From Prijedor my route was drawn according to the availability of accommodation. As such, my first stop was Zelenkovac, an eco village developed over 26 years by painter Boro Jankovic. The village is situated in the middle of the mountains but not far from the good, main road which I had planned to take. The morning was clear but the wind which had held me back between Kostajnica and Novi Grad was blowing with the same strength as I made my way south through Sanski Most to Kljuc. This made progress very slow, my speed ranging between 9 and 13 mph. The slow pace did allow me to track the changes in my surroundings. I saw several elegant village mosques and many families working land just outside their homes.
I stopped for lunch in Kljuc, at the base of the mountains, and hoped that the wind would die as the land rose. My hopes were soon crushed as a single gust roared through the town, picking up several chairs from the terrace and blowing my bike from the steady column against which it was resting. Not knowing anything of the quality of road or of the presence of roadside barriers on the slope ahead of me, I was more than a little concerned.
The company at lunch was cold at first but soon warmed when the restaurateur, Alko, discovered I was from London and quickly wrote down the number and name of his brother, Deda, who lives in London. I am now under strict orders to call and meet with Deda on my return.
Leaving Kljuc, I soon met the bottom of the slope which would take me up to Cadavica. I chopped my hourly sections down to half hourly sections and took the climb on with some relish. It was good to work hard up a slope rather than sit idly forcing my way across flat land through a constant headwind. I was pleased to complete the 400+ metre climb in just three half hour sections. At one point, a man about my age in a Coke delivery van braked hard in front of me, for no clear reason. This was a little strange. I thought, if he had any bad intentions, it was fairly short sighted to exercise them in the most conspicuous van in the country. In fact, he made room for me to come up along side him and, holding my pace, signalled that I should hook onto his open window so he could drag me up the slope. Amused, I declined as politely as my panting would allow and with a smile he drove on. His kindness did give me a boost (though not the one he offered) and soon I found myself on a broad, high plain. The wind picked up again and quickly blew away my satisfaction. I sat through the last couple of hours with frustration building, wondering whether, if you left a man on a bike for long enough, he would lose his mind.
Distance covered 65 miles
