Cycling through western Ukraine - a report by TOUR reader Arnold Zimprich:
Littered with small puddles, the sandy dirt track meanders along the edge of the forest. It has rained, puddle slalom is the order of the day. I catch a hare doing its morning cleaning. What sounds idyllic is a challenge on a racing bike. I've long wanted to do 200 kilometres or more a day. But that's not how it works... Road cycling in the Ukraine needs to be well prepared. That's what I thought too - and planned my route meticulously using Komoot. After a relief mission in western Ukraine, I want to return to Germany on my racing bike. I have over 1200 kilometres to cover in six days. But on the very first day, when I set off from Brody, a small town 100 kilometres north-east of Lviv, the Ukrainian roads showed me that although Komoot is not entirely unsuitable for navigation in Ukraine, it should be used with great caution.
Cobblestones in the Ukraine
Although I had of course specified "road bike" as the sport when creating the route, the app guided me along gravel and cobblestone tracks, some of which were very rough. If the latter could be seen as a Paris-Roubaix reminiscence, the gravel tracks are a par force ride that I hadn't planned. Luckily for me, I put on brand new tyres. With these endurance long-distance tyres - I still can't believe it - I don't suffer a single puncture. The only thing that doesn't work quite as well as I'd imagined is making progress in the Ukraine. I finish the first day after just under 180 kilometres instead of 200 or more.
Without cycling shorts over gravel tracks in Ukraine
I should have known better. In August 2024, I was travelling through Ukraine on a gravel bike, and even then the Ukrainian back roads almost brought me to my knees. But the desire to get off the beaten track quickly, at least in theory, prevailed over reason. Last year, I realised that the best tarred roads from Lviv to the west were even busier than in peacetime due to the war. They are the country's arteries. When I spent the last year travelling around 30 kilometres between Ivano-Frankov and Yavoriv on the E40, I soon had enough of the "near-death experiences". Why on earth should lorry drivers carrying essential goods pay attention to crazy cyclists? In Yavoriv, I first lay down in the shade, licking ice cream. Komoot then led me straight to a military training area via side roads. The guards took it with humour.
But in the end, I make peace with the local infrastructure. It doesn't help. At least I'm still able to manage speeds of around 25 km/h, which isn't too bad considering my luggage. I have a frame bag and a not particularly large "arse rocket" with me, with a pair of shoes strapped underneath. Minimalism. Too much minimalism. After my privately organised humanitarian aid campaign for Ukraine, which preceded the bike ride, required a lot of brain power, I forgot to bring cycling shorts of all things. Getting hold of a pair outside of Lviv is utopian and my time window is too small to cycle to a larger city again. So on top of the sometimes lousy roads, I also have a maltreated backside. Only the tough get into the garden - and in the drugstore, the path leads to the cream shelf. Ukrainian avocado skin cream is better than nothing.
This vastness, this loneliness in Ukraine
What fascinates me on this first day is the vastness of the landscape and the solitude. The huge fields lie gently under the blazing sun, a light breeze blows, the temperature is pleasant until midday, then the sultriness increases before it feels the most oppressive between 4 and 5 p.m. - time to head to the nearest kiosk or mini supermarket labelled "Produkti" and grab an ice-cold Kvassthe Ukrainian national drink.
In Rawa-Ruska, I turn off the side roads onto a busier road, the last north-south connection before the Polish border. In the small border town of Jaworiw, which I passed last year, I treat myself to a motel with air conditioning and a giant burger with fries. A thunderstorm night is looming, with thunder, lightning and buckets of rain.
I can switch off the air conditioning after the storm and open the window wide. Ahh, this night air feels good! The transit traffic wakes me up. Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom: the lorries thunder over the potholes and turn off a short distance away towards Korczowa, probably the busiest border crossing between the EU and the war-torn country.
The next morning, I use the kettle to make myself Kasha, Buckwheat porridge. Like porridge, it's easy on the stomach, cheap and available everywhere. Shortly after seven, I hit the road. It's clearing up. After just under a kilometre, I leave the already busy E40 behind me. Instead of a pothole-strewn track, I'm greeted by immaculate tarmac. I can hardly believe my luck! "готель" is emblazoned on a wooden shed at the edge of the forest - "Hotel". A reminiscence of the beginning of the war, when thousands crossed the border here within a short space of time looking for accommodation?
Full of vigour, I pedal through undulating terrain into the morning. But what is this? The tarmac ends abruptly and leads into a rough, sandy track interspersed with gravel. The surface has been softened by the heavy rainfall of the previous night and my 28 mm tyres are really sinking in. So be it. I don't let the good weather spoil my joy.
No border crossing for cyclists
Schoolchildren and commuters are queuing at the bus stops, I'm in a race with a Marshrutkaas the small buses are called in the Ukraine, which keep life going here and also travel to the smallest village.
Komoot eventually directs me to smaller and smaller paths - and I realise that if this continues, I will be too slow to keep to my plan. When the route tells me to cross a tarmac road only to follow a dirt track on the other side, I lose my nerve. Instead of continuing to trust Komoot, I take a diversion.
The bells in Mostyska ring at nine o'clock - like everywhere else in Ukraine, everyday business stops for a minute and the victims of Russia's war of aggression are remembered. The national anthem is then played. On the town square, steles commemorate the fallen. Everyone places their hand on their chest. At the end of the anthem, the obligatory "Glory to Ukraine! Glory to the heroes!" rings out, I feel a chill run down my spine. Elsewhere, people are dying and I'm complaining about poor roads.
The weather is also developing well today, so I leave nothing to chance and head south, deliberately not wanting to use the busy border crossing at Medyka via the Ukrainian motorway M-11, but a supposedly less frequented one in the foothills of the Carpathians. The route is initially a good choice - the tarmac is in good condition. However, when I turn off onto a side road, I feel like I'm watching Superball on SAT1 - dodging the potholes is like a game of skill. In places, the tarmac stops completely and the road turns into a gravel track.
Here, too, there are only a few cars, and traffic is concentrated on the few roads with a good surface. You can simply see that the roads, which were probably already full of holes before the war, are no longer being repaired. It's getting humid, so I buy ice cream, cola and water in a small supermarket and sit down in the shade. A drunk obviously doesn't like the fact that I'm sitting here, he wants something from me, communication is going nowhere, we eye each other sceptically.
When I arrive in Khyriv, the last little town before the border, it's only a matter of time before the thunderstorm hits. But the wind picks up, dispersing the clouds, and I cycle as quickly as possible along the not too busy road with short climbs towards the mountains - finally, a petrol station. But the petrol station attendant has closed for the day. Bollocks! I'll just have to go straight to Poland...
The Ukrainian border guards are wide-eyed when I tell them my plan to cross the border on a bike: "This border is only for cars!" Well, I don't have a car. I almost have to laugh at the officials' absurd statement. Apparently it's the law that only cars are allowed to cross here, and the law is the law. After a short back and forth, we agree that I can cross the border with the next car that also wants to cross. The point is - the barrier only opens if the car's licence plate number, which is recorded on camera, has been checked against a database - I don't have a licence plate...
The border formalities themselves are lengthy. First Ukrainian customs, then multi-stage passport control, then Polish customs. It takes an hour and a half to cross the border. I thought it might be a bit quicker here in the northern foothills of the Carpathian Mountains... but no such luck. As an EU or Schengen area resident, you're no longer used to an external EU border - and especially not to the harassment of customs officers. It's your own fault if you're travelling here on a racing bike. And yet it is defiance that drives me on. Cycling despite the war, cycling despite the difficult infrastructure. Road cycling as the epitome of freedom in the face of terror.
New plan for the journey home
After a few minutes on Polish soil, the thunderstorm caught up with me. A small chapel with a statue of the Virgin Mary offers protection from the rain. After half an hour, it has stopped enough for me to leave again. In the meantime, I realise that my big plans to cycle all the way home will come to nothing. The humidity, the roads and the psychological terror at the border are a toxic combination for my motivation. I complete a good 140 kilometres to Tarnow. That's enough for today and the next day I get on the train that takes me back home. Next time I'll go back to the gravel bike. It's simply the better choice for the Ukraine.
Aid for Ukraine
How did I actually get to Brody? Well, I got one through donations from Osteuropahilfe e.V. (Osteuropahilfe e.V. of the districts of Starnberg, Tölz and Munich-Land) to the Ukraine in a second-hand Nissan X-Trail 4x4. In addition to aid supplies, it also contained my racing bike. On the way there, I handed over 850 euros to the NGO "Ptaha", which looks after internally displaced persons (IDPs) at Lviv's main railway station and in particular provides first aid in the form of food. I actually wanted to spend at least one more day weaving camouflage nets at by_porokhova in Lviv, but in the end there wasn't enough time.
HintThe reader report reflects the opinion and experience of the author and not the editorial team. As we were not there, we cannot check whether all statements are correct. All opinions expressed are readers' opinions and not those of the TOUR editorial team.
