The Julian Alps were a long-standing aim for our trip and we had three days camped alongside beautiful glacial Lake Bled, high in the middle of the mountains.
Stretching from north-eastern Italy to Slovenia they rise to 2,864 m at Mount Triglav, the highest peak in Slovenia and of the former Yugoslavia.
The limestone mountains are named after Julius Caesar who it is thought began the construction of one of the great mountain highways to Rome, but which was completed by Augustus.
Bertha cooled under her lake-side tree canopy as we heated up cycling the 30 kms to the Pojukla Plateau at 1069 meters.
We passed through charming rustic villages with gentle rolling hillside views dotted by glossy-looking dairy cows and wondered at wooden hay racks on which the farmers dry their hay using the air as the ground is soggy year-round.
Communal vegetable plots were being busily hoed and weeded by elderly growers and were laid out on every available space, including on rural roundabouts. The quiet sun-soaked scenes were ringed around and above by the jagged snow lined peaks of the towering Julian Alps.
At Krnica we joined a throng of lycra-clad and webcam-wearing road cyclists to queue for bottles of water to sustain us on the steep ascent. Our casual clothing and lack of cycle helmets drew their comment and consternation. We wondered what lay up ahead.
Two hours and 10 steep kms later we were at the summit after passing through a deserted and eerie out of season ski resort.
We had been forced to stop several times to walk and push the bikes up the incline.
The curving ascent felt endless as each corner seemed only to reveal another and serious cyclists powering downhill on the opposite side of the road gave us bewildered, and often disapproving, looks.
We kept slogging up (invoking the spirit of Caesar!) and finally cycled the last km onto the plateau. Here we were waved at and greeted by incredulous cyclists, one of whom had filmed us at the earlier stop for water down the mountain side.
The promise of a roasted lamb lunch was luring, and we descended at thrilling speed downhill to a Gostlina which we had spotted firing up a brick-house charcoal oven seemingly hours before.
The two-hour journey uphill from the restaurant to the summit was replayed in 11 breath taking minutes downhill.
The innkeeper told us that the promised lamb was in fact a “roast barbecued pig”.
We gamely tucked into a plate of delicious cuts (nobly gnawing on mystery bones) served with rosemary roast potatoes, onions, tomatoes and a terrific local aubergine-based sauce called Ajvar.
The following day we cycled through the countryside to Bled’s neighbouring Lake Bohinj. We caught a rattling mountain train for the 18kms journey and enjoyed tranquil views across the flat fertile river plains.
The train was greeted at each station by a hat-wearing and flag-waving station master and locals and backpackers boarded the steep steps into the graffiti-covered carriages.
We had to throw our bikes up and into the last wagon, where a bemused conductor hauled us up by hand. It was clear that our plans for a ‘train and ride’ day were unusual, and being English, we roused friendly curiosity from the train staff. In 2011 our bikes cost twice the amount of our seats for the return passage.
Bohinj’s brilliant purpose-made cycle track took us over open alpine fields, rickety bridges spanning vibrant blue brooks, along steep riverbanks and dropped us onto the shimmering lake, at that time undeveloped for tourism.
Despite the flat terrain, we were feeling our leg muscles burning after the very steep climb uphill yesterday.
We cycled around the southern shores before enjoying a pizza lunch in one of only two lakeside inns, and watched families make their own fun on the shores. We had a rare beer on the trip budget too!
Our cycle back was surprisingly easy, and we realised that the earlier 25kms had been largely uphill, no wonder our legs ached!
Proud of our pedallings we boarded our return train, to the bemusement of another conductor hauling us into the last wagon and enjoyed the late afternoon sunlit views home.
Back at Lake Bled, we watched the few tourists stroll about and a hapless threesome attempt to kayak the still waters. It was in marked contrast to the powerful strokes of the Hungarian Olympic team in training which we would see on a second visit to Bled in 2013.