Good ones!
I’ve never re-fueled with beer and goulash while mountain biking before. That is, until this past Saturday! Tisovec is in the midst of a memorial celebration for Dr. Vladimir Clementis, a famous political figure in Slovakia, who was born in Tisovec. All week the principle of the school mentioned the concert and an optional (though strongly advised…) bike ride up some hill, to some place where we’d eat some kind of food…If you haven’t picked up on it yet, rarely do I receive information in-full or accompanied with a thorough explanation. If I was good at goin’ with the flow before I’m a master now, but come on—all you have to say is “bike ride” and I’m there.
I met the principle of the school had her husband at 8:30 AM. The pair is currently biased towards tennis, but like any good Tisovec(ians?...) they are also pretty adept cyclists. Helena was sporting some fierce looking glasses and a helmet and my first thought was, ok, this lady probably knows what she’s doing. While explaining the route to me she said, “Vlado has the problem and doesn’t like to wear the helmet, so we will not be on the main roads… I ride a six speed bike, but sometimes I must use the seventh speed, which is me pushing.” HAHAHAHAHAH! We hadn’t even left yet and the lady already had me rolling.
On rides covering any substantial distance I am a devout helmet-wearer, but since mine is currently en-route by mail, I’ve had to do some riding without it. Since I was told we were going to be “avoiding the main roads, so it’s ok, you mustn’t wear helmet” I figured it’d be fiiiiiine, rub some dirt on it. Like I said before, I had no idea what to expect and the ride was being portrayed as more of a pleasure-pedal.
As we made our way further away from town though and passed more and more “Muranska Plania” signs the road gradually became less paved—first just rougher and spotted with more potholes, then it became a dirt road all together and sometimes the deep, parallel tire tracks might be better described as “ditches” than part of a “road.” I consider myself better versed in mountain biking than serious road-biking anyways, and we were exploring an area that I’ve been itching to find out about, so everything was gravy to me. Vlado, Helena’s husband, was keeping a great manageable pace and as we ascended the trail there were no glaringly technical sections or places I felt in eminent danger.
There were plenty of spots however where I wished I had my clip less-pedals and shoes, not to mention suspension and oh, yeah—a helmet. Personally, I’d rather have that piece of hardware to protect my noggin’ on the “back roads” (if that is in fact how we are distinguishing styles of biking) than the main roads. I mean, I’m pretty sure the possibility for wrecking exponentially increases as does the number of obstacles, or as the smoothness and uniformity of the terrain decreases.
Equipment technicalities aside, nothing about this experience so far was entirely new to me. That is until we stopped to re-group and Vlado pointed out an excellent specimen of mushroom. Earlier in the ride I had asked Helena to clear up the difference between “ryba” (fish) and “hriba” (mushroom, the “h” sounds almost silent when native speakers go fast!). Non-English speaking Vlado may have just been turning the awkward silence and waiting time into an educational opportunity, but before I knew it we were gathering mushrooms. I proved a quick study at mushroom taxonomy—picking out the good ones from those that are poisonous—and so I was given license to go off and look by myself. “Dobre?” I would ask returning with a little bit of fungi. “Nei” (no) he would say if it was a bad one, or “Excellent!” if I had found a particularly great one. It became a great excuse for breaks, or a way to spend time re-grouping with the rest of the party. Never before have I stopped mid-ride to forage for food!
Remember that the aim of our ride was a “party” of sorts—including goulash and beer. I dig the Slovaks, because from what I’ve seen so far (Banska Bystrica, the boat festival on the Hron in Brehy, this thing…) they like any and all excuse to congregate outside and have a celebratory get-together. People had ridden bikes, hiked, or ridden in 4x4 cars to get to this spot where a giant pressure-cooker on a trailer was set up and men were preparing goulash in large vats, the keg was tapped and the beer flowed freely, and we met some nice people who shared fresh blueberries they had picked en-route with us. Children decked-out in camo dug holes with big sticks or just chased each other around, people snoozed in the sunshine or milled about talking and laughing. The population of the gathering waxed and waned as people continually came and went on various paths. IT WAS AWESOME!
On the way back we snagged a few more mushrooms (seriously, I’m really good at finding them) for our dinner that evening, and then concluded the adventure in the pub because, “all bike tours should be concluded in the pub—the beer helps with the lactic milk acids. If you don’t drink, you will have the problem walking the next day.” I know all about lactic acid build up, and I’ve heard (and used) remedies as strange as chocolate milk; but I’m pretty sure this was the first time ever that beer has been recommended to me as a recovery drink. Nazdravie!
I met the principle of the school had her husband at 8:30 AM. The pair is currently biased towards tennis, but like any good Tisovec(ians?...) they are also pretty adept cyclists. Helena was sporting some fierce looking glasses and a helmet and my first thought was, ok, this lady probably knows what she’s doing. While explaining the route to me she said, “Vlado has the problem and doesn’t like to wear the helmet, so we will not be on the main roads… I ride a six speed bike, but sometimes I must use the seventh speed, which is me pushing.” HAHAHAHAHAH! We hadn’t even left yet and the lady already had me rolling.
On rides covering any substantial distance I am a devout helmet-wearer, but since mine is currently en-route by mail, I’ve had to do some riding without it. Since I was told we were going to be “avoiding the main roads, so it’s ok, you mustn’t wear helmet” I figured it’d be fiiiiiine, rub some dirt on it. Like I said before, I had no idea what to expect and the ride was being portrayed as more of a pleasure-pedal.
As we made our way further away from town though and passed more and more “Muranska Plania” signs the road gradually became less paved—first just rougher and spotted with more potholes, then it became a dirt road all together and sometimes the deep, parallel tire tracks might be better described as “ditches” than part of a “road.” I consider myself better versed in mountain biking than serious road-biking anyways, and we were exploring an area that I’ve been itching to find out about, so everything was gravy to me. Vlado, Helena’s husband, was keeping a great manageable pace and as we ascended the trail there were no glaringly technical sections or places I felt in eminent danger.
There were plenty of spots however where I wished I had my clip less-pedals and shoes, not to mention suspension and oh, yeah—a helmet. Personally, I’d rather have that piece of hardware to protect my noggin’ on the “back roads” (if that is in fact how we are distinguishing styles of biking) than the main roads. I mean, I’m pretty sure the possibility for wrecking exponentially increases as does the number of obstacles, or as the smoothness and uniformity of the terrain decreases.
Equipment technicalities aside, nothing about this experience so far was entirely new to me. That is until we stopped to re-group and Vlado pointed out an excellent specimen of mushroom. Earlier in the ride I had asked Helena to clear up the difference between “ryba” (fish) and “hriba” (mushroom, the “h” sounds almost silent when native speakers go fast!). Non-English speaking Vlado may have just been turning the awkward silence and waiting time into an educational opportunity, but before I knew it we were gathering mushrooms. I proved a quick study at mushroom taxonomy—picking out the good ones from those that are poisonous—and so I was given license to go off and look by myself. “Dobre?” I would ask returning with a little bit of fungi. “Nei” (no) he would say if it was a bad one, or “Excellent!” if I had found a particularly great one. It became a great excuse for breaks, or a way to spend time re-grouping with the rest of the party. Never before have I stopped mid-ride to forage for food!
Remember that the aim of our ride was a “party” of sorts—including goulash and beer. I dig the Slovaks, because from what I’ve seen so far (Banska Bystrica, the boat festival on the Hron in Brehy, this thing…) they like any and all excuse to congregate outside and have a celebratory get-together. People had ridden bikes, hiked, or ridden in 4x4 cars to get to this spot where a giant pressure-cooker on a trailer was set up and men were preparing goulash in large vats, the keg was tapped and the beer flowed freely, and we met some nice people who shared fresh blueberries they had picked en-route with us. Children decked-out in camo dug holes with big sticks or just chased each other around, people snoozed in the sunshine or milled about talking and laughing. The population of the gathering waxed and waned as people continually came and went on various paths. IT WAS AWESOME!
On the way back we snagged a few more mushrooms (seriously, I’m really good at finding them) for our dinner that evening, and then concluded the adventure in the pub because, “all bike tours should be concluded in the pub—the beer helps with the lactic milk acids. If you don’t drink, you will have the problem walking the next day.” I know all about lactic acid build up, and I’ve heard (and used) remedies as strange as chocolate milk; but I’m pretty sure this was the first time ever that beer has been recommended to me as a recovery drink. Nazdravie!
Ive enjoyed this entry every much. I dont even really know what to say. Maybe WHITNEY YOU ARE LIVING THE DREAM will suffice for now. You described the outside gathering perfectly. I could imagine being right there. Most of all i could feel the genuine fun and happiness mix with carefree-ness and pure enjoyment of peoples and the outsides company. Picking mushrooms?!! once again. I dont no how to tell you how cool this is. Was it hard to hang out with these and gather with the whole language barrier.
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