Danny Beer - Danny Beer. Tourist on Wheels. A European Adventure

At one church are some reporter-photographers. They are quite nice and quite interested in who you are and why you are here.

Eventually you make it to Lecel. A boy greets you so you stop to chat. He shares your namesake and is interesting to talk to. Apparently, though, things are ‘bad’ in Romania. You have been heading towards some snow-lined mountains. But tomorrow should see you head south over the Carpathenians and into Transilvania.

And now dinner awaits. Cooked by your new host.

Today’s breakfast is Romanian cheese. No, it’s quite delicious. Really. And filling. You pay your tab, pack your bags and hit the road. A long slow ascent greets your morning. Followed by a much longer, yet not quite so slow descent.

Snow becomes increasingly common as you climb higher, then slowly disappears ‘cept for distant peaks as you descend into Transilvania. Road conditions remain variable.

As you move south traffic increases in volume. There are more larger trucks now and they have places to go. Horse drawn carts, as is this previous week, are as common as ever. Their drivers have a look of simple contentedness about them.

You are treated to pizza for lunch, not far from your final destination of Bistrita. You watch a scene across the road which seems to sum up life in Romania. A businessman in a nice car, parked, toots angrily at an old man behind him, busy chatting to a friend while sitting on his bike. The old man doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get out of the way so the businessman dudges him with his car. Then he seems to move. The businessman reverses back a bit more and then does nothing. He is ready to go but wait. Now he’s looking at his map. All the while chatting on his mobile phone.

So Romania seems divided. A new business class is out and about. They have things to do and places to be and no time to be waiting for those who don’t. Then there are those stuck in the past. They are little influenced by the technological advances they see about them. They lead their lives as they always have done and don’t show any signs of doing otherwise. They are happy the way they are. It is the new business class which lead the life of less-contentedness.

You make it to Bistrita. Now this is a city. There is what appears to be a nice cathedral, partially hidden behind a façade of renovation. It is still early. So aided with a belly full of pizza you press on. But by the outskirts of town you spot a motel and decide to call it a day. Sometimes it is hit and miss with restaurants and accommodation. Besides, this truck up your ass is getting to be more scary than annoying.

Today is the first day you are not stopped by the police. In Maramures they spot you and ask to see your papers once a day. They are friendly though and ask questions resembling conversations more so than interrogations.

If you must admit, last night you were somewhat worried about the increasingly cyclist unfriendly traffic. These worries are not groundless. The only non-pedestrian traffic which actually seems pleased to see you are the horse drawn carts. Of which though still plentiful in number become increasingly rarer as you head south.

To be fair though a large majority of vehicles do give a fair birth when passing. As long as it doesn’t inconvenience them that is. Others are simply careless, or even spiteful. Yet for some reason you cease worrying about the traffic, ‘cept for the occasional van or truck which insists on passing at the near impossible. These send curses out at all angles.

One of the most annoying aspects is when vehicles insist on overtaking other slower vehicles by forcing you off the road. The road is clear. A lone cyclist is future road kill. Nothing more.

“Bread!?! I never ordered any bread.” You think. Why must restaurants always insist on giving you bread, charged to your bill of course. But this ducky aint for fucky. “Take it away.” You insist.

Today’s cycling is merely a means to an end. The end being Sighisoara. Armed only with the crappy Lonely Planet guidebook map you have no idea that today will involve over 140 km of riding. Not until the last thirty km do you decide to press on to the end. You can rest tomorrow, maybe. Maybe not, the hotel is pretty crap so it would be nice to move on in the afternoon.

Road conditions improve for most of the day. There are a few nice downhill stretches, preceded by the not-so-nice uphill stretches, but predictably cyclist unfriendly traffic hinders any substantial speeds.

What a delightful morning spent wandering about the citadel visiting museums and taking photos. Right, now that all that tourist crap is done you’re outta here. Just fifty km. After yesterday’s effort you don’t want to overdo it today.

A nice looking motel/restaurant/disco is spotted a few km short of your goal. You press on. Then another motel is seen. It is a little too expensive so you keep going. The next place will be better. The next place is closed. Three vicious dogs greet you at the next place. Perhaps it is a sign as there isn’t anything there anyway.

You turn off the highway onto a minor road eventually to Bran. But it takes you back onto the highway. Forty km later and on dusk you find the next motel. But a “Reservat’ sign bars your entry. A private function is being held so as a once off the hotel and restaurant are closed. But no need to fret as the next motel is only four km further on. You may only be 23 km from Brasnov but enough is enough.

Traffic today doesn’t seem as unfriendly as it was yesterday. The shoulder is now two feet wider to, well, two feet wide. But nothing is perfect though and a few moments have you raising your hair.

Today you can relax, wander about, visit museums, search the internet, take photos and just chill out. But first you have 27 km of cycling to do. It is always the last few km which are the hardest and today is no exception.

Brasov is nice. Really nice. But you’ll move on tomorrow. It can get lonely out there. It’s not so bad on the bike but sitting around bird watching gets boring after a while.

It gets hot. The sun blinds you. Too bad you left your sunnies in the hotel. You walk down the street. A guy approaches handing out leaflets to some live act in town. Which is fine. Then he starts preaching about God. Which is not so fine. “Think about heaven. Think about eternity.” He says. You decide to make a conscientious effort NOT to attend the gig. Any amount of loneliness is preferable to being talked at about religion.

You have a lot to do today so you had best get going. You take a ‘short cut’ out of Brasov which ends in a dead end. Back-tracking back to the highway first one then another then a whole pack of dogs come at you. Difficult as it is to cycle on a bad road, through curses you make your departure. So those warnings of packs of stray dogs prove true after all.

Traffic, void of trucks, is more pleasant today. Cars still honk ‘outta the way’ and buses never fail to pass as close as possible, even when given room to move over.