Learning (The Hard Way) to Ride with Less

In every city, we get together as a group and take part in Remote Year “tracks,” where our local city guides show us a bit of their country in a way we might not discover on our own. This month in Croatia, I chose the Heritage track, where we would get to experience life on one of the Croatian islands, specifically Brač, the largest of the Croatian islands.

According to the track description, it would include 25 km of biking, an authentic Croatian meal, and a bit of the island’s history shared by our delightful guide, Ivana.

I specifically chose this track because it looked a little more hard core, and I was feeling like I could handle some extra exercise — although, it’s worth noting that the “easy” track was a 7-hour hike up a mountain (that track was literally called “UP!”), so I don’t know why I was surprised that every mile of this bike ride kicked my ass.

Eighteen of us gathered at the Ferry Port in the morning for a breezy boat ride across the Adriatic on the top deck of the Jadrolinija, landing at the Brač port city of Supetar. We met up with Ivana and chose mountain bikes from a local vendor.

“Hmm. Mountain bikes,” I thought. “An interesting choice for a leisurely ride along the coastal road.”

We took off down the road as a group, traveling along the Adriatic at a mostly leisurely pace and spacing ourselves comfortably as everyone got into their own pace.

I fell to the back of the pack pretty quickly. It turns out that most of my Remote Year kinfolk are fairly well prepared for the next Iron Man. And even though I was taking spin classes and working out like a maniac before I left Ann Arbor six-ish weeks ago, I am clearly not in triathlon shape. In addition, I had lugged the largest backpack across the Adriatic, and was now responsible for all of said valuables. And on a mountain bike.

What had I brought? An extra pair of Chacos, my giant Canon camera, an extra lens, and my Smoove steady cam (okay — it’s basically a glorified selfie stick). Initially, I attempted to ride with it in my hand so I could shoot video and capture every moment of this adventure.

This was a mistake.

After struggling to keep up with the group for the first half mile with the combination backpack boat anchor and a selfie stick hanging from my waist, I finally shoved that abomination in my pack and didn’t pull it out again for the rest of the day.

We stopped in Splitska to catch our breaths and to chat about the church bells (Splitska is one of the few places where the bells are rung by hand) before heading on to swim and wander around the quiet seaside town of Postira.

At this point in the day we were only 10 km in, and I was pretty tired. I was really starting to regret some of my camera gear decisions weighing down my backpack (and the extra sandals, towel, clothes, etc.). But I wasn’t struggling physically yet. Our city guide Maja had confirmed — more than once — that the biggest hill was the first one, and we’d already conquered it. How hard could the rest of the day be?

At lunch, we went to town on some lamb peka, a traditional Dalmation dish cooked for more than a day under a bell. It actually takes so long to prepare that it needs to be ordered a day ahead if you want to try it, so keep that in mind if you’re ever cycling through the neighborhood and looking to try one of the most delicious things I’ve eaten in Croatia.

After lunch, we embarked to Dol, a 3 km ride up a gravel road that can only be described as grueling. I was starting to understand why we’d rented mountain bikes and not beach cruisers.

Ashley and I pulled up the rear of the crew into Dol, although she didn’t seem to be struggling like I was. It’s highly likely she was politely making sure I didn’t die under an olive tree on the side of the road. I’m also pretty sure I was wheezing

“There’s just no coasting on these bikes,” I panted at her at one point as the sweat dripped down my face and back, soaking into the elephantine bundle The North Face dared call a daypack. “You’re fighting for every inch.”

We did make it to Dol, a charming village of about 100 people (mostly old widows, Ivana said) in a deep valley. From the top of the hills, you can see the sea in the distance, and it’s surrounded by olive groves and vineyards — all brushed over by a cool October cool breeze. Ivana shared with us her family home, Kaštil Gospodnetić, which is roughly 400 years old and has been in her family for 12 generations. She told stories of pirate attacks on the town and war, growing grapes and olives for generations. From their website:

Dol has only 100 inhabitants and, unlike other parts of the Island, tourism didn’t spoil us. Island life is still authentic here… We will talk about legends, monsters, so many sheep that people from this village own and living in the caves that used to be a thing here. My goal is to make you feel this unique Mediterranean tranquility.

From the KAŠTIL GOSPODNETIĆ website

Ivana and her family were so gracious, sharing with us all the flavors of grappa made on their property and the stories she remembers from her childhood, and some handed down from her parents and grandparents.

They gave us a tour of their wine cellar (which, I kinda got the feeling people don’t get to see too often), and she poured us each a tasting of wine (Let’s be honest. It was more like a full glass.) while her father cut us thin slices of prosciutto that melted in our mouths. The wine and the experience was all just so damn delicious that I couldn’t help it… I bought a bottle of their wine and stuffed it too into my giant pack. I was already carrying 30 lbs worth of crap in my backpack. One more thing couldn’t hurt… right??