We left the Julian Alps on the sixth of September, and there had been a longed-for return of decent weather - the sun was strong at altitude, and made cycling hard, because of the thin air - I was using a fair bit of sun-cream. We had a huge climb out of the Lake Bohinj valley, and it took a hell of a lot out of us.

The climb from the foot lasted approximately two hours and was twelve miles long. It took us up to an altitude of 800 metres, and it included a broken chain, one slow puncuture and a record number of swear words. Several times, I reached a point at which I thought the end was in sight, only to round a corner and see a road disappearing to a vanishing point in the distance up a not inconsiderable gradient. To make matters worse, swarms of flies had suddenly appeared from the surrounding forest and would not leave me alone. Henry had fallen some way behind, and I was left in my private hell, trying to swat flies away with one hand whilst pushing my bike (which the chain had by then snapped on) with the other. Eventually, after an interminable length of energy-sapping time, I reached the top and slumped by the side of the road. I remained there for around half an hour until Henry finally appeared, muttering obscenities.

Well, after that it was all downhill. Literally. For what seemed like the rest of the afternoon, we descended to the south east, in the direction of Trieste. Aside from a wasp attack on a break in a small village that afternoon, the rest of the day was enjoyable, scenic, and thankfully uneventful. We were cycling along a beautiful, emerald-green river which was set in a deep gorge. By dusk, however, we hadn't reached our destination, and we had an uncomfortable last hour or so, cycling along a busy main road with juggernauts passing by us and only our lights for protection. Gorizia, in Slovenia, is a town seemingly designed for business travellers and gamblers, as the many casinos and pricey hotels indicated. As we couldn't find any reasonable accomodation below the extortionate (for us) price of 40 dollars a night, we decided to cross the nearby Italian border and hope for better luck there. No such luck. We found only pricier hotels in the Italian side of the town just over the river, which was called Nova Gorica. What to do ? We hadn't much money, and we didn't plan to stay long, so a night in the railway station seemed the only option. Ok, as plans go; not the most comfortable of nights, but cost-effective. Until about midnight, when we were informed that we couldn't stay in the station all night because it was closing until 6am. Great. We left our bikes in left baggage and took to the streets, looking for a comfortable bench. This was, needless to say, not the best end to a day like the one we had had. After a seventy mile bike ride, a park bench is not a welcome bed for the night, but beggars can't be choosers and we bit the bullet.

Thankfully the night passed uneventfully if sleeplessly, and we got on the first train to Trieste which left at 6.30 and arrived about 8am. We trudged around a grey and damp Trieste for a good couple of hours, increasingly despairingly as the chances of a cheap stay diminished. A visit to tourist information confirmed the worst, there were to be no cheap places to stay so we settled for somewhere central and in the region of 30 euros a night each. I quickly wrote off the town and decided to get my money's worth from the hotel by sleeping there for about the next 24 hours, lying in bed with a bottle of wine and TV. A cold was my excuse. Henry opted to explore the town. I planned our assault on Croatia.