Bikepacking

Bound by Mountains

Contributed by Chloe

The Balkans

Bound by Mountains

A 600km solo, unsupported bikepacking route across the Balkans on Dervla, my gravel bike, largely following the Trans Dinarica cycle route: four countries by bike and three mountains on foot, starting in the hills outside Sarajevo and finishing on the summit of Konjushka, right on the border with North Macedonia.

Distance
600
Ascent
13000
High point
2571
Stages
5

Fundraising for Now on Earth Youth Adventure Grant

Also found on Now on Earth

I wasn’t at all sure how I’d feel riding this solo. It seemed a daunting amount of time to be alone in the mountains, but surprisingly I never felt lonely or afraid, even on the days when I didn’t see a soul until the evening. There were tough moments, for sure. Every time, I doubted myself massively before something like this, and every time, the doing of it taught me not to.

Every other year I set myself a self-funded challenge to raise money for the Now on Earth Youth Adventure Grant, which part-funds young adults aged 18–24 taking on their own human-powered expeditions. So far it has backed 19 young people. Bound by Mountains was this year's challenge.

Bound by MountainsBound by MountainsBound by Mountains

Stage 1: Bosnia Herzegovina 🇧🇦

There is no need for an alarm clock in the mountain villages surrounding Sarajevo. My first nights were spent in the shadow of tiny, Ottoman-era mektabs (mosques), waking to the dawn call to prayer echoing through the valleys. 😍

This is a landscape steeped in heavy history. Cycling through one of the most spectacular valleys I’ve ever seen, I learned from local mountain guide Fikret that the road I was following was forged out of wartime necessity. Before the conflict, these communities were virtually cut off, braving treacherous mountain passes just once or twice a year for essential supplies.

Of course, the Balkans demand a tax for their beauty!

On day 2 a brutal, 13km forest climb in the heat became a battle of mechanical survival. The cheap, last-minute rack bought en-route to the airport (forgot to pack mine) completely annihilated the threads on Dervla’s frame. Cue over an hour of roadside engineering in the sweltering heat, resurrecting the rack with a prayer, spare screws, and my whole supply of cable ties.

The following day, the heatwave truly arrived, pushing the mercury to a blistering 36°C by end of day. With little shade, a 7km ascent became a crawl from one patch to the next, whilst sweating a litre a minute, followed by steep slidey gravel downhill that forced me to walk poor Dervla in order to save her brake pads and my own shuddering hands.

Yet the rewards outweigh the tribulations entirely. For every tough mile there is a cafe serving apple pie, a cloud of butterflies, or the deadpan warmth of the Bosnian people, who sometimes greet an enthusiastic “Dobar Dan!” with an initial look of utter disinterest, before revealing their immense kindness ❤️

To beat the insane weather, I rolled out before 6am on day 4, pedalling into the jaws of the magnificent Tara Canyon. The early start paid off: blissfully normal temperatures, a revival of my cycling spirit, and lovely rolling terrain following the electric blue Tara river. That evening I found a beautiful spot by the river, put the tools away and treated myself to a glacial dip.! 🚴‍♀️🌊⛰️

Bosnia Herzegovina 🇧🇦Bosnia Herzegovina 🇧🇦Bosnia Herzegovina 🇧🇦Bosnia Herzegovina 🇧🇦Bosnia Herzegovina 🇧🇦

Stage 2: Montenegro 🇲🇪

High point
1900

The views coming out of Tara Canyon were amazing enough to ease the pain of pushing Dervla for several kilometres. We crossed the border into Montenegro, riding through Piva Nature Park, which was indeed bursting with nature: rolling, flower and butterfly studded hills with the mountains of Durmitor looming in the distance, Tolkienesque.

We arrived in the Katun Highlands just before a biblical hail and thunderstorm broke. The power went out, so myself and a handful of motorcyclists ate dinner by solar light before I tucked into a tiny and cosy wooden cabin.

The next morning brought us through beautiful Durmitor National Park. I pedalled up Sedlo Pass fuelled by Turkish coffee and disappointingly dry buns, which had looked like they should be sweet and sticky, so I resurrected them with a small jar of local honey. At over 1900m this was the highest Dervla and I had been together, and was followed by a brilliant, gravity-fuelled mountain road slalom.

A week in, I finally had a proper rest day near Žabljak: giving Dervla some attention, washing socks and bibs, restocking supplies and eating everything in sight. I love the simplicity of life on the road, when your only real concerns are reaching the next stop and eating enough to get there.

The next morning brought mountain number one on foot: Prutaš. The weather wasn't cooperating. The peaks were wrapped in cloud, there was a stiff wind, and I was nursing a stuffy cold. Still, it was a good day. Snow clung to patches near the top, and I had the summit to myself, even if the view was a wall of white. The limestone descent finished off my already battered trail runners, so I hitchhiked into town for new ones, tripped over the flapping sole and fell straight into the shop, much to the owner's alarm. One mountain down, two to go.

The next day’s 20km climb onto the rolling gravel roads of the Sinjajevina Plateau brought us eventually through a channel of rock, before a theatrical grand reveal opened ahead: the Komovi Massif in all its mind-blowing glory. It stopped me in my tracks and made my heart burst with wonder, one of those magical moments where you see so clearly how tiny we are, yet so divinely connected to the natural world.

We finished the leg with a glorious gravel downhill into Kolasin, before continuing next day on to Podgorica. That day was highlighted by an even more amazing sweeping downhill, where the heat rose 15 degrees in 10km.

Balkan hospitality remained unmatched. A grocer insisted an apple was free, and a cafe owner waved me over for coffee on the house. In a cafe culture dominated by men smoking and debating, I was something of an amusing oddity it seemed.

Montenegro 🇲🇪Montenegro 🇲🇪Montenegro 🇲🇪Montenegro 🇲🇪Montenegro 🇲🇪

Stage 3: Albania 🇦🇱

Leaving Podgorica, a large burning rubbish dump drifted a toxic cloud over the city limits, a stark contrast to the outstanding natural beauty encountered throughout the rest of beautiful Montenegro. But soon I was up into the countryside, and then tracking Lake Shkoder toward Albania, where border control airily waved me through.

Initially perturbed to find myself on a major traffic route, I quickly relaxed. Albania generously provided an extra wild card lane for bikes, mopeds and disability vehicles. The energy there was exuberant and chaotic, slightly reminiscent of Southeast Asia in spots. After ten days of cycling in near isolation, Shkoder was an assault on the senses: a vibrant city swamped with bicycles and buzzing with life.

The people were enthusiastically friendly. A couple of times I was waved down just to introduce myself and be congratulated on the football results.

The next day I tackled mountain number two, Taraboshi, a "baby" mountain that taught me never to underestimate one: a steep climb in punishing heat, scratchy vegetation, furious flies and, at the top, a fence of "No unauthorised personnel" signs and a barking dog guarding some phone masts. I retreated the way I'd come, scratched and outmanoeuvred, but with a beautiful view over the lake. Lake Shkodër turned out to be the perfect antidote, clear and as warm as bathwater.

The pedal out through the suburbs and back into the mountains was a contrast of fortunes. I struck gold with fresh, smooth tarmac winding past beautiful mountains and lakes. I also found companionship, crossing paths with lovely Jasmin, an Austrian solo rider who had sold her flat and quit her job to spend a few months cycling through Europe. We rode together for the final kilometres and stopped for coffee and a chat.

My evening in Koman ended with a delightful multinational singalong, where every country was asked to offer up a song everyone knew. Panicking for ideas, I chose Wonderwall because I literally couldn’t think of anything else.

Next morning Jasmin, another bikepacking couple from Canada, Patrick and Aaron, and I boarded the Koman ferry, watching the impressive game of Tetris playing out with various vehicles on the deck below. The ride up the Drini river gorge was stunning, not unlike a fjord, with steep rock walls carpeted in lush green.

A short way into the voyage, a creeping malaise quickly spiralled into imminently threatening sickness. By the time we docked at Fierza at lunchtime, I was in a poor state. Ahead lay a 60km ride, half of it a hefty climb to the Kosovo border. I could barely stand in the pounding heat.

Thank God for Jasmin. She located a concerned young ferry worker who anxiously asked if I needed a doctor or a toilet. Accepting defeat, I let him arrange a local driver. After a sad farewell to Jasmin and the crew, I was transported up the mountain pass, head hanging out the window like a dog, trying not to be sick. Dropped just before the border, I crossed into Kosovo. Gravity took pity on me, and leaning heavily on my handlebars, I freewheeled most of the final 25km down into Gjakova.

I certainly didn't do Albania justice in that brief, horizontal crossing. I was determined to return and explore the thrilling looking Accursed Mountains, though ideally with a stronger stomach.

Albania 🇦🇱Albania 🇦🇱Albania 🇦🇱Albania 🇦🇱Albania 🇦🇱

Stage 4: Kosovo 🇽🇰

Some epic sickness on arrival in Gjakova turned out to be exactly what was needed. Whatever evil had taken up residence was promptly evicted, and I felt considerably better for it. Before leaving next morning, I detoured into the Bazaar for a restorative cup of tea, to enjoy the atmosphere and ancient architecture.

Fortunately, that day’s ride was relatively flat and not too long, so I pootled along gently with lots of rest stops, through the beautiful rural countryside of Kosovo, passed by umpteen tiny, ancient tractors pulling everything from carts of hay to a single cow riding in state in a rustic trailer. There were many small farms, fields full of vegetables and small herds enjoying an outdoor lifestyle. A far more sustainable model than ours, even if it was subsistence farming. I didn't want to romanticise what was clearly tough, low-margin work. But it was hard not to notice what our own farming traded away to get efficient.

I arrived in beautiful Prizren to find it in full swing, with a festival atmosphere around the old Bazaar area. The next day was a much required rest day, spent exploring, eating and recovering strength.

The final push took us on a steady but long climb up into the improbably green and lush Sharr mountains, no filter required, where I spied what I thought might be Mountain No. 3, the finish line. The next day was the final day, where I hoped to reach the Macedonian border on the peak of Konjushka.

Kosovo 🇽🇰Kosovo 🇽🇰Kosovo 🇽🇰Kosovo 🇽🇰

Stage 5: North Macedonia Border 🇲🇰

High point
2571

The final day was a long but glorious hike up Konjushka (2,571m), whose summit marks the border between Kosovo and North Macedonia, and the finish line. It's hard to describe that moment. I was proud, reflective and quite emotional, but mostly I just wanted to dance on top of a mountain, alone, with nobody there to see me do it.

Four countries by bike, three mountains on foot, roughly 600km and 13,000m of climbing, solo from start to finish.

Closing thoughts

The real highlights were the people, the layered history and culture seen from different angles, and the sheer, breathtaking scale of the Balkans’ natural beauty. Even on the hardest days, the pain faded fast against the warmth of strangers and the wonder of the landscape.

Joining us this year as Adventure Partners, I want to give huge thanks to Desbruslais Chartered Surveyors, Mavin Powercube, M A Paine and Carol Woodman. Not to mention all the wonderful individuals who offered their generous support, all of which has been fundamental to this challenge and, more importantly, to the young people the Youth Adventure Grant exists for; every pound raised goes directly toward giving another young person the chance to experience something as vast and life-changing as the Balkans were for me. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for believing in that.

We’re still short of this year’s target, but it’s not too late to close the gap; the more we raise, the more young people we can support. As for what comes next, watch this space… I’ve a feeling it will be interesting.

Highlights

Whereabouts

Trail Notes

Hazards