Flying Hidden high France in Croatia
Discover the sun-soaked climb that’s destined to become a cycling classic
In Croatia, the climb of Sveti Jure translates as ‘Saint George’. Cyclist mounts up and prepares to do battle with a monster
Croatia is a country of contrasts. The cities have the lively hustle of Turkey, but the people have the relaxed attitude of the Italians. The modern infrastructure feels like western Europe, but the food and culture are of the Middle East. Look in one direction and you could be on the beaches of the French Riviera; look in the other and it’s like you’ve been transported to the barren mountains of the Pyrenees. According to my ride partner for the day, a strapping gentleman by the name of Ivo Piljic who runs bespoke holiday business More Hvar, even Croatia’s bike riders are a contradiction in terms.
‘We look like bouncers but climb like Colombians,’ he tells me with a wink as we review today’s route over breakfast in our start town of Imotski. It’s a route that, if his claims are to be believed, will suit him well. Ahead of us is 135km of riding and more than 3,400m of vertical ascent, with well over a third of that coming courtesy of the Sveti Jure climb that begins at around the 80km mark.
The mountain dwarfs anything else on the route profile. In real life, the peak dominates its surroundings in the same way Mont Ventoux looms over the Provence region in France. The two mountains’ similarities are extended by the fact that, like Ventoux, Sveti Jure also sports a red-and-white structure atop its summit. It may be a radio antenna instead of a weather station but, viewed from sea level, its impossibly distant stripes are just as intimidating and impressive.
Geography and history
The mountain and the Biokovo Nature Park that surrounds it form part of the Dinaric Alps. Thanks to some hefty geological activity between 50 to 100 million years ago, ridgelines of limestone rock were thrown up in parallel ripples that sit like stacked necklaces. As the second highest peak in Croatia, Sveti Jure is a significant jewel in the first ‘necklace’ of the Dinaric Alps.
Croatia’s history is just as turbulent as its landscape. It has been trampled over by Ottoman armies, passed
back and forth between the Austro-hungarian empire and its neighbours, was incorporated into Yugoslavia after the First World War and then fought for and regained its independence again in the early 1990s.
Our ride starts close to the border with Bosnia and Herzegovina, so much so that my mobile network provider sends me a ‘welcome to’ SMS and advises me on roaming charges. Usually, we’d look to ride a loop, starting and finishing in the same place, but Ivo is keen to show me the best bits of his home region so he’s arranged a point-topoint, and first on his list of sights to visit are Imotski’s most famous geological landmarks – its Red and Blue Lakes.
Both sit at the bottom of steep-sided sinkholes that are thought to have been created when enormous caves collapsed. The Blue Lake is the smaller of the two, and I’m told its water level varies wildly with the seasons. Wet winters see it rise dramatically, while hot summers cause it to dry up totally, with adventurous locals climbing down to play football on its bed. The Red Lake is a bit more of a mystery. It has been explored to a depth of 530m but no one knows for sure how deep it actually goes, and some geologists believe it is connected to the Adriatic, which is around 30km away as the crow flies.
Our route to the Adriatic Sea is a convoluted one, so despite the lakes’ natural beauty we don’t linger, and it isn’t long before we roll back through the town of Imotski to continue our ride. As we pass through, Ivo informs me that Imotski boasts the highest proportion of MercedesBenz cars per capita in the world, and there are plans to erect a statue to commemorate the fact in the town square.
Sure enough, almost every car I see as we scoot downhill through the town’s streets bears the threepointed star of the German marque. Most, however, are at least 20 years old and look pretty beaten up.
Ahead of us is 135km of riding and more than 3,400m of vertical ascent, with well over a third of that courtesy of the Sveti Jure climb
Out of town, things get very rural very quickly. We pass through vineyards that stretch along a fertile valley, separated by dense patches of stunted pine trees. We see barely any cars, the roads are smooth, and the temperature is already nudging pleasantly into the high twenties.
‘Cyclists don’t often consider riding here,’ Ivo says. ‘Croatia is well known for its beaches but few people are aware that as a riding destination the roads and landscape inland are as good as anywhere.’
I’m not about to disagree, partly because I need every breath I can take as we weave upwards for a few hundred metres onto a ridge. Startled lizards scamper from our path – that they have been basking on the road is testament to how sparse the traffic is – and soon we pass over the ridge top and drop into the next valley.
The rollercoaster of climbing and descending continues for a few kilometres, until eventually we allow ourselves a short stop by the roadside for a drink and some carbs. As I climb off my bike, a familiar fragrance rises up to greet me. Ivo informs me I’ve just crushed some wild oregano under my cleat.
‘There’s wild sage over there too,’ he says, pointing to a white shrub protruding from a limestone shelf. ‘Local chefs don’t need to go to the supermarket to flavour their food here.’
From this angle it looks as though the road overshoots the rocky slopes altogether, and that we will simply career over the edge
Road for any occasion
Passing through the small municipality of Slivno, the road turns northwest and we catch sight of Sveti Jure in the distance. The going is a little less rolling now, and we make good time past the town of Zagvozd and into a long, open descent skirting along the northern boundary of Nature Park Biokovo.
At the southeast corner of the park, we take a right turn and the climbing begins again. The road is meandering and we take it chunk by chunk, measuring our progress
by the increasingly expansive view back into the valley that we’ve just sped down.
Gradually the gradient peters out to nothing and we ride out of the shadow of the trees and into the scorching midday sun. On this next section the vegetation becomes a little more sparse, a sign that we are getting nearer to the coast. Despite the warning, it still comes as a shock when we crest a ridge and the sea suddenly comes into view.
From this angle it looks as though the road overshoots the rocky slopes altogether, and that at the speed we’re going we will simply career over the edge and drop into the sea. The effect is rather disconcerting and Ivo delights in my momentary shock at the perceived termination of the tarmac.
‘This is the best bit of the 512 coastal road,’ he says. We round a corner and the Dalmatian coast reveals itself in all its glory. While the sea is still some distance away, from our vantage point several hundred metres up it seems like we could throw a stone and watch it splash into the water several seconds later.
Appraising the complete panorama, whole towns seem like little more than white specks set among lush greenery that is divided from the Adriatic by a thin, ragged filament of golden sand. The dark green islands of Brač and Hvar protrude from the sea off the coast. Everywhere I look the most striking things are the colours. They are just more vibrant than normal, like some higher power has turned up the contrast.
Even the road we’re on is incredible. The 512 is considered to be one of the world’s best coastal roads to drive. It’s hewn into a rock face and hugs the bulges and depressions of the cliff at a steady downward pitch to our ride’s end in Makarska, which is 15km and 500m in altitude below our current position. It’s tempting to
Even the road we’re on is incredible. The 512 is considered to be one of the world’s best coastal roads to drive
ride this wriggling snake of tarmac all the way home, but there’s the small matter of the Sveti Jure to deal with first.
Sveti Jure is very different to any climb I’ve ever ridden before. There are so many false summits
Out and up
Ivo signals a right turn as the entrance to Nature Park Biokovo hoves into view. The park is a protected area of some 196 square kilometres that contains more than 1,500 plant and animal species. As such, access is tightly controlled and the only traversable route to the Sveti Jure peak is via one single-lane road. There is a toll to pay to gain admission. Cars must pay 50 Croatian Kuna, which is about £6. The climb is recognised as a popular challenge for cyclists, so we only have to pay half that.
It’s this regular interest in the climb that motivated race organisers to include it in the 2017 Tour of Croatia. The peloton wasn’t as lucky with the weather as we are today so the stage was shortened by 15km, with the finish line moving to Vrata Biokova, a plateau of sorts that houses a restaurant that will be our lunch stop. That stage was won by a Croatian – Kristijan Đurasek of UAE Team Emirates – with eventual GC winner Vincenzo Nibali finishing third, three seconds behind him.
Determined to show off the best of Sveti Jure, the race revisited it in 2018, where it was included as the summit finish of the third stage. Former Team Sky rider Kanstantsin Siutsou won it, covering the 31km from Makarska in 75 minutes. I realise very quickly that it’s going to take me far longer to conquer this beast.
The road tips up from the tollhouse to around 8% and stays there for the next 8km. Just into the park, prolonged hairpins navigate a blackened pine forest punctuated by green saplings. Ivo tells me in the wake of occasional forest fires, the Nature Park’s conservationists are reforesting with other indigenous species – oaks and olive trees. Species usually so disparate thriving together seems possible only in the melting pot of contrasts that is Croatia.
While our talk of Biokovo’s flora provides a temporary distraction, there’s no escaping the growing burn in my thighs caused by the gradient. With our increase in altitude, the environment has transitioned from woodland to exposed, sheer rock faces that remind me of the Italian Dolomites. After a long day’s riding on nothing but snacks I’m running on fumes, so when Vrata Biokova emerges from behind the tail end of a cliff I gladly dismount and slump into a seat on the terrace.
A couple of donkeys appraise our bikes. One uses Ivo’s Ultegra shifter to scratch a hard-to-reach spot on his back, and we tuck into large plates of delicious grilled meats, vegetables and sauteed potatoes, all locally reared or grown. As I wash it down with some Coke I can feel life being breathed back into my body, which stimulates me to ask Ivo how much ascent is still to come. That turns out to be a mistake.