Cycling from Tbilisi to Lagodekhi—this quiet eastern Georgian pearl right at the triple border of Georgia, Russia and Azerbaijan—speaks in a language of its own.
At first glance it’s just a sleepy little town, but it hides a national park full of surprises.
Ride in on a bike and you might bump into a bear, push through forests older than your great-grandmother and end at waterfalls that could outshine any fancy showerhead.
Locals swear that if you drink from the park’s spring you’ll understand the language of animals. Honestly, after a glass (or three) of the local wine you might end up talking to your bicycle instead—different magic, same effect.
Every climb here is a challenge. Every downhill, a sweet reward.
Chasing a storm to Sighnaghi
Day 2: The alarm rang at 6 a.m. and the day began with a brutal climb. Ninety kilometres ahead, a thousand metres of elevation to gain.
By kilometre thirteen we finally got a sweeping view of the valley—but in the distance lightning flickered. Let’s hope it stays there.
After twenty kilometres of rough, stony track my backside was already protesting.
Looks like the next few days will be… interesting.
I’ve grown used to the stray dogs; now I just need to get used to a sore seat.
Before the last ten-kilometre climb the sky opened. I waited out the first downpour in some car-mechanic’s workshop, then set off again when the storm calmed to plain rain. Soon it began to pour all over again—by then I simply didn’t care.
The final approach to town was a steep, slick cobblestone descent.
Rain and sweat streamed into my eyes; more than once I missed a turn.
I rolled into the hotel drenched and shivering, went straight to the shower—washing both body and clothes at once—and finally collapsed with hot tea and a deep sigh.
Toward the Lagodekhi triple border
Day 3: The morning ride out of historic Sighnaghi started with a wet downhill that forced me to brake carefully. Good thing, too: just around a sharp bend the asphalt simply disappeared. For twenty metres the road had caved in, the compacted dirt half a metre lower than the tarmac.
I continued through the valley until the snow-dusted peaks of the Caucasus appeared on the horizon.
My destination: Lagodekhi, perched where Georgia meets Russia’s Dagestan and Azerbaijan—the farthest point of my journey. By noon I reached a charming little hotel that will be home for the next day.
A day for myself in Kakheti wine country
Did you know this region is famous for its winemaking heritage? We’re in Kakheti, Georgia’s celebrated wine province, where qvevri amphorae hide some of the best vintages you’ll ever taste.
I thought long and hard about what to call my journey, and here it suddenly came to me:
From the Caucasus to the Tatras. Alone on a bike across “non-European” Europe.
Peter Božík
Next day I had rest—and, if the weather cooperates, a hike or two before the pedals call again.
Rest day in Lagodekhi
I was looking forward to a day of rest and believed that the weather would be kind to me and I would be able to enjoy some hiking. I had originally planned a light hike to the waterfalls during my day off. However, the weather was not on my side and it had been pouring with rain since morning. So I treated myself to some passive rest.
Just when I thought I would give up and not go anywhere, the sky suddenly cleared and the sun came out. I didn’t hesitate and immediately headed into town to at least enjoy lunch and take a few photos. I found a menu in three languages. The price was fixed, though. I also saw an altar boy at the well. He was probably going to dilute the sacramental wine so that the priest wouldn’t notice it was missing. I don’t know how it turned out, though.
In the end, it was a successful day! 🙂
