Delayed Start

I could have slept a little longer, but at 6:30 a.m., the building suddenly came alive. People were coming and going, doors slamming, voices echoing in the corridors. I got up, assuming breakfast would already be served, only to find the place still closed and the reception unattended. With a long riding day ahead — at least four hours on the road plus the border crossing — the delay felt heavier than it should have.

At 8:00 a.m., the kitchen staff finally arrived, but breakfast would take another half hour. By the time I had eaten, packed, and geared up, it was already 9:15 a.m. I left knowing the margin for error had narrowed. The plan was simple: reach the next stop before 4:00 p.m. and still have time to explore something small. Simple plans, however, don’t always survive the mountains.

From Rain to Blizzard

The road was quiet and uneventful at first, winding through open terrain where distances stretch and time becomes elastic. One day the same route takes four hours, another day six — you never really know. By 11:00 a.m., I had covered about 100 kilometers and stopped for fuel. Seventy kilometers remained to the border, then another eighty to the destination.

The drizzle had started gently, and with the temperature dropping, I pulled out the plastic sheeting. It’s not elegant, but it helps — especially when it’s cold rather than hot. Rain, at that point, still felt manageable.

Ten minutes later, everything changed.

Without warning, the rain thickened and began to fall as snow. In what felt like moments, the landscape disappeared beneath a white blanket. Visibility collapsed. The wind picked up violently. I skidded after hitting a slick patch — probably a painted line — and instinctively steered toward the dirt shoulder, where at least the surface offered some grip.

Cars passed without stopping. The snow hit my visor so hard I could barely see; visor open, it stung my face, visor closed, it iced over in seconds. I managed to get the bike upright and moved a short distance before stopping again. At around 12:15 p.m., I realized this wasn’t something to push through blindly.

Waiting at 2,100 Meters

I had reached a high point — around 2,100 meters — and I knew better than to try descending in those conditions. As I stood there loading and unloading gear, a large tow truck passed by. I watched it go with frustration, knowing that if I had stopped it, I could have asked for help reaching the border just a few kilometers away.

Eventually, a truck behind me pulled over. The driver invited me into the cab. Inside, it was warm and quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. In less than ten minutes, the road had vanished under snow. What had been rain turned into a full-blown blizzard.

Time stretched. One hour became two. The driver made phone calls, explaining the situation to colleagues, coordinating with others stranded on the pass. Outside, trucks stopped in both directions. Some attempted to move, others didn’t dare. What worried me most wasn’t the snow itself — I could manage that slowly — but the wind. I couldn’t ride five meters without losing visibility entirely.

We were only 2.2 kilometers from the next village. Close enough to see on the map, impossibly far in reality.

A Risk and a Way Forward

Police passed and mentioned that a snowplow had been requested. Eventually, one did come through, followed by a tractor. For a moment, hope returned — then the wind picked up again, undoing much of what had just been cleared.

By 2:30 p.m., after more than two hours of waiting, it was clear nothing would improve unless someone took a chance. The snowplow began pulling a stuck truck free. I stepped outside to assess the road: still white, still blowing sideways, still unforgiving.

If I missed this window, my only real option would be pitching the tent by the roadside and waiting for morning.

As the snowplow passed, I gathered what courage I had left, mounted the bike, and prepared to follow. The altitude here fluctuates between 1,900 and 2,100 meters — high enough that March doesn’t behave like spring at all.

It was going to be a long ride. But staying still was no longer an option.