Bored of Borders

The hotel receptionist was a bit shocked to hear about our project and noted that this is a totally crazy and unrealizable idea. We could agree with the first allegation, but the latter is definitely unreasoned, because you can realize anything if you put your mind and heart in it. When the fantastic four saddled their Scott stallions at 9:15 and left Suvalki, the air temperature was -17 degrees Celsius, so the morning was a bit warmer than yesterday. In a way it’s logical since we are moving South, but somehow the scenery is becoming more and more winterish. With every pedaled kilometer the layer of snow becomes thicker and the drifts higher. At some point the cyclists could no longer use the side lane of the road, because it was covered with a frozen mixture of dirt and snow, so our caravan became even more irritating for the drivers. In the small towns of Poland it’s prohibited to cycle on the road and cyclists are supposed to use the bike paths. The only problem is that these bike paths are covered with a thick layer of snow, which makes them barely noticeable and hardly suitable for cycling. So by the nature of things, some rules had to be broken. The snow wasn’t the only obstacle that our cycling team had to overcome today – the relief of the road became more “interesting” and so the pedals had to be pushed harder. During the day the sun heated the air to -11 degrees, so it became considerably warmer, however, only on paper. The Father frost continued to wale our riders with his whip of frozen air. During a rest-stop Roberts had an epiphany about the best and most underappreciated quality of cookies – they never freeze solid. This was the third day of the “Pedal for no Medal” journey and we got the first flat tire for no apparent reason. It’s a good thing that the cyclists had prepared for such a misfortune with a spare wheel, so the repair of the bike took no more than two minutes. After 120 kilometers we reached Bialystok, where we made our camp at a parking lot of a local supermarket. The good citizens of Bialystok looked a bit surprised by the four guys trying to get changed inside a chaotically loaded van and another two weirdoes, who were walking in cycles around a gas stove. Maybe this evening some Polish family will talk about us while sitting at their dinner table. After lunch, we set our course to Belsk Podlaski 50 kilometers further away to search for a warm refuge for our jolly gang.

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