Eyes Wide Open at the 2023 Trans Balkan Race

Words by Rufus Wenlock, photos by Trans Balkan Media Team

There are no riders in front or behind me. I can finally immerse in the simple here and now, putting aside the stress of packing up my family for a six-month trip from New Zealand to Europe and the anxiety of building a bike frame from scratch only a week before.

I’m minimally prepared. I have a list of resupplies from the race manual stuck on my top tube for easy reference, but I haven’t bothered to detail any for the first 130 kilometres. Why would I need to stop that early? The speed off the start line (and the very drained feeling right after) presents as the first reality check. I stand in line while the shop owner and a customer chat the day away, oblivious to the sweaty guy panting right behind them, eager to get moving again.

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We travel through a string of stunning passes in complete remoteness. The trail morphs from a smoothish gravel road to a rarely used doubletrack. Plenty of erosion and rocks are thrown in the mix. Bea, the race director, advised us at the briefing that everything is passable by car. I think, “No way, you couldn’t even get a rugged 4×4 in here,” only to come round the corner to a couple of old chaps slowly clambering up the mountain in a tired hatchback. We exchange a wave as I pass by. “What are they even doing out here?” I wonder. They’re probably thinking the same.

With the likes of bears and other creatures playing on my mind, the thought of sleeping out on the trail doesn’t fill me with confidence. When I feel my eyes droopy and the trail starts to spin, I scan for a safe refuge for the first night. I spot a house: it’s missing half its roof, and most of the walls have caved in, but one room is almost intact. I barricade myself inside. Coming from New Zealand, where the most dangerous thing might be an angry goose, the paranoia is real. Thirty minutes later, the room is swarmed with rats. I have gate-crashed their night rave.

The idea of rolling into CP1 for some pasta and some familiar faces gives me a spur of energy. I’m the third rider to arrive. Further up the next big climb, I can see a spectacle of lights. I haven’t passed anything inhabited for a while; maybe it’s a terribly remote gas station. As I draw nearer, familiar booths, colored lights, and gates appear. It’s the end of my Croatian chapter, and I pull out my passport to cross the border. I’m off to Bosnia.

It’s the third day, and I’m finally getting on top of my food situation. Civilization rarely comes across this route, but most villages have a drool-worthy pekara (bakery) open in the wee hours of the morning. When I spot the shelves stocked with freshly baked goods, I clamber in a bit stiff and gesture for two of everything. The owner second-guesses my order, but I eventually hobble outside with arms full of krompiruša.

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Weaving through the tapestry of the Dinaric Alps, the landscape is bare but gorgeous. We follow rugged trail that’s rugged and often steep, choosing to go straight over mounds rather than around them. The sweltering sun gives me no rest, but I’ve now spent enough time in the Balkans to know nothing is constant. A storm catches me just as I approach the crest into the next valley. The roar of thunder is steady now, and I can no longer see the trail surface, which is covered with a river of rushing brown water. In the distance, I spot Lake Blidinje in the welcoming sun, and I finally pull over a big group of motorbikers having a roadside BBQ. I lie down briefly, my gear around me in the sun’s warm embrace, hoping to dry a little. One of the bikers invites me for drinks and promises a great time, but I point to the dark clouds. Better get going!

Mostar welcomes me with an inferno of heat. I feel like I have a band of hairdryers in front of me! The air is thick and heavy. I order a roadside burger and take my shoes off to assess the damage to my wet feet. They’re fast becoming a soggy mess, but I leave Mostar with a full stomach and dry socks.

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I’m making my way through the now familiar cold morning mist when I spot a large shape slinking through the tall grass ahead. Pointy ears and long snout. It’s massive. Is that a wolf? I watch its sneaky approach on some chickens before I ring my bell. An appreciation for the rarity of these wildlife encounters has replaced my anxiety.

CP2 feels like a significant milestone. I’m well over halfway now, and to my great surprise, I’m in second place!

But my feet hurt terribly after too many days spent in wet shoes. I have a constant sock rotation: I pull a set over my aero bars and swap them once dried. It’s halting things from worsening, but they’re also not improving. Primož, one of the volunteers, spots me having a hard time peeling off my socks. “I was in the Yugoslavian army. I know how to fix this!” He grabs my feet with authority and cakes everything in talcum powder. What a relief!

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Montenegro is my favorite section of the race but also the most demanding. I wonder at the tiny houses dotting the landscape in small clusters, with no garden and no boundary, dwarfed by the rocky peaks of the enormous mountains of Durmitor National Park. I pull over for a few short roadside naps when my vision blurs. The familiar sound of a freewheel wakes me up, and I see Andrew coasting by. “Crap, there goes the second place!” I pack up and catch him a few kilometers down the road. When I look back, Andrew is gone.

Žabljak surprises me with a perfectly stocked supermarket. I gesture for a big container of rich red meatball stew with an oily film on top and sit in the parking lot, tipping the container to my lips. My mental condition has dramatically improved. Only 230 kilometres to go!

After valley upon valley, Montenegro slowly wears me out. The climbs are short, but I crest the top of one only to see another stretch out before me. The rain sets in, and the trail turns into a boggy/rocky soup. I pass a couple of A-framed huts with a wispy string of smoke exiting their chimneys.

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A while later, I’m in the small town of Kolašin and excited to be in a new landscape again. “The final stretch! I’ll have this done by tonight!” A whirlwind of mountains slowly pushes my mind to the point of hallucination. I feel like going in circles and backtracking. At one point, I think someone’s running beside me, telling me when to change gears. I set up camp right on the side of the trail, this time with no regard for animals or anything else. I fall asleep in mere moments.

Wrapped in every layer of clothing I have with me, I descend into Nikšić. I see large industrial buildings and rubbish floating along the streets. I pull out my phone, hoping to have service, my first chance since Croatia. Still hanging onto second place!

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I grab a few croissants and a can of coffee, and to my great delight, the last stretch is all tarmac. With no rocks or crevices to keep my eyes on, my head swims in the many experiences of this odyssey. I can’t wait to share all the stories I gathered with my partner and kids. I feel emotional. A dramatic drop-down and a maze of switchbacks welcome me to the sea and what can only be the finish line! After four countries, just over five days, and 1,350 kilometres with 27,000 metres of climbing, I’m finally done.

I entered the Trans Balkan Race to experience a part of the world I didn’t know enough about. I finished the race with eyes wide open, wanting to see more of this unique region. I fell in love with the landscapes, environments, and good-natured characters I met along the way, and I know I’ll be back for more.

Further Reading

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