Day 9 began cold and dewy, and we were glad we’d sprung for a room the night before. I set an early alarm but mostly took my cue from Mike on when to start moving, then rolled out in every layer I owned: long-sleeve base, alpha fleece, wind jacket, rain jacket, buff, gas station gloves, wind pants. By the first climb I was shedding them, and we had a couple of climbs done before nine and stopped for coffee. The day was going well until a trail section that started as nice gravel decayed into logging-road mud and then overgrown switchback singletrack. We got scraped up and bailed at the first chance. In town, a woman at a small market saw how wrecked we looked and offered to make us sandwiches, her English a welcome change from what we’d been getting in Croatia. The sandals were still hanging on, four and a half straps gone, but I could still pedal without too much trouble. It was a lot of miles and decent climbs, but we spent part of the day confused about where the camp actually was and whether it was a legitimate tent option compared to previous nights. We finally found the riverside RV field in the next town over from where the route had ended, pitched the tents, and hoped not to get kicked out overnight. Nothing in town was serving dinner, so we grabbed what the bakery had left and took it to the bar with our beers. Another cold night, and I slept in my bibs rather than face a bare-bottomed change in the morning. 60.0 miles, 5:25 rolling at 11.1 mph average, 5,046 feet of gain.
The last riding day started even colder, and I slept in the 20-degree bag with my puffy jacket, pants, socks, and a buff around my head. We’d planned a later start to let the dew burn off, got impatient, and packed up slightly wet. Mike had been up early bringing back bakery things and an espresso, which was the right way to kick things off. The miles went down easy in the morning until the biggest climb of the day came early, the long pull up to the winery where a friend of Mike’s had invited us for a tour and lunch. Mike struggled on it, stiffer than he’d been all trip. The hosts were generous enough that we wished we could have lingered. They’d harvested two weeks before, so most of the wine was still in fermenters, but we tasted the different varieties and I came away with a home batch of their mixed fruit liqueur. Right after lunch Mike turned quiet, not his chatty post-wine self, and admitted he was running a fever. We cut the ride short in Ponikve and caught the train to Ljubljana. It felt like it took forever, but it beat pedaling it, and it probably saved Mike from a rough afternoon. In the city my rear rack suddenly failed and dropped into the street with the panniers dragging behind it; Mike found one bolt in the road, we borrowed another from the top tube mount, and limped the rest of the way back to Risto’s. Risto and Alesha didn’t flinch at an extra night or a sick guest, and we got lasagna, showers, a load of laundry, conversation, and coffee. A perfect home base to both start and end the trip. 26.4 miles, 2:38 rolling at 10.0 mph average, 2,080 feet of gain.
Thursday was the trip home. Mike and I shared an Uber to the train station, I had coffee twice, grabbed a few things for the family, and caught the bus for the airport, planning a caffeinated all-nighter since sleeping on the plane had failed on the way over. Duty-free got me a bottle each of cviček and frankinja for Abby, and a Lidl run landed the addictive cocoa-dusted, cream-filled donuts that turned out to have hazelnuts. Evelyn tried one anyway and said it was worth it, but it left her throat itchy, so I’d also grabbed other treats for her and Ethan. I packed a jar of the ajvar we’d been spreading on bread all trip and hoped the checked bag wouldn’t raise any eyebrows.
All told: nine riding days plus the rest day at Opatija, about 673 km and 418 miles, roughly 35,700 feet of climbing, and a bit over 40 hours in the saddle. I came home a few pounds lighter than I left, which says the fuel math was close to right given the riding we did. The market-and-restaurant approach carried the whole trip, no cook kit, no cold soak, and I’d left the soak gear behind fretting about milk powders in my pre-mixed oatmeal and never missed it. On the bike it was tortillas, Nutella, baked goods, bars, chips, gummy bears, energy bars, a steady electrolyte-carb drink, and gels before the big climbs. What worked: the small tent and 20-degree quilt, the rest day timed perfectly after six straight ride days, the bread-bag gloves on the cold descents. What I’d change: the sandals were the weak link and got trashed the day we returned the bikes, my phone battery was rough, my sleeping pad picked up a slow leak that may end its career, and both Vršič and Kolovrat bite harder than their elevation numbers suggest. The pack list held up and I used almost everything, and with camp food this simple I could have gone with bikepacking bags instead of panniers. I’m going to take a break for a while but am starting to think about some long weekend trips perhaps starting in 2027.