The (not so) magnificent 7
Seven friends set off from the pancake-flat Netherlands for 16 days on the eastern Europe leg of the Trans Euro Trail. Ralph Edelstein talks bears, brutal crashes and a worrying lack of off-road experience…
EXACTLY ONE HUNDRED metres. That’s how long it takes before it’s game over for the first of us. If a good start is half the work, this is the most miserable start possible. After passing through Hungary and Slovakia, we’ve turned south near Satu Mare on the border of Ukraine and Romania and on this first off-road stretch of our 16-day adventure, Mother Nature shows her ugly side. The narrow boulder track that is our starting point on the Trans Euro Trail (TET) suddenly goes steeply uphill. The huge, loose boulders bounce in all directions under our wheels, and our bikes follow. Of course we have practiced at home in The Netherlands, but a non-threatening ride over pancake-flat countryside is a very different thing… Within 100 metres the first two guys are upside down under their motorcycles. It is scorching hot, dusty and, because of the huge boulders, extremely dangerous. Even off the bikes. We spend the next two hours getting everyone back on their feet, provisionally fixing the damaged bikes, and getting to the top of the track; before we set off this morning we guessed we’d do somewhere in the region of 90 miles off-roading per day. By the time we finally find the tarmac again we’ve gone three miles, in four hours. We end the day with one disillusioned rider, two seriously damaged bikes and the painful conclusion that we’ve underestimated the size of the challenge. That evening we eat in silent contemplation.
Now is the time
Some background before I continue: we are a group of seven urban riders who have been fantasising about a serious off-road trip for years. After intense lobbying of girlfriends, wives and employers we finally get the green light for an epic 16-day adventure. Following this unexpected success we regain our composure and quickly conclude our adventure has to be the Romanian leg of the TET – a 31,689-mile GPX route running from Africa’s northern border, through Europe, to the Arctic Circle. The TET was created and is managed by volunteers and the GPX files are available, for free at transeurotrail.org.
The aim of the TET is to provide adventurous riders with a way of experiencing the rich diversity of Europe’s land and culture, while dodging tarmac wherever possible. In Romania it follows the entire Carpathian mountain range, and Romania is cheap, safe and stunningly beautiful. Brown bears, barbecued beef and brutal crashes are standard issue.
Our target adventure identified, we set about pestering several national and international off-road web shops where we buy helmets, jackets, gloves, boots, bags, hand protectors, goggles, toolkits, luggage systems. Anything and everything to get us through 16 days off-road. We leave nothing to chance and besides, as every motorcyclist knows, the best way to build confidence is to buy stuff. Lots of stuff…
Motley crew
What we don’t need to buy before departure are bikes. However, our fleet is a diverse hodgepodge consisting of three BMW R1200GSS, a KTM 950 Adventure S, a Yamaha Super Ténéré 750 and a Ténéré 660R. My own ride is a BMW F850GS. Despite the major differences between the machines, we are each convinced we have the very best package for the trip.
Broadly speaking the TET has an average difficulty level and with our bikes looking seriously off-road with their knobblies we fly to Krakow, Poland (we have already shipped the bikes there) without any doubts. We will have the adventure of a lifetime…
SEVEN TAKE ON
THE TET
On the Trans Euro Trail
The morning after our painful baptism of fire, we somewhat timidly mount our bikes praying the gods of off-road riding give us a smoother day. The unluckiest pair from the day before hit the road to find a welder while the rest of us ride a short liaison before once again diving back into the woods.
It transpires those gods of off-roading are in fact listening as we enjoy a phenomenal route through a nature reserve where the gravel tracks roll smoothly and the scenery is humbling. This is what we are here for. Not the raked and rigid allotment gardens we call ‘nature’ back home, but rugged, fascinating landscapes, interspersed with desolate voids. Several signs warn us of the brown bear population – which we aren’t allowed to feed.
Late that afternoon we reach our hotel – tired, but satisfied. The other guys have got their bikes repaired and the prospect of another day of nature reserve riding makes us all happy and excited. That evening we eat dinner in happy anticipation, not contemplative silence.
Whether you ride on or off-road the nice thing about road trips is you never quite know what’s going to happen. Which is the idea. Within a day of departure your emotions can go all over the place – one moment everything can be hunky-dory and then, either due to weather, bad luck or a wrong decision, everything can seem like it’s turning against you. Suddenly you hate your trip.
Our third day perfectly illustrates this point: at the start it is sunny and all of us are in good spirits, but after a little while it starts drizzling. The wide gravel track through the woods turns into a narrow and technically challenging boulder strewn minefield that twists its way high up the flank of a mountain. As we climb, the drizzle turns to fog and rain, and the temperature drops severely. Hands freeze, visors fog up and despite our fancy new rain gear, icy water seeps through our layers. Hours of slipping and sliding follow until, finally, we reach the other side of the pass safely. For those of us who enjoy an element of hardship, this day can be filed under ‘adventure’. But the two guys still suffering after
that first day are starting to think that off-road riding isn’t so much fun after all. That evening we see their doubts increase. Despite encouraging words from the rest of us, and hollow platitudes about how they will feel much better after a smooth day off-road, their enthusiasm continues to crumble with every hour that passes. The following two days see these guys battling with their confidence and occasionally challenging tracks. Of course, every rider recognises these feelings: if you ride without confidence it is no fun at all. Sadly, after five days, the two of them throw in the towel, ride back to Krakow and fly home to The Netherlands an experience richer, an illusion poorer.
Crashes, and more crashes
With five remaining riders, we carry on enthusiastically and over the next few days, Romania shows us its most beautiful side. The TET twists its way through the Carpathians, the crescent-shaped mountain range in the east of the country. It is sunny and at 18 degrees the temperature is perfect. As the adventure continues we enjoy long days of forests and lakes, mountains and valleys, gravel and sand. We pass wild horses, cut through herds of long-haired sheep and are chased endlessly by farm dogs that bark, but never bite. Every day someone crashes, but never hard, and – apart from dented egos – these crashes never cause serious problems.
Happy bike, happy rider
As for me, I stand on my foot pegs with confidence. I have the most off-road experience out of this bunch, but I am not the bravest dirt rider. It turns out that aside from experience, cojones are also important for moving through the terrain smoothly. Sadly, I have to concede that the other guys have bigger ones. This does mean, however, that those guys regularly find themselves in a horizontal position, whiie I keep myself and my BMW upright. In fact, my F850GS turns out to be the perfect mix of on-road comfort and off-road capability. Due to the 21in front wheel, I fly over the boulder tracks effortlessly, and the clutch and throttle are light which makes it easy to forget I am riding 225kg of Bavarian steel. However, the biggest advantage my BMW has over the rest of our fleet is its Enduro Pro mode. Under hard braking it lets my rear wheel lock, while the front wheel activates the ABS. This means maximum braking power, combined with me being confident the front wheel won’t lock and slide from under the bike. All these factors mean my speed increases with every day that passes. But, as
‘We pass wild horses, cut through herds of long-haired sheep and are chased endlessly by farm dogs that bark, but never bite’
the saying goes: what goes up, must come down. And I do: while riding on a mountain track and fumbling with my goggles I fail to see a drainage pipe lying across the track. With a massive bang the skidplate of the BMW hits the pipe and the engine stalls. My bike and I fall over and I bounce a few metres down the slope. The luggage on the back (more experienced adventure veterans have advised us to leave the hard panniers at home and strap soft, crashresistant luggage on the back) lands smack in the middle of the muddy stream flowing from the big pipe. And even though Kriega’s advertising promised me waterproof bags, I have little to no hope that my luggage will survive this torrential muddy flow. After we get the BMW back on its wheels, I start formulating the letter to my insurance company claiming for my tablet. I hope one of my fellow-adventurers will lend me some dry clothes. But when we arrive in our hotel, it turns out all that isn’t necessary. Not a drop of water has leaked into the bags. Fresh as a daisy, with clean undies and wet hair, I munch on my lamb shank that evening, and smile.
Don’t watch, do it…
The further southeast we get, the bigger the contrasts become between rich and poor. We pass through villages that don’t have paved roads, and where people still move around on horses and carriages. Several times we wreck parts of our bikes or get flat tyres, but there is always a mechanic or tyre repair guy somewhere nearby. We don’t speak Romanian and Romanians don’t speak English, but the language of the biker is universal: simply point at the problem and yell, ‘fix, fix’. Every time, the problem is solved in a matter of minutes, at hardly any cost. See, there’s nothing to worry about. Really.
Slowly but surely we make our way onward. Serious stomach problems for three of us keep us stuck in the city of Sibiu an extra day. Involuntarily, I become acquainted with the concept of projectile vomiting. Then, in the last few days, we get hopelessly lost in a dense forest. We flutter our way through unharvested cornfields and we crash multiple times descending a steep slope with fesh-fesh-like sand. But one way or the other, we manage to keep both men and machines in one piece. And then, finally, after two weeks of hardship, laughter, cursing, fun, crashes and perseverance, we reach Satu Mare, the start and end point of our TET. From there we race to Krakow, where we arrive late in the afternoon. We’ve all made it without injuries. That night we take a farewell-tour of Krakow nightlife and as per Polish custom, one of us gets his bank card stolen in a dodgy bar, and the criminals manage to get 4200 hard-earned euros out off his bank account. But hey, that’s part of the deal, and besides, life is made up of astronauts or astronomers: some do, others watch.
‘One way or the other, we manage to keep both men and machines in one piece’