Between Kosovo and Alaska- part two

“At the end of the day, your feet should be dirty, your hair messy, and your eyes sparkling.” –Shanti

With Miriam at the Woodrow Wilson Center

I traveled to Washington, DC in May to launch the new book with Miriam (please buy it!), an event where I was struggling with a high fever and then collapsed afterwards for a few days. I limped back home to Kosovo, finally got back on the bike for a few shorter routes, and then left again for Ukraine. Odessa was strange- I won’t get into it here, but between the disbelief from my colleagues over moving to Alaska and the realization that I wouldn't escape the war anytime soon, it was sobering to realize that I had to leave Europe in a few short weeks. We'd been in Europe for almost five years at a stretch, and it would be a shock going back to the US.  The plan was for a road trip across the continent, with Tracy then flying with the cats straight from Kosovo to Anchorage. Our car was still in Alabama, I would drive up to DC to arrange for our things still in storage to be moved, and I would have a chance to reconnect with the US and Canada on the road. Sort of like the end of the movie Elizabethtown, though over three weeks and an entire continent.

The summer would also be notable for trying to cram in as much cycling as a could between the middle of June and the beginning of August. There were really only two goals involved. I had to bike as much as possible in Kosovo in the two weeks before I left, and then once back in the US, I had to bike 1000 miles (1600km) in order to earn a Trek t-shirt. Yeah, I know. T-shirts can be bought in stores, they can be ordered from my phone while laying comfortably in bed, and there is no concrete need to wake up at 4am and pedal for hundreds of miles just to get a free one. It's funny how we react to small incentives. No one could pay me to work so hard, but for something I already loved, that I knew I needed (ha, no idea yet!), having a set goal was necessary. Promise that I'll bike 20 miles and I feel no incentive. Promise myself that I'll bike 1000 and I build up spreadsheets to make sure I reach the goal and don't fall behind, spend hours researching maps and charting routes so I can hit 1000 (spoiler: I reached 1000 miles my last day of cycling in July, in front of a Tim Horton's in Banff, Canada).

With Uta and Tracy at the Bike Cafe

I had to start the goodbyes already- Uta was about to leave again for Nepal, and we wouldn't see each other again before I left Europe. She had been a great influence on me and remains a good friend, so it was hard when Tracy and I had to say farewell (hopefully she can come to Alaska and climb Denali).

With Bashkim and the "No Fun Club"

For Kosovo, I needed to spend more time with my local cycling friends, and there were two other related goals that needed attention. I had not climbed the south side of Bajgora mountain north of Prishtina- I had twice climbed the north road, and once raced up the new and incredibly steep section from Vushtrii, but the long, winding climb from Podujeva had escaped me. Bashkim and I rode that once I was back from Ukraine, on a foggy morning where we climbed Stallova above the clouds, descending again toward Dyz, and then on the long slog toward Bajgora.

Above the clouds on Stallova-Koliq

Northern Kosovo road furniture

The Bajgora ride, which turned out to be just under 100 miles for me in the end, was an example of the challenges in dressing for a long cycling route in Kosovo. It was cold and rainy at the start, warmed up on the first climb, was cold on the descent, grew outright hot toward the start of the big climb, and on the way back we were trying to stay ahead of a massive thunderstorm. While we can carry extra clothes, the immense amount of climbing involved in Kosovo makes that ponderous- even a couple extra kilograms are really noticeable, plus bulky in the back of a summer jersey (in the photo above, you can see Bashkim was wearing a vest early on).

Local cycling heroine Vera (right) and her slower husband Lindi crest the Gateway climb

The route back included a new climb that had just been paved in the spring, and which (for some reason that now escapes me) I had named the Koliq Gateway climb. It was tough, 5km of steep climbing with rolling grades between -1 to +16%, so steep that tired legs have trouble moving at any speed, and this came at the end of a long day of climbing. I kept a decent pace up, but Bashkim was definitely slowing down, and was some 15 minutes behind me. All the while, I saw this massive storm front moving in, could see lightning and hear the thunder, and I kept wishing Bashkim would hurry up so we could outrun the storm back into town. Getting caught in the Grashtica valley with this storm would be Bad. That's not a joke- despite the lack of tornadoes and such in Kosovo, the poor road drainage and geography make rain storms dangerous for bikes, even more so when one considers roads covered in motor oil and full of potholes. Just before leaving Ukraine this last time I had been caught in a storm, lightning all around me on the Prison Break climb, then coming into Prishtina my wheels were submerged in at least four inches (12 cm) of water, brakes not working and the risk of potholes or slipping all around. Getting wet I don't mind, drowning while still on my bike would just be embarrassing.

Bashkim did finally make it up the Gateway climb, and we pushed on tailwinds ahead of the storm, which... well, come to think of it, for some reason it didn't hit Prishtina. Stupid clouds. (Strava record of ride)

Early morning to Mitrovica

The other goal before leaving Kosovo was really more Gjengiz's idea than my own. After completing the 420km Dublin ride with Jen, Betty Jean and Julie in 2016, a jealous Gjengiz had mapped out a 300km route inside Kosovo. There were a few variants, but essentially it called for a counter-clockwise circling of most of the country, heading straight north from Prishtina to Mitrovica, southwest to Peja, southeast to Gjakova and Prizren, over the Prevalla pass, and back to Prishtina via Gjilan. I wasn't a fan of the route, and my own variants had us skipping the Gjilan road in favor of a tougher, hillier route. I had frequently biked the Gjilan road over short segments, but it's busy and dangerous, and in the summer Schatzi season especially so. But Gjengiz had no one else who would do this ride with him, and I agreed to give it a try.

We left at sunrise around the summer solstice, figuring that an early morning dash up the Mitrovica highway would be safe and quiet-- which it was. From there we had a vague idea where to turn, but it was strange for me as I had done this same-ish route but in reverse during a multi-day ride in 2017. The leg from Mitrovica to Peja was green and rolling hills, with the Prokletije (Accursed) Mountains to our right. We joked about taking a short detour up Kulla Pass to the border, that without my passport I couldn't climb all the way into Montenegro, but it was the sort of joking bluster that masked our uncertainty over how long our planned ride would take.

Stopping at towns along the way, we restocked on bananas and water in Peja, and then found the main road from Peja to Gjakova was busier than expected-- plus, it was being resurfaced. For some 15km (at least) we had stretches where the asphalt had been stripped, leaving waving grooves in the roads and raw tar that coated the bottoms of our bikes. It was not at all pleasant. We arrived in the lovely town of Gjakova around 10:30am, having already biked some 150km, and had decided that we would rest for lunch there. We found a restaurant willing to serve lunch early, and indecisive between sweet and salty, I ordered a Hawaiian pizza.

 Gjakova bike lanes- don't go anywhere and are used by horses

OK, for those of you who don't like Hawaiian pizzas, I got my punishment. Apparently for Gjakovars, Hawaiian pizza is not just ham and pineapple, and in fact the fruit portion was a bit scarce. No, they seemed to think that since Hawaii consists of islands, that the pizza also needed fish, so they added plenty of tuna. Tuna. And not white albacore tuna, but the brownish, low quality tinned tuna that most cats turn their noses up to. Yeah, I ate it anyway. All of it. Carbs, protein, whatever. For some reason I was reminded of the Anne Bancroft lines from Home for the Holidays, "Where is everybody? There are starving people in the former Yugoslavia." Maybe the taste made me hallucinate. Even the memory of it makes me a bit dizzy.

The road from Gjavoka to Prizren was mostly flat, climbing toward the second city before the road disappeared into the Sharr Mountains and Prevalla Pass. Gjengiz and I had just raced on much of the same road in April, during our epic breakaway. This time I could tell that Gjengiz was slowing down. He had turned to running recently, and long distance was never his specialty, so as we crossed over 100 miles (160km) I was impressed he had made it that far. And I figured he would be done by the top of Prevalla, an HC (beyond category) climb to an elevation of 5000 feet (1500+m), one which we knew well, and while a fairly gradual climb, was always a tough effort. We stopped near the start of the Prevalla climb to fill up on water and take a dose of electrolytes, but he told me to go on ahead. It was a slower pace for me, and I stopped at one point to talk to a rival racer from a nearby Serbian village, who was coming from the other side of the pass. He was surprised I was leaving Kosovo, and said, "So, you go to US, and you must send back someone like you. We need serious cyclists." (Jimmy, you're up.)

Prevalla Pass (photo taken with Anja Kalan in Sept 2018)

Although I thought I was checking my phone, I didn't see the text I was expecting from Gjengiz throwing in the towel. I turned around and rode back down, which I was happy to say had come at the end of road repairs for the Prevalla road. It's a long. long descent to Prizren, and this time on the best road conditions I'd seen in Kosovo. It was a great end to my last HC climb of the season, and I was glad to avoid the Gjilan road on a Saturday night. We took the bus back to Prishtina. (Strava record here)

On the Grashtica Road leaving Prishtina

The last rides I took were familiar roads with familiar friends, perfect summer weather around Batllava reservoir, and the simpler ride to the Bear Park. I will always miss this rides from Lindi and Vera's bike cafe, the dodging of traffic out of Prishtina to the Grashtica road, the endless coffees and the stoic cows, the kids cheering us on from the sides of the road, I know those rides will always be unique in my memory to Kosovo. I saw most of the country that way, all the cities, hundreds of villages, the beauty of mountain passes and the scars of environmental damage. I could not imagine having a feel for the country had I just stayed in the city, writing from my office. And while I took a bike with my to Kosovo when I first moved in 2015, without Tolga and others I would never have explored so far into the countryside and the mountains. Thanks, guys.

With Tolga near Badovac Lake

With teammate Migjen and others at the bike cafe

There was one last thing I had to do before leaving. I had thought that I would miss it, but the Kosovo Security Forces had their ceremony for commissioning cadets into officers. I struggled to dig out my suit, scrounged for dress shoes to borrow (thanks, Agim), and tried to remember how to find the barracks in Ferizaj (they leave military installations off Google maps). Cadets had been part of my classes in Kosovo from my first semester, and I had taught them everything from information warfare to ethics.

I was proud of them, and happy that I could attend as they became junior officers in the KSF. A few of them that day had been first semester freshmen my first fall in Kosovo, so it was a rare chance to see how far they'd come. 

I'd wanted to think that I had learned a great deal in four years, as well.  The cadets and civilian students had certainly taught me a trick or two about irregular warfare in simulations, things so surprising I had to include them in the book. I'd learned about Kosovo, Albania, North Macedonia, I'd spent months in Ukraine working and learning Russian. We'd adopted two cats and rescued/rehomed about a dozen dogs to the US and Canada-- some of it seemed like drops in a bucket, but one had to try.

But I had to learn something new, live somewhere I'd not been before, get back into climate security issues where I felt more comfortably than tangling with Russian security services. 

Alaska would challenge me more than I could imagine.