Oraş Tãlmaciu

Reaching the Red Tower fortress, built in 1360 by Saxons was easy, although I had to share the road with vehicles, but, I'm used to it. What came afterward, fortified with what's written on the sign on the side of the road just under the fortress, was a nightmare for both me and those coming up behind me.

The sign said that the road ahead is forbidden for slow vehicles and cyclists. I was stuck. I cannot go back, yet I'm risking a lot if I continue. The road is crawling with road cruisers in both directions, going around me is not an option most of the time.
And this is how a good stretch looks like. Half a meter of the shoulder, split between tarmac and stone support. And then, stone support would disappear and I was gliding on a foot wide piece of asphalt, looking at the tiny rear-view mirror over my shoulder, trying to recognize if that's a truck or a car coming up behind...and then sprint, go for it, just to pass the next curve, so that the drivers have more space to overtake me.
The road goes along the valley of river Olt, and it's so busy and dangerous that there is an ambulance car on duty, stationed in the middle of the canyon, in order to minimize response time in case of an accident.

The length of this nightmarish stretch is 25 km. One eye on the road, one in a rear-view mirror, looking for the approaching headlights, then anticipate the first gust of wind trying to push you off the road, then the next one, after the truck whizzes by, to suck you in. And I'm dancing with a fully loaded bike on a narrow strip of road, trying not to descend onto the lower lip of the older tarmac, because if I do, exiting it requires me to yank the bike onto the road, into the oncoming traffic.
The most difficult track I ever cycled at. Psychologically draining. 5 km in, I pulled over at a little clearing that appeared out of nowhere, grateful for it, loading myself with sugar and water, seriously considering to ask one of the truck drivers who had a break, to give me a ride out.

To paint a better picture how narrow it was, here's a photo of that road, taken from an overpass, after I've finished the stretch.

The imaginary finish line was just after the monastery of Cornel (named after a plant). That's where a smaller road was meeting this Tron-like highway where I planned to break off and find a place to pitch up a tent. I'd sprint for 5 km, then find a ledge to stop and get back some energy, at times just leaning with my bike against...well, the mountain, to the horror of truck drivers. And amidst all that chaos I passed by the aforementioned monastery and saw a nun, reading a book while standing in a doorway, trying to catch more light, as the rainy clouds were engulfing the ceiling above us. It was another moment of zen on this trip. 200 m down the road there was a smaller road I planned to take and, for lack of a better word, I felt saved.

Definitely a combination of skill and luck for me and no accidents so far.
Many others were not that lucky. Numerous crosses along the road mark where people lost their lives #acrossRomania. A daily reminder to pay attention while on the road.

I doubt that anything upcoming will be able to compare to a psychological challenge of this stage. The next one will be climbing the lowest pass over the Carpathians, but from today's perspective, it will be a piece of cake.
With the Cornet monastery in the background and a hefty treetop above me, I choose this spot to camp tonight.Weiterlesen