Croatia

Croatia was heat, sweat, and coastline.
The hills of Istria rolled endlessly under the sun,
and we pushed through – soaked, slow, determined.

We camped behind houses, hidden between pine trees,
always careful not to be seen.
Wild camping was forbidden.
A torn sleeping mat, tired legs, and a decision:
skip the coastline, go through the heart of Istria.
It was long, steep, and rough –
but at the top, a view over Rijeka and the distant islands.
We didn’t know how we’d reach them yet,
but we knew we wanted to.

The land changed again.
Windswept beaches, dry landscapes, and nights with no place to go.
One night, we pitched our tent in a dark corner of a parking lot –
surrounded by cars, trying not to be noticed.
It was forbidden, again.
At some point, a car nearly drove into the tent
while we were lying inside.
One of those moments where time stretches –
and everything feels a little too real.

Back on the mainland, we grabbed every chance to cool off.
We set up our tent on beaches – illegally,
but the shade and sea were worth it.
We headed toward Split to meet friends.
For them, a short vacation.
For us, a pause we didn’t know we needed.

And then – the border.
Bosnia was ahead.
But first, the hardest day of riding so far.
Headwinds tearing me off the saddle,
serpentines that never seemed to end,
wild horses on the hillsides,
and a final descent into a valley
that made every struggle feel worth it.

Because it’s true:
The hardest climbs always give the best views.
In the moment, it’s brutal.
Looking back – it’s everything.