Lost

October 17, 2024

The next morning, I set off early. Just a few kilometers in - and after some uphill climbing - I realize I may have left my action camera back at the campsite. I hope it’s there, though there’s also the possibility it fell somewhere along the road. Feeling unsettled, I turn back. There it is, lying in the grass. Thank goodness it’s not lost! Still, I have this nagging feeling that I left something else behind, though I can’t think what it might be. Even as I ride on, nothing comes to mind. It must just be lingering paranoia after the scare with the camera.

Ahead, the “moon landscape” stretches before me, a surreal view directly visible from the path. Stunning.

Soon, the road leads into a forest, alive with beautiful autumn colors.

I realize I’m low on water and probably won’t come across any stores today. I reach a small cluster of houses and approach the first person I see. The man, dressed in military gear, doesn’t speak a word of English, but gestures do the trick, and he lets me fill my bottles. When I ask how much I owe, he gestures “80” and says “Euro.” 80 euros? I’m perplexed. Is he joking? I must look a bit lost, because then he bursts out laughing and gestures that he wants nothing in return.

A short while later, I meet a Swiss woman at a lookout point. She’s here with her husband, siblings, their partners, and her parents. Nearby, they’re having coffee from a local vendor. She and her husband also biked from Switzerland to the Balkans. I give her a card with my website, and it’s a brief encounter. I don’t yet know that I’ll unexpectedly run into her family again later.

The route takes me down into a valley, only to climb back up on the other side - many meters of steep ascent.

Below, a lake mirrors the mountains and autumn trees.

I decide it’s the perfect moment to take out the drone. Then the tough part begins: uphill, one grueling meter at a time. Just before the pass, an incredible panorama unfolds - mountain range upon mountain range, each a different hue depending on the distance. The autumn trees complete the breathtaking scene with their vibrant colors. I won’t soon forget this pass. As I descend, the sun begins to set. It’s getting chilly, but I reach Žabljak just before dark.

Searching for a restaurant to warm up, have dinner, and book a place to stay, I hear a faint meowing from the street. A tiny kitten, just a few days old, stumbles along, half-blind and lost. Completely abandoned - heartbreaking. But there’s nothing I can do for it. In the restaurant, I realize that the road I’d taken wasn’t actually the Sedlo Pass but a northern route.

Fortunately, I find a good place to stay for two nights and plan a rest day for tomorrow. But it won’t be restful after all.

When I try to upload my drone photos, I realize a micro-SD card is missing. With it, nearly all the photos from the past few days are gone: the high plain with the foggy sunrise in Bosnia, the fiery sunset just before the Montenegrin border, Lake Piva, the moon landscape… The card must be somewhere I’d taken out the drone: maybe here in the apartment, the lake in the valley yesterday, or the previous night’s campsite.

Frantically, I search my room. Nothing. Retracing yesterday’s route by bike would be nearly impossible, with slim chances of finding it anyway. I ask my host if there’s anywhere to rent a car. Unfortunately, there isn’t. I refuse to give up. A local Google Maps listing leads me to a supposed rental station, which turns out not to exist. I ask at a car repair shop - maybe they have a car to lend? No luck. But a nearby hotel sometimes rents out a car. I go there straight away.

Sure enough, they can lend me a car for a day, though at a steep price of 80 euros—especially high for Montenegro. This will only be worth it if I actually find this tiny 3x3 cm plastic box with the SD card somewhere in the vast Durmitor National Park. It’s not a needle in a haystack; it’s a needle in a mountain of hay. Still, I hold onto a glimmer of hope. I’m all in - on this memory card, so to speak. The car’s pretty banged up, which is a relief; no one will notice if I add another dent. I don’t even need to show ID, give my name, or sign anything.

They just hand me the keys. That’s how business is done here.

Off I go! Rain is forecasted for the afternoon, which would ruin any chances of finding a functional SD card. It’s strange, retracing my route by car.

First location, by the lake: after a thorough search, nothing.

That the campsite. I remember feeling like I’d left something there.

And there it is! The tiny plastic box, lying by the roadside in the tall grass.

As if it had been waiting for me. It takes a moment to believe it. The photos aren’t lost! Just as I finish, raindrops start to fall. Unbelievable. I can hardly believe my luck. This is the kind of story only life itself can write.

As a reward, I take the car over the “real” Sedlo Pass. I spot a huge flock of sheep and some wild horses. What an odyssey!

Frozen Pizza

Humility