Biking Solo in Hvar - Katherine Leamy

 

“Zdravo,” said the man setting up tables, smiling as he spoke. I tried my best to repeat the greeting, and to get my tongue around the “zdra” that seemed to roll together in a fusion of letters, completely foreign to me.

“Kavu, molim,” I replied, holding up one finger to make it clear that only one coffee was required. I’d practiced this phrase, which meant “coffee, please”, many times. But he could probably tell that explaining exactly what type of coffee was well beyond my ability. Grabbing a laminated page off the counter, he showed me the different options. I pointed to one that looked like a cappuccino.

Once outside, I picked a small table. There was no sun on this spot yet, so I pulled my jacket hood tight around my neck. When my coffee arrived, I cupped the hot mug in both hands, inhaling the smell of the strong brew, before taking a sip. I love that first taste of coffee. Rich, creamy, strong. With no distractions I sat and watched the world go by: shopkeepers busy putting their souvenirs out on display, a couple of runners heading towards the line of yachts moored in the harbour, some builders arriving at a nearby shop – perhaps doing last-minute renovations before the tourist season kicked in.

*

After the bike shop owner helpfully showed me a map and pictures of the hills, I decided that an e-bike was definitely my better option. But how I wish I’d practised on one before leaving home. Once I pushed the pedal, the bike lurched forward, nearly bucking me off. It was extremely powerful and when I wobbled, I realised how top-heavy it was. Nevertheless, I set off but within five minutes of riding, the weight of the falling bike pinned me to the ground. Wincing at the scrape of gravel on my leg, and blinking back tears of pain, annoyance and embarrassment, I was a flailing mess. As I frantically tried to wriggle out from under it, some kind locals ran up and rescued me, yelling out orders to each other. I tried to look nonchalant and pretended that my body and ego hadn’t taken a hit.

Back on and holding the beast firmly, I resolved that this damn machine would not beat me. Shakily waving to my rescuers, I biked with false confidence out of their sight. On a flat section of the road where, hopefully, I could come to no harm, I practised starting and stopping. A few minutes later, I’d figured out the knack of pedalling and setting the acceleration. A day of pure adventure followed.

I’d chosen the coastal route and the e-bike turned tough hills into tiny inclines, allowing me to pedal with ease while still covering vast distances. Despite it being a cold but cloudless day there were very few others around. For the next little while I rode down steep roads into fishing villages and back up around the sweeping curves of the landscape. It was bliss. 

But not so blissful was my rather painful bottom. Getting back on the bike each time after I’d stopped to take in the view, I winced with pain as the sharp seat jammed into my tender rear end and I had to brace myself as I went over bumps, rising out of the seat. At around 11 o’clock, I stopped for a coffee and considered my options. I had another six hours of cycling ahead of me. Should I turn back and give up? Or just suck it up? After enjoying my coffee, I lay down on a beach to consider my options. But the stones on the beach worked like a shakti mat on my bottom so I rolled up my lightweight merino sweater and sat on it for a few minutes. Dreading the painful moment of getting back on my bike, I’d just about resigned myself to turning back when I had an idea. 

Folding the sweater into a small rectangular pad, I shoved it down the back of my shorts before walking back up the beach in John Wayne style. Tentatively I hopped back on my trusty steed. The softness of the impromptu padding was exquisite to the extent that my day went from being a write-off to a ride-on. Occasional adjustments were required with some discretion, but all in all the padding was a resounding success. I didn’t care how my bottom looked. Comfort was king!

I wanted to visit two beaches in particular: Milna and Dubovica, which is touted as being the most beautiful beach in Croatia. I visited Milna beach first. The steady incline down the gravel road loosened all my joints, except those in my hands, which were holding on for dear life. It was a relief to park my bike and step onto the white, stony beach and enjoy the view. Sitting on the hard stones, I was spellbound by the turquoise water, amplified by the white stones and blue sky. I couldn’t recall seeing this kind of sea colour before; it was like the prettiest blue crystal, and I wondered if it had the same healing properties. I could feel it working its magic on me.