Saturday in Romania

Caracal – Filiasi, Romania

A few weeks ago we referenced some wisdom from Forrest Gump’s Mom: “Life is like a bowl of cherries – you never know what you’re going to get . . .”

The more apt quote might be “Saturdays are like a bowl of cherries . . .”

The problem is that even in odd little towns in Romania or Bulgaria, sometimes the hotels fill up on Saturday evenings. 

Our plan for today had been pretty simple: go to the town pool and then find a hotel. It’s our new hot weather standard. We’ve been doing this for the last few days. We even improved on the plan a little bit – each day we’ve been getting up earlier – which means more cool morning, less hot afternoon . . . 

But, of course, the best laid plans don’t always work out . . .

Let’s start our story with lunch . . .

We’re in a bigger city – Craiova. Apparently there is a big university here and it’s a really nice town. Bakeries, parks, historical buildings – and it seems like the city is actually doing well.

Not only that, there are about a bazillion hotels. 

Problem is that if we stay in Craiova, then we don’t make Serbia tomorrow – because it’s about 83 miles from Craiova to the border – and that’s too far, especially in this heat.

Which would mean the needless loss of a Schengen Day. 

So that wasn’t going to happen . . .

It wasn’t like we were tired yet anyway. Like the last few days, today was pretty flat – with a light wind pushing us along. And with our early start, we make “lunch” by 10:30 or so – way too early to stop for the day . . .

So we push on to Filiasi – which has always been our goal for the day. Using her cyber sleuthing skills, Diana has researched Filiasi and identified one for-sure hotel – the Zanzibar – which also has a pool; one “pension” (pronounced pen-see-own), that might or might not be a hotel; another place that is billed as a “guest house,” and one hostel. Oh, and there is an “event center” that also has a pool. 

We decide to go to the Zanzibar first – good combination of restaurant, hotel and water. As we approach, we hear the same booming music that seems to emanate from all the pools around here. Big bass, with hyper-repetitive dance beats blaring. 

The restaurant and pool look nice. Sadly, because it’s Saturday, the hotel is full.

We head to the hostel next because it’s nearby. 

We’re greeted by a very inebriated gentleman who tells us his name is Michael Jackson. He retrieves the real proprietor, who shows us a room. Simple, dilapidated, torn carpets, and with one of these shower/bathroom combinations that we’re becoming accustomed to. The basic premise is this: there’s a hand-held shower head – and there’s a drain on the floor – but there’s no shower curtain or other shower separation – meaning that the spray from the shower just goes everywhere. Which, I guess, is fine, really. Because what’s the problem? Sinks and toilets can get wet. No big deal . . .

But it just seems wrong . . .

Whatever. We can get over the torn carpet, the dinginess, and the shower/bathroom lack of separation. We’ve dealt with all of these issues many times before.

But there is another problem. 

It’s going to top out at about 100 today – and there’s no air conditioning. Not even a fan. 

We’ll stay there if we have to. But, really, not excited about it . . .

Next stop: the “guest house.” 

Nope. Not a hotel. Turns out that it is kind of a collection of Airbnb type places – but a guy who’s staying there tells us that the whole thing is booked for tonight.

The last option is the “pension.” It’s a little ways out of town so Diana takes a few minutes to read the reviews before we bike over there. 

“Don’t stay here unless your car is completely uninhabitable.”

”This place is dirty. Horrible.”

”They don’t clean.”

”There’s a hand in the toilet.” (Granted, the translation feature probably made this sound worse than it was, but still . . .)

We agree that we would rather stay at the nearby hostel than this place . . . So we don’t bother biking out there . . .

New plan: Go to the event center/pool, enjoy the afternoon, and then decide whether to stay at the hostel or just wild camp somewhere. After all, we can shower at the pool . . .

So we head to the event center place. 

From an American perspective, these places are, in general, kind of odd. They seem to be placed right in residential type neighborhoods. Just put a big fence up around the whole thing, build a pool and a bar, and call it good. Except that the music blaring all day and night would never go over in the States. 

This place is in a particularly interesting location. As we bike to it, we pass houses that seem to be in various states of deconstruction. As if someone is systematically stripping them of their wood and copper and stuff. We see a Roma family walking by – which, sadly, probably indicates that it’s a poor neighborhood as well. 

All this doesn’t really matter to us. We’re just going to use the pool for a few hours. As we bike up, though, it’s apparent that there is a problem. There’s no blaring music booming out at us. The gate is locked and there are no cars around. All bad signs – especially on a 100 degree Saturday afternoon. 

Sure enough – the place is not open. 

So we decide to head back to the Zanzibar and see if we can buy lunch, and maybe dinner, and hang out for the afternoon. 

And that’s where we are now. 

Ms. Sun Goddess 2025 is bathing in our star’s hot rays

– while I huddle in the shade, trying not to melt . . .

New plan . . . Hang out here until dinner, shower before we leave, and then decide whether to camp or to stay in the hostel. 

Here’s some food for thought . . . 

Something we observed on the road only a few miles back . . .

You’ll have to tune in to the next episode to find out what happened to our heroes. Did they find a camping space? Did they suffer third degree burns from the sun? Were they encounter snakes? Are they still alive? 

It’s a cliffhanger . . .

Okay, I have an important question for our readers. Now, be honest. Before this moment, did you know the word “unkempt?” (No, I didn’t spell this wrong. There’s an “m” there intentionally.)

Diana insists that I should have used “unkempt” in the post about Bucharest. She thought one of the parks there was “unkept” – but she says I should have used the word “unkempt” instead. I’ve never even heard of the word before. And, after reviewing the meanings of the two words, I think I was right to use “unkept.” What kind of word is “unkempt” anyway? Seems like something that should have been mothballed around the time of Dickens or Jane Austen. Like “thou” or “snollygoster.” 

Can’t we just agree to exorcise words like this from the English language? 

Inviting all opinions – especially if you agree with me . . .

Alright, today’s gear review. 

Old Dan and Little Ann. 

Let’s start this review with a little story. 

For a long time now Old Dan’s been struggling with shifting into the big chain ring in front. The problems started all the way back in the States. Maybe in Arkansas or Illinois? I’ll try to shift, and maybe the chain moves, or maybe not. Seems to help if I’m also in a bigger ring in back – which really shouldn’t matter . . . But the point is that, regardless, the bike should shift when you shift gears. Period.

Now, there is no barrel adjuster for our Trek Checkpoint front derailleurs (some bikes have a barrel adjuster where the derailleur cable enters the down tube – up where the gear shifting used to be on bikes from the ‘70s and early-80s). For those who don’t know – the idea behind barrel adjusters is to take up the slack that happens when the derailleur cable stretches with use. Adjust the barrel a little bit by unscrewing it; this makes up for the stretch. The upshot is that the cable can still pull the derailleur into position so that the chain shifts easily into the big ring. 

When the lack of sifting started, thousands of miles ago, and I observed there was no barrel adjuster, I just decided to pull more cable through. Not as elegant of a solution, but it (kind of) worked. Over the next several months I’ve had to pull more cable through a few times. Which is not really right. Cable doesn’t just keep stretching. But I had no other solution, so that’s what I did. And it kind of worked . . . sometimes. 

But then a few weeks ago the cable finally broke. This was in Turkey. For me, the triumph of our trip to Istanbul was figuring out how to replace this cable – no easy task for a rookie like me . . . because the front derailleur cable runs through the down tube. (See the Istanbul report for more on all this . . .)

For the next few days I was pretty excited. “I’m a real mechanic now,” I thought.

And then it stopped working . . . again . . .

Solution (my only real solution at this point): pull more cable through. 

Except that didn’t work . . .

So I watched some YouTube videos. They listed several things to check. Cable. Yes, already looked at that. Limit screw. Check. Something else I don’t remember.

Anyway, the point is that none of their ideas helped. 

So now I’m depressed again. Feeling stupid. Almost ready to take Old Dan into a shop . . . Which I don’t want to do because A) dumb male pride, B) we don’t really have time, C) I want to figure this out myself, and D) the more we travel, the more I realize that places like Romania don’t really have great bike mechanics . . .

I use my usual method . . . Let the bike sit there for a few hours while my mind percolates . . .

When I come back, I decide to try a radical approach: bend the derailleur out, away from the bike, so that the part of the derailleur that is supposed to coax the chain onto the big chain ring has more contact with the chain. 

Let’s just say that I don’t think genius is the right word. 

Maybe savant? 

Worked like a charm. Still works like a charm. My shifting hasn’t been this easy since, like, Iowa or something . . . Probably 14,000 miles ago . . .

I must have bent the whole darn derailleur in toward the bike at some point along the way. 

Doesn’t matter. 

It works now. That’s all that matters.

Which is a long-winded way of saying that we’re pretty darn happy with our bikes. Old Dan and Little Ann have been great. This derailleur thing is probably the biggest problem that we’ve had with them. 

The brakes have been great. I mean, we’ve changed the brake pads several times – but that’s an easy task. I was actually a little nervous about the brakes because I don’t know how to fix the hydraulic lines that activate the pads. ( Don’t ask me how it works, but there’s hydraulic fluid in the brake lines and when you squeeze the brakes the pads come together and slow the bike). But we’ve had these bikes for five years and, probably 25,000 miles or so, and we’ve never had a single issue with the hydraulic lines. Pretty darn reliable.

The other thing I was a little nervous about was the carbon fiber frames. They kind of say that you are better off touring with a steel bike because people can pretty much weld anywhere in the world – but if your carbon fiber cracks you are kind of done. But, again, not a single problem there. 

Now, I will say that Diana and I are relatively light. If you are a bigger dude – say 170 or more – or if you pack the kitchen sink when you tour, then I would definitely not use a carbon fiber bike to tour. Just too risky – and I’ve seen too many of my bigger friends beat the crap out of their bikes over the years . . . Us relatively little folks might not have the muscle, but I guess there are some advantages to being wimpy . . .

Tomorrow? Accommodations should be easier because it’s Sunday night…

Out of Schengen and on to Serbia. There is supposed to be some unrest there – so let us know if you have thoughts or ideas . . .