Day 34: Sapareva Banya to Berkovitsa

I climb out of the tent to damp grass and an overcast sky. It was cooler in the night and I woke to find myself firmly wrapped up in my four-season sleeping bag. I usually throw it off in my sleep.

I chat briefly with the only other early risers - a German couple, then ride up the rough track to the village and the main road. Already, the locals are settled in to their places. Groups in roadside cafes sit by untouched coffee  and watch me pass - an unusual sight to them, I expect. Who wears motorcycle clothing on a little  bike? Tee-shirts and sandals is normal around here. Others sit on benches or in their gardens. They seem settled in for the day.

Satty directs me through town but on approaching a main road she seems to start rapping:  "Take slip road to slip road then take slip road ahead."   I laugh to myself. The rhythm of the words catches in my mind; repeats to an imagined beatbox backing...
"Take slip road to slip road and take slip road ahead... Take slip road to slip...."
It loops round and round in my imagination. I find myself weaving slightly left and right in time to the beat.
I pull myself back into the now as a tarmac lorry hurtles past, way too close for comfort.

This part of Bulgaria isn't so scenic. Yes, the hills and fields and are there, but they are scarred with the remnants of long abandoned heavy industry. Huge derelict buildings, slab-faced and crumbling. A rusting power station a kilometre long. Factories with falling roofs and broken panes.

The roads are rough here. I dodge potholes, constantly checking the left mirror in case I ride into the path of a passing car. They seem oblivious to the poor surface, hurtling past with tyres and suspension hammering at the pits and lumps in the road. It is sometimes tarmac, but often it's simply cracked and crumbling concrete.

I see a man sitting under a tree at the side of  the road. He has a stick and is watching over a small flock of a dozen sheep and goats, all grazing together.
I wonder how that can be worthwhile. What income can he get from such a small number of scrawny animals? Maybe he has nothing else to do.  I try to imagine what his life is like.

I usually don't have  breakfast. Two cups of tea is usually enough but I feel hungry this morning.  I pull up outside a shop. It has an awning outside shading trays of tomatoes and peppers. I buy cheese, tomatoes, a tin of pâté and a cucumber. They don't have any bread. I try the shop next door. This one has trays of olives but still no bread. There's a supermarket down the road but I decide not to go there. I'd have to park the bike outside and go in. I feel uneasy about this town and don't want to let the bike out of my sight. I ride on and try to find a place to stop. All the lay-bys are full of rubbish. Most of the road for the next hour is under repair or being dug up with big yellow diggers. Piles of clay soil and concrete pipes line the road.

Eventually, I come to a stop on the brow of hill. I can see a red, clay brick village across a valley and hills in the background but the scene is spoiled by more derelict buildings. It looks like an abandoned construction site.
I crouch behind the bike and eat paté with a fork from the tin.  The juice from the tomatoes dribbles down my face. I spit the black olive pips into an empty bag.

The road rises through a  forested hill. The air feels fresher - cleaner, however the road is still dug up. I see a large blue sign proclaiming this is a European project. More details, more pipes.  I slow down to ten mph as the road is now almost all patch, with only traces of the original road showing through the quilted surface  Where there is no patch or road - there's a hole, some big enough to lose half your front wheel in.  It's hard to focus on scenery as I need to be scanning the road surface, combined with glances in the mirror. It's taking all my attention.
I leave the roadworks behind as I ride through a pale green beech forest. There are sweeping curves. The surface is much better, smooth and cambered so that I can lean easily through the bends. Light is shining through the trees causing a flickering on my visor.
The road starts to drop and it's suddenly cold. Cloud hangs in the trees. My breath condenses inside the visor. I open it a little to clear it and chilled, damp air rushes into my face. I shut it down to just a small crack and the wind whistles and wails in my ears.

My destination: a pink hotel-restaurant in  a wooded lane on the edge of Berkovitsa. I take extra care locking, chaining and setting the alarm on the bike.
I'm deviating from my planned route tomorrow to call in on Paul & Sue in Bulgaria who are a couple of hours away.  Some of you will know Paul Fereday on the C90 Facebook group and I'm really looking forward to meeting them. Paul has warned me about the roads which seem even worse near his village. I get an early night ready for the ride in the morning.