· 20 min · 4223 words · moto, travel
The who, what, where, when, and why.
A year went by since our last long-distance enduro trip, and we were again on our bikes, heading to our new adventure. Christos and I would be joined by our friend George on his out-of-the-box Aprillia Tuareg Rally.
We all had about 10 days free at the start of June. Our route this year would be the left half of the Bulgarian TET and the bottom half of the North Macedonian TET.
It’s 780 kilometres to Bulgaria, we’ve got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it’s hot, and we are wearing knee braces.
Hit it.
My friends gifted me a Garmin inReach the day before we departed. I turned on the tracking feature, which reports your position every 10 minutes. The jaggies you see on the maps below are from Garmin’s LiveTrack. No, I will not implement an interactive map that loads GPX files, as I am too lazy.
Most of the photos are SOOC from George’s Fuji XS-10 with a 23 mm lens (35 mm full frame equivalent). The photos Christos and I shot should be considered best-effort as we shot in aperture priority mode, with seemingly random f-stops, and a classic negative film simulation. The images are also resized, compressed, and converted to webp.
Hangover extreme with double burger, please
We had covered about 45 minutes worth of road under the midday sun when Doc, Georges’ friend who would lead us out of Athens, caught up to me signaling to stop at the next emergency parking.
Apparently George tried to snap a photo of Doc, and his phone slipped out of his hand at 130 km/h. After I saw the state of the phone, I could only assume that a military parade went over it after it fell. At every stop we had on our way to Kavála we tried to find a place to repair it, with no luck.
The inevitable fate of people around me
After scouring the local market, we did manage to find a second-hand phone at a repair shop for a fair price. That was a bit time-consuming, and we ended up spending the whole morning at Kavála. By the time we passed the border above Komotiní, it was already noon.
Soon after the border, we entered the first dirt road and the start of the Rhodope mountain range. The road was easygoing and went though a lot of farm homes, with a myriad of gates we had to open and close.
At a sequence of technical rolling hills, where I was riding at the front, I had put some distance between me and the other two. Once I realized that we were a long way apart, I stopped and waited for them to catch me up. Time went by and I was still waiting. A sinking feeling started to appear, like the time I waited for Christos to catch me up, when in fact, he had broken his belly pan.
Things happen to me . Or they happen to people around me . Unfortunately, this year the die was cast and George was chosen.
I turned back and saw both of the bikes lying on the ground. A strong smell of burned clutch was coming from Georges'
bike. You know, the kind of smell you get when you burn the clutch. They described to me what had happened, and
everything was pointing to a single thing. A burned clutch. They would not believe me and were like
the bike only has 2k, it can't have possibly burned a clutch!.
I checked the clutch lever, and it was too tight. I rolled back the wheel adjuster all the way, and it still would not show any signs of play! We got the tools out and loosened it above the clutch cover. It needed a good two full turns.
After the adjustments and a grueling fight uphill, we managed to get to a village where we rested and had lunch. They
were both like the clutch just needs to cool down and it will be alright!. Yeah, right. Just like they managed to cool
down the Chernobyl reactor and everything went alright.
We got on the bikes again and the Aprillia was slipping a lot. When I mean a lot, I mean it would rev to the redline and you would be almost standstill a lot. We decided to find a place to stay and open the clutch to access the situation.
We called our friend and motorcycle guru Haris, and he helped us through the process. Things were looking bad. The friction plates had irregular shapes on the friction material, and the drive plates were blacked out. Continuing like this was not an option. We could:
- Try to sand down the disks in the hope that they were glazed but had enough friction material on them for the rest of the trip.
- Have someone from Greece sent us a new clutch and oil/filters the next day, so we can put them on ourselves.
- Go to an official Piaggio service at Xánthi or Kavála since we were close enough.
- Call it quits.
Ultimately, it was Georges’ decision, and he felt more comfortable sending the bike back to Athens to have it fixed. This also meant he would not continue the trip. Our mood plummeted.
Why did the bike burn a clutch? It is without a doubt the fault of the mechanic George took the bike at Athens. They changed the clutch and brake levers with shorter versions but failed to properly adjust the clutch side. That resulted in the clutch always being disengaged a little bit and thus decaying over the course of two days. If you want to learn what shop it was and hear the rest of my rant, PM me 🙂.
The same night I had the first real interaction with Bulgarians. It was already late when we finished assembling the bike, and I was tasked with finding something to eat. Since we stayed at a cabin in the woods, I had to drive some distance until the first village. There I could not find anything open. Of course I couldn’t. It was 22:30 at a village in Bulgaria. After some scouting I saw a shop that had some people in it but with the doors closed. It turns out they had a private party, which I crashed and explained our very hungry situation. The host was more than willing to step out of their celebrations and make me three to-go meals. As I waited patiently for the meals to be prepared, I enjoyed my complimentary cold water to Greek music .
Kavala express
The tow truck arrived around 10:00. It took the bike down to the border, where another tow truck would handle the transfer at the Greek side. Given it was the eve of a public holiday, it would eventually take more than a week to get to Athens.
After we loaded and shipped the bike, George and I made our way to Kavála. It was 140 km from where we were staying, through the beautiful Thermes. We had a quick espresso, said our goodbyes, and parted ways.
Leaving a friend behind under those circumstances has you feeling weird.
Dirt bike playground
We woke up at 06:30 as we had to cover the lost ground. The beginning of the day had us on similar terrain like yesterday, but as we delved deeper, we started to understand why everyone was telling us how stunning Rhodope is.
Rhodope is a mountain range shared by Bulgaria and Greece. Bulgarians have about 80% of it in their border, and if you ask me, they should have the other 20% as well. Their forrest management is impeccable. Forest roads are properly maintained. Lumbering is only allowed in very specific areas. We did not see trash anywhere. And I truly mean it, not even a single chewing gum. We also noticed cameras at the entrances and exits of some protected forests. What we can only assume is monitoring of people going in and out.
Around noon, we had some brief showers of rain. There were heavy rains in the days prior to our visit, and subsequently it was quite muddy. We had some difficulty crossing some sections, especially the ones that had heavy machinery ruin the road. A 50/50 tire can only do so much in deep mud.
As pictured below, we even had to turn around a few times and reroute. The mud was clay-like, and we could not ride some uphills.
What truly blew us away was the Dupkata protected site. We went through dense forests, lakes, and green plain fields. We saw rabbits, foxes, and deer, amidst others. The site also had some restricted areas to humans—kudos Bulgarians. It felt like we were the first ones riding there. Alone, exploring untouched land.
Sandy mountains
After a good night’s sleep at a lovely couples hotel with hearts on the sheets and a jacuzzi in the room, we set off for Sofia through the Rilla national park. Again, we woke up very early (at least for my standards), a recurring theme we decided to keep for the rest of the trip.
I really love the fourth or fifth day of a trip. At this point the bike is barely discernible from the dirt, and it has also picked new marks along the way. You, on the other hand? The clothes smell so bad that swarms of flies surround you anywhere you stop. Your boots are always wet; they never have enough time to dry because you ride all day. You sneeze and dirt comes out of you.
But everything magically falls into place together. When you wake up, the only thing you have to do is put on your gear and ride. No stress, no multitasking, no emails, no nothing. It feels like you have been doing this forever and that you can continue forever. You don’t even feel the gear on you. The bike is practically an extension of yourself, everything feels so natural. Feel her struggling in the heat? You ease off. The terrain is fun and she is hungry for power slides? You let her loose. Treat her right, and she won’t betray you.
If somebody told you to continue riding until the end of time, you would blindly obey him.
The terrain was weird; a sand-like texture that was loose when dry, grippy when damp, and slippy when wet.
My favourite part of the day is the cigarette stop. I don’t smoke nor plan to. But I drink lots of coffee. Having fresh coffee prepared for you by a pro in the middle of nowhere is priceless.
We arrived in Sofia late in the evening. We had a quick stroll and had some much-needed spaghetti. The Bulgarian kitchen is wonderful but is meat-based. My little Italian taste receptors did not appreciate that.
The day we could have skipped
This day was marked by bad decisions and heat. We headed towards the Danube, which acts as the natural border with Romania. This is also the flat side of Bulgaria. And you know what the plain fields have? Boring landscapes, heat, and mosquitoes.
The TET went through level plain fields, often roads with dense vegetation and pollen-rich trees. In combination with the insufferable heat, Christos had an allergic reaction. God bless AERIUS.
Halfway through the route we stopped for lunch and decided to skip the top part of Bulgaria. We were not enjoying ourselves, so we rerouted straight to Berkovitsa.
BACKTRACK A BIT MORE
Berkovitsa was surprisingly beautiful, with a river running through the village and the public areas well taken care of. We started our ascent of the mountain Kom early, and soon we were drinking coffee at the memorial of Ivan Vazov .
After driving off, we entered thick fog, which significantly limited our visibility. We dropped some speed and now were extremely careful as we were on the ridge of the mountain. Fall to the right and you are in Serbia. Fall to the left and you are in Bulgaria. I wouldn’t characterize it as much of a fall. A more suiting description would be a drop into the void. We could not see what laid beside the edge of the cliff.
We crisscrossed between the two countries many times, and after the first couple of peaks, things started getting difficult. The peaks were getting steeper, and the terrain was loose rocks and on wet soil. The bikes had no traction.
I was maybe doing 65, when in the midst of the hill, the bike started to slow down. The bike was fine, but the incline was more like an ascent at this point. Combine that with the soft terrain, and the bike just stopped despite me slapping the gas wide open. No biggie, I said, Christos will come here to help me start, and we will be over this hill in no time.
The universe laughed hard.
After a couple of tries we decided to walk over the hill and see what lies beside. Well, jokes on us as we could not see from the fog. We then tried to find an alternative route, maybe going near the edge on the Serbian side where it was not as steep. We quickly abandoned that plan as well for obvious reasons.
Now left with two choices. Go back and find another route or charge at the hill with a gear up. If life has taught me anything is that these kinds of situations are the prelude to a disaster of cataclysmic proportions. I suggested to Christos we backtrack a couple of kilometers and try another track I see on the map.
Two failed reroutes later, we were now backtracking even more. We found a third road when out of the fog, that seemed to skip the peaks altogether. DMD2 even agreed with us.
It was also a failed attempt. The road just ended at a cliff without a warning. At that point we could not find any other tracks, so we decided to go back to Berkovitsa, have lunch, and catch the route after Kom.
And the route later was no good either. The turning point was a mud pit that I threw myself into. I didn’t judge the depth correctly, and as I was coming in hot, I managed to burry myself deep enough. Like two men trying to pull the bike out for 1:30 hours deep enough. After that we decided to go to the border by asphalt. This day was not meant to be.
We spent the night at the last town before the border. We had dinner and on our way home we stopped at a very shady mini market in a dark alley to get some supplies for the day after. On our way out a white lowered BMW with four people in it passed by slowly playing Greek trap and gave us some hard looks. We laughed it off and got on our bikes. This is peak Balkans.
Bittersweet terrain
We stopped at the side of the road. I was swearing at my phone. We were lost for one hour in North Macedonia, looking for the dirt road that would take us to the top of the mountain. The map at that part was outdated, and combined with a small error on our end, we did a complete and full circle. I do not like circles.
Long story short, we managed to find the entrance to the mountain, but we were now facing a guard, who only spoke Macedonian. Perfect. We spent the next 20 minutes trying to explain where we wanted to go like aircraft marshals, with no success. Thankfully, a supervisor happened to pass by that moment, and after we told him we just wanted to cross the mountain, he signaled the guard to let us through. Apparently there was a mine, and they had restricted access from both sides of the mountain.
The day was indifferent up to this point. The surroundings were beautiful, but nothing we had never seen before. Things changed for the best at the last part of the route. Above Berovo, our final destination, is a national park. The terrain was really fun, and we were riding on the border with Bulgaria. We even found a ’new’ border crossing station that was never opened to the public.
Making friends
We went by a mini market where six or seven people were drinking beers outside. They all waved at us and hand signaled us to join their company. We turned around, grabbed a juice from the fridge, and joined them. We did not speak a common language, but that was not a problem. We told them where we were coming from and the fact that we were three in the beginning. They showed us photos from their vacation in Greece and the last animals they had killed while hunting. They called a friend of theirs that knew both of the languages so he could close the gap even more.
They even offered to feed us at their homes. Unfortunately, we had to decline as we had to cover many more kilometers for the day. They even befriended Christos in mainstream socials. I kindly noded no, as I speculated they wouldn’t have heard of mastodon .
Macedonians are truly hospitable and kind people.
The road less traveled
As I was putting my left boot on, a man wearing a worker’s uniform opened the gate to our small yard and greeted us warmly. I noded back and continued with my right boot. He spent the next minutes closely examining the bikes. He was a biker himself. We got up, approached him, and he showed us photos of his bikes and told us about his last track day. We told him that we are going to Kaimaktsalan through dirt roads. After a little back and forth, he set off to continue his work.
Once again, the language barrier did not prove to be a problem. I am truly convinced that no matter where you are on earth, no matter the language or cultural differences, you can figure it out.
Well, the road up the mountain wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. Fallen trees, mud, and snow were on the menu.
Less than a kilometer from the top, our road was blocked from the snow. We wanted to get to the chapel of Saint Peter, which sits on the top of the mountain. Here, in the first world war (1916), Serbian and Bulgarian troops fought ruthlessly for 18 days.
There was no way we were turning back. We would rather wait for the snow to melt.
We walked over to the Greek side and saw some tracks running further down the mountain. Then I remembered that I saw a small path going in the same direction. We jumped on the bikes, and we backtracked until we found it. No more than 10 minutes later we were at the chapel.
As we rested outside the chapel, we talked about our next steps. The plan initially was to go back down the same way and head towards Prespes. But we did not want to. And we also didn’t want to do a full circle to cross the borders legally, visit Prespes, and then come back to Greece (improperly or not). We decided to keep this feeling of achievement and head back home a bit earlier.
Vrontologio
Βροντολόγιο is the Greek word for the fall log, which I meticulously and honestly kept through our trip. Inspired by motomag , it is the definite and absolute measure for one’s driving ability. I self-declared myself last year’s winner since Christos logged more falls than me. Bellow follows the technical definition of a fall from the rule’s book.
Should a bike have its handlebar touch the ground, with the rider being mounted or not, it will be counted as a fall with a coefficient of one. Should the bike have specific attributes (e.x. the boxer engine of a BMW) that prevent the handlebar from touching the ground under certain circumstances (e.x. the inclination of the ground in combination with the aforementioned boxer engine), but the bike rests by itself, it will also be counted as a fall with a coefficient of one. If a rider tries to hide a fall, he will have his fall multiplied with a coefficient of two.
As the reigning champion, I was feeling quite confident and was sure I was going to be the Stéphane Peterhansel of our very important championship. That feeling was cemented the moment Christos slipped when trying to park outside a coffee shop in Kavála.
It didn’t take long for me to fly too close to the sun. After our first stop in Rhodopi, I rode too hot at a steep downhill with loose gravel. After a failed attempt to slow down before the first turn, I was laying down at the soft countryside grass. I said to myself that 10 days are more than enough, and they will definitely fall again.
Luckily for me, at the first technical uphills, Christos and George both scored a fall. George was the first one to crash, and Christos fell behind him. George would score a second crash a few meters ahead, equaling Christos’ total count of two. I, on the other hand, went through the technical bits like a gazelle that spings through the African savanna.
Unfortunately for George, he DNFed due to a broken bike and was out of the competition.
Two days later, Christos had a crash at a hairpin while I was ahead. True to the spirit of our competition, he reported it with all the details, so I could log it.
Do you know what big bikes with 50/50 tires do not like? Mud. They do not like mud. I literally fell standstill a little before Pamporovo. It was so slippery I could not keep the bike up. We are now standing at two falls each.
At the end of the Rila national park, I was trying to keep the pace high so we could arrive early in Sofia. I misjudged, my front wheel washed out at a mud pit, and before I even knew it, I was swimming in its stinky waters. I sat there for a moment, contemplating what I had done wrong. I was now losing the championship.
Two days later at mount Kom, the mountain we could not cross, I stopped at the worst possible place on one of the peaks. The hill was really steep, and in combination with the loose ground, I could not keep the bike up. Four, if you are still counting.
That brings us to north Macedonia. I washed out the back wheel at a downhill, off-camber, grassy, right turn. I jumped over the bike and landed next to it like a James Bond kaskader, but unfortunately the handlebars briefly touched the ground. The rules are clear. Touch and you get the point.
At 5–3 I had already lost the competition. The only thing that would now help me was the sandy-like terrain of Kaimakchalan.
Christos logged the final fall of our competition on an uphill left turn. He fell hard, and as a result he ripped one of his bags and broke a plastic fairing on the front. That brought the score to 5–4.
It is with great honor, and sincere sadness, that I announce Christos as the champion of the 2025 edition of vrontologio. He stood up to the conditions, and with strategic decisions made with a clear mind, he gets to step on the top step of the podium. I wish him all the luck in the world for next year, because boy is he going to need it.
Ride Stats
The trip info as recorded from the 790’s dashboard.
- Trip: 3559.4 kilometers
- Trip Time: 62:10 hours
- Average consumption: 4.9 L/100km
- Average speed: 57 km/h
Wrap up
These words are written about a month after our trip. I did that with the other two trips as well. You get to digest everything that happened and what you saw.
We felt at that moment that the northern part of Bulgaria and the southern part of North Macedonia did not live up to the hype. Not that the views were not great, but maybe starting from Rhodope was a mistake. It set so high a standard that made everything else seem mediocre.
After I took the time to process it all, I think that ending the trip on Kajmakčalan was the right decision. It was an emotional roller coaster throughout that ended with a high sense of achievement.
Until next time, keep it on one wheel.
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