Episode 13 of Cycling from Belgium to Croatia

From Seefeld we start the day the wrong way round: first a wild plunge down towards the Inn valley, tyres humming, brakes begging for mercy. Innsbruck rolls in loud and scribbled with graffiti, half gritty, half postcard, and just long enough for a quick snack and the realisation that “Innsbruck” is, quite literally, a bridge over the Inn. Who knew. Everyone, probably. We did not.

Then the Brenner calls. Not the motorway circus, but a quieter flank route where the valley opens like a stage set and the big concrete viaducts strut across the background while we do the sweating in peace. The climb bites, the legs complain, and somehow that feels… oddly satisfying. We steal a lunch break on a little mountain plateau with a row of bright red benches facing jagged peaks, catching one last strip of sun while the clouds rehearse their entrance behind the curtains.

Naturally, we try for “one beer first” in Steinach. Naturally, the storm catches us. And naturally, the hotel sits up a wall that has no business calling itself a road. Twenty five percent, later confirmed by a sign that felt less like information and more like an accusation. We push, inch by inch, soaked and laughing in that slightly unhinged way cyclists reserve for the end of a hard day.

At the top, a centuries old host greets us with a joke, a grin, and two glasses of schnapps. The bikes, the rain, the pain, the punchline. Day 13 delivers it all.

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