Date: November 04, 2025
Route: View on Strava
Bike: Cube MTB
Distance: 20.08 km
Elevation Gain: 336 m
Temperature: 14°C | Humidity: 91%
The air hung heavy and cool, a 14°C embrace at 8:32 AM, saturated with the memory of recent rain. The world felt smaller that morning — quieter, gentler — as I began to climb Mount Dajti on my Cube MTB, my silent partner in this atmospheric dance.
The city faded behind me, swallowed by the fog. The mountain greeted me not with vistas but with intimacy — a world reduced to the road, my breath, and the steady hum of tires on damp asphalt. Each pedal stroke felt like a heartbeat, echoing in the mist.
The climb became a meditation. Every turn revealed just a few meters ahead — no more, no less. The scent of wet pine and earth filled the air, grounding me in the present moment. I wasn’t chasing a view or a record; I was chasing rhythm — that quiet synchronization between effort, breath, and gravity.
My GPS tracked the invisible progress: 336 meters of elevation, 186 watts of power, personal milestones hidden within the fog. On Strava, I later discovered a new PR on “Para Shkozes” and a second-fastest on “Life’s a Climb.” In the moment, though, it was just me, the road, and the mist.
Then came the descent — a release. Emerging from the denser fog, the air grew sharper, lighter, alive. The world slowly unfolded again, edges returning where before there was only grey. I felt the rush of freedom as the bike glided effortlessly down the mountain’s curves.
The road eventually led me to Farka Lake, a mirror of stillness beneath a muted sky. The water reflected the grey morning, soft and endless. Riding along the lakeshore, I thought the calm would carry me home — until an unexpected moment snapped me out of my rhythm.
On the final kilometers, two women were walking a big dog near the shore path. As I approached, the dog suddenly lunged toward me. Instinctively, I veered off the path to avoid it — my wheels slid on loose gravel, and I went down. Nothing serious, just a quick tumble, a few scratches, and a heartbeat raised higher than any climb that day.
After brushing off the dust, I smiled. Even the fall felt like part of the story — another reminder that every ride has its unpredictable rhythm.
Luckily, both I and the bike were fine. Still, it was one of those unexpected “adventure moments” that remind you the road always has surprises waiting.
The ride, 20.08 km in just over an hour, wasn’t about distance or speed but presence — the quiet joy of moving through a world wrapped in silence. Sometimes, the most beautiful journeys aren’t about seeing everything — they’re about feeling everything.
And on Mount Dajti that morning, beauty lived in every drop of mist — and even in the fall.