I could hardly believe that I was actually attempting to reach the Croatian islands (170Km - 100miles) on my 25 year old 'Rog' bicycle , complete with tyres 'Made in Yugoslavia'.

The first leg of the trip, starting at 1800h on Friday 10th July 2009, went without any major hitches; the bike that I got for free from a friend riding smoothly. The only challenge being to my stamina, on the gentle but long hills south of Ljubljana. My stamina held up well, and along with a positive psyche, brought me to the typical mid-Slovenia village of Velike Lašče (Velike Lashche). Well into dusk, with nightfall rapidly approaching, I came to the edge of the old village, amongst small fields of horses, foals, cows, picturesque farm houses, and the odd barn. I decided to knock on the last house of the village before my 'B-road' route through hills and forest, in the hope of gaining permission to camp beside a nearby barn. My confident Slovenian greetings were met by a friendly family, who gave me half permission to camp, next to a barn that wasn't theirs. However, soon after, the young car mechanic, Miha, came and offered me to stay in their "little house". Of course I accepted - this turned out to be a cute wooden summer house, beside the main house, and mean looking, but nice dog. After a welcoming 'pivo' (beer) and warm meal (tortilla wraps - not quite traditional, but anyway), we sat in the summer house with a couple of locals. Miha and Marjeta, a very nice couple, were great and spontaneous hosts. Their kindness was topped off with 2 extra beers for my journey, "as reserve"! And with that it was Lahko noč (goodnight) 

The next morning I awoke fresh and thoroughly rested, with the bright morning sun shining though the small windows of the wooden summer house. During breakfast I got to know the nice, and eccentric dog a little better: my bag fell off a chair and out rolled a beer - the mutt then proceeded to jump on the can and tuck his teeth right into it, then started drinking from the ensuing fountain! What could I do? I helped him finish off the breakfast beer.. one for the road.

I had rode a mere 15 meters (sorry, metric is better) up a gentle hill, when disaster struck. My pedals locked solid and I almost toppled off the bike in the haste. After several attempts at changing gear and moving the chain, I was forced to free wheeled back down the hill from the edge of the forest, to the last house of the village again. Miha and Marjeta's mother was met at the door by the unshaven figure of a young man on an adventure, with oily hands and a "slight problem". I could not have expected the kindness that was about to be bestowed upon me. This woman, after calling around several bicycle service shops, took me 10 km by car to the next town, 'Ribnica', then back home for lunch while we waited for the repair that she then paid half of! All this from somebody who had only just met me and would probably never see me again, quite amazing! At this point it was 1pm, and only the beginning of the long hard road ahead.

Ribnica' village is nestled in a large valley. Coincidentally, the change in my route, caused by the breakdown, turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Instead of a B-road through huge hills and forest, a main road through the green and beautiful valley better suited the capabilities of 'Upica' (upitsa - 'Little hope'), my newly named, middle aged, red rocket, Rog bicycle. Well, for now...
I enjoyed the sunny views of corn fields, forested hills and old farmhouses, for the 20Km leading to 'Kočevje' (kochewye), a medium sized town in the central southern part of Slovenia, in the region of Dolenjska.

The only things standing between me and Croatia were a few villages and gentle rolling hills, or so I thought! After a few kilometers the going got rapidly tough, with a long, quite steep climb around a forested hillside. Midway I was pushing myself hard, when I was forced to learn an important lesson: just because Upica the bike is the same age as me, doesn’t mean it can take the same strain. I was pushing hard, when suddenly a pedal bent out of place. Upica was just about ridable.. I wondered what to do next.
I wisely thought it better to continue slowly to the next village before attempting any repair. I arrived in ‘Stalcerji’ after a long, fast downhill freewheel of about 7km. There I dismounted and set about standing on the pedal to try and bend it back, then, of course… SNAP! There goes my hope of making it to Croatia, along with my pedal! The only thing I could do was walk a bit with my pedal in hand and think about how stupid I always am to attempt a repair, only to make things three times as bad!
The couple I approached directed me back to the last village for a bicycle service shop. Despairing at the thought of the 7km (4 mile) climb back up the hill, I told them I would walk and asked if it would still be open, looking desperately on. Then they told me, in Slovenian of course, to go into the village we were beside, but I only understood a little of where exactly they said to go. After wandering the streets for about 15 minutes, pedal in one hand, guiding Upica with the other, they drove by (almost laughing at me, with cheeky grins) and pointed out where I should go, their house!

I left their big grand house a little later, on Upica, a bit tipsy, and thoroughly amazed with how good and kind people can be! This trip was just getting better and better! This family had talked to me for a couple of hours about my adventure, their farming work, and life in general. We had drunk coffee and wine under the garage while it rained outside, and most importantly – the husband (a dead ringer for Ray Winstone), had replaced the broken pedal with that from another old ‘sport’ Rog bike. Wonderful!

After the afternoon rain shower, I was off again, fantastic! From then on it was cautious riding, having learned the limits of Upica, still with ‘little hope’. It was a mostly downhill, winding road, through forest, with cool humid air, all the way to the border.

The border town of ‘Brod na kupi’ lies in a very deep valley, and takes its name from the river on which it sits, ‘Kolpa’, in Slovenian. Kolpa divides Slovenia and Croatia along much of its length, representing a large natural Shengen border. This small border dwelling seemed like a good place to stop and freshen up, in the cool clean Kolpa river of course.

It felt great to make it to a foreign country by bike for the first time, especially on such an ‘old timer’, with Ljubljana printed on the side in large blue letters; people could see how far we’d come!

Upon leaving ‘Brod’, there stood a fearsome sign: 10% incline After a wise pit-stop at the foot of the mountains (no other way to describe them), for much needed water, and even more needed chocolate, I braced myself for what was about to come. This (albeit comparatively small) mountain range, rises more than 1200m above Kolpa valley, grand and shrouded in deep green forest. The going was immediately tough. I pushed harder and harder, until I reached the potential breaking point of a pedal. I didn’t need that for a second time, I had learnt my lesson; I got off the bike and started walking. A heady combination of hiking and cycling followed for the next 3 hours, covering only 9 km, but rising over 1.2km up into the mountainous middle heights. I finally arrived at the peak, a town called Delnice, at 2100h, having matched the average speed of 3 Slovenian cyclists, riding much more appropriate, professional trekking bikes.

With a yellow, orange, turquoise and blue dusk sky dimly illuminating a plain indistinctive Croatian town, it was time to hunt for an improvised camp site, and fast. Internally I debated whether to stay close to the town, or to venture further out into national park pine forest. Finally I opted for the best of both worlds, a forest clearing about 250 metres from a petrol station, hidden but close enough to run for help should the worst happen. So, after hastily half erecting the tent, without the porch or guy ropes (in case of a quick exit) - in the last remnants of the deep blue dusk din - I tucked into a travellers’/drunks’ typical dinner: pate, crusty bread and beer. After that nutritious dinner, whilst settling into my recently acquired medica, I heard an unwelcome visitor.

The low grumble of a diesel engine trundled seemingly up the nearby path, the engine was switched off about 10 meters from my tent …

At this moment I literally froze …

I actually didn’t move for about 20 minutes. By now it was 10:30pm - not so late - had I been caught?

I expected flashlights, stern official voices, footsteps, something! - Instead, nothing. … Just the sound of one car-door open, and then close, thud. Then cold hard silence. …

I could have lay there, still and awake all night, not knowing what lay beyond the bushes and vegetation. …

After 45 minutes motionless I lost patience, I had to investigate! Carefully, slowly and periodically I unzipped the door of the tent under the cover of the occasional passing traffic noise. I sniped and crawled along the forest floor, commando style. Right by the path my cover was almost blown; a fox was disturbed by my movements and jumped out in front of the stationary Volkswagen sitting on the path. At that moment the light flicked on inside - I held my breath …

Phew! The VW Golf was a battered 25 year old shed, absolutely not a police car looking for an illegal camper. Inside the windows were all steamed up, this could only mean one thing. What a relief! I strolled back to camp, climbed into my tent, and 100 times more relaxed, drank medica, listened to music, and fell into a blissful drunken sleep.

I didn’t know what time it was when I was roused from sleep by the distant sounds of early morning traffic. It had been a peaceful sleep until the early hours, when I tossed and turned on the hard and lumpy earth, catching short 45 minute bursts before stirring again with cramps and aches. When I finally crawled through the door, I was greeted by a bright sunny morning and cool heavy dew. After the usual morning routine - breakfast of the same makeshift ingredients as the previous night, brushing my teeth and washing with the remaining half litre of bottled water, taking a morning (how to put this) toilet break in the bushes - I packed-up camp in preparation to leave. It had been a fun and hair-raising at times first experience of camping alone in the woods, and definitely wouldn’t be the last.

It was time for the final push. There would be more climbing in the morning to come to Gornje Jelenje, then as i’d heard from the locals, a heavenly cruise all the way down to the coast, and islands.. hmm, I could almost taste success. When I got there, I was going to dive straight into the Adriatic!

I left Delnice in Bermuda shorts, flip flops and nothing else; hardly appropriate cycle-wear, but perfect for the beach! After some flat cross country riding, I hit the hills again, some quite hard going but steady climbing ensued, nothing compared to the mammoth trek of the previous day. The vast majority of the time I stayed on the bike, as opposed to walking and pushing, not to break another pedal. However, it was hotter than the previous day, a relatively cool 23oC top temperature replaced by a scorching 29oC, in the morning!

Around mid-morning a welcome break came in the form of a beautiful oasis; Jezero Lokve is a clear blue lake with white sandy shores, lying in a vast valley near Gornje Jelenje. Without a doubt it is a spectacular view, and apparently a good spot to camp, but my sights were set lower, literally; I was headed for sea level!

After a couple more hours of determined pedalling, a splendid sight entered my field of vision - emerging from the shimmering horizon, nestled in the mountain scrub, stood a luminous yellow road-sign that read Krk otok (island), left! Ahaa.. my long awaited destination! Following the customary photo of Upica, I mounted her for the descent.

There we stood in anticipation, over 1000m above sea level. A final check that the tent/sleeping-bag/rucksack were secure on the Yugoslavian stainless steel luggage stand - and we were away! We picked up speed quickly and were soon flying at about 60-65kph/ 35-40mph. Now this sort of speed on a 25 year old city bike, laden with a ton of luggage, can only be described as magnificent! Hitting the sharp bends was a total buzz, keeping the racing-line there was no need to break too much. As the speed built up even more the vast landscape opened up beneath us. The spectacular hilly islands hugged the jagged coastline and the lovely warm sea air rushed into my face, warming my tired bones and electrifying my senses, it was pure bliss. Thank goodness I had wrapped an old t-shirt around my nose and mouth because all the while wasps, bees and giant hornets were ploughing into my face and neck. I’m still a little nervous about riding a bike at high speed on a hot day after one stung me on the lip at 30mph in Zakynthos, resulting in horrible pain and huge swelling for three days.

So finally I came down to the picturesque coastal villages, I had covered 25km in less than half an hour. It was now 2 O’clock and a sweltering 34oC. I cruised for a while, over a small hilltop, to discover the ultimate prize of my first ‘Rog adventure’: the bridge to the Croatian island of Krk! We descended to the edge of the bridge, again a customary photo, then began the glorious ride at a leisurely pace across the enormous structure. Krcki Most is a grand bridge over the Adriatic Sea, with three huge arches. It connects the mainland with Krk island, via Sv. Marko, a smaller uninhabited rock. Once over the bridge I basked in the sense of achievement and contentment at the success of my expedition.

By this point I was ready to find a suitable place to settle, this came soon after in the form of an autocamp near the northern harbour town of Omišalj. I opted for a campsite now partly because of the strictly regulated, no illegal camping laws of the heavily touristy Croatian seaside, and partly because I desperately needed a shower! Although there wasn’t a welcome party waiting - we were greeted with lots of glances, smiles and a few waves, on our ‘lap of honour’ around the busy campsite. When she trundled over those stony paths Upica rattled like a bag of spanners (my dad used to say), invariably like old city bikes do. After stumbling on an ideal pitch, but before anything else, I jumped off the bike, ran straight into the sea and joyfully splashed around, washing all the oil and sweat off my body, it felt absolutely great.

Ahh, the next two days were spent purely relaxing; wandering around the town and lying on the beach. On the Monday, having left Ljubljana on Friday, we left for home. I rode a further 30km over the bridge and along the coast road to Rijeka. A stifling 40oC today was not for the faint hearted, but this time there were no broken pedals, or ball bearings, no real hitches. We made it smoothly to Rijeka with plenty of time to roll along its central streets, absorbing its busy atmosphere and pretty architecture. Waiting for the train, on the platform, I was engulfed by euphoria once more. It really felt amazing that this old bit of metal, a relic of Socialist Yugoslavia, had taken me on such adventures, enabled me to experience such kindness and hospitality from everyday Slovenians and Croatians, and of course that awesome flight down from the mountains.

So we boarded the Ljubljana bound train - Upica safely in her bike stand, with flowers from the Croatian island of Krk poking up from her luggage - and headed home.

Written by Will Dunn, writer for InYourPocket, essential city guides to over 23 European countries. Please visit www.inyourpocket.com/slovenia