Moravska Třebova, Czech Republic: Oh happy day!

September 10, 2015

WHAT a surprise! I was convinced this morning that I was in for a day of monotony. I spent the first hour on that old road beside the highway. And while I had it largely to myself, I still had heavy traffic hissing a grass verge away. The mental tension was the same because we don't have good stereo hearing from behind; it was hard to tell if a noisy truck was behind me or on the road to the side.

First the noise and then the quiet beauty

The map showed me it wasn't going to be like that all day, but gloomy expectation had set in that defied the evidence of the map.

And then I turned off first on a lesser road and then on one of those tiny, tiny roads known only to locals and those prepared to adventure with a map. It was so little used that after a while it turned to a mud-and-stone path that rose and fell - but mainly rose - through a wood with an earth ravine to my left and, in its depths, an unseen stream.

I stopped to listen to singing birds and rustling deer

I couldn't ride every metre. But every time it became too hard was a chance to revel in the quiet, soft wood and birds and occasional rustling of animals unseen. Every second was blissful. I saw lolloping hares and a giant deer unconcerned by my presence. The sun pushed through branches in a way that only a poet could describe. I was happy.

Bouzov: see what I mean about the beauty of eastern European towns?

There's an American writer called Willie Weir who finds trails like this on every ride. It's a sad day for him when a toothless peasant doesn't hand him slices of dripping melon, take him home for lunch and offer him the choice of his three daughters.

Things like that never happen to me and they didn't happen today. But I don't think they could have added to my contentment. I was as happy as a mole in velvet.

And things continued like that, only for me to arrive in Moravská Třebová and find a whole dose of different beauty. The world has long since demanded it be protected because of its generous and beautifully surrounded square of late Gothic and Renaissance buildings.

(I am no better at building styles than the next sweaty cyclist; I read it on a noticeboard.)

Apprentices at the Santa Claus Training College go through their final exams

I even managed to get my hair trimmed, making snip-snip signs with my fingers and then indicating "2" for the all-over shortness. It made for my most entertaining haircut since a day in Turkey when the barber turned a trim into theatre.

Tonight I'm in a grassy field between two small trees, partly hidden from the road by bushes and undergrowth. I think a driver did stop to look but he might as well have been answering his phone. It's raining now, anyway, and nobody is going to get his shoes wet just to see what I'm up to.

Good night!

Today's ride: 70 km (43 miles)
Total: 5,940 km (3,689 miles)

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