Group rides in Croatia are a surreal experience. Rolling up to the meeting point at Lake Jarun in southern Zagreb, I was greeted by a dozen and a half cyclists on steeds that each cost at least twice the price of my Ritchey. From custom Super Record-equipped Colnagos to Looks to Fondriests, it was like showing up at a Pro Tour team training camp. Not exactly what I expected in a country where the mean income is around 1000 euros per month.
Splitting up into two groups (I opted to go with the "slower" one after being told that the "faster" one contained a pro), we headed out of the city. Within minutes we were pedaling through rolling farmland and forests reminiscent of Vermont. We saw more cyclists than cars. Amazing after commuting in the traffic-congested Zagreb. After an hour we made a right onto a single lane road through the forest...no cars...just us and the birds. This is the Croatia that I want to see.
The peace was shattered (literally) when one of the riders pointed out a pothole in front of us. "That is from mortar." What? Mortar? Da (yes). As we spun back to Zagreb, I noticed several houses riddled with bullet holes and a gazebo whose roof had clearly been destroyed by something more than just the local vandals. Even on this idyllic ride I could not escape the region's past. The wars of the 90's hide behind every conversation. Bullet holes and mortar craters can be patched, but clearly some wounds cannot. When I told my riding partner Ivica that I had come to Croatia, Bosnia, and Serbia to study peace and conflict, I got a simple but telling response. "We have plenty of that here."
thats really creepy dude!
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