Island hopping amidst the Adriatic
Croatia is probably not the first place that comes to mind when you think of a mind-blowing cycling tour. But oh what a bike tour you’d be missing. Island hopping around the Dalmatian Coast. Climbs that last miles and miles as you look out over the azure blue waters of the Adriatic Sea. Only the freshest of fresh seafood and a distinct but warm old world culture. Whether on the classic Croatia bicycle tour or on the Croatia Pro Series bike tour, you are certain to be stunned. DuVine guide Justin Wuycheck certainly was:
The Dalmatian Coast is pleasant in late October. The lower sun gilds the waves of the Adriatic; limestone, hot white in summer, cools to reds and tans in the softer light. Evenings demand a coat. Locals still wander the streets but the revelries have gone indoors and the evening congregations of singing young Croatians have dissipated from the harbor. The mood, over a bevanda or pivo, or even the grape spirit rakia, is contemplative.
Time to think of a truly great bike ride.
Andro Tartaglia, a colleague and friend, is in the same state of mind and suggests a ride up to Sveti Jure. His voice expands with pride as he explains the climb to me. It is among the hardest in Croatia. He had only done it once, on a mountain bike, when he was fit. He shows me on a map. “We can start here in Makarska. Then, we ride.”
Makarska is at sea level. The peak of Sveti Jure is at 1763m, or 5784ft, over a vertical mile. More net altitude change than the Mt. Ventoux from Bedoin. But it’s only 3.5 miles from the sea. The ride is looking interesting.
It’s comfortable at the base this mid-afternoon; traffic is light. Andro and I have agreed to a pact of non-aggression – this is a ride for hanging out on touring bikes, taking photos for work, and enjoying the scenery. Frankly, it’s the end of a busy season and we’re tired. We will break no records and write no legends. But it feels good to sweat.
We pass through the vineyards and olive groves that nestle at the lower altitudes, winding our way along a secondary road that could lead a person beyond the coast and into Bosnia. The Adriatic is blue, the sky is blue. Cars pass at a safe distance. We turn left onto the tertiary road to Sveti Jure. It winds through a protected area so we climb comfortably in the shade of a pine forest. The road crisscrosses through the woods onto a rock wall hundreds of feet high. Picture time. I snap photos of the sea, of the cliffs that before loomed above us (and that are now level with us) of Hvar Island and the rugged mountains that make up Palješac Pennisula.
Wholesome island food.
There’s a horse farm at the top of the wall, and the gradient lessens to a gentle rise on an odd plateau, all stones and scrub. It does not at all feel barren – it feels starkly alive – it just feels isolated. Few cars pass us on the small road as we meander inland. The road kicks up again onto a 750 meter section around 12%; out again, paralleling the sea. The road is a guard rail, a rock slope, and a cliff one thousand feet and more above Makarska. The islands are below us now, the lowering sunlight is gleaming on the sea. Another stop, and the air is cold at 3900 feet; sweat is cooling a little too quickly. We have biked 20 kms so far, a little over 12 miles. I think to myself, “Hey, the last 10kms with another plateau, almost there!” Andro is feeling fine, too.
In the shade it becomes uncomfortably chilly, and the sunlight really is yellow now. It creates long shadows with crumbled shepherd huts, and no longer reaches into the pocked limestone terrain. There are basins and depressions; we see two horses in one of them with no apparent exit.
We turn a corner or crest a rise (In my memory it doesn’t matter, only the view) and Sveti Jure greets us, a long distance away, still a thousand feet above us. I thought we were doing so well, but seeing that peak in the light….
Descending cyclists don’t help. They are covered in extra gloves and scarves and have covers on their shoes. Andro and I have none of this. “It’s about 0 degrees at the top.”
“Just cold enough for snow,” I’m thinking.
They wish us luck.
The road jabs under us a few times, quick rises to stifle momentum, and then becomes a shadowy road on a cliff. There is no sea, no intimation of warmth, only a grey, cold valley below us, and an expanse of mountains, bright and distant.
From the sea to the mountains in the Croatia.
Two hikers returning to their car nod as we go by. Two kilometers left, all in the sunlight, which makes little difference now. The percentage goes beyond 8 or 9%. A wind vibrates the brown, dried grass on the side of the road.
The peak is a ridge – enough space for a road with a blocky outcropping at one end where rests a radio tower. The sea is beautiful. It is a bright yellow now. The colors of Hvar Island and forested Paljšac are only black against the Adriatic. Behind us, the distant ranges of the central Dinaric Alps are illuminated. There is little exultation, no excited euphoria, no “personal connectedness” – it is much too cold for that. But we linger because it is so beautiful, even as the breeze is cooling the sweat on our skin. A few pictures more. A moment more.
The descent is painful, shivery. My hands go numb and frosty. The undulations on the plateau are worse going down than up in this chill. We shudder past the horse farm and then – the sunset all red and orange as seen from a curve on the rock wall – stop again. It is only cold here and we can laugh a little bit. “Oh. Oh,” Andro jokes.
The forest is dark and quiet. The secondary road is almost darker. A wind has developed.
At the car, we shudder and pack the bikes very quickly. The heat is on as we talk about a good meal. Rakia is mentioned, praised; it is a rakia night we say.
In Split two hours later, our spirits have changed. No rakia is needed. We are a little healthier than we thought, a little stronger than we thought. And thankfully, still hungry. We order freshly caught fish, grilled with lemon juice and garlic. It is delicious. We order a bottle of local Grk wine as well, a white. It is also superb, served at a perfect temperature, slightly chilled.
