Croatia Women's Rally - Part 3

Day 5 – Reincarnated

The day started early. Too early. The plan for the day was ambitious - to get to Premantura. A bit over 135 km. To do that with a safe time buffer, we had to catch a 9 o’clock ferry from Porozina back to the Istrian mainland. The next one was leaving at 10:30. Doable, but we wanted to be safe and have ample time to fool around whenever we felt like it.

I set my alarm to 6. “If I clear my camp in one hour and make it to the ferry in another two, it’s a win. If not, I’ll take the next one and see where the road will take me that day,” I thought. I knew some girls had made it to the mainland the day before, and they reported the ride to the ferry takes around 1 hour 45. I had taken a full rest day, and the antibiotics were working, but I had no idea how my body would react to riding. The walk to the town I took the previous day was not strenuous, but it left me depleted by the end of it.

I did manage to do my morning routine fast enough, and at 7 I was already mounting my bike. Sadly, everything around was closed, so I hurriedly swallowed a tiny pack of cereal cookies I had from the day before. This would have to do for the moment. Avri, who slept in the room that night, had a set of croissants for me, but I had to get to the ferry terminal to get them. That meant that the first 25 km I would have to ride on a more or less empty stomach.

The climb was very gradual. It was still chilly, around 16 degrees, with heavy clouds hanging overhead. Still not feeling fully well, with a heavily runny nose and sore sinuses, I set a conservative, constant pace. On my left, in the distance between the island and the peninsula, I saw a fast-moving wall of blur, a clear indicator of a downpour. I assessed the wind and decided its direction was moving it away from me, but the feeling of uncertainty remained. Who knew if another one would chase me from behind?

When the road passed the main ridge of the island, the view to my right opened up. Morning light, hidden behind the clouds, made the spectacle unforgettable. Sadly, most of it was obscured by bushes, so only a few brief glances had to do.

In the meantime, I pulled out the energy gel Patrycja had gifted me two days prior. She found it lying on the trail and said she doesn't use them, whereas I am a gel-and-sugar monster while on a bike. I had meant to save it for an emergency. But this felt like one. Nearly two hours of racing against the clock on an almost empty stomach was not a particularly invigorating start to the day. I quickly opened it and squeezed.

The taste was atrocious. I looked at the package. Mint. Normally, that is one of my favorite flavors. But imagine a cup of mint tea where more than half the volume is sugar. Ugh. I stopped myself from spitting it out. I needed every ounce of energy I could get. I took my time to finish it, disgusted, and washed it down with a very generous amount of water.

When the road finally turned left and crossed the ridge again, the Bura wind hit hard. Blowing straight into my face, it was rapidly depleting what little energy I had left. I knew I needed to get to the ferry, and I needed to do it quickly. It was 8 o’clock, and it had taken me 50 minutes to ride only half of the route. I started feeling a little anxious. “Will I make it? That wind is making me so sloooow...,” I thought. What I hadn’t taken into consideration was the road profile. I was at over 400 meters above sea level. With just a small hill left to climb, what remained was a 10 km descent.

The downhill was exhilarating. I pushed against the wind as hard as I could, pedalling all the way down to the ticket office. I arrived precisely 1 hour and 22 minutes after I left the camping, more than half an hour before the ferry. I greeted everyone, as there were a lot of us waiting for that one! Grabbed my “premium croissants with premium delivery” from Avri and, starving, dug into one.

During the ctossing, once again I hid in the quiet and shade of the ferry cabin, sheltering from morning cold and wind. I took my meds, while slowly munching on my pastries. In silence, I was also mentally preparing for the rest of the day. The morning climb didn't feel so bad, but for sure I wasn't yet at my best. After a roughly half an hour we disembarked. I stood on the pier, watching the waves splash against the concrete as I've put some sunscreen on.

Climbing out of the ferry, I was on fire. The pastries fueled me well enough, and the paracetamol I took with them started working. The air grew pleasantly warm, and my spirits lifted. I raced up, not paying attention to anything but my happiness. On the descent that followed I was passed by the fast-moving “Party Train” - Paulin-Anna, Laura, and Claire, speeding down like the wind, vibing to the rhythm of music flowing from a Bluetooth speaker. I accelerated instantly and hopped on their wheels. Going up and down, following the road, rotating at the front, we worked together, making a really good progress.

Soon the track turned, and for the first time since I abandoned the official route on the Krk bridge, I entered a longer stretch of gravel. But it was different this time. A flat road through a wide, green valley, with a premium, “Gucci” surface. It was a perfect contrast to the rugged trails before, and an ideal opportunity to rebound from off-road mishaps from a couple of days back. We rode gently, laughing, talking, enjoying the scenery, and just having a great time. We caught up with some of the French “party pace” group.

Our small riding group grew, and at some point it became too big to keep a consistent pace. I got a little tired of the constant stops we were making. It’s just not my style. I needed to get my blood flowing. I ramped up, shifted into a harder gear, and immediately shot forward, riding away.

I rode alone, non-stop, for the next hour. First, the premium gravel shifted into a technical, undulating road. This part was really a great test for my balancing skills . Then the track rejoined asphalt and instantly shot up into a very stiff climb, maxing out at over 17%.

During that ride, I wondered whether I would eventually catch up with somebody else, or if a lone ride would be my fate for the remainder of the day. But when I rode into the village of Krnica, I saw a couple of our riders chilling in the shade of trees. They must have passed us when we stopped for coffee a while earlier. After a short break, I joined none other than Avri and Zoë as we returned to riding, together.

We were speeding through a little forest. Both sides of the road were shielded by thick walls of green shrubs. The surface was very fast - hardpack gravel with very few bumps and tiny ridges that allowed us to let go off the brakes. The shallow descent meant we didn’t have to control our speed at all. We reveled in this rapid run from the inland, laughing, and leaving a cloud of dust behind us.

Then the road suddenly turned, the trees opened up, and we arrived at the seaside, for the first time since leaving a ferry a couple of hours before. The water near the shore was of light teal color, transforming into deep azure farther out toward the open sea. It contrasted sharply with the grey and pale-brown, jagged rocks of the coastline. In the background we could see distant silhouettes of mountains. A light but noticeable scent of salt filled the fresh, damp air, quietly vibrating with the sound of gentle waves.

This was my first completely lucid arrival at the seaside on this trip. Not during the night, not while being sick and dulled in my senses, not in the bustling environment of a promenade. Not while racing against the clock to catch a ferry. This time it was just me, my friends, and the open water glistening in front of us. We didn’t rush. We moved slowly, deliberately, enjoying the soft breeze, the coarse surface under our wheels, and the time together.

While circling one of the tiny bays, we spotted a bunch of bikes lying in the grass - the girls were taking a swim! Avri and Zoë jumped straight into the water. I just took off my jersey and shoes, walked down to the beach, and sat down. Not a fan of seawater. Or any water colder than 35 degrees Celsius, for that matter. My last encounter with the Croatian sea, ten years earlier, lingered in my memory. I had been convinced to dip my knees into the water, and I remember the instant feeling of being frozen to the core. I didn’t want to risk it this time.

Listening to the calming sounds of waves gently brushing the rocks, I watched the rest of the girls bathing in water sparkling under the late summer sky. Then I shifted my gaze toward the mountains of Cres, far beyond the bay. I leaned back and closed my eyes, enjoying the sun caressing my skin. Beyond that, and the laughter we shared, nothing else seemed to matter.

We sticked together within our new, big group for the rest of the day. When we arrived in Premantura, the island of Cres felt so distant, both in time and reach. And yet, we had left it less than ten hours earlier.

Day 6 – To nude, or not to nude?

The beginning of the day took us through “Bea’s playground” — Kamenjak National Park. We were all wondering why she described it as “trails that feel more like a playground than a park.” We were just about to find out.

After a quick breakfast at a local café, we set off in search of the southernmost point of Istria. First, riding on concrete slabs and deteriorated tarmac, we finally transitioned to gravel. The road was wide, constantly moving up and down, crossing forested and open areas. After some time, a sharp section took us through shrubs and loose gravel onto a viewpoint at the very end of the Istrian peninsula. The view of the sea was incredible. Vast, open waters, with no land in sight, filled with boats of almost every size. All bathed in the softness of morning light. I wouldn’t ever want to miss this spot.

Then the route turned right, leading along the coast back to the north, again in and out of the forest. And this was where the real “playground” began. Technical passages requiring careful navigation around jagged rocks sticking out of the ground, tricky rock gardens, slippery slabs, tree-shaded singletracks covered with carpets of roots. Up and down. All of them challenging, all of them covered with the safety of shrubs lining the trail, and with gradients so shallow that any eventual crash would be at the speed slow enough not to pose a real threat. A playground indeed. These trails filled us with joy. It was so fun to play around a bit in this sandbox, navgating turns and crossing paths almost all the time. It also shown me my trail and techy game was back on. I did not hold back on my riding, but rather attacked every fearure with eagerness, confidence, and a child's enthusiasm. I was so back!

We were slowly nearing back to Premantura when someone shouted — a swim! The beach we were riding past looked so alluring, and so different: a very small patch of pebbly surface gently diving into a deep turquoise water, surrounded by mini-cliffs, promising a more adventurous swimming experience. We took the turn, and after a tiny hike-a-bike through a rocky treeline we arrived at one of the cliffs, far off the shallow beach part. While the rest of the group stripped into bathing suits and eagerly dove into the coolness of the midday water, I sat on the rocks, indulging in the warmth of the cloudless sky.

I gathered a bit of courage and brought myself to slowly dip my toes, and then finally my feet. My skin touched the soft ripples of the water. It felt pleasant, as the sea hugged my feet. But at the same time a shiver of cold traveled through my spine. Yep, that’s it. Ankles were as deep as I was going in. I dared not walk any further. I decided I’d leave deeper immersion for thermal baths. At least for now.

Lunch was a typical “bikepacker’s delight” that day. After a brief visit to a market in the very center of historical part of Pula, we sat in the shade of an ancient cathedral, munching on snacks we bought - chips, cookies, nuts, mini tomatoes... Chatting with a local guard, taking tons of pictures, adoring a stray cat and laughing, we had the time of our lives.

And yet, a subtle sadness started to creep in. We were six days into the adventure. Six long, eventful, and incredible days of sisterhood and new friendships. Now, as the fatigue and weariness of the ride started to build up, I started to feel that this journey was slowly coming to an end. It wasn’t there yet, at least not for two more days. But some part of me was already missing it.

When we started moving through Pula’s heavy midday traffic, I saw Patrycja and Agata riding some distance in front of us. I instantly downshifted, jumped on the pedals, and sprinted around the roundabout in a short but frantic chase. I think only Avri matched my acceleration. That’s how I inadvertently split the group we started from Premantura in thre morning, creating a new one in the process.

The road out of the city was busy and not bike-friendly. To exit the city faster, Patrycja and I were rotating at the front every now and then. And indeed, we rode fast and in the process quickly moved away from the heavy traffic of the main way to a series of promenades. A bit later, after we were back on a road, I've thrown one particularly long pull. We were all fed up with traffic that day, and very eager to move away from the tarmac. Riding single-file, we didn't talk much. But when the road turned back to gravel and started very gently ramping up, I looked back and saw only Avri there.

Well, fuck. That was it when it came to riding a larger train.

But thankfully, Avri was exactly the person I needed. Our speeds and fitness matched perfectly. We moved confidently through Istrian gravel and off-roads, however weary we were. First, climbing into the inland. Very gently, over the easy gravel road, transforming into sun-burnt grass and clay roads. We talked about how lonely and mentally taxing this stretch would feel during an ultra race. The silence, the monotony, the endless forward motion. How different it was now, the dull landscape softened by conversation and shared experience, by the simple luxury of not having to push the pace. We also talked our riding experiences. Technique on and off-road. Our riding philosophies.

The two of us rolled into the town of Poreč already tired and properly hungry, more than ready to join the others for a long awaited pasta and pizza party. The final dozen kilometers felt like an eternity. First, following an utterly deteriorated bike path running alongside the main road. Then we turned to the promenade, where we carefully slalomed around elderly German tourists on e-bikes. The adventurous parts of the day were long behind us. This was no longer exploration, just a mundane commute towards food. We dragged our legs, barely pushing on the pedals, not really having any willpower to ride. The only thing that kept us going was a clear vision of a pizza, and a perspective of reconnecting with other Rally riders.

After a deeply satisfying meal, the newly formed, big group wandered into the town center in search of gelato. Along with a dessert, we were treated to an enthusiastic monologue from the Italian owner of the gelateria, who, within minutes, had apparently devised a full business expansion plan into the mountain towns in Colorado. We listened, amused and slightly bewildered, nodding politely while licking melting scoops.

But the day still wasn’t quite over, as we had a few more kilometers to reach the campsite we had our eyes on. Waving goodbye to the eager Italian entrepreneur, we rolled back towards the road. Together with Andre-Ann, Linda, and Franziska, I stopped at a market to grab some basic supplies. A moment later, my phone buzzed.

I just saw a naked man on a bike. - Avri wrote

A few seconds passed. Another message followed.

Oh my god, two people are eating dinner naked. I think this is a nudist campsite.

Oh. My. Gosh. That, I wasn’t prepared for.

Five minutes later, we arrived at the huge gate, with a clearly visible sign of crossed-out clothes was obviously indicating the nature of this place. Sleeping at a naturist campsite was not on my bingo card for 2025, but here I was. Avri and Andre-Ann went into the reception to check us in, while I waited with our bikes. When they returned, pitch markers in hand and barely able to speak through laughter, Andre-Ann delivered the story.

This is a nudist campsite.
Yes, we’ve seen.
Clothes are STRICTLY forbidden.
Can I at least keep my bottoms on?
NO - the clothed receptionist replied.

Once inside the grounds, reality turned out to be a little less absolute. Only about half of the residents were actually naked. It was late afternoon, and the air had started to get a bit chilly. There was no way I would strip down. That day marked the first morning I didn’t have to take paracetamol to alleviate feverish feelings. I wouldn’t risk getting sick again. Rules or not, I stayed dressed.

Not to nude, it was.

Day 7 – Collapse and rebirth

About half an hour into the ride, I had to stop and repack my saddle bag. I packed it a bit in a hurry, being the last to wake up and get ready, throwing things in a little haphazardly. I could feel the bulge behind me and was a bit worried it would start getting heavy and rubbing against my rear wheel. The rest of the girls rode away, assuming I would quickly catch up, as usually.

But it wasn’t going to be that easy.

The truth was, I was exhausted. Not just tired from a single hard day, but worn down by a long season, by consecutive long days in the saddle, and finally by riding while sick. My legs felt totally empty, even though it was only the beginning of the day.

The first part of my chase led through orchards, quiet and idyllic, the kind of landscape that usually soothes me. The surface was smooth and forgiving, and despite feeling weak, I still had fun and felt some kind of joy from the ride. I could almost pretend things were normal. Almost.

As soon as I rejoined the main road and descended back to the sea level, a sharp gust of wind hit me from the right. I glanced at the map and sighed. Of course. That was exactly the direction I was heading.

For the next twenty minutes I battled the headwind and my indisposition. I was riding in a completely exposed area, on a levee that was slightly elevated above a canal, with no barrier to break the wind. Constantly switching between the taxiing aero hoods and a more relaxed, but slower upright position, I was pushing into the wind with everything I had. And I didn’t have much. Not even being able to hit Zone 3, it was an agonizing chase. Every muscle burned. Every part of my body screamed. I was helpless. Every minute of the chase felt like an eternity, and seemed futile.

I felt like giving up. I literally wanted to get off my bike, sit there in the dirt, and wait to be rescued by a knight in shiny white armor. Or Bea and Luca in the support car. But I pushed forward, fueled purely by willpower. Angry, I was repeatedly dissociating, only to get back to my body every now and then. But in the end, my resilience was finally rewarded.

First, I saw a cyclist on the horizon. Then another shape appeared. I dug a little deeper, found a few watts I didn’t think I had left, and slowly closed the gap. Soon enough, I caught Avri and Andre-Ann. From there, we slowly followed the road to Livade, known for its local truffle production.

Coffee was delicious. I ordered a cappuccino on a double espresso and downed it without hesitation. Then I finished Avri’s. She asked for the same order as me, but did not quite expect its strength. Justy before we wanted to set off Zoë joined us. Together, the four of us turned onto yet another old rail trail, this time gently leading uphill to the town of Grožnjan.

Whether it was the triple espresso I drank, or the uphill, or perhaps a little bit of both, I will never know. But I slowly started regaining my vigor. The easy, steady gradient helped me find my rhytm, and with it, the joy of movement. We rode forward, laughing, and slowly gaining elevation.

At one of the many photo stops, not far from the end of the climb, we saw Mia riding up, followed by Paulin-Anna, Laura, and Claire. We hopped on that train, or at least some of us. Mia was pacing, and boy, she was not holding back! The six of us made it to the top together, Avri and I included. We joined the race-pace party - Croatia Rally edition - very late, so it was only a short effort for me, but it proved something important. After that coffee stop, I still had intensity left.

In the town, it felt like a party. Multiple riders taking different routes arrived at a similar time, and the historic, picturesque plaza shaded by trees made for a perfect resting place. We took our time, knowing that the rest of the ride for the day would be mostly downhill from that point, with just a short flat section nearing the end of the route.

We laughed, goofed around, shared stories. Hugged local cats, took hundreds of photos. Some of us did a bit of sightseeing, and some bought and wrote postcards. The vibes were super chill, just like the town. There were still some tourists around, but most of the seasonal traffic was long gone. Similarly, I could sense the atmosphere of the Rally ending. It was like we didn't want to ride towards the end of the route, as it meant moving closer to our goodbyes. This sentiment felt very palpable.

The descent from Grožnjan was as wild as the end of the climb. This time it was Paulin-Anna who took the crown of leading the pack. The road was shallow, more a false flat than a true downhill. For most part of the gravel descent we held a steady 27–30 kph pace, following each other’s wheels closely, making full use of the aerodynamic draft. Pure flow. Pure efficiency. Moments like this are why I love cycling so deeply.

After the goodbye dinner, we sat in a circle on the promenade by the bay, already in the darkness of Slovenian night. A true display of sisterhood and friendships we had built over the week. We shared our impressions and emotions. Our fears and our joys. We allowed ourselved to be vulnerable in the presence of one another for the last time.

When I came here, I was afraid I wouldn’t find anyone willing to join me on the ride to the seaside on our first day. You may laugh, but that was genuinely my greatest fear.

But I found women crazy enough to share that ride with me. I also found a sisterhood so strong that, when I fell ill, it carried me through the mountains and plains of Krk. There was nothing any of you could physically do for me. It were still my legs and my body that had to carry me uphill. But I felt your endless support, your mental cheering, and your genuine care every single second of those days.

At the welcome dinner, Lael told us to make the Rally our own. Back then, I didn’t know how true that would become for me. Despite tackling parts alone, I was never truly alone. And for that, I am immensely grateful, and I thank you all.

Epilogue

The last day felt more like a procession than a ride.

I left the campsite alone, rolling quietly through the still morning, only to join Linda, Franziska, and Marija a couple hundred meters later, at a bakery that smelled of warm bread and strong coffee.

From the start, the pace was ceremonial. We rode very majestically, saving whatever traces of energy were still left in our legs. But even that felt optimistic. My body was done. Completely spent. I was dragging my legs, not really wanting to ride anymore. Every now and then, one of the girls would ask why I wasn’t riding any faster, why I wasn’t pulling like in the previous days. I didn’t really know how to explain that other than: I simply couldn’t. The engine was empty.

We rode through local fields and along the coastline, following the bike path leading from Portorož straight to Trieste. The surroundings were still beautiful, but because of the fatigue, riding itself felt more like a chore than a pleasure. The company, however, made it worthwhile.

The closer we got to the city, the more the urban landscape intruded. Quiet paths turned into bike arteries through the holiday resorts, then into the industrial outskirts - warehouses, ports, parking lots. The last seven kilometers carried us through frantic Saturday noon traffic of Trieste, heat radiating off the asphalt, horns blaring, people rushing somewhere important. It felt jarring, being dropped so abruptly back into “normal life” after days of living among terrain, sunlight, nature and picturesque little towns.

And then, suddenly, we were there. The church plaza.

The same place we had set off from eight days earlier, full of nervous energy, with freshly packed bags, clean kits, eager to meet the adventure, new friends and most importantly, our true selves. Now we rolled in quietly, almost anonymously.

We stopped and lingered.

People arrived in ones and twos, then drifted away again. Some hugged tightly, others exchanged tired smiles and soft words. Bikes leaned against the church wall, and one another, helmets dangling from handlebars, dust and dirt still clinging to frames and bags. Conversations overlapped. Fragments of laughter, plans for trains and flights, promises to meet again somewhere, sometime.

I stood there, both being the part of the comnpany, and watching it from the distance at the same time Being in that plaza, saying goodbyes under the shadow of the church, I felt deeply grateful. For the miles we rode together. For the feminine energy we shared. For the effort, joy and support.

There was no grand finale, no dramatic end. Only a gentle unraveling of something that had been intense, intimate, and temporary by design. All great moments come to an end, and this Rally had to as well. One by one, we rolled away towards our lifes.

Every day I miss all the fantastic women I met while riding the Rally. I came to Trieste alone. I left it with soulmates.

The end.

Strava - Lael’s Women Croatia Rally - Day 5 - Cres to Premantura
Strava - Lael’s Women Croatia Rally - Day 6 - Premantura to Črvar
Strava - Lael’s Women Croatia Rally - Day 7 - Črvar to Portorož
Strava - Lael’s Women Croatia Rally - Day 8 - Portorož to Trieste

Photographs

@rucpata
@exploro.cc