first you got to want to get off/ bad enough to want to get on in the first place

so. you hafta have a honeymoon, right? under the present circumstances, the best we could manage was a fairly lame 140km trip out along the Dunav—mostly enfeebled because the main mileage accrual occurred only because it was also a return trip.

early morning and my flat sounded like it was going to lift off, minus windows, with the wind whipping around it. even the doves were stunned from their warbling. got some things together in my bag that attaches to the back of the bike and set out into the sun. the wind was not significantly saner, even at the ground level, and i wasn't even at the bridge when i could no longer feel certain key aspects of my physiology. of course not! (that was in answer to the question from the back of the room, regarding whether i, since "before the bridge" means that i was still quite close to the apartment, quickly returned and gathered some more clothing to compensate my t-shirt and hoody. please, no further interruptions, i beg you). biked around the perimeter of the "confluent" bump of land that constitutes Stari Beograd, until i could go no further along the river. then wove my way back to town and Bulevar Kralja Aleksandra (Bulevar Revolucije). apparently (or so i discovered in my language textbook last week), this is the longest street in Beograd, running for 8km. that must be just the distance when it is called such because, as i was about to find out, this street goes much much further than that. in fact, i think it might be possible to see the whole world without ever leaving its treacherous windings.

with no shoulder to call my own and just outside the city limits, i got into my first accident of a great long while. the vehicle in front of me made no mention that it was thinking about turning until it did so, causing me (Tailgating Miracle of the World that i am) to run smack into its rear bumper, albeit without much speed and no injuries.

wind was still completely unmerciful and, for most of the trip, i was pedaling on the downhill—not to mention what i was doing for the rest of the terrain. pretty much right out of Beograd, the road started either climbing or descending (fairly evenly, so i'm not sure which was the more difficult direction, southeast or, on the return trip, northwest. i have a strange way of acutely noticing when i'm going downhill, but not registering that i'm ascending until i've gone some distance upwards and, usually, look behind me, in surprise. totally counterintuitive, ie. you should be keenly aware when the work is harder and not the other way round). i must admit, though: i see those incline signs and get gleeful, but then again, have never been much for controlling myself. while i knew i was following the river, i couldn't always see it. the road took the highest part of the land, which usually fell off on either side—and then the river was way down below. each time i came to a city, it seemed to lie in a valley, so i could almost predict that if i started a descent, soon i'd come to a yellow sign marking a town limit.

the scenery was fine, but mostly i couldn't look at it—so consumed was i with the task of staying on the cornerest corner of the road, without inching either into the ditch/gravel or the line of buses and trucks. moreover, i simply could not stop because that would mean even worse cold, the only remedy of which was sticking to the slopes. there's something about winter-ish biking that is difficult in even more respects than that during heat. i suppose it comes to the fact that, when doing something even moderately hardcore, you expect to emerge all eroded away by sweat, on the other end. but to exert the same effort, and *at best* to be mildly warm is sobering. there is the additional reality: if you *do* get warm and sweat a bit, this immediately becomes grounds for treason, and the ensuing chill wind on the damp skin is terrible to behold. it is, moreover, necessary to consume far greater quantities of food during cold weather trips. very early on i can feel the calibration happening which will last for the rest of the journey: food in mouth, warmth spreads from torso outwards and then, just before it reaches vital extremities, the whole thing goes numb, calling for a re-enactment of the process. eating from pocket, usually a relaxed affair, becomes something unneglectable. another danger is that, in the cold, water seems superfluous. during summer, water is the fulcrum upon which everything else operates, but today i kept forgetting to drink and, thus, made it through the day on less than a litre. not good.

reached Smederevo in decent time, considering the obstacles of wind, road conditions, and elevation. a while ago, in the same language textbook mentioned above, we'd done a passage about the town. Smederevo (said Nada) is a nice, small town on the banks of the Dunav. yes (said Nikola), and it is possible to reach it using many different kinds of transportation, which i will now list, using the instrumental case which is capable of slicing through solid steel. however (said i), you seem to have forgotten one crucial means in your fanatical raving about trains and ships and automobiles. biciklom biciklom, i tell you.

speaking of metal—the town houses some major US Steel operation, so is overrun with signs pertaining to this. the telltale rusted workings, between a body of water and myself, almost made me want to belt it out with Michael (back when he was young, black, and unscary) and the Five. indiana, here i...well. at least i wasn't forced to race.

instead, on roads winding above the river, i found myself between rocks and hard places. or, at least, chasing and rabidly barking dogs (on one side) and laden trucks (on the other), with nothing to do but grip the handlebars instead of the reality whose width i measured out and had myself 50 cm.

kept going past Smederevo for a while before turning around. on the way back, swung through the main square, where i suddenly realised that i was leading a rather boisterous wedding party, complete with trumpets and all manner of people hanging out of cars. i am glad to report that i pulled it off without a hitch, having some considerable experience with being trapped in other people's weddings.

after the festivities, cruised around Smederevo fortress for a bit. just a run-of-the-bastion specimen, but the train station is directly adjacent to it, so crossing the tracks means standing exactly at the outer wall. suddenly, as i was doing so, remembered that i should have some documentation in the form of Happy Couple pictures. by which i mean: the cuter half of the unit was, ahem, pinned against the graffitied wall and photographed without mercy.

others showing up soon, maybe alongside ribbons and quotes, in an album near you.

for most of the journey back to Beograd, kept trying to figure why the whole thing seemed so Nothing. of course, the numbness was moderately physical. i found my stride early on, i climbed ridges—but all this, largely, without affect. i thought about doing the Ann Arbor to East Lansing last year at this time, for the Bob Dylan concert, when i was wearing exactly the same idiotic combination of clothing, was just as cold, just as reliant on circular survival eating. i remembered leaving Erica's place in Grand Rapids, when roses were covered and snow predicted, encountering as much wind during the short journey to Charlotte as that, now, against which i bent my head. here i am, in this faraway place, only to realise that it's impossible to go looking for adventure, that to dictate is to simulate is to murder, beyond what even 8% grade signs can salvage. creeping back to Beograd just before the sunset, smelling of burning leaves and garbage, scarcely able to move my fingers—i had lost the ability to turn it into a great story.

my flatmates still think i just went on a little jaunt on the bike paths here. maybe it's best that way. i downplayed my shivering until after the shower from the dregs of the cistern, when i no longer had to fake being warm. crazy Megi from next door invited us over for dinner with the Norwegian evangelicals (the current foreigners staying in her apartment). "speak English," she says, "and everyone will understand you; speak Serbian," she continues, cackling, "and everyone will bomb you."

hard to distinguish between elemental burn (all weakly freckled and windswept again) and fever (all coughing again). perhaps everything would be clearer were i 140 km beyond myself, which could mean hiding tentishly in a different country, instead of right back where i started.