When I got going again I had an episode of road rage. I was on a bend and had got off Ro, and was standing in the ditch, pulling the bicycle as close to me as I could. However, there was a coach coming the other direction, which made it harder for traffic to pass comfortably on my side of the road. An estate car towing a huge rubber dinghy on a trailer parped its horn because it had to wait all of 30 seconds for the coach to go past. I saw the woman glare at me through the shut window and I lost the plot. I knew exactly how those dogs feel when they bark furiously in the car with the window closed. I yelled “WHAT? Where do you want me to go? Show me another way and I’ll take it you…“ and a few choice expletives followed. I amost felt my blood pressure go down and felt enormously better for letting off steam. It felt ridiculously good – and the car moved on.
I hope I’m getting acclimatised to the heat before the Balkans – and Greece.
I was surprised to hit the Croatian border just after Jalnise. It was huge – a proper border crossing with barriers and a no man’s land inbetween and passports checked. So different from some of the borders I’ve crossed up till now which have been a shoo through. A policeman at the Croatian booth asked me where I was going. I should have said “Krk” but instead I said “Australia”. That’ll take a while he replied, as he handed my passport back to me.
There were immediately lots of places to camp – meadows just off the road and no huge insurmountable barrier for a bicycle. I pitched my tent in the dark, just past a small village called Klana, down a slope from the road, so the headlights from passing cars wouldn’t light the tent up.