Cycling 100km over 10 hours into the unknown, with my bike loaded to the brim with essentials, just to sleep in on an air mattress, that will likely further worsened my aging back, would sound like a dream to anyone. And lucky for me, I got to live it! In this post, I’ll share the adventure I’ve been itching to embark on for quite a while (yes, really!).

Firstly, why? Why pedal into the face of exhaustion, just to wrestle with a tent and sleep among ants, spiders, and mosquitoes for two nights? Honestly, I’m not entirely sure, but I have a hunch. Over the past couple of years, I’ve developed an interest (thanks, YouTube algorithm) in van life, alternative living, bikepacking, bushcrafting, and other outdoor wonders. Watching everyone else dive into these adventures made me want to try it myself. Given that I’m already somewhat-of-a-cyclist and spent many a childhood holiday camping, this bikepacking stuff seemed like the perfect blend of adventure, exercise, and a chance to escape my usual habitat: a PC chair behind a computer.

In all honesty, the thought of doing it alone, especially for the first time, was a little daunting. Sure, I’m comfortable cycling back and forth to the office and around Berlin, but a longer expedition? That meant dealing with potential bike problems, language barriers, and the occasional social awkwardness, which left me feeling a bit uneasy. Luckily, I had an enthusiastic friend who was keen on similar adventures, and thus, our planning began almost four months ago, before we even had bikes!

1 Scot, 1 Tunisian

Watching videos of people bikepacking through Scotland and the wider UK had me yearning to go home and try it. I love my country, however, the most beautiful parts of it remained largely a mystery to me. However, working with where I am, I looked at the map and realized the potential destinations with Berlin as a base, is basically the entirety of Europe, and suddenly, the urge to start exploring by bike became irresistible.

For our first trip, we wanted a challenge, but not an overwhelming one. Dresden? Leipzig? Both sounded like good options—cycle there and then take the train back, but maybe too far for a first trip. But then we noticed how close the Polish border was, and that really got us thinking. Neither of us had been to Poland before, and the idea of cycling to a different country was just too tempting to resist. So, we set our sights on Poland and soon found a campsite just across the border, on the River Oder. It had excellent reviews, was well-equipped, and looked perfect.

We had a destination. Now, we just needed everything else. Bikes, tents, sleeping bags, mattresses, bike bags, repair accessories—the list seemed endless. There were no shortage of things that made us think, “Oh, we could need that” or “That looks cool!” All of this, of course, came at an ever-increasing cost. And then there was that nagging voice in my head: “What if you hate it?”, “What if you never go?”, “Ooh, that bag is expensive.” Silencing those doubts was another challenge!

Fast forward a couple of months, and we were fully equipped. We had practice runs at stuffing as much gear as possible into awkward-to-mount bicycle bags that were both functional and tried to look cool. Now, it was just time to pick a date. The original date we planned fell through due to sickness, then it got further delayed by holidays and family matters. But we finally landed on July 12, 2024.

As the day approached, the weather forecast was a little concerning. Coming from Scotland, I’m no stranger to rain. In fact, heat gives me more pain than rain. However, I also know how impractical it is to embark on a 10-hour journey while being completely soaked from the get-go. Given that we had planned this during summer, our water-resistant preparation was somewhat lacking.

The morning of our trip delivered rain as promised. A short trip to the pharmacy had already rendered me a soaking mess, and let’s not even mention the time my wife and I lost searching for the pole for my tent. I had put it in a “safe” place while tidying, only to have no recollection of where that safe place was. The frantic search added an extra layer of stress to an already wet and chaotic start to our adventure.

As the clock ticked, the rain poured, and my hope to begin this journey began to dwindle. Even when the rain stopped, the ground would be wet, and spray from the road and passing traffic would ensure we were thoroughly soaked. But we didn’t let that stop us. As soon as there was a break in the rain, I pulled on my nipple-ripping bib shorts, donned my not-so-waterproof jacket, and took my loaded bike out the door! Determined to start this adventure, we began our Strava ride with the narrative, “Whatever happens, it’s part of the experience.”

As soon as we got going, all the weather worries, equipment concerns, and navigation nightmares went straight out the windo… oh wait, we have a flat tire already, and we’re not even out of Berlin. This was not the start we had hoped for, but we were prepared for this. In fact, my new bike got a flat tire the day after I got it—a lovely shard of beer bottle straight through the tire, piercing the inner tube. So, we popped off my friend’s back wheel and got to replacing the inner tube. Surprisingly, it went smoothly. Although we were concerned that our hand pump wouldn’t inflate the tire to a high enough pressure, we got it up to around 50 PSI, and were back on our way in about 30 minutes.

1 tube down

The flat tire left us a bit anxious, and we kept a close eye on the repaired tire, but was holding up just fine. In fact, everything was going relatively smoothly. My 5 year old phone, with it’s aging battery, was doing well as a navigational device, although, sometimes it did take us down some questionable paths, including a muddy track that was completely blocked by fallen trees. Undeterred, we awkwardly lifted our bikes over, and onwards we continued.

You shall not pass

As we pressed on with the journey ahead, the rain started to fall. We were torn between looking for opportunities to take shelter, or just getting on with our journey. Eventually, we arrived in a small town. It had a bike store where my friend could top up his stash of replacement tubes and a shop where I could buy us some water, which we gratefully guzzled down. With some water inside us and all over us (thanks rain!), we carried on. As we continued, the rain intensified, leaving us cold, hungry, and soaked through. As we cruised downhill, we kept our brakes gently in check to avoid going too fast. In such weather conditions, I felt vulnerable on a bike, especially with a queue of traffic starting with a tractor behind us. I could almost hear the annoyed drivers in my head, complaining about the tractor and cyclists holding them up.

Eventually we pulled over and let the traffic pass, and decided to look on Google Maps for the nearest restaurant - we were in desperate need of shelter from the rain, and some food. Thankfully, there was one “close by.” Truth be told, it was close, but we had to carry our heavy bikes up big, steep, woodland steps to get to a restaurant named Carlsburg. It was a German restaurant with panoramic views of the beautiful surroundings.

As we approached the restaurant, we weren’t sure if it was open. There weren’t many cars in the car park, and we were acutely aware that we were absolutely drenched. We worried they might not want to accept us into their lovely establishment. Still, we tried our best to dry off and headed upstairs to the restaurant. As we could have predicted, it was quiet inside, allowing us to grab a table and have our orders taken promptly. The food was a bonus; we were just happy to get some respite from the rain. At the same time, I was able to use my power bank to charge my phone to continue my role as navigator.

As luck would have it, we had a delicious meal, and the continued downpour outside made the decision to have a cup of tea afterward very easy. After we finished our tea and paid up, the rain had stopped, and everything seemed back on track. We slid on our slimy, wet jackets and left the restaurant.

Instead of going back down the huge, horrible steps we climbed to get there, we decided to ride downhill on the bumpy, horrible road instead.

I would love to tell you that from that point, everything was smooth sailing, but it wasn’t. At the bottom of the road, my friend revealed he had another puncture on the same wheel. Frustration was creeping in, but we kept our cool and prepared to repeat the process from earlier. However, this time it wasn’t so easy. We struggled to get the tire off the wheel, and although I managed it last time, it had caused some damage to my thumbs, making it harder to repeat the feat.

We even drew the attention of a local homeowner who came outside to help us. He provided a foot pump, some lubricant, and a helping hand. As we replaced the tube and almost got the wheel back on the rim, a stomach-dropping hissing noise began to sound. “Oh no,” we collectively thought as we looked at each other. While trying to lever on the wheel, my friend pinched the tube and burst this one too, reducing him to his last spare tube.

Needless to say, we were extremely careful with this one. After some wrestling, we finally got it replaced and pumped up. The extremely helpful homeowner also noticed a big tear in the tire and offered some tape to help protect it. Given that my friend had no more spare tubes, we thought it was a good idea, even if it did reduce the aesthetics of his bike!

Last tube standing

After exchanging final pleasantries with the homeowner, we were once more on our way. This was our final stretch—only around 30 km to go until we reached camp.

Crossing the border from Germany to Poland was a little underwhelming. We simply crossed a small bridge. I didn’t have to use my passport or my residency card, and there wasn’t even a “Welcome to Poland” sign to furnish this blog post with or to post on Strava—nightmare, I know.

We were immediately hit with countless shops selling cheap tobacco, alcohol, and other things. We even saw the golden arches of McDonald’s. Still, we had only one… or two things on our minds. First things first, get some water. Secondly, let’s get some beer for when we get to camp—we deserved them. We also got some cups of noodles—just in case we needed some quick food that night or the next day. With our bags bulging even more, we carried on for the final 15 km or so, but we quickly got distracted by an impressive-looking monument.

Victory at Cedynia Battle Memorial

Although our legs were throbbing, we trekked up the stairs to get a closer look and take in the views from a high vantage point. The monument was very impressive up close. According to Wikipedia, it was erected in 1972 to commemorate the 1000th anniversary of the Battle of Cedynia.

The Battle of Cedynia, fought in 972, was a significant clash where the forces of Mieszko I of Poland defeated the German margraves. This victory was pivotal in solidifying the Polish state’s borders and demonstrating its military might. It’s kind of cool to think that where we stood, commemorating a battle from a thousand years ago, was now just a pit stop on our modern-day adventure.

With renewed curiosity and a touch of historical awe, we snapped a few photos and made our way back to our bikes, ready to tackle the final stretch to our campsite. We soon found ourselves off the beaten track, cycling through tall grass with a track laid through it in the form of two rows of concrete slabs, separated by a patch of grass. This setup was perfect for cars but not ideal for bikes, as we clunked over each slab, some more uneven than others.

Despite the bumpy ride, we knew we were close and I felt a second wind of energy kick in. The track was mostly free of cars, allowing us to relax a little and take in a stunning sunset.

Sunset in Cedynia

The approach to the campsite was somewhat challenging thanks to big, chunky cobblestones, but it was exciting. After almost 10 hours on the road, five of those cycling, we finally made it. BUT, there was one major problem: I had a Strava challenge to complete a 100 km ride, and our journey ended at 99.8 km. So, naturally, I had to cycle around outside the campsite for a few minutes to breach 100 km. Priorities, right? Once I dealt with the important stuff, we finally entered the campsite.

By this time, it was beginning to get dark. The campsite was largely empty but very inviting. The crackling of the fire in the firepit, people relaxing around their tents or campervans, the extremely nice woman who welcomed us made us feel at home, and her lovely dog!

Wee pal

We were shown to a plot of land that was up a slight hill, at the back of the camp, near the towering trees of the woods behind us, and swiftly furnished with a couple of beers. We were desperate to take a shower, relax, take our wet shoes off, and drink our beers, but we still had to set up camp. Both of us had new tents, mattresses, and sleeping bags, and we wanted to get set up before it got too dark.

Our setup the next day

The campsite was immaculate and well-maintained. Additionally, the owners had thought of many useful details to compensate for its remoteness. Assuming we understood the German correctly, they had a service for collecting supplies from the nearest shop 10 km away, a partnership with a hotel that delivered food to the campsite, and a small kiosk that sold cold drinks and provided fresh rolls in the morning. All of these things really made this place a treat to stay at.

Surprisingly, getting set up went smoothly. Our tents were soon erect (hehe), and these would be our homes for the next two nights. We took turns getting into the shower. It was amazing to get clean, but awful to step back into the wet shoes from a day of rain-soaked riding. Note to self: next time, bring a change of shoes—Crocs, flip-flops, sandals—anything! Without further delay, we had our beers, some instant noodles, and crawled into our tents; time to sleep!

Jumping into bed was great, but getting to sleep wasn’t without challenges. Every noise can be heard when your walls are a thin piece of polyester; the unzipping of tents, the birds in the morning, and especially the incredibly noisy swans at the river across from camp. In contrast, the sound of rain pattering on the tent was incredibly relaxing.

With no plans for the next day, no places to be, and nothing to do, we spent the morning lazing around, trying to catch up on sleep. When we finally emerged from the tent, we set out on a short walk across the road, down a little path, and ended up at the River Oder.

Path to the river

In the absence of real food, we stuffed our faces with some leftover gummy sweets from the day of cycling while taking in the views and talking shite. Despite really not wanting to touch the bikes, we acknowledged we needed some provisions—some food, snacks, and most importantly, a few more beers!

After our 20 km round trip to the nearest shop, we got back to the campsite, had some food, drank some beers, and in the absence of any bars, clubs, or bowling alleys, we reverted to a good old pack of playing cards for entertainment.

Fun ‘n games

The day turned to night as we relaxed around the campsite, enjoying the remoteness. Our second and last night was approaching, and attention quickly turned to getting home. Another 100 km, another day in the saddle… forget that. The next day, we woke up early, packed up our gear, and cycled around 25 km back into Germany, and took a 1-hour train directly into Berlin. Is that cheating? Who cares! There are no rules in bikepacking, and that’s one of the great things about it. You can literally go wherever your bike can take you. You can wild camp, go to a camp site, or even stop at a hotel. You can cycle for 10km or 150km. You can start at 7AM or 4PM. Go mental!

All in all, it was a very enjoyable experience, and it’s something I will definitely do again. We learned some valuable lessons, we gained some confidence in our ability and our equipment, and we’re already planning the next trip.