Meanwhile, as rainy clouds descended from the slopes of Mount Dajti, I decided to ascend toward them.
The first half of the ride was all uphill — some parts reaching 12%. Those first 5 km are always the hardest: cold muscles, knees aching, chest fighting for air, and that constant voice whispering “stop for a moment.” But I didn’t.
Slowly, the city faded behind me. Autumn colors appeared, and the clouds thickened — the first raindrops began to fall on the mountain’s shoulder. With every drop, my thoughts changed. The music in my ears started to sound different too — sometimes setting the rhythm, sometimes lifting me through the steeper segments.
After 10 km, the doubt was gone. I was fully in it — breathing fresh, cool air, raindrops sliding down my face. Near the top, I almost wanted to climb higher, trusting my legs more than before.
But today’s ride had to stay short. So I turned around — and the descent began.
A different kind of beauty.
Brakes used carefully, corners taken confidently, and the sound of rain and wind merging into one hypnotic rhythm.
Ten kilometers down the wet road disappeared too fast. I wanted to ride more…
And I knew — I could easily do it two more times.