I must look puzzled. I’ve been cycling up a steep mountainside along a rough forestry track for many hours, and all I’ve seen is one old battered truck – laden with huge logs, billowing smoke as it struggled for grip on the stony track. I’d hardly call that busy. I guess busy is a relative concept, here.
Through our guide, Zoran – a three-time Montenegro cross country mountain bike champion – I discover that this friendly lady has been living in these mountains her whole life, spending summers in the high pasture area with her family and sheep, before returning down into the valley come winter. A journey dictated by the cycle of the seasons, that the people of this forgotten corner of Europe have been taking for centuries.
Montenegro is full of contrasts like this – a beguiling mix of old and new. Progress has been slow to reach the mountains of Montenegro as it proudly establishes itself from Serbia, following a narrowly-won vote for independence in 2006. Surprisingly, even though it’s not in the EU yet, or officially in the Eurozone, its currency is the Euro – it seems it has never had a currency of its own.
Like many of the Balkan states, Montenegro’s tourism took a real hit during Yugoslavia’s messy break-up in the 1990s. In recent years it has recovered well, and post-independence has really developed as a destination for adventure tourism, with thrill-seekers eager to explore its rugged, unspoilt terrain, that’s perfect for activities such as climbing, mountain biking, white-water rafting, kayaking, horse-riding and hiking.
Our one-week KE Adventure trip starts at Dubrovnik airport, in Croatia, where my small group of new cycling friends and I pile into a minibus that takes us south, away from the city and towards the Montenegro border. After a slow crossing, reminiscent of trying to get into the old Soviet bloc, it becomes apparent straight away that we’ve left the EU; already my backside is feeling the impact of the many potholes that litter the roads of Montenegro – and I’m not even on a bike yet. Potholes like these used to litter Croatian roads before EU funding.
It’s not a big country, but along with its Croatian-style coastline and walled towns, it boasts spectacular mountain landscapes – as I’m about to discover.
Saddle up
I’ve always been a keen cyclist and I enjoy mountain biking in the UK, although most of my cycling is on road. As such, my own mountain bike is very old. So old, that it has no suspension, so I opt to hire a bike in Montenegro. Even before I put a foot on a pedal I’m feeling out of my depth, as the rest of the bus’s occupants begin to talk bike – a foreign language to me. But it’s when most of the group unpacks and assembles their carbon fibre, full-suspension bikes that my bike envy really kicks in.This is reinforced when my rental bike turns up at our start point, the small Vucje ski resort above the town of Niksic. I’m thankful to find that I’m not the only one renting, and I’m not saying that my hire bike isn’t up to the job, as it is totally suited to off-road touring. It’s just that it is a hard tail (no rear suspension) and not a £2,500 superbike!
The following morning – after some surprisingly cheap beers and a dinner of boiled mutton stew served with Kačamak, a polenta cheese mash – the night before, we set off on our first day of cycling. We start on rough double-track dirt roads across high mountain plains. We ride beneath the peaks of the Moraca Mountains in bright sunshine, before finishing the day with an exhilarating downhill.
I’m really pleased with myself, as I’ve managed to hold my own and keep pace with the group. But my pleasure is slightly dulled when I realise that the 29-mile ride has been two-thirds downhill, a stat that won’t be repeated during the rest of the tour!
The following morning we set off in a crisp, chilling mist, and climb easily but steadily into the Bjelasica Mountains, which sit within the Biogradska Gora National Park. As we speed along the sealed road, waking villagers, shopkeepers and farmers appear through the mist, only to once again be enveloped by its shroud.
Once we reach the Park itself, things start to get tricky, and my bike envy reaches a new zenith – the firm asphalt turning to rough stony forestry track, which seems to get steeper as we ascend.
I consider myself relatively fit – sure, time, age and fatherhood is slowing me down, but I was surprised how hard I was finding the climb. The gradient and loose stone make it essential to keep your weight on the saddle for traction, and as I watch the rest of the group disappear around the first switchback, my own ‘hard tail’ wishes that the EU had seen fit to resurface this track for me.
But I soon find my own rhythm, and eventually, after a lot of sweat and the odd expletive, I make the top. The others are sitting in the sunshine, some drinking bottles of beer straight from a horse trough fed by a cooling mountain spring. I thought I was slow enough already, so opted for a homemade juice made from forest berries – it was delicious.
Riding with the pack
The descent is great fun and while I can’t keep up with the fastest I’m not at the back any more. Soon I’m standing up on the pedals, fingers hovering over the brakes, and flying over the loose stones at full speed. Regrouping at a sealed roadside, we set off again, slipstreaming each other in a sort of peloton, which was almost as much fun as the downhill. It’s amazing how easy it is to ride within the group, being sucked along by the strong riders at the front.The next day is a long, yet less challenging 42-mile ride with a 1,645m climb, towards the Mokra Planina or ‘misty mountains’ of Kosovo. The truly beautiful peaks don’t live up to their name, though, as we enjoy a perfect blue sky day while climbing on remote shepherds’ trails. A leisurely picnic lunch looking towards the wilds of Kosovo breaks the day, after which we continue our journey – only to be stopped by some bored Montenegrin border guards. They start a little officiously, but soon turned their interest to the bikes, stopping just short of asking for a go.
The following day is back in the forested trails of the Bjelasica Mountains, where stunning views of Peak Komovi keep flashing through the trees. The real joy of this day is the contact with the locals, as we ride past shepherd’s huts, one of which I’m invited into. I’m surprised at how basically they live, their huts made of wood, very simply nailed together. The one I enter does have a solar panel, which powers a single light bulb and a plug to recharge phones and power a radio, but all heating and cooking is via a wood-burning stove, above which shelves are stacked full of jars, brimming with jams and honey.
Social climbing
Our toughest day is our penultimate, which involves a long ride up to the plateau of Sinjajevinja. Maybe the last few days are catching up with me, but I find the 1,676m climb tough and soon I’m falling far behind the group again. I’m reassured by Zoran that we have plenty of time, and am buoyed further by one strong member of the group, who, having already reached the top, rides back down to ride with me, providing welcome distraction and encouragement! Once we reached the plateau, we ride over a combination of grass and trails for a few miles before belting downhill to the village of Zabljak, which sits in the middle of Durmitor National Park.Durmitor National Park is an amazing destination for adventure and isolation. It has tens of 2,000m plus peaks, numerous hiking trails, high alpine lakes, the 1,000m deep Tara Canyon – Europe’s deepest – and some of Europe’s best white-water rafting.
Knowing it to be our final ride, and with the hardest day behind me, I wake feeling strong and ready to go. We start with a short detour into Durmitor National Park, where I buy a cupful of forest berries from a woman who has foraged for them this morning. A quick walk takes us to a perfectly still lake which flawlessly reflects the parks high peaks above us.
Detour over, we get down to business and a long, slow climb to a pass on the southern side of the National Park. Flanked on both sides by spiky peaks, it is possibly the most beautiful morning of the trip. Once at the col, we zip down a sealed switch-back road, before a prolonged descent through beautifully sculpted limestone rocks to our final stop.
I had wondered whether mountain biking in Montenegro would give me a strong sense of place; whether one trail would be just like another. But its identity is tangible. Right now, travelling through Montenegro is like travelling through the Eastern Europe of 20 years ago, while benefiting from the culinary influence and climate of the Adriatic.
Which is why you need to get out there, be it on bike or foot, before the EU turns up and seals up all the cracks, turning this rough diamond into a generic Mediterranean clone.
