Edgar greeting me with gusto. Sergio and Pepe were right behind him, and me wondering at the irony of trying to coordinate a meeting via SMS when a chance encounter was all it needed!

We continued on our way, heading east and a bit south. Tonight we sleep in an empty garage lent to us by the owner. With passing grey clouds a frequent occuramce in this part of Italy, a passing traveller need only point to the sky and imitate rain drops to get a bit of sympathy from the locals

Kasia – your back-to-team-riding cyclist