8- Romania - Cipru pe 2 roti 2019 (3800km in 62 zile)

Horatiu si Horia sunt 2 ciclisti valorosi de care abia reusesc sa ma tin. Trecem prin sate pitoresti iar dupa Sarata Monteoru incepe o catarare ceva mai serioasa.

Insa cea mai dura catarare a fost cea spre localitatea Marginea Padurii.

Am pedalat pe o bicicleta excelenta alaturi de ciclisti talentati care aveau biciclete performante. Pictura de pe bicicleta este opera prietenului Horia Nitu, excelent artist care se ocupa cu astfel de lucrari.

Cand ne-am intors din tura Horatiu mi-a facut si niste frumoase cadouri pentru care tin sa-i multumesc mult. Urmeaza inca o seara placuta la Horia si maine voi porni la drum. Casa lui Horia este plina de picturi, adevarate opere de arta create de dansul.

Day 14) Bucuresti - Calugareni - Daia. Reusesc cu greu sa ies din capitala si o iau spre Giurgiu pe DN5. La intrare in judetul Giurgiu opresc la o benzinarie sa mananc ceva si pe cer surprind niste nori originali.

Urmatoarea oprire o fac intr-un loc istoric.

Aici Mihai cel Mare cu vitejii sai l-au zdrobit pe Sinan Pasa cu numeroasa sa armata.

La intrare in Daia decid sa ma opresc la o pensiune.

Day 15) Daia - Giurgiu - Ruse - Basarbovo - Beala Am o zi frumoasa, pot sa pedalez deja in echipament de vara. In sfarsit trec podul peste Dunare spre Ruse pentru prima data in viata. In Ruse mananc ceva apoi o cotesc la stanga pe drumul judetean 501 spre Ivanovo, scapand de traficul de pe E85. In curand ajung la manastirea rupestra Sfantul Dimitrie Basarabovo. Aici e cazul sa fac pauza cam o ora sa o visitez.

Biserica este inghesuita, sapata in stanca. Ma impresioneaza acest edificiu monahal.

In stanca sunt sapate si niste chilii.

Urc la ele pe o scara de piatra si descopar o pictura probabil a sfantului Basarabovo.

De asemenea intalnesc mai multe icoane si obiecte de cult.

In incinta manastirii sunt ingropati calugarii.

De sus din chilii pot observa raul Rusenski Lom.

Imi continui calatoria. Satele par mai amarate decat cele din Romania. Din magazinul din fotografia de mai jos reusesc sa-mi cumpar un carnat expirat. Noroc ca am observat la timp si m-am dus sa returnez produsul primind banii inapoi.

Bicycling Through the Pain of Tragedies in Your Life By Frosty Wooldridge One lady cyclist said, “When I get on my bicycle, I ride into the freedom of the day. I ride into happiness. While I’m pedaling, the world is breaking somebody else’s heart.” For certain, when riding my bike, I am the happiest guy in the world. Aren’t you? At the same time, during the long miles, long days and long rides across continents—I experience a lot of self-examination, contemplation and, sometimes, backwash from my past. My subconscious grabs me, sometimes, it frightens me. Most of the time, my good time memories outnumber my bad times. My happy thoughts resonate because of my friendship with my road bike “Bambi” and my touring bike “Condor.” Yes, I talk to them. Probably, they make very good therapists. They’ve helped me out many a time when I have faced depression, and at others when I’ve been happy out-of-my-mind from being ‘high’ on my bike rides. Call it the ‘sweet spot’ or whatever you want—it’s a spiritual high that transforms me. My father passed away when I hit 17. It devastated my world. I staggered for years at the loss of my father. He guided me into my teens. He stood like a rock for my foundation as a young man. When I lost him, I didn’t know what to do or how to do it. Nonetheless, I walked into each day with a sense of confidence that he showed me by his own actions in life. He said, “When you start something son, be sure to finish it. That will give you a sense of satisfaction that will stay with you all your life.” At times, my dad visits me while riding my bike. I talk to him. I wish he could see the man that I became. I wish he could be proud of me. That’s the one thing that I’ve faced in my life; that I don’t have a dad to be proud of my accomplishments. Sometimes, I’d give my life savings to have one day with my dad—just to talk with him or play catch or throw a frisbee or sit in a fishing boat and cast into the Lilly pads for that elusive bass. Sure would be nice to sit by the campfire and hear about his stories of his youth! If there is a heaven, he’s there and I hope he’s proud of me. Because, I’m sure proud of him. I think that a good father and mother are the best gifts a child can possibly have to start out their lives. Me? I enjoyed the best parents. I hope you did, too. In college, my best friend and roommate got drafted out of our room in my sophomore year. He survived basic training, advanced infantry, and then, shipped off to Vietnam. Before he left, he gave me a peace ring that I placed on my right pinky finger. He said, “If I get back, let’s have a beer and laugh about it…if I don’t, wear this ring and be a man of peace for the rest of your life.” If you ever meet me on the road, you will see that gold peace ring on my right pinky finger. I’ve carried it with me my whole life. He’s traveled with me my whole life and he’s been with me this entire journey since 1968. Each time I visit the Vietnam Wall in Washington DC, I run my hands over his name and ball my eyes out. I got to live a fantastic life, but his was cut short by the hands of war and all those bureaucrats in Congress. Damn all of them, then and now, for creating wars to kill good young men. In 1973, my new bride of three years and I divorced. It devastated me. She was a great lady and we got along famously. At the same time, she liked a rich life of five-star hotels, spas and luxury. I liked tents, backpacking and mountain climbing. I liked long distance bicycle riding. We shook hands and went our separate ways. It killed my understanding of love, marriage and partnerships. She used to visit me in my dreams. Once as I pedaled across the Outback of Australia, she visited me in a dream that really rocked me. I wrote her a letter thanking her and wishing her well. I deposited it in the mail of the next roadhouse. It gave me closure and I’ve never dreamed of her again. But sometimes, I think about what might have been if we had been compatible. How about you? Any regrets? At the age of 50, my youngest brother died of a heart attack. I cried as I gave his eulogy in the same funeral home where my father had been presented in a casket. I hate seeing open caskets. I hate seeing my loved ones’ face in death. I only attend memorial services because I want to remember them being alive, spirited and vital. At my father’s funeral, he received a 21-gun salute as he was a U.S. Marine. At my brother’s he received the same as a veteran in the U.S. Army and Air Force. Gees, I cried my heart out. Still the pain sneaks up on me during a bicycle ride. Sometimes it’s good and sometimes, it’s painful. In the end, we each carry our stories, our hurts and our sorrows on our bicycle rides. I hope you are able to sort out yours, too. I am thankful that my two wheels turn, and my pedals allow me the peace of heart that comes with riding my bike. It’s a therapy that keeps me even, keeps me balanced and keeps me appreciative to all the joys and positives in my life. I wish the same for you during your journeys on your bicycle. Frosty Wooldridge, six continent world bicycle traveler Picking cherries from a tree on the Lewis & Clark Trail, Columbia River Gorge