Heading north, we can see Sobotka Mountain in the distance. That’s the great thing about cycling – you can sometimes see your destination and head towards it. But it doesn’t come at you too fast; you have time to drink it in. The rolling foothills leading to Sobotka and the family-run hotel where we’ll spend the night vary enough to give interest to the ride but are without major inclines. Conversation turns to the mysterious ancient monuments found on the slopes of Sobotka and what role they may have had in the lives of the Pagan and Celtic peoples who once lived here.
As we leave Sobotka in the cool calm of the following morning, I calculate that we’ve ridden almost 340kms (211 miles). It sounds like quite a distance when I write it now, but the characters, the conversations, and the camaraderie eased the distance into the background. The cycling in this wonderfully varied terrain is fantastic. I know these quiet country lanes that meander their way through a countryside virtually unchanged from yesteryear, like the back of my hand (which now has a strange tan line in the shape of a cycling glove).
Our pace slows as we close the distance to Wroclaw, perhaps to prolong the experience as much as possible, perhaps to harmonise with the tempo of life here. But I believe it’s actually because, after a week on a bicycle one can’t help but to slow down, to relax, to live in the moment, and wish it to continue.