Day 10 Bratislava to Gyor

We liked Bratislava. Plenty of baroque architecture on display many churches, municipal buildings and an iconic castle on a hill. It also had lots of ice cream shops so that seemed to satisfy all members of the peloton! Also the breakfast offering in the Marrol’s boutique hotel was magnificent and included bacon and beans which were a very welcome sight for one peloton member in particular !

We scooted back over the same green bridge we had come over the previous day and headed east towards Budapest. The travel plan for the day was for a 40K ride to a small town called Mosonmagyaróvár which is over the border from Slovakia into Hungary and thence by train to Gyor a further 40K down the line.

The border Slovakia/Hungary border crossing near Cunovo was another none- event with only the merest hint of a sign to mark the border. Half a dozen polizei were hanging around on the Slovak side of the border drinking coke out of cans and smoking lazily. They barely cast our peloton of sweaty dishevelment a disdainful glance as we slid by on the river towpath. Most disappointing. We went past them and took the obligatory team photo in front of the most miserable little Hungary sign post and then continued on towards Mosonmagyaróvár and the promised train ride.

We briskly scooted on and with a bit of a tail wind we arrived at the station about an hour later. We hadn’t booked any train tickets in advance so we roll up at the station not knowing when any trains might be heading our way or indeed whether there would be any space for our 4 bikes. This is a small station with peeling paint and lumpy paving. It’s hot. Two of the sweaty peloton approach the miserable ticket window. In their very best Hungarian they asked for 4 single tickets for people and bikes to Gyor please. Much scratching of ticket lady’s head. She squinted through her thick glasses at her flickering screen and gave a worrying sideways shake of the head – as in a – ‘this doesn’t look possible today’ kind of way. The peloton’s heads droop in despair at the prospect of another 40K in the heat of the midday sun. What do you mean ? Not possible today? But it’s only noon. You must have places. “ No zer ees places but computer she crash. I cannot print ticket”

The train is due in under 15 minutes. The peloton begins to panic. Then suddenly 4 person tickets and 4 bike tickets start printing out. Hurrah we shout. We’re saved. Swiftly gathering up our small bits of treasured paper the next challenge is to get ourselves and the laden bikes from the ticket office to platform 4 in jig time. There’s no lift and no walking across the tracks (except for one of us who pretended to be disabled and tagged along behind a wheelchair and a helpful porter). The remaining three had to bounce our heavy bikes down a load of steps to the underpass and then hoik them up another load of steps to reach the famous platform 4. The platform is quite full of folk already including four other cyclist who are obviously doing the same as us. We eye each other suspiciously knowing that when the train comes there will be one almighty rammy to grab the few bike spaces available on these trains. The clock is ticking down. Just ten minutes to go to departure and a swish double decker train roars into the station. A bit early we all thought but now the races is on. Which end of the bloody train has the bike spaces. It’s usually at the very front or the very back. The jostling for position has started. Some cyclists shoot off to the front some to the back. Meanwhile all the other passengers are piling on and filling the few remaining available seats. Bu**er we are going to have to stand all the way. There doesn’t appear to be a bike carriage. There’s bikes and helmets flying up and down the platform. The train doors start beeping as if to close. Stick a foot in it to stop it closing someone shouts. The call goes up to the peloton -‘Everyman for himself. Get on if you can. We’ll see each other in Gyor’.

So we all start trying to wrestle our bikes up the 3 steps from the platform into the train to squeeze into the lobby sections between coaches. I get mine in and poke a woman in the back with my pedals. She’s already sitting there ‘cos there already isn’t enough seats. I help another peloton member aboard with her bike. Now we are completely blocking the lobby for anyone else. The next thing I know is a very angry looking red faced guard is charging down the platform shouting and bawling for all the bikes to go to the back of the train. He’s physically chasing the rest of our team hurling obscenities at them and forcing them to the rear of the train. Perhaps he won’t notice us two who are already on board in the lobby sections. No chance. I think he shouted in Hungarian – “Get your scabby bikes and sweaty a*ses off my goddam train.” We heaved the bikes back down the 3 steps and onto the platform and ran like hell to the back of the train in competition with all these other confused and panic stricken cyclists. The doors start beeping again and start to close. Stick a foot in one! We get the the rear of the train. Two of our peloton have managed to get their bikes on and are struggling to hoist them onto hangers like meathooks to hang there like freshly killed venison. By this time the guard is apoplectic. Six more bikes are trying to jam themselves into his already full train all at the same time. There’s bikes, panniers, helmets, water bottles, goggles flying everywhere. You can’t get on he shouts. Go away to wherever you came from and don’t darken my train ever again.

My wife not so politely points out that we must get on this train. She has all the tickets in her hand for all our peloton and two of them are now on board but we are not so let us in. We’re British don’t you know. This is the last straw. The angry guard gets back on his train and chucks of our two who have already got on. They unhook their venison and stomp off the train shouting “ You are a miserable chap. Wouldn’t happen in England blah blah”. The fizzing guard, his face now the colour of tomato soup screamed the words “ Get ze next one” And with that he pushed a button, the doors closed and the steam rising from his ears disappeared down the track never to be seen again.

Our peloton and the four other British cyclists were left bemused and angry on the platform. What shall we do next? Will the same thing happens when the next train comes along? When will that be? Shall we just cycle the last 40K? Bl**dy outrage etc etc. Just then a second smaller train hoves into view. it glides into the station. It’s almost empty. It has a bike coach. It suddenly dawns on us this the train we were supposed to catch in the first place and what had arrived first was a Vienna to Budapest inter-city train. Duh! We all piled on had a jolly good laugh and chatted merrily all the way to Gyor.

Gyor: Nice town. Nice buildings. Nice ice cream shops. Just three more days of this craziness left before we can all go home!!!!!