Black tunnels and a badass Frenchman

Definitely, I got my money's worth in Bosnia. The aftermath of Sarajevo will have been a series of interminable black tunnels. And I end the country by meeting a man literally twenty-five times more badass than me.

East of Sarajevo.

Sarajevo is at the bottom of a valley, surrounded by mountains. Obviously, it goes up to get out! But the geography is so made that after the climbs come (generally) the descents. I put on my washing-up gloves and rush through the rain and the miles to a hotel.

There, I seem to fall in the middle of a Victoria's Secret models party. After informing myself to the protagonists, it seems that they are there to celebrate the five years passed since the end of their high school. I feel old.

One of the guys present asks me what I'm doing there, and after information about my trip, he gibes "You're a legend" while bowing. I feel less old.

Tunnels

Inside one of the countless tunnels.

Then it gets complicated in a new way. For about fifty kilometers, I follow the side of the mountains and I pass through about thirty tunnels dug directly into the rock. To add a bit of fun, the tunnels have no shoulders (like all roads), and are not lit. I am extremely happy with my investment of a light on my bike! While not effective enough, it probably literally saves my life.

Each of these tunnels is between 200m and 1,4km in length, and for each one, I sprint out, hoping that the trucks passing me can see me. Hats off (and thank you) to all those truckers and motorists who passed me when they realized there was a cyclist in their lane.

Yves, the legend

Yves, the French globetrotter.

At the exit of the tunnels, I stop in the city of Visegrad. A man comes to me in French and talks to me about cycling. This is how I meet the incredible Yves Périsse, a Frenchman from Lyon.

In the late 80s, Yves told his friends that he was going on a six month bicycle trip. Already, making this trip thirty years ago was an achievement in itself. But it was not until the end of six and a half years that he returned to the country ... and then set off again intermittently for the next twenty-five years.

Yves has driven his wheels on almost every continent. It has crossed Europe and Asia on more than one occasion, and even made all of Africa from north to south by the west coast.

We talked about equipment, being alone to ride with his thoughts, exotic countries and he gave me advice on my itinerary in Turkey according to the inclines of the roads. I asked him if he ever got tied up on the road and wanted to put his bags in a house. He replies that yes, but that the pursuit of his route has always won in the end.

- Yves, I slept in an abandoned house in Bosnia, it was quite special!
- Well yes, I too have done it often, it's a good place. Especially since it's safer than in 1998 when I passed by here the last time. Several houses still contained mines.

Thanks for the advice, Yves. I wish I had known two weeks ago!

I bombard him with questions.

- Have you ever had something stolen?
- No.
- Never??
- Oh yes, now that I think about it, my passport in Central Africa, pointing to me by a Kalach.

Of course, being threatened by a submachine gun, the kind of thing that is easily forgotten what ...

At 52, Yves has income from a rental apartment he bought in New York when he was in his twenties and living there. Otherwise, he never asked me what I did for a job in "real life". Normal, for him, I am presently in my real life and a salary in exchange for hours in the office seemed to him of mediocre importance.

Inspiring. But also which brings to think on a whole new level. It was one thing for me to leave for an expected period of one year. Could I hold out for twenty-five years? I can hardly imagine it. The discovery of the other, the world and its landscapes in exchange for a family, close friends and material comfort.

- What do you find the most difficult, Yves?
- Go.