{"id":33586,"date":"2026-07-11T00:01:21","date_gmt":"2026-07-11T07:01:21","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/exhaustnotes.us\/blog\/?p=33586"},"modified":"2026-07-02T13:27:29","modified_gmt":"2026-07-02T20:27:29","slug":"back-in-the-alps","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/exhaustnotes.us\/blog\/index.php\/2026\/07\/11\/back-in-the-alps\/","title":{"rendered":"Back In The Alps"},"content":{"rendered":"
By: Bobbie Surber<\/h6>\n

Mountains were one of my earliest loves. I grew up with Mount Rainier and the jagged peaks of the Cascades. Later came the Rockies and the Sierra Nevada. The pull only grew stronger over the years, eventually leading me back to the Alps.<\/p>\n

\"\" In mid-May 2026, Tom and I set out on a five-week trip through four countries, with a week of sailing folded into the middle of it. I had been to Bled, Slovenia, by motorcycle once before, but the weather had shut me out of the Julian Alps that time, so the high country stayed a rumor I never got to see.<\/p>\n

The plan was simple: a few days in Bled, then over Vr\u0161i\u010d Pass, the highest mountain pass in Slovenia, with fifty hairpin turns winding through the Alps.<\/p>\n

When the road finally lifted us into the high country, something in my chest loosened, a feeling I\u2019d carried since childhood. I had come a long way to stand among peaks that felt like old friends.<\/p>\n

Around every corner was another reason to stop. Jagged limestone peaks towered above us, glaciers still hanging on in the higher elevations. Wildflowers were beginning to blanket the meadows. More than once, we found ourselves standing quietly, simply taking it all in.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Some of those turns were tight enough to hold their own against the ones on my motorcycle trip through Romania. We took our time, using every pullout we could find, and stopped for a short hike where gray limestone peaks rose against a flat blue sky, snow still wedged in the high gullies even in late May. Lunch was a bowl of Slovenian stew at an alpine hut, thick with sausage and beans, and a lager that made me wish I had ordered another. The road was full of motorcycles, and I felt that familiar itch the whole way up, already knowing I would come back for it on two wheels.<\/p>\n

From the pass, we drove another 40 miles following the So\u010da as it cut through the valley. The water wasn\u2019t turquoise so much as lit from within, as if light were coming up through the riverbed itself. No photograph or memory prepares you for it. Its glacial flour suspended in meltwater, but knowing that doesn\u2019t make it feel any more real.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

We ended the day at Kozjak Waterfall, just outside Kobarid, where we would spend the night. After a rushed check-in at our lodging, we made our way through the village, crossed the bridge over the So\u010da River, and followed a narrow gorge to the falls. Tom and I arrived at dusk, long after the tourist buses had left. The waterfall drops in a narrow white stream into a deep stone bowl carved into the rock. Having the place to ourselves made it even more special. As the shadows filled the gorge, the turquoise water deepened to green, then to the richest blue as daylight slipped away. In the quiet, surrounded by rock walls, it felt a little like stepping into another world.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve spent a lot of years seeking out mountains, whether by foot or from the seat of a motorcycle. Standing there beside the falls, I wasn\u2019t thinking about the trip that never happened. I was thinking about the next one. I\u2019ll be back in Slovenia next time, on two wheels.<\/p>\n

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