I didn’t get up until 4:30 a.m. after all. It was pretty noisy outside that night, and the windowpanes clearly weren’t going to help keep the noise out either. Breakfast at the hotel consisted of toast, a package of chicken liver sausage, jam, a slice of cream cheese, and cream sausage. I skipped the Nutella—I still had enough energy left over from Thursday’s croissants. By the time I’d packed everything up, it was 5:30 a.m. Apparently, I just need a good hour in the morning before I’m halfway ready to go.
I’d left my helmet lying somewhere outside the hotel the night before. Luckily, it had ended up at the front desk this morning along with my cap. My name was written on the helmet, too—that helps a surprising amount in moments like these. By 6:00 a.m., I’d already left the stray dogs mentioned in the roadbook south of Mostar behind me. That, too, was taken care of before the day had even really begun.
It was about 140 kilometers to the next checkpoint, and that stretch really dragged on. It got hot pretty quickly. After 34 kilometers, I passed through Capljina and found a bakery there, so I stocked up on some more food right away. There I also met the youngest participant, Marko from the Swabian Alb, as well as a couple from Cologne—though, if I understood correctly, the two of them weren’t riding together in the couples’ category but separately in the brevet category.
From there, the route first took me over a “hill,” which—in the heat—was significantly more unpleasant to ride than the word “hill” would suggest. After that, the route stretched on for a long time along an old railroad track, winding endlessly through a valley. Scenic, but not exactly varied. At some point, the road to the checkpoint came into play, and in that heat, it was best to just forget about it. In the end, there were still a little over 40 kilometers on the road, and they were slowly becoming unbearable.
I reached the checkpoint 5 in Trebinje around noon. A large motorcycle rally was taking place there, so the streets around town were packed. Mopeds were everywhere, all trying to pass at the same time—loud, cramped, and not always entirely safe. I treated myself to some pasta there, bought a few more supplies, refilled my water, and then continued on to CP6.
From there, things got serious again. It was a long climb, and the brutal heat didn’t make it any easier. A few times I even wondered if I shouldn’t just give up. But in the end, I just powered through at a slower pace. Eventually, the road started going downhill again toward the checkpoint. The scenery was truly stunning, and the emerald-green lake in the national park was amazing—but unfortunately, there was hardly any time to really enjoy it. I had two non-alcoholic beers and some soup there, and then a nice downhill stretch ahead of me.
At a small supermarket next to a gas station, I picked up a few things for the evening and the next morning. There was also a participant standing there, wearing a rain jacket in 30-degree heat, visibly shivering and waiting for his wife. Many were clearly really struggling in the heat and were at their physical limit. The ride to CP7 dragged on again: up and down—it felt like a bit more downhill than uphill, but it was still no fun because of the darkness. The last two hours just aren’t fun anymore when you don’t know where the potholes are and your headlamp is running on power-saving mode because recharging is difficult.
At the hotel, there was a very unusual mix of soda, apple, and Neapolitan waffles. I took a shower, ate some of what I’d bought along the way, and then the day was finally over. It was pretty quiet, everything went along just fine—and shortly before eleven, I was in bed.
