Indian summer was already fading, but the weather was still warm and soft — perfect for a bike tour.
Then, out of the blue, a Polish acquaintance called: tomorrow he was driving from Lviv to Poland. So what? Lviv is almost six hundred kilometres from Kyiv. But a crazy idea suddenly flashed in my head: he could take my bike across the border. No customs checks, no hassle — and I’d be straight in the right city. I’d been planning a bike trip through Poland for a long time.
The real madness was something else: I had to decide right now. The train from Kyiv to Lviv was leaving in an hour. I made up my mind instantly. No point wasting weather like this and a chance like that. I quickly packed, got on the bike and raced to the station.
That was how one of the most dangerous and idiotic trips of my life began. The one where I miraculously stayed alive.
Racing over the hills of Kyiv, barely missing cars on every turn, I tore into the station at full speed. The tickets had been bought in advance. There was almost no time left.
I jumped up the stairs, sprinted along the platform — and saw the train already moving slowly.
No time to think. No time to feel disappointed either.
I grabbed the bike and, with a running start, leapt into the departing carriage.
The conductor saw me and didn’t close the door. Lucky that in Ukraine the doors don’t shut automatically.
Or maybe it was the opposite of luck? Maybe it would have been much better if the doors had closed then — and ended the whole story right there.
But at first everything was beautiful. Colours, sounds, the smell of the forest, the atmosphere — everything was soaked in the freshness of autumn. The breeze was pure bliss. The world breathed evenly and calmly.
I arrived in the Polish town of Przemyśl, where a tour of more than 250 kilometres through eastern Poland was to begin. The town spilled down the hills towards the river, and the old houses seemed scattered across the slopes almost at random. Narrow streets dove down, then climbed again, while towers rose one after another above the rooftops.
Beyond Przemyśl stretched endless identical villages and endless fields. The space was flooded with bright sunlight and an incredible blue sky. A fresh, joyful wind was blowing. The tour was becoming more and more monotonous.
Jarosław didn’t do much to break the monotony either. At first glance it was just another quiet old Polish town. But behind the heavy façades hid inner courtyards and multi-level cellars — an entire second city going deep underground. Once they stored goods there; now those dark labyrinths seemed like a place where something else entirely could be kept. It reminded me of the ancient cities of Lebanon, where the dead were buried right under the floors of houses — the city of the living standing literally above the city of the dead.
Almost otherworldly peace accompanied me the whole way.
No planes, no motorways, almost no cars. Only towards evening, having covered more than half the distance, did I start approaching Zamość.
The air grew dense and transparent, like glass. The sun no longer warmed — it only slid low across the ground, stretching long pitch-black shadows.
Beyond the fortress walls the town met me with dark streets, endless arcades and empty spaces between the old houses. The evening light made everything even stranger: familiar reality was slowly turning into the set of an old film.
North of Zamość stretched empty hills, old cobbled roads leading nowhere, and solitary stone crosses in the middle of the forest. Deep night fell. All light disappeared — no streetlamps, no moon, no cars. Only the narrow beam of the bike lamp cut through the endless darkness.
For a long time I rode in that complete emptiness. Then lights appeared ahead. At first I thought they were windows. But when I got closer it became clear: along the road, one after another, stood crosses and statues of the Virgin Mary. In each of them a lamp was burning — a tiny living heart in the impenetrable dark.
Racing through the dark villages, I peered into the houses, searching for any sign of movement. Only black shadows flickered.
Leaving one of the villages, I suddenly saw a man between the houses, running towards me with a scream — as if he was trying to say something or stop me. He flashed in the beam of the lamp and was left behind, but the cry hung in the air for a long time.
A bad omen.
The villages ended. It was time to think about a place to sleep. Just then I was passing the hostel where I had originally planned to stay. The night was still warm, I still had energy, and Lublin — the final city of the tour, where my bus was waiting — was already close. I decided to keep going.
And made a fatal mistake.
The cold came suddenly, as if someone had blown out all the warmth with a single breath, like a candle flame. In an instant the gentle summer air vanished. Real autumn had begun. I had ridden straight into a northern cyclone.
The drizzle grew heavier by the minute, the cold cut to the bone. A strange feeling appeared, as if something was slowly draining my strength. Riding became harder and harder. I was weakening fast.
The hostels were all closed. There was nothing left but to keep going.
The wind carried the smell of wet leaves, damp bark and stagnant water in the ravines. Dark silhouettes of trees pressed right up to the edge of the road. White bare branches stretched overhead, intertwining in a strange embrace and forming a vault above me.
This was the edge of civilisation. Beyond it began the unknown. The old world was disappearing — and a terrifying darkness took its place.
This place had existed long before people. It felt almost outside of time — like an ancient dark temple. I looked up at the roof of branches and wet yellow leaves. The limbs had merged into an ink-black canopy, and only through rare gaps could tiny fragments of icy sky be seen.
The rain poured without stopping and beat against my face. I was already soaked through.
Somewhere in the thicket a strange sound appeared. For a second the thought flashed: any moment now Totoro — the huge, kind forest spirit — would step out of the darkness. Something was moving in the forest — something big. And it was unlikely to be Totoro.
The sound would move away, then suddenly be very close, then approach threateningly again. The wind howled and roared. Black shadows darted in the cold light, and the whole scene felt almost unreal. The trees lost their sharp outlines; in a tired imagination their blurred shapes could become anything. Most likely it was just a deer.
Once a small animal darted right in front of the wheel. In the beam of the lamp green eyes flashed for an instant — and it was gone.
The forest felt like one vast living organism. The trees swayed in the gusts of wind. In the gloom it smelled of pine, moss and cold.
The only warmth and light, apart from my lamp, came from the passing trucks. The powerful beams of their headlights cut through the curtain of rain and for a moment made the arches of trees glow.
At last the forest ended. Ahead opened a steep descent, and far on the horizon, through the rain and fog, the lights of a large city glowed dimly.
I tore downhill at high speed, barely keeping the bike on the wet asphalt.
Through the pale morning fog the first rays of sun were already breaking through. In a couple of hours I was supposed to be in Lublin.
By morning I was already a shadow of myself. The sleepless rainy night had drained every last bit of strength. Thin needles of pain pierced my muscles. A light fog hung in the air and the drizzle continued. The same fog was in my head — everything felt slightly unreal. I needed to sleep at least a little, but where?
By midday I finally reached Lublin. I was already entering the city on the highway. Just a little further and I would be on my bus, heading back to Ukraine.
I found myself in the middle of a large interchange. I needed to get to the other side, where the traffic was slower. I was letting cars pass one by one and gradually shifting towards the edge.
And at that moment I was suddenly thrown upward together with the bike.
The world stopped. My body became completely weightless. I lost all control. My “I” vanished for a moment — as if I temporarily ceased to exist. No sounds, no sensations.
I was slammed against the windscreen, then thrown up again — and I was already flying onto the asphalt with the bike. Everything mixed together: asphalt, bicycle, car.
For the first few seconds I understood nothing. I stood up. Picked up the bike and wanted to ride on.
Then it hit me. Those could have been the last seconds of my life. And everything could simply have disappeared.
A car coming down from the bridge had slammed into me from behind. The impact was so strong that the rear of the bicycle was turned into a heap of metal, and the whole front of the car was smashed — windscreen in pieces, bonnet crumpled.
With a hit like that I should have been dead.
But by some miracle I stayed alive.
Only light scratches.
As if from underwater I heard shouting. A woman jumped out of the car. She started asking how I was and offered to take me to the hospital.
The police appeared at once. As soon as it became clear I was not Polish, they immediately put me in a police car. No one even checked whether I was bleeding or if any bones were broken — they drove me straight to the station.
The nightmare did not end with the crash. They told me I could now spend a couple of months in pre-trial detention while the Ukrainian side sorted things out. Or pay a fairly large fine. No one really explained what would happen next.
And then I heard something even more surreal:
“If you’d croaked on the spot, there wouldn’t have been any problems at all.”
What a turn. Sleep vanished instantly. Crash. Miraculously alive. Detained. And now — fine or prison.
By the way, I had no money to pay.
I didn’t have that kind of sum on me. My Polish acquaintance had to pay it.
And the strangest thing: only a small part went to the woman, even though I had properly wrecked her car and the fine clearly didn’t cover it. The rest was taken by the police — for a job well done.
Once they had guarantees of payment, they let me go.
And issued their verdict: I had hit the car with my bicycle.
In a half-dead state I limped towards my bus.
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