Episode 19 of Cycling from Belgium to Croatia

We woke up in a forest so quiet it felt staged, as if the wildlife had held a meeting and voted us “honorary guests” for the night. Then the route politely stopped being gravel and turned into ribbon-smooth country roads, the kind that curve through green like they are trying to be poetic, even though you can tell they would rather still be a dusty track with a bit of attitude.

A forgotten yellow border building marked the moment we rolled into Croatia, our final country, no questions asked, no stamps, just the soft click of another chapter moving toward its last page.

Naturally, the universe couldn’t let us coast into the ending without a joke. Wim’s front brake quit on a descent, because timing is a personality trait. We limped onward, found the Raša, followed its calm logic through the valley, and pitched our tent by a stream under moody skies.

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