Motorcycle Explorer November 2016 Issue 14 | Page 116

Travel Story: katie jennings
Wacky Races
The last two days running up to this moment have
gone from bad to worse. The first day from the
Hungarian border to Deva had been through
amazing countryside on roads snaking through
valley floors then up, higher into the hills. The
alluringly rugged terrain that surrounded me gave
plausibility to the rumour that Romania hosts one
of the toughest enduros around. But I’d soon learnt
not to get too lost in the sights. So far, I’d rounded
numerous corners to come eye to eye with an
oncoming driver fully on my side of the road. After
the shock of the first time, it didn’t worry me too
much as our bikes aren’t big or fast and the cars
were quick to respond and move over. That wasn’t
the scary bit. The scary bit was that most of the
danger was coming from behind. Overtaking cars
seemed to have absolutely no awareness of safe
passing distance, blind corners, oncoming traffic or
indeed anything except being first. I don’t expect
people to look after my safety, but it makes me feel
extremely uneasy when they don’t seem to have a
regard for their own. How can you make
predictions on a person’s behaviour then?
Crossing the border we’d been in high spirits,
Hungary and Slovakia had treated us well and we’d
had a warm greeting from the Romanian border
guards. The guard requesting our papers had
dissolved into melodic giggles when Mickey
had grinned daftly for her as she checked his
passport against his face. Her colleagues gave
us directions, a few words of the language and
even relented to having a picture taken with
us, on the express instruction that it wouldn’t
be posted on the internet. We went happily on
our way.
The border road was surreal, huge flat plains
extending in every direction for as long as the
eye could see with only the odd building
breaking the vista. Out of one an old, bent-
backed lady walked, epitomising the poverty
endured by many throughout the country. She
was supported by a crooked, knobbly old stick
and dressed in well-used, sun-faded
traditional dress, the colours still bright
enough to mark her out on the uniform
backdrop. I hoped she wasn’t going far. She
would have the sanctuary of few trees or
shade of any kind and the burning summer sun
was relentless, even for us with the gentle
caress of the air hitting us at speed. Heat haze
christened the road up ahead and the
bleaching light on the barren landscape was
both beautiful and alien. Certainly a world
away from the green, closed-in feel of England
that I grew up with. Here was space on a level
I’d rarely encountered before.
We pulled in to a garage and stopped for a