I was MTB in the Gorce Mountains.

A famous psychology experiment conducted by Timothy Wilson and Dan Gilbert showed that people would rather experience pain than be alone with their own thoughts: participants in an empty room without phones preferred themselves electrocute out of boredom.

This perfectly visualizes the thought process I was going through at my desk when I was planning a trip to Chisinau, but Piotrek approached me with a suggestion of a visit to the Polish mountains. I go cycling with Piotrek once every few years... and that's probably enough. Sometimes it's very cold and far away (Norway), sometimes very warm and far away (Morocco). This time it was supposed to be normal, only with a mountain bike. And interestingly, I've only been to the mountains on a regular mountain bike once. Once, in so many years of riding and so many years of racing mountain bikers. It was almost 10 years ago at the Bike Marathon in Jelenia Góra, when przemekzawada.com He lent me his expensive bike. I read this post and was reminded once again that some conclusions don't change over the years. For example:

"What bothers me about MTB is the fact that the bike needs to be serviced. This is especially painful in Warsaw, because a trip to the service center costs half a day and half a wallet."

"Well, in retrospect, these events always seem fun. If you had asked me somewhere between mile 40 and 70, my answer would have been: NEVER AGAIN."

"I spend about 15 minutes in the shower, fully clothed, trying to wash off the mud and shame. I don't even take my shoes off in the bathtub."

"The wall of rain gently cools my body, the road becomes slippery, and the mud flying in all directions repeatedly distorts the lenses in my eyes. Beautiful life, beautiful weekend, perfect choice. I'm proud of myself."

"The route is difficult. The descents often consist of rocks that I not only can't ride over, but I can't even carry the bike over."

"The calculations begin – I take my current speed, divide the remaining distance by it, and it turns out I won't make it to work on Monday."

And our three days of riding were exactly the same this time. I'm almost certain the first few dozen kilometers were the worst cycling kilometers of my life. And they were definitely among the best.

Silesia.

I leave the house in the rain. I boldly assume this will be the last rain I'll see on this trip. It was a brilliant plan, and let the meteorologists stick their you-know-what, you-know-where for their weather forecasts.

I'm taking the Pendolino to Silesia – it's the only train that still has room for a bicycle. Maybe if I'd bought the ticket well in advance, instead of on the same day, it would have been better. My appointment with Piotrek is so strange that I have to go to Zawiercie or Sosnowiec. My colleague would call it a "trash vs. garbage" meme. But that wouldn't be true. Despite my Katowice roots, I think Sosnowiec is a pretty cool place. The ticket might cost a hundred złoty more than the Intercity, but I get there a good fifteen minutes faster… and I get a small water and a waffle cone. It also turns out that a night in Zawiercie costs about as much as a luxury hotel in Bali. I'm a bit tempted by the 300 złoty apartment aptly named "Husband's Hideout," but in the end, Sosnowiec wins.

A few minutes from the station are two hotels: the Art Hotel and the Butique Hotel. Google Maps suggests they're a good choice, as they're located halfway between "Zrozumieć Psa" and "Zajebista Pizza Sosnowiec." As it turns out, they even share a reception desk—the only difference is the exit direction from the elevator. I opt for the Boutique for 200 złoty. Well, the most boutique breakfast was probably a sausage, bacon, and egg breakfast. At the entrance, I'm greeted by two rather tipsy gentlemen who look like they've just finished their shifts at the power plant. A classic Thursday, 10:00 PM dialogue between them and a soaked man on a bicycle, with luggage under his saddle:

– Did you come from far away on this bike?
– No, from the railway station, through Żabka on the way.

Route.

Piotrek draws a 270km route. Split into three days, it feels like a luxurious, extended weekend. Photos, attractions, hills, views, chilling, and generally embarrassing yourself on Strava in front of strangers. Back then, we didn't know (or I didn't know) that exceeding a net average of 10km/h could be a challenge. Piotrek's route analysis (which differs from the original because we were weak) looks like this, and if anyone understands what I mean, congratulations:

Piotrek says this route brings out the best of both Łossody and Carpatia Divide, with a touch of his own creativity layered over it. Or maybe the opposite, I don't know... In any case, please don't take it. The actual map of the route we took looks like this:

Stage one, the wet and dirty one

We set off on Friday after work. Thanks to the generosity of my employer, it's about three hours earlier than on a normal Friday, the kind that isn't summer. On the way, we stop at Decathlon to buy inner tubes. We both leave with new sunglasses and new jerseys. They're the same, so we'll look like twins, because our bikes are identical, and our helmets are black. But that's good – we can take pictures of each other and both say, "I'm on them." We buy a Rockrider Cargo 500 cycling jersey through the app for 55 złoty, even though it normally costs 130 złoty. Who wouldn't be tempted? Of course, we need the cashier's help, because these new technologies are beyond us. Luckily, Decathlon seems to be too, because to issue the jersey, the lady has to wrap it in an envelope, print a label, seal it, and go to the pickup point to leave it. Explore 900 photochromic glasses are also available at a discount – 1 groszy without the application, several dozen zlotys with the application, although no one has to pack them anymore.

The glasses are great – for the first time, the world looks worse through them than it does in person. Thanks to their blue (or gray, as the packaging claims) lenses, the perceived temperature is about 10 degrees lower than it actually is. The first day it's bad, the second day it's good, and the third day it's very good. Besides, they darken so much that when I enter a forest clearing, I might as well close my eyes.

We leave the car in a remote parking lot, near the old Zakopianka street – next to the Circle K. It's a steady 11 degrees Celsius (54 degrees Fahrenheit) and a light drizzle. The main rainfall is forecast for about two hours later, but we know well that forecasts in the mountains can be tricky, so we boldly assume that the heavy rain is just falling from the sky. Of course, that wasn't the case. We pack up two golden Canyon Lux backpacks, pack a few clothes into bags, and set off along the blue trail, which begins about 3 meters from us. Straight up, straight down, straight through mud and sand.

Just a few minutes later, I'm soaked through. Every available space on my bike is clogged with mud, and my clothes look like I spent the last nine months with Forrest Gump in Vietnam. Of course, I'm not riding, but pushing the bike, scuffing my elegant Rapha shoes on the slippery rocks. I'll be descending them a bit further, because I've decided to live to see my retirement someday. Every day I worry that, as probably the only person in this country who spent every single day of his life in IT at the State Protection Office, I won't live to see my retirement and it will all be gone. Piotrek has a business, so he rides bravely. He rides so bravely that he has to wait for me every few moments. Sometimes he even gives me a head start and lies on those rocks for a while. I'm too slow to see it. I'm reminded of a joke:

Winter, Alps, ski slope.
The guy starts down the mountain at full speed. He bounces on a mogul, spins, flies, somersaults, and slams into a tree in a snowstorm.
Skis in one direction, poles in the other, teeth knocked out, nose bleeding, legs bent as much as possible.
Opens his vacant eyes, takes a deep breath of mountain air and says:
– And fuck, it's still better than at work.

So I stand there, cold and wet, carrying a bike weighing over 15 pounds, and wondering if I'd rather be drinking my 17th cup of coffee in the office. I have no answer.

This whole cycling and downhill thing is a bit like a certain anecdote from my life. I spent years learning (through trial and error) to ski in Małe Ciche. When my parents first took me to Austria, I went straight to the Harakiri slope in Zillertal. Two minutes later, my pants had a hole in the crotch; I had to plow so hard with my skis. On a bike, the less afraid you are, the looser you are, the less you brake – the better you descend. I do it all the other way around, so around Turbacz, there would have been at least two descents (or rather, rafting runs) where I thought I was going to die. I didn't die, because I'm still writing here, but inside, inside Maciek, something must have died. After that trip, my pants also ended up in the trash: they'd survived practically every trip for the past five years, only to rip while pulling them up in the forest. Likewise, my Hammerhead counter ended up in the trash the very first night after its display failed. They don't make any of these things anymore. Sleep sweetly, angels [*].

We pass a few people along the way – they all look like walking garbage bags and have the same smile on their faces. I think they're called "smiles in Polish." I'd rate my satisfaction a solid 1 out of 10. Everything's sticky with mud, my shoes are chafing, and it takes as long to carry the bike up and down as it does to ride. On every climb, Piotrek pulls away from me. I don't know how that's possible; I'm not that weak, after all. As an experienced cyclist, I look for the reason for this in the equipment – I'm reminded of a visit to the steep climbs in Lesotho, and a theory develops in my head. Piotrek is riding with a small seatpost and a backpack. It's like with the Tailfin, which is mostly loaded at the very end (so my dropper can lower the seatpost), and it's also quite high up. This means that on steep gradients, it takes quite a bit of weight off the front wheel, and I lose my balance. I'll have to think about this for the future. This is the first time in history that I think the Tailfin isn't the best bikepacking invention in the world.

We avoid Turbacz because visibility is zero. We also avoid Lubań for the same reason, even though we practically pass right by them. We end our drive in Tylmanowa, because that's the only place we can find accommodation – the only one that makes sense on Booking.com. Calling random places found on Google Maps, we discover that everything is already booked for Friday evening.

We sleep in Rivent SportIt's somewhere between a workers' hotel in Zawiercie, a recreation center in Koczała, and a student dormitory. We don't mind. We're made up of 80% of mud, 15% of sweat, 5% of proper humanity, and 0% of dignity. The facility is clearly geared towards kayakers practicing on the adjacent track on the Dunajec River, but importantly: Żabka is nearby, and our room is located directly above a pizzeria. So we go to dinner barefoot, but in soaked and muddy pants. Two pizzas (double-sized, so perfect for one person in this condition) cost 117 złoty. We spend the rest of the evening rinsing the mud and sand from every crevice – from our clothes, equipment, and bodies. I'm also ready to say goodbye to my camera: the now-increasingly expensive Ricoh GR II, because it's making a noise like it's biting sand. I'm shocked – it's going through this adventure, and after a dozen or so photos, all the moving parts are moving again. And in the axes they should be! Let me just remind you that this camera is over 10 years old and not known for its durability. I'd be very sad if it died, because I think it's getting more expensive.

We fall asleep quickly, still knocking each other down with our loot from Frog. I fall asleep just as quickly as I'm woken at 1 a.m. by the occupants of the next room. I'm sure the occupant of the room has fallen into a spiral of laughter and can't stop. She giggles for a good half hour until I finally hear a knock on her door. I think, "Finally, the occupant of the third room down the hall is going to flush her first." I hear the dialogue:

– Good evening, it's the middle of the night. Could you please be quieter?
– (a moment of thought) NO CHANCE, BUT YOU CAN JOIN.

For the next half hour the laughter gets even louder, then I finally fall asleep.

That day I seriously consider selling MTB and forgetting once and for all that such a sport even exists.

Stage two, fate had to change.

In the morning the dirt falls off by itself "like dust after a great battle"So we start the day by cleaning up after ourselves. The main advantage of Booking.com over AirBnB is that the property can't judge us. However, we try to maintain decorum. We set off around 9 a.m. and I quickly discover that the wax on my chain has probably fallen off along with the dirt. The chainsaw makes a noise like a saw being sawed with another saw. Since we're not particularly fond of stopping, I'll lubricate it only at the mountain hut on Przehyba. It's only 25 km, you might say. Not that bad, you might say. Yes, it only takes us a while to get to the hut. OVER FOUR HOURS, and the only break along the way is to climb the observation tower in Koziarz (942 m above sea level).

While the first 4 kilometers are paved, and the next few alternate between very steep terrain and impressively scenic concrete roads and trails, things get pretty tough after that. The man who marked out the yellow bike trail must have really disliked his family and friends. I suspect he marked it, took them on a hike, and returned alone, defending himself in court with the words, "it was a bike trail, after all." I mostly walk it. My heels look like Cinderella's sisters from the Brothers Grimm cut them off with a knife. My shoes haven't dried, and I've never tried to walk uphill (and sometimes downhill) for that long in them. The upside is that the toes of my shoes wear out so quickly that they'll soon be turning into flip-flops, which should make life a bit easier.

Anyway, while the first few kilometers are very pleasant and beautiful, after a while I feel like quitting this sport again and ordering a helicopter ride home. Because I don't know how else to get out of this place. From Przyhyba on, however, everything changes – permanently. People will appear – walkers, cyclists, dogs, children, and civilization in general. Right up until the very end of the trip, everything will be wonderful. I stop maybe once, behind the observation tower on Radziejowa, near Mały Rogacz. Mainly because the trail consists of large, loose rocks and a large number of people on the trail. The Tatra Mountains appear in the distance, and everything is already magnificent.

Somewhere along the way, we ask a few random people which trail is better to ride – keeping in mind what we saw on the yellow. However, it's hard for people to honestly assess whether something is difficult to ride or not. Especially since we're almost the only cyclists on non-electric bikes for many kilometers. And I'm not surprised at all; electric bikes are the future, and I don't understand why anyone would ride "classic" bikes here. It's a chore, not a pleasant hobby. In the end, we trust the couple who said, "we passed a man on a bike, he kept saying that it was f*cked up"We agreed that since he was able to speak, it couldn't have been that bad. And indeed, it wasn't.

We descend to Piwniczna, then take the main road along the Poprad River for a bit. For the first time in my life, I see a freight train swimming in the river; just a week earlier, it had derailed and fallen into the water. Then, through Wierchomla, we head to Muszyna, where we'll spend the night. It's a great experience. Hotel Activa – 510 PLN for two people, including breakfast and dinner. Although it's hard to call it dinner, the dinner is buffet-style, with a choice of cabbage rolls and pierogi, period. Although, of course, it's better than booting your SPDs to Muszyna, or worse, cycling there. But what we really want is the freedom to make no choice at all. Choosing a place for dinner terrifies us – we're not on vacation to make decisions.

Wierchomla is always the best. It's a Chillier-like clearing with a view. The climb is long, but I'm a bit excited because I've been to Wierchomla many times, but it feels like the first time I've driven through the forest on this road – a real discovery, let me just tell the guys from the State Agricultural Farm (PGR). Only in the evening do I discover that it's the same road I always used on the State Agricultural Farm (PGR) detour, just taken in reverse. The age-old saying proves true: a route taken in the opposite direction is a new route.

Stage three, because the grass is always greener on the neighbor's side.

Breakfast makes up for a less-than-successful dinner. By less-than-successful, I mean it's varied, because considering the 55 złoty cost and our internal tantrums, I'm sure the place is already losing money on the number of dumplings and cabbage rolls served. We also manage to get access to a water hose at the bike garage, which helps our bikes lose a kilogram. There are practically no clouds in the sky, the sun has been baking since yesterday, and we haven't seen rain in dozens of hours, so we're confident we won't get our bikes dirty again. It probably won't come as a surprise when I tell you that that evening, I'm spending 10 złoty at a self-service car wash to clear my shoes and bike of debris. Moments earlier, I'll be standing on the side of the road, using a stick to scrape mud from my chain, shoes, and various body parts.

The day itself is perfect and when it is not lack of form The Tailfin, weighing down the rear, would be passable on a 100%. We start on paved roads, then some premium gravel, then paved again, then meadows, gravel, and even some singletrack along the way. We stick to the Polish-Slovak border the entire time. The difference between the two countries is drastic. Here, there are cottages and civilization, while there, as if in the middle of the Bieszczady Mountains, are endless fields. The route could be called "50 Views of the Tatra Mountains," as they regularly appear on the horizon.

A short distance beyond the village of Kremna, where the meadow meets the forest, we reach an intersection blocked by red and white tape with a notice announcing an "airsoft fight" is still underway and that it's impossible to cross. Airsoft is like pellet guns. We stand at the sign for a good few minutes because, as I mentioned earlier, neither of us wants to make difficult decisions during the holidays. We know full well we'll be going on anyway, but neither of us wants to take responsibility for the decision. Eventually, we cross the tape anyway, probably bored with the wait and blurting the decision in the air. Or perhaps blaming "us from the past" when we started the truck. Sure enough, we pass a few armed Slovaks in camouflage, and then an entire pseudo-military camp with tents. They look like they're preparing to invade Poland, but we don't particularly impress them.

A bit further we turn onto singletrack CYCLOSTOPSIt's hard to say if this isn't the right place for my Canyon, or for Maciek riding it, but the singletrack is largely made up of roots. It's probably some kind of place for forest enthusiasts. A few (or maybe a dozen, I'm lost in space-time due to my concentration) minutes later, we're tearing through the forest to get back to the road.

We reach Przełęcz Rozdziela – the border with Poland. I'm surprised to discover that the place has a star rating on Google Maps. I have no idea when or why I did it. I must have seen it in some photo that it was beautiful – and indeed, it is quite nice. Magically, people appear immediately after crossing the border. Many walkers, whom we'll pass from this point onwards – in varying numbers – begin here. From what I remember, there were about 10 "this is definitely the last climb" that day. This one isn't particularly easy because, firstly, the surface is suitable for riding, so it's foolish to boot; secondly, it's a kilometer long and has a 161-degree average gradient.

Halfway up the driveway, I see Piotrek pass three people. A young guy and two girls. They sit in the driveway without faith or hope for any future. They look as if they've discovered that to get a photo from above, you have to climb up with your shoes. I hear the dialogue:

- Is it electric?
– no, normal
– Holy shit. No. This is fucking impossible. No.

From that day on, Piotrek always walked everywhere with his head held high.

Further on, there are crowds of people, great views, and a look of amazement on my face, having been in the area so many times and never thought to climb the hill we're currently riding. In the distance, the Tatra Mountains appear again, along with the 3 Crowns, and most importantly, our Polish Davos, aka Szczawnica. From above, Szczawnica looks as if God found a beautiful spot in the mountains and said, "Hey, people, take a shit there." The entrance to this seat of evil is just a ski slope, Palenica, and then a downhill bike ride. I'll be diplomatic, but thanks to my above-average enduro-style downhill skills, I wasn't having the best time. I'm very glad to be alive, though.

In Szczawnica, there's Żabka and about a hundred thousand people. Most of them are trying to park, stuck in traffic, or, filled with inner rage, arguing about something, enjoying their vacation. Because someone didn't wait for someone else, because someone still wanted a beer, because someone didn't buy something for someone. Our dissonance between this view and the magnificent Dunajec River gorge is stark. Although the Dunajec itself looks as if it's about to be jammed with rafts.

To cool his head, Piotrek dives into the water near the campsite near the Red Monastery. It's hot, and I see him, full of hope, heading towards the stream, only to discover the water is significantly colder than it looked from the saddle. However, he can no longer change his mind and turn back. We don't turn back. Never. Cooling down doesn't help, because just three minutes later we're in a fight with a woman in an SUV who decides to ram us head-on, overtaking cyclists going the opposite direction. She's not going to waste her vacation riding behind a bike on a road used for cars. The area is causing me a lot of frustration, so I'll end this paragraph. Especially since we're taking the Velo Dunajec to Nidzica, and it's idyllic.

At the castle, we turn onto a hill that looks like it could offer a view. And indeed, we can once again see the Tatra Mountains and lakes from above: Sromowieckie and Czorsztyńskie. The only problem is that a bit later, our luxurious gravel road turns into a swamp. With each successive crossing, we tell ourselves, "This must be the last puddle." None of them is the last, and my bike weighs two kilograms more again, and my shoes are caked in mud up to my ankles. We escape to the asphalt at Łapsze nizne and head through Dursztyn to Nowy Targ. We also ignore it. Grandeusa, from which the view always impresses me. We've seen the Tatra Mountains so many times that we've grown tired of them. We reach the town via asphalt roads familiar to me from racing, where, to our surprise, the number of overnight stays is much smaller than we expected.

We spend the night in Waksmund – in White Deer found on Booking. It's located next to a pizzeria (which is long gone at this time, because it was probably food truck(who left), a self-service car wash, and a Żabka – the location is perfect. We arrive at what turns out to be a private accommodation – closed. I call the guy – he says he'll be there in an hour. So we have dinner at Żabka. While waiting for the lady to heat up our pizza, we have the opportunity to experience traditional local culture, where someone threatens someone with an axe, and someone replies that their friends will be there soon. A moment later, security appears with their sirens blaring. A perfect attraction.

The next day will take us about 30km, including one large off-road climb. It's near Turbacz, which I don't remember very well. We'll have to hurry, as rain is forecast from noon.

Is alive.

As I've already mentioned, I'm very happy to live in the 21st century. A century where rockets not only fly into space but also return to their launch site themselves. We have space technology, so I know there will be a heavy rain at noon, and by then we'll be safely sitting in the car. The fact that we're woken up in the morning by massive raindrops falling from the sky is a bit puzzling. We modify the route – getting our bikes muddy before packing them into the car isn't the best idea. We decide to stick to the asphalt. As soon as we make this decision, blue sky reveals itself. God must be proud of our common sense. And it's a good thing, our route to Klikuszowa is exceptionally scenic, with exceptionally good visibility across the entire mountain range. I'm delighted with the road we found. Only then do I discover I've ridden it many times before. I don't know, maybe the dizzying speeds reached on asphalt while riding a mountain bike give me more time to look around. Or maybe it's the position where I'm sitting like an armchair instead of hunched over, holding the wheel of the person in front of me...

We reach the car just before a massive storm begins. I'm disgusted, because I enjoyed it, and I remember well that not long before, I told myself never to do it again. And it's like this with every candy I eat, as this blog shows. And only my shoes, which have practically no toes left, will remind me of what really happened.

This post is dedicated to my no-longer-produced navy blue trousers: Rapha Men's Explore Overshorts. They survived bikepacking trips across more than a dozen countries on four continents, but failed miserably while trying to pull them up on the trail near Przesła Pass. And the Hammerhead Karoo counter, the first version, also called a "CRT TV" on the TV sets, which has also been discontinued for many years.