So, past 4 weeks I have been away to take the tatra for a 4000 mile trip around eastern europe, using only the small roads, no highways (unless unavoidable).
To tell all the insane travel stories would require a bible or ikea-catalog sized book, so I'll leave you with a (slightly) shortened version of the events, and a selection of the pictures.
We drove from the Netherlands to Germany, passing by some of the war memorials around Arnhem to pay our respect to the people who fought in operation Market Garden. From there crossed north to south through Germany, meeting up with some friends on the border with Austria.
From there we drove together through the Alps using the hardest route we could find, a small old mountain route that winds up to around 8500ft. Going from 95 degrees fahrenheit, into the snow, and then down on the south side of the alps on the border with Italy up to 105 fahrenheit. The views were amazing, the mountain driving was very hard, but the applaus we got on the top by random bystanders was heartwarming.
From there we crossed the Karawanken mountains and Julian Alps into Slovenia, using a small winding mountain road. On top we visited a museum dedicated to the defense of Austria from attacks from the south (Yugoslav/Balkans region). The top of the mountain has many old tanks buried with only the turrets sticking out, to be used as defensive turrets. Even though it's a museum now, most of the weapons still seemed to be operational. The mountain road itself contained 50 hairpin turns, out of which 40 were too tight for the truck turning radius, meaning a lot of back-and-forth action every time.
Road from here got a little easier to drive, but still way too small for trucks, and oncoming traffic meant a lot of puzzling with little space to space between rocky hillsides and steep cliffs. From here my friend had to return towards home because he ran out of vacation time.
We continued through Slovenia, into Croatia and Serbia. It's amazing how quickly the country and the people change, with suddenly tractors and horse-drawn carts making up the majority of the traffic, and asphalt or concrete roads making way for dirttracks, rocks and cobblestones. Tourism completely stops here, as does all understanding of english or german language.
In Serbia we accidentally drove onto a military compound, which we managed to talk (read: wave, gesture, point, and smile) our way out of. It served as a strong reminder of why I painted the truck yellow instead of leaving it military green, because we arrived just to pointed AK's, instead of bullets. One of the army people was so kind to point out the parts of the roadside we could use to make a 3-point turn without running into landmines.
We rode through the capital, Belgrado, and found a field full of old airplanes, including a german ww2 bomber, plenty of MIG fighters, oldskool soviet helicopters, and anti aircraft guns and rockets. Security consisted of a sign saying "No Entry" and a small rope.
We crossed through Serbia, decided to skip Bulgaria due to time constraints, and drove north towards the Donau river and Romania. This river is mind-bendingly big and comes with some of the prettiest sights I have ever seen, cutting through the mountain like a knife through butter.
Crossing the Donau into Romania, again the landscape changed, from mountains into sweeping hills and steppes. The first miles were easy going with good roads, following some form of highway were the only traffic for an hour was a trabant car, a bicyclist carrying a melon, and some horsedrawn carts with complete families on top of a pile of stuff ranging from hay to logs, oildrums, and garbage.
This road however ended at a very soviet looking factory, from where we were once again back on unpaved routes from nothing to nowhere. It was a strange experience to see European Union flags in every city, with surroundings this mind-blowingly different. The cities were quite western, with modern day cars and shops, but as soon as you left the city, this quickly turned to something more like a history book on the soviet era.
Driving south to north Romania, we crossed the Carpathian mountains using the Transfagarasan road, and old military route which most likely is the most beautiful road in the world. The south side of the route was in bad shape, most sections we were the fastest vehicle around being able to ride at speeds around 40mph, where other cars only managed a max of 10mph due to the quality of the road and the size and amount of the potholes.
The north side of the mountains was just re-paved and was like a perfect race track, including red-white curbstones in every corner. After the mountains, as many times before, the road turned back into an unpaved mess.
We continued our way to north-east Romania, having to skip Moldovia due to time constraints as well, but planning to drive into Ukraine and visit the Chernobyl accident site. These plans however died in a 4 hours hand-and-feet discussion on the Romania-Ukraine border.
We were not allowed in because according to the border guards we were a truck, and according to the truck-side of the border we needed official transport papers we do not have because we are not a transport company. At some point the military police started meddling in the affairs too, because they decided we were a military expedition of sorts. I had to pass 5 different offices, and at least 20 different desks with people wearing high hats who had no grasp of the english language. Meanwhile to the left and right, everyone seemed to be bribing everyone else, to get a stamp, to get ahead in line, to go to the toilet, etcetera. I got more stamps on my paperwork than I thought would be humanly possible, and then got sent back into Romania. Apparently I need to work on my bribery skills
Don't want to give up that easy, so I found the next border on the map and drove there. This border was sadly closed due to EU regulations, so it's now a fence and a tank-barrier with a machinegun post on the Ukraine side. Driving more to the west over one of the craziest smallest mountain roads of the entire trip, we found the next border post. This was also closed, and we camped with the Romanian border police right there. They had a good grasp of the english language, and after some shared vodka's explained how the border works. They agreed to drive us there in their border patrol vehicles, but we were not allowed to stay longer than 1 minute, or the Ukrainians would most likely shoot at us.
From here we had to drop the whole Ukraine-plan and drive home through Hungary, which was quite uneventful, into Slovenia, Poland, and back through the Czech Republic and Germany. From Hungary onwards things quickly got more Western-European. We found some of those roadside places selling old military trucks for little money, drove past my Tatra truck dealer, crossed through Prague, visited Dresden, and rode home.
The last day, 200 miles before home the injection pump stopped working. This was the first breakdown, and after such a long trip and so close to home it was probably the most demotivating thing possible. Lucky however, my friend who joined for the first part of the trip lived about 15 miles from where I broke down, so with a little mid-night towing action we found a good place for beers and repairs.
It took a full day to remove the injection pump, find and fix the problem and rebuild everything. Most of this time was lost to not being familiar enough with that part of the truck, if we had to do it again it would be a 2 hour job instead.
The last miles home were both the most boring and the happiest ones in my life, and finally reversing into my garage brought some tears of exhaustion and happiness.
The whole trip was around 4000 miles, spend 740 us gallons of diesel and 34 gallons of engine oil (mostly due to a leaking crankshaft seal). We had problems only twice. First time a bolt securing a clutch shaft got loose, and the shaft fell out. Had to hammer everything back into place and re-tighten the bolt. Second time was the injection pump locking up. Both repairs were carried out only with tools onboard and required no spare parts. Tires are now well-worn but no flats, and thank god no accidents either. It takes a trip like this to see just how great the Tatra trucks are.
Police in every country were very correct and polite, and most times they stopped us just to make photos. I met a lot of veterans who used to serve on these trucks and were happy to see us, and in general met many great people. Border crossings were a bit hard between looking like a truck and looking quite military despite the yellow color, but a lot of smiling got us through effortless most of the time.
I see it turned out to be a longer than expected story anyway, but most of it is missing still. Looking to leave again as soon as time and money allow, for this way of travelling has to be the most addicting thing ever.
I'll leave you with some the pictures!
To tell all the insane travel stories would require a bible or ikea-catalog sized book, so I'll leave you with a (slightly) shortened version of the events, and a selection of the pictures.
We drove from the Netherlands to Germany, passing by some of the war memorials around Arnhem to pay our respect to the people who fought in operation Market Garden. From there crossed north to south through Germany, meeting up with some friends on the border with Austria.
From there we drove together through the Alps using the hardest route we could find, a small old mountain route that winds up to around 8500ft. Going from 95 degrees fahrenheit, into the snow, and then down on the south side of the alps on the border with Italy up to 105 fahrenheit. The views were amazing, the mountain driving was very hard, but the applaus we got on the top by random bystanders was heartwarming.
From there we crossed the Karawanken mountains and Julian Alps into Slovenia, using a small winding mountain road. On top we visited a museum dedicated to the defense of Austria from attacks from the south (Yugoslav/Balkans region). The top of the mountain has many old tanks buried with only the turrets sticking out, to be used as defensive turrets. Even though it's a museum now, most of the weapons still seemed to be operational. The mountain road itself contained 50 hairpin turns, out of which 40 were too tight for the truck turning radius, meaning a lot of back-and-forth action every time.
Road from here got a little easier to drive, but still way too small for trucks, and oncoming traffic meant a lot of puzzling with little space to space between rocky hillsides and steep cliffs. From here my friend had to return towards home because he ran out of vacation time.
We continued through Slovenia, into Croatia and Serbia. It's amazing how quickly the country and the people change, with suddenly tractors and horse-drawn carts making up the majority of the traffic, and asphalt or concrete roads making way for dirttracks, rocks and cobblestones. Tourism completely stops here, as does all understanding of english or german language.
In Serbia we accidentally drove onto a military compound, which we managed to talk (read: wave, gesture, point, and smile) our way out of. It served as a strong reminder of why I painted the truck yellow instead of leaving it military green, because we arrived just to pointed AK's, instead of bullets. One of the army people was so kind to point out the parts of the roadside we could use to make a 3-point turn without running into landmines.
We rode through the capital, Belgrado, and found a field full of old airplanes, including a german ww2 bomber, plenty of MIG fighters, oldskool soviet helicopters, and anti aircraft guns and rockets. Security consisted of a sign saying "No Entry" and a small rope.
We crossed through Serbia, decided to skip Bulgaria due to time constraints, and drove north towards the Donau river and Romania. This river is mind-bendingly big and comes with some of the prettiest sights I have ever seen, cutting through the mountain like a knife through butter.
Crossing the Donau into Romania, again the landscape changed, from mountains into sweeping hills and steppes. The first miles were easy going with good roads, following some form of highway were the only traffic for an hour was a trabant car, a bicyclist carrying a melon, and some horsedrawn carts with complete families on top of a pile of stuff ranging from hay to logs, oildrums, and garbage.
This road however ended at a very soviet looking factory, from where we were once again back on unpaved routes from nothing to nowhere. It was a strange experience to see European Union flags in every city, with surroundings this mind-blowingly different. The cities were quite western, with modern day cars and shops, but as soon as you left the city, this quickly turned to something more like a history book on the soviet era.
Driving south to north Romania, we crossed the Carpathian mountains using the Transfagarasan road, and old military route which most likely is the most beautiful road in the world. The south side of the route was in bad shape, most sections we were the fastest vehicle around being able to ride at speeds around 40mph, where other cars only managed a max of 10mph due to the quality of the road and the size and amount of the potholes.
The north side of the mountains was just re-paved and was like a perfect race track, including red-white curbstones in every corner. After the mountains, as many times before, the road turned back into an unpaved mess.
We continued our way to north-east Romania, having to skip Moldovia due to time constraints as well, but planning to drive into Ukraine and visit the Chernobyl accident site. These plans however died in a 4 hours hand-and-feet discussion on the Romania-Ukraine border.
We were not allowed in because according to the border guards we were a truck, and according to the truck-side of the border we needed official transport papers we do not have because we are not a transport company. At some point the military police started meddling in the affairs too, because they decided we were a military expedition of sorts. I had to pass 5 different offices, and at least 20 different desks with people wearing high hats who had no grasp of the english language. Meanwhile to the left and right, everyone seemed to be bribing everyone else, to get a stamp, to get ahead in line, to go to the toilet, etcetera. I got more stamps on my paperwork than I thought would be humanly possible, and then got sent back into Romania. Apparently I need to work on my bribery skills
Don't want to give up that easy, so I found the next border on the map and drove there. This border was sadly closed due to EU regulations, so it's now a fence and a tank-barrier with a machinegun post on the Ukraine side. Driving more to the west over one of the craziest smallest mountain roads of the entire trip, we found the next border post. This was also closed, and we camped with the Romanian border police right there. They had a good grasp of the english language, and after some shared vodka's explained how the border works. They agreed to drive us there in their border patrol vehicles, but we were not allowed to stay longer than 1 minute, or the Ukrainians would most likely shoot at us.
From here we had to drop the whole Ukraine-plan and drive home through Hungary, which was quite uneventful, into Slovenia, Poland, and back through the Czech Republic and Germany. From Hungary onwards things quickly got more Western-European. We found some of those roadside places selling old military trucks for little money, drove past my Tatra truck dealer, crossed through Prague, visited Dresden, and rode home.
The last day, 200 miles before home the injection pump stopped working. This was the first breakdown, and after such a long trip and so close to home it was probably the most demotivating thing possible. Lucky however, my friend who joined for the first part of the trip lived about 15 miles from where I broke down, so with a little mid-night towing action we found a good place for beers and repairs.
It took a full day to remove the injection pump, find and fix the problem and rebuild everything. Most of this time was lost to not being familiar enough with that part of the truck, if we had to do it again it would be a 2 hour job instead.
The last miles home were both the most boring and the happiest ones in my life, and finally reversing into my garage brought some tears of exhaustion and happiness.
The whole trip was around 4000 miles, spend 740 us gallons of diesel and 34 gallons of engine oil (mostly due to a leaking crankshaft seal). We had problems only twice. First time a bolt securing a clutch shaft got loose, and the shaft fell out. Had to hammer everything back into place and re-tighten the bolt. Second time was the injection pump locking up. Both repairs were carried out only with tools onboard and required no spare parts. Tires are now well-worn but no flats, and thank god no accidents either. It takes a trip like this to see just how great the Tatra trucks are.
Police in every country were very correct and polite, and most times they stopped us just to make photos. I met a lot of veterans who used to serve on these trucks and were happy to see us, and in general met many great people. Border crossings were a bit hard between looking like a truck and looking quite military despite the yellow color, but a lot of smiling got us through effortless most of the time.
I see it turned out to be a longer than expected story anyway, but most of it is missing still. Looking to leave again as soon as time and money allow, for this way of travelling has to be the most addicting thing ever.
I'll leave you with some the pictures!
