Mud Mountain
by Lydia Schuldt
Deborah and Lydia were cycling through the winding roads south of Tirana, Albania, as the crisp morning sun peeked through the distant trees. The chaos of the city was subdued, and it felt like they had stepped back in time. The simplicity of the people coexisting in the rolling hills living an uninterrupted life was pure and peaceful. Deborah and Lydia had been on the road for one month since they began their bicycle journey in Ljubljana, Slovenia. They were feeling strong, in-shape and ready to take on the new day after breaking down their stealth campsite earlier that morning.
Eventually, as they were cycling, houses and farms disappeared and the road they were on became more desolate and remote. The route on the map continued to weave through the hills and the roads slowly became more disorganized, with no sign of any people and steeper inclines. Deborah looked up at Lydia and laughed slightly.
“Where is the map taking us this time?”
“I don’t know” Lydia sighed slightly with a bit of concern in her eyes.
Taking small sips from her water bottle while salvaging some, Lydia felt a sense of dread come over her body. This wasn’t the first time the maps.me app on their phones was taking them on a questionable route deeper into the hills of a foreign place. Last time this happened, the map brought them into the middle of the forest. Failing maps usually ended in a light, comical story, but this time, they really seemed to be in the middle of nowhere.
The women crossed a few shallow rivers flowing over the road. They dragged their bikes up the imposing dirt road, now well aware of the thick layer of cement-like mud caking to their bike tires. Deborah laughed again. “What have we gotten ourselves into this time?”
Pausing, they looked at each other and laughed while dragging their loaded bikes up the muddy incline, since it was no longer possible to ride. They sat down and took a quick lunch break of bread, peanut butter and chocolate pudding, a typical fuel-filled lunch for a long-term bike tour. While eating lunch, they leaned over Deborah’s phone together, zooming in and out of the map. They had no service and no SIM card, so they were relying on downloaded maps. They had no specific destination besides to make it to Greece in the next couple weeks. The plan was to just bike south.
There were no alternate routes. It seemed they had approximately 9 more miles until the roads on the map stopped zig zagging over what seemed to be growing mountains. While looking over the maps and finishing their last bites, they loaded up their bikes, and it started to drizzle. Lydia looked above her head and the sky was filled with dark gray clouds. The beautiful sunny day in the remote hills of Albania was quickly turning into an exhausting and stressful situation with an unknown outcome.
They packed up quickly and continued trudging on. They had no other choice. The road quickly became muddier and steeper and they were lucky when they could even pedal their bikes at all. The wheels of their bicycle stopped spinning because of the thick mud and every 50 yards they had to dig the mud out of their fenders.
“Deb, I literally can’t even spin my tires anymore. The mud is caked over everything on my bike.” Lydia said, while dragging her bike up a steep hill.
“Same” Deborah stopped in the middle of a hill to agree drudgingly.
“I need to take my fenders off. The mud is too thick. Let’s get the tools out to remove our fenders. I think it might help a bit,” Lydia mentioned.
Deborah agreed again, and they paused there on a hill in the rain somewhere in the middle of Albania to take off their fenders from their bikes. Both of them took off all the nuts and bolts from their fenders and strapped all the parts with bungee cords to the rack of their bikes. Lydia tried to push her bike up the hill first, but it still collected mud and wouldn’t spin freely.
“This is a nightmare” Lydia yelled as her bike and body collapsed onto the ground in the mud. “I don’t know what to do”. Her head rested in her hands and she thought about the need for more water creeping on. “I should have packed my water filter and we should have taken the different road south”. She sat there staring into space, wondering if they would make it to civilization by the time the sun went down.
Deborah put her bike down and took off her panniers and carried her bags and the rest of her gear up the hill one by one to make it to the next crest. Lydia looked over and did the same. It was the best option. The rain was getting heavier and there was nothing else they could do and no words exchanged. Both women were exhausted at this point and there was an overall understanding in the air that they were worn out and needed to push through. The goal was to find a safe place to camp for the night off the mountain.
Hours seemed to push on and although the rain let up, the mud was thicker and gobbing onto the bikes more than ever. Lydia went back and forth between counting her steps as she pushed her bike up the mountain and using sticks to dig out the mud from her spokes and tires. She tried her best to stay strong and positive, but sometimes felt discouraged and utterly worn out. Her entire body felt destroyed, and at every hairpin turn, the mud mountain would just continue uphill.
Deborah was feeling tired but hopeful. She knew Lydia was behind her struggling and it was taking them around 45 minutes to drag their bikes and gear a single mile. Deborah knew that eventually they would make it to the next road on the map. She was hoping to make it there before dark since they needed to refill water and have a safe place to sleep. Her body was sweaty and cold and she was covered in muddy scrapes. She stayed calm and focused and made sure to wait for Lydia every quarter mile or so when the incline would ease up.
Finally, after what seemed to be forever, the sludge of mud turned into a rocky road along the ridge of the mountains. The rain seemed to pick up again, but the women used all their strength to hop back on their bikes and do the best they could to pedal along the rugged ridgeline.
“Freedom,” Deborah yelled, laughing as she bumped steadily along the road.
“I thought we would never get out of that,” Lydia exclaimed back.
“Let’s bike as fast as we can. It looks like there might be a town up ahead.”
Finally, after 9 hours and a slow 11 miles, they landed at a tiny store in a small village just as the sun was setting and a thunderstorm was rolling in. There weren’t many options, but both of them bought a copious amount of water, cookies and crackers. They had a feast on the porch of the store in a delirium of laughter and relief. The thunder cracked louder and rain poured down from the sky. They looked at each other with concern and glanced over at the shop owner to see if she would have a welcoming expression on her face. The store owner stood by the doorway glaring at them with her arms crossed. The storefront was absolutely not an option for sleeping that night.
After they had their basic needs of food and water met and knew the store wasn’t an option for sleeping, Lydia sadly realized she left her raincoat on the top of the muddy mountain. It was completely dark now, and she knew she had to let it go, but she was worried about not being able to stay dry until they found a camp for the night. They saw lights in the distance with a paved road and were hopeful they would find somewhere to rest their heads and get dry soon. It was now completely dark, and they strapped on their bike lights and bumped on down the road for their last mile down the infamous mud mountain in the thunderstorm.
The next sign of civilization they came across was a gas station on the main road.
“Let’s ask the person working here if we can pitch a tent for the night. I will use Google translator and hopefully they will understand,” said Deb.
“Sure, I’m going to see if I can rinse off my bike with the hose over there by the shed.” Lydia agreed.
Over the next 10 minutes, there was a confusing and unclear conversation in two different languages. Nobody could really understand each other. Suddenly another man showed up in a car and the gas station attendant started spraying their bikes down with the hose, cleaning them. The man from the car started placing all their gear into the shed, and both the men seemed to be genuinely interested in helping.
The women felt slightly uneasy with the language barrier and the new man that arrived was trying to convince them both to get in the car. It was a bit nerve-racking for two young women to be told by two men in a foreign country to get in a car.
“I feel uneasy about this situation,” Lydia said.
“I think we just have to trust that they are here to help us. Look what they are doing with our bikes. They are completely clean. I think we have to put hope in humanity this time and believe that everything will be ok.”
Lydia agreed as she looked over at the kind-appearing men who were both smiling and locking their gear and clean bikes into the shed. She and Deborah were still unsure of where they were going, but figured they should grab a change of clothes and some toiletries. They exchanged understanding looks at each other and there was an unsaid agreement that everything was going to be fine.
The exhausted bikers hopped into the car, left all their gear in the shed, and headed out onto the paved road. They turned around to see the gas station attendant locking the shed and the greenish hue of the day’s last light hovering over the distant peaks. They drove for a short distance and the car took a right on the road that Deborah and Lydia had just come from.
“Oh no, we are going back up to mud mountain,” Lydia said wide-eyed.
“I have no idea where we’re going,” Deborah laughed.
Another mile or so down some winding roads, the car took another right, and the headlights shot through the rain upon a giant beautiful home. Three little girls, their mother, and their grandmother, greeted the bikers as they timidly climbed out of the car. One by one they went around hugging Deborah and Lydia even though they were soaking wet and covered in mud.
The bikers were overcome with gratitude. A softness came over them as these strangers quickly became a comforting feeling, like home. They felt safe and welcomed and completely relieved. Lydia had tears in her eyes as the door opened to the house. They had turned an entire couch into a sleeping area with towels and blankets set on the armchair for each of them.
In limited English, one daughter showed them around and told them to take a shower before a warm meal. The women took turns taking a hot shower and glancing through coloring books with the excited young girls. It was hard for everyone to understand each other, but there was a glow in the air full of smiles, appreciation, laughter, and love.
They served dinner at the kitchen table and Deborah and Lydia were incredibly grateful for the meal and the hospitality.
“Thank you so much, we’ve had such a challenging day,” Lydia expressed.
“Thank you for everything,” Deborah said slowly to help them understand.
They all smiled back, nodding. Despite the cultural differences and language barrier, both the women, and their Albanian hosts seemed to share an unspoken understanding that most people look out for each other. Everyone settled in for the night feeling happy, warm and safe.
By the time morning came around, breakfast was served and both Lydia and Deborah had slept better than they had since the beginning of their trip. They shared music and laughter around the table and after breakfast, the grandmother and two of the girls gave them a tour around their turkey farm. Lydia learned how to pick up a turkey and everyone laughed so hard as she attempted to hold the turkey properly in place. They spent the morning feeding the turkeys, picking pomegranates, and helping the children practice their English.
After a wholesome morning of quality time, the bikers got all their belongings together and started saying their goodbyes. The father pulled the car up to bring them back down to their bikes and hugs were given by everyone all around. Photos were taken, and they exchanged Facebook names to stay in touch. They waved goodbye to their hosts and the mud mountain for the last time.
Ten minutes later, they arrived back at the gas station from the night before and the gas station attendant brought their bikes and gear out of the shed, looking brand new. The women gave their thanks and said goodbye to the father who hosted them and the man who arranged everything. They looked at each other and smiled. They placed their panniers back on their racks, reattached their fenders, strapped their helmets on, and started pedaling east to the next town, Elbasan.
The sun was shining, and they were relieved to know they only had a short distance of biking that day on a smooth, paved road. They felt refreshed, alive and an overwhelming appreciation for the simple gifts you can give others that hit deeper than you can ever realize.
