Day 4 - Novi Vinodolski - Drage
The day began under a heavy sky, the early light struggling to break through the thick clouds hanging over Novi Vinodolski. As I mounted my bike, there was an undeniable tension in the air—a sense that the road ahead wouldn’t come easy.
The first stretch from Novi Vinodolski to Prizna should have been a scenic cruise along the coast, but nature had other plans.
Early on, a light drizzle began, but it wasn’t just the rain—the wind was vicious. Strong gusts whipped around me, threatening to throw me off balance. Every turn of the pedals felt like a battle against both the elements and the road. For a while, I managed to squeeze through the weather, threading the needle between storms.
I caught fleeting glimpses of sunshine, and there was a small part of me that believed I might just make it to Prizna dry. But as I got closer, the storm closed in. The wind picked up, and the rain intensified. I could see the dark clouds gathering ahead, and soon enough, I was caught in the downpour. I was drenched in minutes, the rain hammering down so fast I didn’t even have time to find proper shelter. Eventually, I found a small house and stopped beneath it, trying to shield myself from the worst of the storm.
I waited, soaking and shivering, until the rain lightened just enough. Then I hopped back on my bike and pedaled through the mist toward Prizna, soaked to the bone but still moving forward. When I arrived at the ferry port, I was exhausted, soaked, and desperate for a break. Memories of my previous ferry rejection still stung, but this time, luck was on my side. This was a car ferry, and they let me and my bike onboard without question.
As we crossed the water, the rain finally eased, and I stood on deck, watching the mainland shrink in the distance. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to breathe. I had made it through the storm, and Pag awaited on the other side.
When we arrived on Pag, it felt like stepping into another world. The island’s bleached, rocky landscape stretched out like a vast desert, almost lunar in its appearance. The contrast between the barren stone and the deep blue of the Adriatic was breathtaking.
Pag was beautiful, yes—but I had no time to take it in. I was far from my final destination and the clock was ticking.
I pedaled through the island, the roads quiet and peaceful after the chaos of the mainland. The wind was calmer here, the rain a distant memory, and for a while, it felt like the hardest part of the day was behind me.
As I approached Zadar, the tranquil roads of Pag gave way to the chaos of a busy city. The highways were packed with cars, the noise overwhelming. I had no choice but to move onto the sidewalk to avoid the traffic, navigating my way through the bustling streets.
But then, out of nowhere, I heard it—a sharp zzzsshh sound beneath me. My heart sank. I pulled over and inspected the tire, only to find it flat. It must have been a shard of glass from the roadside, something I had dodged all day but couldn’t avoid forever.
Standing there, tired, and now dealing with a flat tire, I felt defeated. I had covered so much ground already, survived the storms and wind, and now this. But there was no choice but to fix it. I patched the tire as quickly as I could, my mind replaying the obstacles of the day, determined not to let this setback stop me.
With the tire fixed, I kept moving, pushing further into the day. Beyond Zadar, the roads quieted down again, and the traffic eased.
But as I left Zadar and continued toward Drage, disaster struck again—a second flat tire. This time, I didn’t even bother looking for the culprit. I stood there for a moment, staring at the ground, completely defeated. Two flats in one day, after everything else? It felt like the road was mocking me. The frustration surged, and for a moment, I wanted to give up. But I couldn’t.
For the final 15km I inflated my tire, rode as far as I could, as it slowly deflsted and then repeated, for about 10 times. I would bother about fixing the issue in the morning..
The sun had long since disappeared behind the clouds, and I could feel the fatigue setting in as I approached Drage. Every kilometer was a fight against my own exhaustion, but I was too close to stop now.
When I finally arrived in Drage, my body was aching from the effort. The day had been relentless, with winds, rain, flat tires, and brutal terrain. But I had made it through.
I’d covered 192 kilometers, climbed 2100 vertical meters, and spent 9 hours and 15 minutes on the road. The journey had thrown everything it had at me, and yet, somehow, I kept going. Tomorrow, I’d face another challenge, but today, I had earned my rest.
Day 5
The morning in Drage felt different. I woke with a sense of determination. Today would be the final stretch—the ride to Split. After the relentless kilometers behind me, I could almost taste the finish line. But first, there were still roads to conquer and a flat tire to fix😅 I removed the tire again, closely inspected it and found a small thorn, which must have caused the two flats. So i removed it patched the hole and put it back on, hoping this fixes the issue.
Before leaving Drage, I made a quick stop to restock on supplies and repair tools. After yesterday’s flat tire incident, I wasn’t about to risk being caught unprepared again. There was a heaviness in my legs from the previous day’s grueling ride, but I knew that Split was waiting. The supplies in my bag felt like armor, protecting me for this final push. I was ready.
The road out of Drage was peaceful, the early morning breeze cool against my skin as I pedaled out of the small town. With each rotation of the pedals, the distance to Split grew shorter. My mind wandered to all that had come before—the rain that had soaked me to the bone, the relentless winds, the flat tire that almost broke my spirit.
But today, the weather was kind. The skies were clear, the winds gentle. For the first time in days, I felt a calmness in the air. There was no rush, no storms to outrun. Just me, the road, and the quiet determination to reach Split. Every hill I climbed, every kilometer I covered, brought me closer to the city I’d been imagining for days.
As I approached Split, the energy changed. After hours of winding, coastal roads, the city started to reveal itself.
I navigated through the narrow streets, dodging the occasional car, feeling the city come to life around me. The sight of Split felt surreal—after days of relentless riding, I was finally here. My body was aching, my legs sore, but my spirit was lighter than ever.
And then, out of nowhere, I stumbled upon familiar faces, @louis88 and @rivalzzz. We exchanged a few quick words and decided to meet in the city later.
After days of testing my limits, both physically and mentally, I had finally arrived. The journey from Drage to Split had been the final chapter in a story of perseverance, grit, and resolve—and it was a story I would never forget.
HiveFest here I come 🎉
The last leg was 110km and 1100 vertical meters in about 4 hours 50.
In total this makes 750km and 7000 vertical meteres in about 35 hours.