Bystricka
Going There
There
Coming Back
Going There
Up early for our first proper jaunt, Rob suggested that we head over the pass to Bystricka, a local beauty spot. How they distinguished that particular spot from anywhere else, I've no idea. I was in raptures just looking at the hills surrounding the town. Maybe I've been in East Anglia too long.We headed off through the town and past the bike shop. Several of us had to be forceably restrained from going back in (see Shopping). The initial climb, up to the Old Town, left us painfully aware of just how flat our usual riding is. Worse was to come.
Now Vsetin is hemmed in with hills. Thirty thousand people live on the
narrow river plain and the slopes around the town are covered with dire
Stalinist tower blocks. Rob lives in one seven storey heap of concrete and
its not nice inside, although the view for the balcony is smart, providing
you lean out to see around the next tower block. However, this does mean
that the town is very compact, everywhere in town is within walking
distance and getting out of town takes five minutes. (Rob's rent is also
less than a tenth of mine, but I digress).
However, we took the comedy route out of town and spent rather more than
five minutes hacking up near vertical roads, overtaken occasionally by the
ubiquitous Skodas. At the edge of town, Jules took the road straight to
our destination and we turned onto the gravel. This steepened, hairpinning
its way further up. Still, gorgeous views and plenty of shade once we
entered the woods.
We contoured around, with occasional harsh climbs and flying DH's, along the ridges, travelling generally north. We thought we were so hardcore, until we met a small Renault car, loaded up with four locals, doing about the same speed as us over the hardpack. We were all desperately trying to remember how to ride a bike on anything other than Thetford Forest's smooth sandy tracks. Downhills came as a major surprise too, I gave up trying to follow Rob and concentrated on relearning what the bike felt like at speeds above those encountered when picking through trees on flat ground.
We reached the end of the climbing and crossed over the road from Vsetin to Bystryka. Now it was time to trade off height for fun. The descent started gradually, with wide tracks through the forest. Rob pointed out the trunks of the pine trees. As they grow upwards, the lowest side branches die off, leaving stumps on the trunk. After a few decades, the end result is a bare vertical pole, with foot long sharp wooden spikes sticking out horizontally. A local rider had gone missing a few years before our visit. He was found two days later, hanging from a tree with a spike through his neck. So, some caution was advised, but most of the trees on the popular routes had been despiked.
The DH became steeper and narrower, Rob warning us of the hairy parts.
Lol, Mr. Time Trial himself, proved to be a fast learner off-road, not
having too much trouble on his first ever proper MTB ride. The track
became harsher, culminating in a 100 metre section, about one in four,
covered in head-size rocks. We gathered at the top to look worryingly
down. Rob say "well, normally its covered in snow and you just head
staight down". Not in July.
Shane was the first to dive in, picking a route along the side of the worst steps until, well you know when things get a little too scary? The bike goes in a straight line towards the tree/rock/car that's going to end your life. So Shane ploughs into a particulary ugly rock, back wheel comes up, hangs there, we all stop breathing, back end down. He rolls in a straight line into the next boulder. Same thing, back end up, long hang time, back end down. And now a third rock. Back end up, very up, no hang time, over the bags, bounce, splat. Oops.
The rest of us attempt the chute with varying degrees of success. Andrea manages just one dab and has to be talked out of climbing up for another go, we're all too hungry to wait. Down the the lake where Julia was waiting after taking the pass through Dusna, only a 400 metre vertical climb.
There
The lake was created by the communist government, the dam across the valley had little purpose except to provide work for the locals. Still, it makes a prime local swimming spot. Having lived within hearing distance of the Atlantic for chunks of my life, I had no concept of what its like to live five hundred miles from the nearest ocean. A few summers ago, Hanna (Rob's Czech girlfriend) came over to England. The coach fair cost her parents a month's salary each. We all toddled off to the Gower Peninsula in South Wales to go play in the surf. Lakes are warmer, but the sound of the ocean can't be replaced.
Sitting outside the resturant by the lake, our first problem was the menu.
Now, if its in french, german, spanish, whatever, most english-speakers
with a modicum of sense can decipher what's what. Not here. The language
is descended from Russian roots and utterly incomprehensible. Again,
we'd have been lost without Rob. Food was the expected fare of large lumps
of meat, but filling and for the usual silly price.
Dumplings and cycling do not mix. We thought "right, here's our chance to load up on bonza quantities of carbohydrates and sample a Czech delicacy". Urp. Delicary is not the word for it. When the Russians invaded the Czechs were reduced to throwing dumplings at the oncoming tanks. Russian casualties were horrendous and the Czechs nearly retained their independance. Still, the added stomach density provided extra speed on the descents.
Coming Back
Anyway, after much larding about, we set off on the climb back over the
ridge to Vsetin. Our speed had halved after the dumplings and we set off
up the valley to Valasske Bystricka then turned up the gravel roads and
began the climb. After a day of hazy sunshine and occasional clouds, the
weather closed over and a light shower began. We sat this out under trees
by the side of the road then headed up to the top.
As we reached the top, the heavens opened. We dived under the biggest
trees we could fine to cower away from the sudden, vicious hail. Then the
thunder started, with some vigour. Now, I'm reliably informed that the
South African Velt has thunderstorms to make our English ones seem puny.
Thus Lol, South African that he is, made two comments. The first was that
he'd experienced many more thunderstorms than the rest of us. Secondly,
that standing on the biggest hill for miles around, under the biggest
trees to be found, was a course of action deficient in several important
areas.
So, we scurried down through the trees to relative saftey and waited out
the storm. Cute rainbows followed.
With the ground now sodden, we took the shortest route back to tarmac, meeting the road near the top of the Dusna Pass. Rob decided to take us down the 'scenic' route back into town....
Call that a road? Less friction than GT85 on ice. So we hacked down the gravel strewn chute that passed for tarmac, losing too much high in too short a time. Ears popping, I decided that I could follow Rob. Bad move, I used to be able to follow Rob down a DH, but then I went and lived in East Anglia for three years. The others followed at a sensible pace to arrive just after I'd changed my shorts.
Back to town, via a little shop with big bars of choccy for 10 pence. Shower then into town for a three course meal for 2 quid. Not bad for our first proper ride.