The plan: go to Ploiesti, bike around the EmmedueCup track and come back.

At 7am-ish I was in Bucharest Basarab train station, a station lost in time. 500 meters away you have the North train station, with ~sort of~ a more western feeling (KFC, McDonalds). Here you have manele, mici and beer.

On the train, I meet Stefan. He’s a security guard in Herastrau Park. He just finished his 24 hour shift and he’s in a jolly mood. We start chatting, well… actually he tells me his life story: women problems, money problems, kid problems… the list goes on. With all this, he’s still happy. He has competition pigeons (very proud of them) and he brought a stick that he’ll use in training them. The controller came to check the tickets. Stefan gave him all the money he had on – 1.30 RON. He spent the rest on a beer.

I get to Ploiesti and pedal fast, to get out of the city. After a few kilometers of national road and a few more of boring villages, I start pedaling offroad. Up a hill. Which by itself is not bad, but you should also consider the scorching sun and the swarm of flies I seem to have attracted.

I reach the top of the hill and I stop at Crama Seciu, a huge mansion built in a traditional Romanian style, now a restaurant, hotel and wine cellar. I get a glass of Coke and check out the view from the terrace… when, suddenly, one of the workers there:
“Look at you!”, pointing to my.. behind.
“Look at me what?” I couldn’t quite see my behind.
“Look at you!”
“What is it?” Dirt? Mud? BLOOD?
“Look at you!”
In order for him to understand I can’t look at my behind, I try to twist my head 180 degrees. I exaggerate my movements and he, finally, gets the point.
“You’re wet!”
“Aaaah… I biked all the way up here.”
He looked relieved.

Moving on with my trip, I enter the woods. Peace and quiet. No more sun here, yay! No more flies also (but hello, mosquitoes!). All I can hear is the soft crunching of my awesome tires on the trail, the lonely cry of an eagle and the omnipresent sound of a chainsaw (ffs). When suddenly, I’m overtaken by a jeep. 15 minutes later, I reach him – the driver stopped for a sip of tuica. We chat a little, then I speed off. 30 minutes later, guess what – I hear a distant “I see you!”. I look around and I spot the guy with the jeep, down a ridge, drinking his tuica (drinking and driving is illegal in Romania only if the police catch you). I get to him and stop for a short break. He tells me about these woods, how he grew up here, how he now lives in the city and feels the need to come back every Sunday. He offers me water – blissful ice-cold spring water he brought from Ciucas Mountains, a treat for a tired biker on a hot day.

I get out of the forest, back into the scorching sun, and I notice I was running short on water. I go down a rocky country road and end up in a small village. I find the nearest bar (which is easy – the only inhabited place in a sunny summer day, at 1 pm) and ask for a big bottle of cold soda. The guy at the desk opens a big freezer (the kind you keep meat in), full of beer bottles in total disorder. He thrusts his hand between them and starts searching underneath, beer bottles clinking loudly. He comes out with a bottle of Fanta.

The rest of the trip goes on uneventful. I get back to Ploiesti, buy a train ticket, then I get an icecream and a bottle of Nestea and I enjoy them in the park, while waiting. I ended up drinking about 4 liters of water/soda during the trip, plus another 2 liters at home, in the evening. Hot day!