Sensing we were unimpressed with the mountainbike rides featured on the maps or offered as guided tours, the campsite owner introduced us to Philip. He was the camp cook.
In the way that Seagal was 'just the cook' in Under Seige.
For the price of a beer, and a lift to near the summit of Golte, we were promised a downhill experience to remember. On the way up, we established a few facts, and indeed contrasts between respective talent and experience.
Number of rounds of one's national downhill championship won in past year:
Philip: 2
Darren/James: 0
Protective gear worn:
Philip: Spine protector, full facial protecting helmet, knee guards, gloves, armoured bike.
Darren/James: Er...helmet.
Time taken to complete the 9 km section about to be attempted:
Philip: 8 minutes when training and unencumbered by ponderous companions and gates.
Darren/James: 35 minutes. This, however, included stops to admire the view, open gates and exchange riding tips. My tip to Philip was 'Slow down you mad ******'.
We haven't really subscribed on this trip to 'must see' experiences, skipping merrily past Barcelona, Florence, leaning towers, Ljubljana. However, the Fairytale Forest, with 51 fairytales featured in a compact woodland fell straight into the 'unmissable' category.
And there was only one fairytale that mattered of course. Never in the field of dressed-up-shop-soiled-mannequins-masquerading-as-Cinderella-in-a-random-wooden-hut-with-motheaten-stuffed-birds has such enchantment sprinkled like stardust at the feet of an enraptured 4 year old.
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