From the Baltic Sea to the Tatra Mountains (it's bad)

There is such a thing guest on the internet, who has a cap with the word "poor" written on it. I'm very envious of it, and if we had one, Michał and I would put it on Friday morning and take it off Monday afternoon. Because that's roughly how long it took us to travel a thousand kilometers from the top of Poland to the bottom. We'd probably wear it every 50 kilometers. selfie with the appropriate expression... if we hadn't forgotten to stop, of course.

The pretext for the trip was to check the route of the upcoming Marathon Through Poland organized by Ultra Wheel. Just like with the Poland Gravel Race detour, which has been described many times on this blog. Looking at the track, I have the distinct impression that I need to buy the guys a ruler. It's over 1,000km, so a distance similar to the BBT, which also traverses Poland, but diagonally. So how is it possible that riding crosswise is farther than diagonally? Maybe if they have a ruler, they'll reconsider.

Thanks.

First of all, I'd like to thank you all. Thanks to the rapid growth of social media and the rising level of sport, nothing is a feat anymore. If you can imagine something, someone else has probably already done it, but better and faster. Maybe even on a folding bike. Riding on one wheel. Front wheel. No hands. It's great because you don't have to try anymore. We'll never do anything impressive again. Unless we win a Darwin Award, but then there won't be time to celebrate. At least not for us. That's why we ride with dignity. If we want to prove something, it's only to ourselves. That you can ride with your head and common sense, because physical preparation is hard to come by.

The photos from this trip are 80% of calves and buttocks against a backdrop of fields. They could probably be interesting, but it would require intense concentration and searching for tidbits along the way. I'm definitely better at searching for tidbits while walking the dog. Because this time, we don't have time for that – we wake up in the morning, not long after dawn, and we're already late, as always. Because we're old and like to fall asleep before 11:00 PM. So we're building sections as we go, but with two things in mind: that the ride should end as early as possible on Monday and the availability of accommodations along the route. And availability is very limited, because the route tries to avoid crowded civilization.

Observations.

A certain Kazik song comes to mind that goes something like this:

What a mess, what a disaster

this is a punishment for our sins, God no longer loves us,

now God loves the Germans, they have more money,

although they lost the war and we live in poverty,

what a fall, what a mess,

this is a punishment for our sins, our toil is in vain,

our regrets are in vain, united in lamentation,

what a fate, wipe your eyes and nose!

Poland is burning! Poland is burning!

Poland is burning from the sea to the Tatra Mountains

and I I'm standing on the balcony I'm riding a bike and watching Poland burn,

the wind is blowing, the fire wind is blowing!

Poland is burning! From the Baltic Sea to the Tatra Mountains!

Because the route is one for racing, not for looking around. We occasionally spot some interesting things, but we probably miss most of them. We regularly pass roadside shrines, towns with funny names (like Klocek, Strzepcz, Bąk, Grzeczna Panna, Samoklęski, etc.), and attractions like "the longest plank in the world" or "the only Panther tank in Central Europe.". Provincial_photographer from Instagram would probably be delighted with the things we missed.

We're not, everything pisses us off. The wind that blows so hard in the face for three days in a row that exceeding 25 km/h is a challenge. The sun raising the temperature to almost 40 degrees Celsius and the surrounding corn and sunflower fields that don't provide much shade. Then the rain and the temperature drop to statistically equalize the weather conditions to: "the average was perfect." Or the bike paths, which are designed to discourage anyone from longer rides. They're designed so that the cyclist knows they're a seventh-class person. Riding through (those wealthier) Polish villages and towns, I feel likelike Adaś Miauczyński running with a smoke bomb:

– "Meow, left! Right! Go! Go! Get the f**k out!".
– "What the f**k am I doing here? I'm 40, I've finished two faculties, and I'm running around, I'm working my ass off." plan…bike paths.”

And then there's the cars. I've traveled through several countries by bike, probably fifty. NOWHERE is there such aggression on the roads. Sure, in Kenya they drive like idiots, but that's probably due to ignorance and a lack of foresight. Here, drivers simply deliberately swerve to show us the decline of humanity. A guy will honk at you on a perfectly smooth and empty road, telling you you're riding on the edge of the road because there's an off-road trail through the forest nearby. Or simply because he has to slow down – because of you. He'll get to Żabeczka for a beer later, and it's almost nine on Sunday. A farting Audi with tinted headlights, license plate E0 KOZAK (I made that up, but it fits the convention), and the Sieradz king of life, asserting his superiority by overtaking us at a safe distance of 30cm.

And Żabeczki is an even better topic: "Mrs. Marysia, four beers, vodka, and Żubrówka" – every single one, at any time of day or night, in any town. But so quickly, because my son is waiting in the car, because a friend is buying, because the guys are at a barbecue, because I happened to be passing by. Everyone with a smile, everyone with a diminutive, because then vodka becomes vodka.

And in between all this, of course, there are people "from" and "to" church: dressed up, in suits, in spotless cars, because Saturday is a church holiday, and Sunday is Sunday. Full of adoration for their neighbor. Unless their neighbor is blocking their sacred passage. Then no, then there's no need.

After a thousand kilometers through asphalt Poland, the only thing that comes to my mind is Piłsudski's quote about a great nation.

What for.

We're driving for a long time, so we have plenty of time to wonder what it's all about. Why we're getting up early and driving into the night? It's neither pleasant nor cool. We don't have anything to prove to anyone, except perhaps ourselves, that we can still do it and that we're capable of it. But we knew this before we set off. We even want to record a video for ourselves—for the future—that it's pointless, that it's not worth it, that we shouldn't repeat these ideas.

We'd probably have dozens of these videos by now, collected over the past dozen or so years. We'd laugh at them now and ignore them, saying:„No, it was definitely fun... But when I think about it now, I smile„"We'd ignore this movie too. Even though we realize for three solid days that it's neither pleasant nor worthwhile, we know that the day after returning we'll consider it a great adventure. It's more of a topic for a psychologist, some kind of Stockholm syndrome or the equivalent of battered wife (or husband – it's the 21st century) syndrome. As Michał said, somewhere near a town whose name I can't remember:

While searching for an answer to this question, I am reminded of the book "„Thinking Traps: On Thinking Fast and Slow”" by Daniel Kahneman. In particular, chapter 161 (it's one of THOSE books) "The Problem of Time," in which he describes our memory as a sum of moments. Duration is compressed to a beginning, a peak, and an end, everything else is squeezed like an overly long word in a crossword puzzle. Duration is ignored—all attention is directed to selected moments. And yet, we have at least a few of these moments, although they mostly consist of the moment when we finish driving. And this is the most pleasant moment, so we will mainly remember it—repeated several times. It may turn out that with bikepacking The most enjoyable part of driving is not driving, and that's what you remember. He once recommended the book to me. MKON, so I recommend it too. He describes it much better than I can. That's probably why it has 178 chapters.

Travel educates.

We learned some very important things in life from our trip. It's what makes you move forward instead of standing still, as any internet influencer will tell you. With each trip, we become a better version of ourselves. This time, we learned, among other things:.

• That Żapps at Żabka can be topped up a maximum of 4 times a day
• That Żapps at Żabka collect up to 150 PLN per day, then they disappear

…and I don't know, I guess that's it.

We're going. Or rather, we're limping.

Day 0. 38.5 km.

We're taking the Pendolino to Gdynia on Thursday after work. It's the only one that has room for people with bikes. But the price isn't a problem if you have a bit of common sense. On the Pendolino, they give you a waffle cone and water in a deposit-back bottle. Nobody takes deposit-back bottles off the train, so just walk around the carriages a few times and… profit!

I remember a few years ago, We were in Rwanda with Michał in shock when two guys argued over our empty plastic bottle outside a shop. Once again, it turns out that Rwanda is ahead of us in many respects.

As befits a train, it's about 40 minutes late, so we arrive just in time for sunset. We still have 40 kilometers left until our overnight stop, though when I approved this plan, I was sure it was 30. It doesn't matter. We're going very fast (at least in our heads), because for some reason we don't want to travel at night – thanks to this, on the first day, Garmin tells us we should rest for over a day after this "training." The first day hasn't even started, and we're already exhausted. We're sleeping in Władysławowo – skipping the start from Hel.

We eat dinner at Żabka, arriving at exactly 9:37 PM. I have a saying: "You can tell a place by its Żabkas." As you might imagine, Żabka in Władysławowo at night looks like we've walked into a party of 16-year-olds, the worst kind. The kind that, like a true boomer, you want to beat up just for looking at. No one, of course, wants anyone."„"to f**k with a machete" like in Waksmund, but it's still thick.

At the accommodation, Michał asks for the invoice, and we observe the confusion on their faces. I suspect the owners were up all night. they are googling, what's this whole invoicing thing about? In the morning, the sleepy owner brings us invoice number 01/2026. For the rest of the trip, I'll be referring to this town as "Wejherowo," because I get them mixed up.

Day 1. 311.5km.

At 7:07 we set off north. That's the right direction, just the opposite. But we want to start by seeing the sea, otherwise I couldn't call the route "From the Sea to the Tatra Mountains." Some idiot would immediately write, "You were at the bay, not the sea"... I'm kidding, they wouldn't write that because I have comments disabled here :-)

I still laugh at the thought of people passing by asking, "„Is this the way to Zakopane?„"? Of course I don't do that. Maybe I would if I were a vlogger and filmed...

A classic sight on the beach: out-of-order Belgian fries/waffles, a toilet, a garbage truck driving across the sand, and young people – tired of life, but still annoying. I take comfort in the fact that they're about to go to work and have about 47 years of pointless clicking on something on a screen ahead of them. I'll have been resting for 20 years by the time they're done. We head south, a bit into the wind, but the day consists of forests and hills, so it's not particularly bothersome.

Following our plan to ride responsibly (i.e., rest, eat, drink, and generally use our heads more than our legs), we make our first stop at kilometer 140—somewhere near the start of the Kaszebe Runda in Kościerzyna. We both can't believe how much food we can fit in our bellies.

Although I don't know if it fit, because for the next few kilometers it tries very hard to get back.

I am a true Pole, my shopping ritual is simple. That is, assuming there is A true Pole, who doesn't buy alcohol at Żabka. I stand in front of the drinks aisle and check our current attitude, as a nation, towards Iga Świątek. If we're angry and hating her, I check our attitude towards Robert. This time, Iga won a major tournament, so I'm riding the entire trip on a colorful Oshee with her image. We currently like her.

Along the way, we stop at the Bench of Discord – I don't remember where. I only know that we disagree on so many things that it would be a sin not to. In fact, there are currently two such benches of discord in the village. The residents probably disagreed on the location of the first one.

Somewhere beyond the Wdzydze Landscape Park, we get stuck. It's a bit disappointing, because I know the area well – these are my loops from Męcikał. However, I haven't been there on a road trip in years. It turns out we've reached the village of Wiele, and there's nothing left to do. You could say: there's "not much" to do. Gravel paths have been built in every direction along the road, and no-bicycle signs have been placed on the empty, smooth asphalt.

My lifelong goal is to find the person responsible and shit on their doormat. We drive back and forth for about 20km, trying to legally break through the asphalt. It's foolish to run a marathon after the ban. For legal reasons, I can't say whether we succeed.

On the way, we stop at a viewpoint – Złota Góra (Golden Mountain). It's the only place we stop at as tourists during the entire trip. Is it worth it? I doubt it, but it's Toi Toi, so it's worth it for us. Believe it or not, it's exactly at the moment when Michał, standing next to him, disappears into it. toilet bowl a guy with a Karcher comes out. I'm starting a crack in the cracks, whether he's seen Michał, and how funny it will be when he shoots a stream of water at the booth. Karcher, not Michał. The debate goes on long enough that my intervention comes down to standing and watching.

In the evening we reach Nakło – it turns out to be the only town within a few dozen kilometers that offers accommodation suitable for us. We grab a pretty good burger at„IN THE FIELD burger & pizza”" and we stock up for the night at Biedronka, missing the fact that there's a Żabka right next door. We sleep in "„Art Cafe Nakło – Hotel Wedding Hall” – a hotel that can be said for many things, but certainly not for being cheap (around 500 PLN per night). That's okay, because the bikes get the entire wedding hall to themselves for the night, and we can enjoy a buffet breakfast from 6:30 a.m.

That evening, I discover I've lost my charger. To this day, I still think it's impossible, because I know I put it in the trunk. The world must have been punishing me, because I remember laughing at Michał's charger when he lent it to someone on the train. My charger looked at his charger like my Factor looked at his Planet X. If only Factor knew what Planet X had accomplished in his life...

Well, an existing, crappy charger is far better than an alien-tech charger you don't own. As a modern-day Boy Scout, I have a trick. We have a TV in our room, and the TV has a hidden USB port that provides some power. So we sleep with the TV on (set to no HDMI connection and the lowest brightness, of course).

Day 2. 290km

I don't want to write too much about the second day – it left me traumatized. It was a ride through the fields, in the heat. A lot of heat, and believe me – I've seen a lot of heat in my life: from those in Death Valley, through the equatorial in Uganda, after pollinated in India. This one is worse, because it's just as scorching, but it lacks a touch of adventure and exoticism. It would be one thing to succumb to the heat on the equator, and quite another near Konin or Sieradz. Unless, of course, I were Ethiopian, in which case it would be exotic to me. The wind is also so strong that it makes you lose interest in life. The only thing that saves us is the thought that the next day will be much colder.

Somewhere along the way, we stop at Orlen – supposedly to buy a charger, but it's probably just an excuse to grab some ice cream. THE CHEAPEST CHARGER AT ORLEN COSTS OVER 85 PLN. In terms of quality/price, this is the worst expense for the 100% this year. And it's only August. And keep in mind that I've already bought a ton of unnecessary things this year. crap. Trip ruined.

To keep our brains working, we try to invent serious moral and life dilemmas. One of them is our dreams. We agree that our current dream is eating pizza in a cold shower, but without getting it wet. Perhaps this is even our only dream for this life, at this moment.

What's interesting is that we quite unexpectedly pass through the town of Przyjezierze. That is, maybe it's not so much the fact of the journey itself that's interesting, as we pass through many towns, but what's happening there. It's as if we're back in Wejherowo Władysławowo, but more so. For a moment, I appreciate my cycling adventure, imagining, as an alternative, sitting on a beach with people. Of course, the only people worse than the wind are people—especially shirtless ones.

We're staying in the beautiful village of Osjaków, because that's the only place with decent accommodations. Nearby is an emergency BP station and an emergency hotel with a restaurant. Our "Hotel Symfonia" is perfectly fine. And it greets us with a "welcome guests" sign. And we are, after all, guests. We've driven almost three packs in this heat and wind with a bad foot and we haven't lost our minds. We even have a smile on our faces. Admittedly, only when we pull up in front of the hotel, but still. That's the only way they see us.

We happen to arrive just in time for Andrzej's birthday, so the whole building shakes a bit. It's a bit like that Boris LSB song:

hop hop hop the ceiling is shaking,
everyone is looking at angeeeeli's hips,
thump thump thump the whole club stomps

Luckily, we get a room as far from the fun as possible. We even manage to grab dinner at the hotel restaurant. We're the only ones in the entire room. We order two dinners each: two for us and two for our imaginary friends—I hope the front desk believed us.

It was huge and delicious. We also order a takeaway breakfast and go to bed. The Body Battery on my watch shows we've died. The trainer on my watch, however, says it's very good, that rides like this are making me a better person and that my body's battery will have more capacity in the future. Who am I to question technology? Maybe it doesn't know that we won't be able to get the recommended 45 hours of rest and will have to sleep, regenerating six times faster than normal. This should work, since we ate three times as much as normal and are breathing twice as fast.

Day 3. 255km

This questioning of technology is a bit questionable. We grab a takeaway breakfast in the morning and ride with it in our backpacks for an hour, waiting for a suitable bench. The route leads along the Warta River, along quite nice roads, through the forest, and the wind calms down a bit. It promises to be a beautiful day, although it takes us an hour to find the bench. We eat an apple, two sandwiches, and juice—the typical meal for a 40-year-old with six lessons at school that day—at the bus stop next to the place. Battles of Kluski. True story, but what do they know about the battles of Kluski if they didn't see us fighting pappardelle the previous day?.

Returning to this technology, I'd like to officially wish the meteorologists would step on a Lego brick and fall flat on their faces... or maybe it's our fault for checking the forecast for a place we were 200km earlier? It's even warmer today. The air has stagnated due to the lack of strong wind, and since we're entering the Jura, the hills have started rolling in.

I won't write about the Olkusz and Zator areas and their roads, because the locals will beat me up the next time I go there. Dark clouds appear in the sky in the evening, just in time for us to start modifying our route near Zator due to roadworks. A bit past Andrychów, we find accommodation on Booking.com. So, we fill our backpacks at Żabka and head for a wonderful and affordable apartment. Honey Paradise. A very good overnight stay, at a price that's reasonable for India. It's located halfway up the Kocierska Pass. As it turns out, maybe it is, but on a parallel road that dead-ends, so you still have to backtrack. We probably achieve the longest time in the history of the segment, completing the climb in about 12 hours. We end the day in a light rain, so we feel justified in a decision that some might consider "soft." I don't know to whom we feel justified – perhaps to ourselves? But why?

The watch says it was a stressful day, but it congratulates us on finding time for physical activity.

Day 4,151.5km

To our surprise, it rains only a little in the morning. We set off without breakfast, as we would have had to wait until 9:00. A little up, a little down, then up again, and so on all day. With each passing hour, the climbs become steeper. After an hour, a downpour began, accompanying us all the way to Babia Góra (two hours later). We ascended Przysłop (4.5 km and 250 meters uphill) in a light drizzle, and we rode the Krowiarki Pass (one of the largest asphalt climbs in the country, with an elevation gain of over 500 meters) in the sun drying our clothes. The forecast said we had to hurry, as this rain was a prelude to an approaching storm and the end of the world.

Then, just the Tatra Mountains remained: Ząb, Murzasichle, and Głodówka. It's over, we've arrived. A surprisingly short paragraph for nearly eight hours of driving. Maybe my brain had filtered out the rain and fatigue part, and that's all that was left? I don't know. Unfortunately, I remember the start, finish, and stops at two Żabkas. Only pleasant moments, so the theory from Kahneman's book is correct.

Of course, we sprint the last 30 meters, dead on. One of us has to win this race. People are watching, bikes are creaking, veins are popping in our foreheads. If only they knew that in those final, gravel meters, we're witnessing the finish of a four-day race, which wasn't really a race at all, but everyone wants to win. But that doesn't matter – the internet knows plenty of races that weren't races, but were winnable. Greetings to those who know. What was the result? The same as with every sprint that ends our circuit of the Głodówka route (i.e., three circuits of the State Agricultural Farm) – the rabbis disagree on the answer. Each of us, deep inside, in Maciek and Michał, believes he won. That's the most important thing.

At Głodówka, we wash up, get in the car that Michał from the past left waiting for us in the parking lot, and head back to Warsaw. I get home just before dusk—success!

It never ceases to amaze me how quickly and efficiently my mind can shift from "what a disaster and stupidity" to "what a nice, extended weekend." I'd love to talk to someone someday who could explain the evolutionary mechanisms responsible for such nonsense.

Details of the North-South Marathon can be found here: https://mpp.kolo-ultra.pl/. Sign up, it'll be fun iks de.

It was a beautiful time. I will forget it quickly.

On Tuesday morning, I go to the office. The office is always great after a trip: there's coffee, a chair, the temperature is just right, and free fruit. I turn on my monitor with a suspicious smile (because who in their right mind smiles at their computer at work in the morning), and there's the message:„Hey Maciek, have you already drawn the route for our company bike rally?„"I close the MacBook lid and start walking forward. I disappear over the horizon.

WE RECOMMEND THIS ADVENTURE.

*In retrospect, much of this post may turn out to be untrue, but looking back at my notes at the time of driving, it was true. The truth of memories is simply different from the truth of reality, and no video for "my future self" will redeem that.