OCTOBER 2, 2012
I was sooooo close to the mountains. How would I get up there? The day before on my run I saw a touristy
kind of bus with pictures of bikes on the side of hit heading back into
town. I would take either – bus or
bike. In the morning, I got up early and
went to the Tourist Information office, which should have been simple enough.
Unfortunately the whole block was a big crime scene and closed down.
Look closer. Those little yellow dots in the pic above are the evidence markers for the shell casings.
Worried? Nah. Anyone who unloads 16 rounds in a narrow
street like that and still misses their target can’t be that big of a threat.
After a bit of wandering I managed procure a sweet pink rat
bike outfitted for mountain biking.
The ride up the Rugova Gorge was tough, although not as bad
as I imagined given the size of the mountains.
All the same, I was working my ass of and only averaged 12 kph on the
way up, including a couple photo stops.
Reaching the village of Kuchista, about 10k from the
Montenegro border I had to decide whether to continue forward beyond the end of
the paved roads. I was about 24 km in
and hungry. As a friend of mine once
said, “Where the road ends, the fun begins,” and I pressed on. 
At what I perceived to be the top there was once again a
split. To the right were beautiful guest
houses and to the left, according to a passing motorist, was Montenegro. I went right.
There was no restaurant but I met a vacationing actor named Ani who told
me to continue the other route, where I would soon find the village of
Boge. The advice was spot on and I was
rewarded with local beer, fresh bread and salad and a panorama of mountains.
The ride down was a bomber.
It took about 2:45 to climb the 32 km and about :45 to descend. Here are links to a couple of the sections. If you are not a cyclist, don’t bother
watching. If you happen to be a cyclist
trapped at your desk right now, this might be the best 12 minutes of your day.
Video #1 – dirt roads
Video #2 - tunnels
and turns
In the end, my biggest threat
wasn’t gunmen, or wolves, or bears, or drivers (they gave me my lane even on
the hairiest of mountain roads) or anything else people warned me about. My biggest concern was the bike mechanic. My POS bike felt terrible from the start with
a front wheel that was so out of tune I could feel the wobble pull me left and
right. Squeezing my front brake was more
of a suggestion than a mechanical command. And
despite my request to fill up the tires, he didn’t put half the amount in I
would have. The result?
My last 10k into town was on a flat.
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