Croatia Women's Rally - Part 2

14-12-2025

Day 2 – Route abandoned

Sadly, sleep didn’t come. Instead, I was rolling left and right in bed, embracing the familiar yet unwelcome feeling of getting sick. Runny nose, itchy sinuses, sore throat, you name it. I managed to doze off a couple of times, but only for half an hour at once.

When it was late enough to justify getting up, my watch reported a body battery of 28 and just about 3 hours of total sleep, of which some must have simply been me lying awake. I was exhausted. I knew my plan to get to Cres that day was shot. It would be another 140 km with over 2,500 meters of climbing, while at that point I just hoped I’d be able to ride at all...

With my leftover pizza gone off, just because I’d forgotten to put it in the fridge, I went shopping. I bought some mini croissants, cookies, ride snacks (all glory to the gummy bears!) and drinks. I barely managed to force down a handful of pastries and swallowed an aspirin tablet I got from Mia. With time inevitably passing, I changed into my cycling kit, pulled my overshoes on as the roads were still wet after the overnight storm, and went out to meet the rest of the girls staying in Bakar.

Riding out of town, I led the group uphill, keeping the pace low. I was breathing hard and sweating like crazy. On the descent back to the seaside via Jadranska Magistrala, I felt like all the power I pushed went into nothing. Air resistance and tire drag seemed to overpower gravity. Halfway down, I checked traffic behind, signaled a rotation, and coasted to the end of the group.

When we turned onto a slightly undulating gravel path along the shore, I was half relieved, half anxious. The internal pressure of speed vanished, but something else immediately grew. The discomfort of off-road. The trail was rugged, requiring huge amounts of full-body work, both up and down. It also seemed to rise, ever so slightly, with a scarp almost glued to its right side, dangerously inviting a fall. It was the first “I’m not having fun right now” moment. And then, at some point, I noticed my off-bike shoes, which I've tied to my saddle bag, were missing. Great. Quick analysis: no, I’m not backtracking this wretched path. I’d buy myself some flip-flops at the earliest convenience. Let the Croatian gods have these barefoots. I never liked them anyway.

After what seemed like an eternity, we slowly rolled into the town of Kraljevica. There, I noticed a cash machine! And it seemed to be working! On a Sunday! A miracle! At least my money problem was solved. I withdrew some cash, and without loitering we started moving again. On the first hill leading out of town, the rest of the girls started riding away from me. My legs seemed to get weaker and weaker with every minute.

When we hit the gravel part of the uphill, I almost stopped moving forward. All the remaining strength I had was being spent on keeping my line and balancing the bike. I started skidding and sliding around. Then, suddenly, I heard a very slight “TAP!”

I stopped and inspected my bike. Everything seemed intact. Tires had air, brakes and shifters worked as expected. I looked around, and there it was, about 5 meters behind me: the bag with all my money and documents. I was so distracted that I didn’t notice I had forgotten to zip my side pocket after withdrawing the cash. Gosh! I was lucky I heard it hit the ground.

I turned around, picked it up, cross-checked five times that I had everything in my (zipped this time) pocket, and started chasing the others. It was futile. I really didn’t have any strength. Thankfully, the girls waited for me at the top of the climb. Despite the gloomy overcast sky, the view of the bay and the Krk Bridge was spectacular. My mood, however, wasn’t good enough to appreciate it at the time. I took a couple of quick photos and followed the rest into the descent.

The path was technical, but no more difficult than the things we’d ridden the day before. Yet I found myself fighting for my life. My bike jumped left and right, up and down. I tried to gain some speed to increase control, but my body was too weak to handle it. In the end, I rolled down at a snail’s pace, appalled by the quality of my riding. “I’m not having fun right now” quickly transformed into “I’m not feeling safe right now.”

When we arrived at the bridge, I pulled up to the group.

Hey, I think I’m gonna stick to the road today. I don’t feel very well, I don’t have enough strength to handle the bike off-road, and I just don’t feel safe.

We crossed the bridge and I waved the girls goodbye as they turned toward another gravel segment, while I stopped to draw my route to Vrbnik. It was starting with about 3.6 km of the main road. Not great, not terrible. But at that point, I’d have picked a highway over gravel. I joined the traffic, folded into aero position, and started pedaling.

I wasn’t getting any of my strength back, of course. My power was still oscillating around the border of high endurance and low tempo, and I still felt very unwell. But I was regaining control of my ride. The familiar road environment slowly began pulling my confidence back up. Even navigating traffic felt safe - listening to cars coming from behind, deciding which ones sounded dangerous enough for me to move toward the center of the road and force them to slow down, and which approached cautiously enough that I could hug the curb and let them go.

By the time I turned onto the road to Čižići, I started having fun. The undulating terrain provided enough variety for me to enjoy the ever-changing gradients. The opposite lane was fully packed with cars, mostly German and Croatian, jammed in traffic leaving the island. A clear sign of the holiday season coming to an end. Some drivers looked at me with envy; some seemed straight baffled as I passed them, riding no-hands, with my arms stretched wide in a sign of joy.

At last, I arrived in the village. It was quiet, with very few people on the streets, already settling into off-season slumber. I stopped at a nearby café. Speaking half Polish, half Czech, with a sprinkle of English, I ordered a double espresso. Sadly, the barista spoke only Croatian and German, and as a result, I soon had two cups of americano in front of me.

Just as I was wrapping my coffees up, ready to depart, I saw the rest of my morning group pull up to the neighboring restaurant. I paid for the coffee, thanked the barista, and joined them. They told me the trail our original route followed was very muddy, coarse, and hard to ride. That made me happy with my choice. Of course, I was experiencing some level of FOMO, but I also knew battling with terrain would only bring me anger and anxiety. I skipped lunch, just watching everyone else eat. I knew my stomach too well, and with one more steep climb to come, I preferred to stick to snacks. I’d eat my big meal in Vrbnik.

In the meantime, Erkuden arrived. She had started earlier near Klana, skipped the Platak mountain, and arrived here by riding through Rijeka. I guess everyone was making the Rally their own. But - she found my shoes! I didn’t have to buy new ones after all.

As Flo was finishing her lunch, she asked if I was still sticking to tarmac, as she was considering doing the same. I confirmed, told her my plan to get to Vrbnik, and that when I get there I'll see what to do next. I was still hoping to get at least to Baška that day, but I felt it wasn’t going to happen.

We split from the group, wished them good luck, and set off toward the climb out of Čižići. From the elevation profile I knew it was going to be steep. But pedal after pedal, meter after meter, alternating between sitting and standing when the gradients shot over 10%, I made my way up. I started feeling better. Even the clouds broke a little, letting blue skies and sun appear.

When the road flattened, Flo overtook me. I might have been faster on the steep hill, but the flat and slightly descending road was definitely her domain. I hopped on her wheel instantly, matching her acceleration with an adrenaline rush. Within seconds I knew I could trust her wheel. I moved closer. As we rode, she kept turning her head every several seconds.

I’m good at drafting! - I shouted. You don’t need to look back!

Without a word, she accelerated. Keeping bare 20 cm between our wheels, I matched her every move, every side swing, every brake and surge. We were flying, together, in this silent ballet of speed and trust. I was on cloud nine. This was peak cycling bliss.

In that time trial of two souls connected in a train of draft, we were racing against the darkening clouds. We were less than 4 kilometers from our tentative destination when the drizzle started. By the time we reached the intersection with the road leading down to the town center, it was steadily raining. Within seconds, the rain turned into a downpour. It rained so heavily I had to take off my glasses to see anything. I passed Flo instantly, as the road spray from her wheels made it impossible for me to ride behind her, and I was much quicker anyway, even with water freely flowing across the entire road.

The whole descent lasted only about 2 minutes. But it was more than enough to get soaked through and through. My hair was dripping from under the helmet, my butt was sitting on a drenched chamois, I even had a puddle in my shoes despite wearing rain covers since the very morning. The only dry part was my upper body. Once again Shakedry had shown it's superiority over any other rainproof material.

We sat in a restaurant in the old center. While drinking a hot beverage and eating well-deserved ćevapčići, I watched my bike being flooded by downpour after downpour. We quickly decided to call it a day and book a room as close to the restaurant as possible. Being that soaked, I didn’t want to risk anything. I knew getting drenched it wasn’t going to make me any healthier.

After a very long, hot shower, we waited for Fiore, who was sharing the room with us. In the evening, we took a short walk around the picturesque town and headed for another meal. I already felt deprived of vitamins, and opted for a huge salad instead of another pizza.

Going to bed, I took the anti-fever drugs I got from Bea from our support car. I felt better, yet I had a hunch that the night would have a different story to tell.

Day 3 – How to climb 1800m with ear inflammation

I slept better than the night before. I was still waking up frequently, but it was easier to doze off again. But when I finally woke up in the morning, I knew I needed to find a doctor that day. I had a terrible throat ache on the left side, and I felt a familiar pressure in my left ear. I needed antibiotics.

Still undecided about which route to pick, I dressed up and went on a hunt for breakfast. Getting croissants at the bakery and some drinks and gummies at the market, I met the girls from the day before. They were already leaving for Baška. Apparently, there were a lot of us staying in Vrbnik that night. I was being stopped for a greet and a short chat every couple of steps. Almost everyone in the rally had already heard I was sick, so with each encounter I was asked how I felt and if I needed any help. It was such a wholesome and heart-warming feeling!

Walking back up to the room, I was breathing heavily, with my heart rate spiking. I was so weak. I decided to listen to my body and stick to tarmac once again. I hoped I’d be able to get up the hills I needed to climb that day. Support of the group was one thing, but it were still my legs alone that had to do the riding. Battling for traction, especially with a promised hike-a-bike, were not in the cards for me. I wanted to trust my body, listen to its needs.

With a quick Google I found a private doctor’s office in Baška and a public one in Krk. The former required a detour and backtracking a 300-meter climb; the latter had... unfavorable reviews. I added the detour to my route. I also figured I could add another one, easily skippable, to Stara Baška. I wanted to have the option to see more places the original Rally route went through. I also plotted my track all the way to Cres. If I wasn’t feeling good enough, I could end my day anywhere before.

That way my planned route grew to almost 100 kilometers with 1800 meters of climbing. My gosh. It looked terrifying in my condition, but I had to make my way to the doctor. I wasn't ready to put down the sword and use the support car without trying. I drank another serving of ketoprofen, put a buff under the helmet to protect my ear, and rode away.

The route started with a steep climb out of the harbor. A kilometer in, and I already knew I had to take the buff off. My head started boiling underneath it. I decided I’d be putting it on only for descents. I took a goodbye photo of Vrbnik, waved it farewell, thanked it for the wet, yet warm welcome, and started going uphill again.

I rode very slowly, making good use of my wide-range cassette I’d bought before the trip. Also, I was riding alone. I hoped I would bump into some of the girls where our routes crossed, and I knew that if real trouble came, I could count on them for help. But for now, I was alone on my ride.

Still feeling a little feverish, I climbed unhurriedly, soaking in the morning sun. But I didn’t feel like I was dying. So when the intersection came, I decided to turn left, climbing a bit more before descending to Baška. I knew I had the whole day ahead of me, and that if I paced myself correctly, I could definitely climb back from the harbor.

I rode very conservatively, keeping my power low and cadence high, allowing myself not to accelerate when I got passed by e-bikes. Soon I reached the top of my first climb. Stopping, I put the buff back on my head and dropped into a descent. Twisty and fast at first, then flattening and requiring a fair bit of pedaling to get to the bottom of the valley. The views at the top were stunning, but I figured I’d have the opportunity to take some photos on my way up, as this was a cul-de-sac as far as tarmac goes. I didn’t want to break my downhill rhythm.

In the town, I navigated to the location the girls shared in the WhatsApp group. They seemed happy to see me alive, and I was happy to talk to someone. Their route was apparently quite difficult, but amazingly scenic, and now they had stopped for some ice cream and a swim. I didn’t stay long. I was on a mission. Hoping we’d see each other before Cres, I hopped back on my bike and, and rolling slowly along the promenade, set my direction toward the doctor’s office.

It was a private tourist ambulance. Tiny but sufficient. A young, very handsome doctor invited me inside and, in perfect English, asked about my symptoms. I described them all, and quickly added which antibiotics do not work for my ear infections. The doctor looked at me, half baffled, half impressed, and examined my ears. After a long while he finally pulled back, looked at me, and said:

Well, I can’t see anything inside, it’s inflamed so much. I’m gonna give you an antibiotic.

I agreed, relieved. It would have been easier and faster to just tell him “yeah, this is what I need” instead of dancing around and hoping he'd get to the same conclusion as I did. Oh, well. I thanked him, got the prescription, and went to pay. The nurse looked at me, then at my bike waiting outside, then back at me again, and with a soft voice full of care and concern said:

Please, do not ride your bicycle...
I don’t have any choice, - I replied. I need to get to Cres today.

She looked at me with compassion and waved goodbye.

The climb back to the pass went significantly better than I anticipated. The flatter bottom part led through open terrain with sparse buildings. I pedaled gently, fully enjoying the scenery, the sun, and the road. A little higher, beyond the villages, the road steepened. I was enjoying myself so much I completely stopped paying attention to my legs. I felt so happy in that setting that I didn’t notice I’d started accelerating. Ever so slightly, but noticeably.

Reaching the very top, I saw red on the elevation profile. “It’s gonna be steep,” I thought. “Let’s just do it leg after leg, one crank after the other.” Spinning, I entered the sharpest part. I felt... good. Riding purely on vibes and letting my legs choose the cadence, I crested the climb, taking photos in the last kilometer when the view toward the valley opened up.

Later in the evening I would look at Strava and see that I’d pushed almost at threshold for 5 minutes, and that I’d ridden the steeper half of the climb at high tempo, like I usually do. But back then it wasn’t important. What mattered was that despite being sick, despite feeling unwell and weak, I had fun. I enjoyed the ride, and I wanted to do more of it.

As you might expect at this point, I took the road to Stara Baška. I figured I could always turn around, but mostly I hoped to catch someone to ride with, since the rally route merged with mine there. And indeed, while riding back up from the harbor, I met the other Patrycja, climbing the steepest part of this stretch. She told me a little about the hike-a-bike I’d skipped, about scouting for the path on the plateau, and about the incredibly technical descent that followed. At that moment I was glad I’d missed it; there was no way I would have managed to haul my bike, weighed down with the luggage, up the steep, rocky trail while sick. But it left me with a small notch of discontent. Should I come back one day and make up for it?

The landscape here was markedly different from the parts of the island I’d ridden through earlier: barren, scorched. Grey rocks and brown shrubs contrasted sharply with the deep turquoise of the sea and the vivid blue of an almost cloudless sky. The sun was high and merciless; it was around 35 degrees Celsius with no shade in sight. Despite thriving in this kind of weather, I was wary of my dangerously low water level. I hadn’t refilled my bottles since leaving Vrbnik that morning, and they were about to run completely dry.

Chatting along, we rode back into the village of Punat. In its center, right by the large marina, we met other rally riders who were slowly wrapping up their rest. I also found a pharmacy around the corner, an ideal opportunity not to rush to Krk. While I was getting my medicines, Patrycja refilled our bottles in the local bakery. Then, we sat in the shade of the trees in a small park. I was already getting tired, but otherwise felt reasonably well overall.

We rode to Krk very unhurriedly. Road was mostly flat, with a very slight incline nearing the town, but we didn't rush. We had time, and we wanted to use it. To enjoy ourselves, our company, revel in the sun and a light, salty, humid breeze that cooled us down.

Sunburnt hills on the way back from Stara Baška

I rode some gravel, after all... fot. Patrycja Rucińska

The ferry ride was a very interesting interlude. Some of us used this time to socialize, laugh, and have fun. Some, to detach and unwind. Some took photos, and some simply rested. I just sat in silence in the shade of the cabin, away from the wind and sun. I knew that although it was already 5 p.m., the day wasn’t over yet. We still had 370 meters of climbing ahead, straight out of the ferry.

I didn’t really think about that climb. I decided not to plan it, to take it minute after minute. Incline started right away when we left the ferry, but the road felt very even, with no sharp ramps of flatter stretches. The sun was slowly getting ready to set, casting long, soft shadows across the golden-tinted terrain. I adjusted my gear, spun my legs up to a comfortable 85 rpm, and slipped into the zone. I didn’t pay attention to power, speed, or gradient. I just vibed. Riding solo once again, yet still surrounded by my new friends.

With no cars behind, guaranteed by the ferry schedule, I took some liberties, weaving across the road in search of better photos. Passing some other riders who’d taken the same ferry, I was cheering on them, waving and taking portraits. Time seemed not to matter. I felt no weakness, no pain. I was in my world. I was flying.

A little before the middle of the climb there was a short flat section followed by a slight dip. It threw me off my flow a bit instead of offering space to rest. The remaining 230 meters felt long. I wasn’t as nimble as at the beginning. My back started acting up. I stopped pedaling a couple of times to stretch. Even the landscape seemed to turn dull for some time, leading through orchards and bushes, without offering any view at the sea.

A bit before the top, I caught up with some girls from the previous ferry. Another round of portraits and goofing around with a company broke the monotony of the surrounding terrain. When I crested the climb, I stopped to put on a buff over my ears and a jacket on for the downhill, while trying to get some sheep to talk to me. Sadly, they seemed unmoved, and continued to munch on a grass without paying any attention to the sounds I was making.

The descent that followed was thrilling - fast, flowing, but with the road wide, completely safe. But by the time I reached the campground, I was barely moving my legs. When I finally rolled onto our common pitch, with 96 kilometers ridden and almost 1900 meters climbed, I collapsed.