30/03/2026
It started quietly, on a Friday afternoon in September.
The kind of day where the air already smells like autumn, but summer still lingers on your skin.
I left work early, stuffed three days of life into a single 30-liter bag, checked the tire pressure one last time, and rolled out of Radovljica with Zala.
No big send-off. No plan beyond “we’ll reach the sea.” Just two bikes, one road, and that slow pull of curiosity that makes you move.
We pedaled through Jesenice and into the valley that leads toward Kranjska Gora — a cyclist’s dream: smooth tarmac, steady rhythm, mountains watching from every side. The cycling path there really feels like a highway, but for cyclists.
The forecast promised rain that evening, but the sky held, atleast at the begining. We stopped in Kranjska Gora to fill our bottles, stretched our legs, and laughed at the fact that this was actually happening — our first real bikepacking trip. This time we were actually doing it. Multi day trip with nothing but one backpack. A mixed feeling of freedom, nervousness, and excitement at the same time.
Then, somewhere past the border with italy, the light began to fade. It wasn’t late yet, the sun was yet to set. But the clouds gathered like an audience waiting for the first crack of thunder.
We kept moving anyway, legs spinning faster, the smell of wet pine growing stronger.
We passed Tarvisio, caporoso and beautiful village of Valbruna. there was not many kilmeters left to Pontebba, where we would stay our first night. We though “maybe the weather will hold on?”
So we continued further. getting closer and closer to Pontebba.. until right at about 5-6kilometers to go, it really started turning. Not much at first — just a few polite warnings — until the heavens decided to empty everything at once.
Within minutes, we were drenched. Wind howled through the valley, and lightning cracked in the distance.
We pushed harder, half-laughing, half-panicking, until luckly a tunnel appeared ahead — dark, echoing, but perfect hiding spot at a perfect timing. .
We rolled inside, hearts pounding, dripping from helmets to shoes.
And there we were. Two cyclists hiding in an old railway tunnel, eating gummy bears while thunder roared outside.
Zala swore it felt like Kyrgyzstan all over again — that same wild electricity in the air.
But we waited there and laughed it off. Ate some more gummy bears and waited some more. But now, it was starting to get dark.
As soon as the rain softened a little, we climbed back on and rode the last stretch to Pontebba.
The town was quiet, washed clean by the storm.
Our guesthouse turned out to be a small pizzeria — warm, yellow light spilling onto the street. The kind of comforting place you see in the movies.
We carried our bikes into the garage, peeled off soaked layers, and headed inside where they warmly welcomed us.
We were showed to our tiny but cozy room for tonight. split beds didnt bother us that much – we were just passing by, and our standard has dropped since Kyrgyzstan trip, so it was more than perfect.
We showered with steaming hot water, and wandered downstairs where the smell of wood-fired pizza and smell of fresh pasta wrapped around us like a blanket.
Beer for me, Beer for her. Aperol for me, Aperol for her.
Hot food. Warmth. Laughter.
Eighty-five kilometers done, and one of those nights you never forget.
Next morning surprised us with breakfast — unexpected, simple, and perfect.
Coffee, bread, marmalade, that quiet hum of Italian small talk in the background.
We ate slowly, thankful for small gestures that make the road feel kind again.
And when we headed outside, blue skies and warm sunshine on our faces. The storm has passed, and the forcast promised some more late summer days.
We packed up everything in our one bag, and climbed on our bikes.
The next stretch was pure joy. From Pontebba down through the valleys, the Via Alpe Adria route flowed gently — thirty kilometers of effortless descent. That’s how a joy-ride looks like if i’ve ever seen one.
Mountains, valleys, rivers, and us.
The air turned warmer, the scent of the forests slowly giving way to vineyards and sun-soaked stone.
The rhythm of pedaling became meditative: breathe, push, coast, repeat.
Villages changed character as we went — alpine roofs flattening, shutters turning pastel, olive trees appearing here and there.
We stopped in Venzone, a postcard town rebuilt stone by stone after an earthquake, and lingered over a short espresso.
From there, the land stretched out flat toward Udine.
The heat rose, shimmering above the fields.
We left the official route now and then, taking detours through gravel paths and quiet country roads that felt like shortcuts but probably weren’t.
Sometimes the GPS led us astray, sometimes it was our stubborn curiosity.
Either way, it didn’t matter.
In Buja we paused for a cola and a coffee — the best kind of combination when your legs start to argue with your mind, and you need that gentle hit of caffeine and sugar at once.
By mid-afternoon, the sun was high, and we were running on sandwiches, water, and stubbornness. But we were slowly started to close in to our accomodation for the night.
We reached Brazzano near sunset.
Our “cheap overnight stop” turned out to be a villa — old stone walls, high ceilings, a room that smelled faintly of history and lavender. And paintings. So many paintings. I could swear you could barely see the walls as pictures were hanging literally everywhere.
We showered, stretched out on the bed, and stared at the ceiling for a long minute, smiling at the absurd comfort of it all.
Dinner was a short ride away, at a place called Waiting for Gandalf.
Ofcourse we picked it because of the name.
There, we ordered two burgers and one portion of fries, thinking we were being sensible. After all, we were cycling all day, for over 100 kilometers. One could guess we were hungry.
The fries came first. but they were served in a bucket. I could swear there was a whole kilo of fries alone. And the burgers were the size of a watermelon.
I tried my best. The burger won.
If I had to choose between finishing a burger, and cycling another 100k… I probably would have…hmm…
That night, with full bellies and tired legs, we fell asleep before finishing a single sentence.
The kind of sleep you only earn on the road.
By Sunday morning, the rhythm was set.
Wake up. Coffee. Small Breakfast. Check tires. Ride.
The final day — one hundred kilometers left between us and our finish line by the Adriatic.
We left the Via Alpe Adria behind and followed quiet roads through vineyards and sleepy villages.
The landscape shifted again — vines climbing sun-baked hills, cypress trees on the horizon, the faint scent of salt in the air.
For a while, everything was still.
Then came the coast.
The stretch from Sistiana to Trieste was stunning, but busy. If only I could pay more attention to the views.
Cars, tunnels, narrow shoulders — the kind of riding that keeps you alert but steals the peace.
We moved carefully, grateful for every small pause where the sea flashed between guardrails.
Trieste itself felt chaotic — loud, uneven, impatient.
We thought we would stop for a coffee, but didn’t. Just rode through, dodging potholes and city noise, eager to find some peace and quiet again.
Past Muggia, the world calmed back down. The road curved gently above the sea, cliffs falling away to turquoise water. Crossing back into Slovenia at Debeli Rtič felt like exhaling.
The final kilometers rolled by in silence.
No music, no talking — just the soft hum of chains, the sea growing closer with every turn of the pedals.
And then, there it was.
Plaža Žusterna in Koper – Our finish line.
Waves, laughter, sunlight.
We dropped our bikes, shoes off, feet in the sea. Well… we dipped ourselves whole into sea.
It wasn’t heroic or grand — just quiet, human, and deeply good.
Three days. Two bikes. One bag.
From mountains to sea.
From cold rain to warm saltwater.
From the first nervous pedal stroke to that still moment where it all makes sense.
Written from memory, on a quiet autumn evening —
the kind where the house is still, tea is warm,
and the legs remember just enough of the road
to make you wish you were back out there again.
@mihagrasic Cant wait for more bike trips!! Here are some memories from our last years 3 day weekend bike trip - second half of alpe adria route. With lovely @Zala Rauter ♬ Life is a Highway - Rascal Flatts
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