We came to Krk for a vacation – just a quiet break by the sea. But you know how it goes. When your body is accustomed to movement and your soul is attuned to the rhythm of breath and pedal, “rest” begins with motion. So, we packed the bikes, not because we planned to use them much, but because… well, just in case.

“Just in case” turned into Day 1.

From our apartment in the town of Krk, we took our bikes and headed west toward Brzac. The plan was simple: a short ride to Brzac.

The reality was less simple. Brzac is harder to reach by bike. Especially when you foolishly set out in the middle of the day, under a sun that could fry eggs on your seat. Parts of the route follow the Camino Krk, a beautiful pilgrimage path – when you’re walking. On a bike, it’s more like a test of character (and tire pressure).

But challenges have a way of dissolving the ego. The more you sweat, the more you surrender. And at the end of the trail, just below Brzac, we found it: a tiny beach tucked below an old stone church in Glavotok port.

There was even a “bar” – if you can call it that – balanced on a crumbling stairway. The man running it looked like he’d played bass in four different rock bands in the ’70s. Pink Floyd drifted from a half-broken speaker. Cold drinks, simple joy, and views that asked for no interpretation. After a short swim, we sat, salty and satisfied, watching the Island of Cres and the sea.

Day 2 was no easier, but that’s precisely why it was worth it. From Krk through Punat and on toward Stara Baška. The road teased us with occasional shade, but mostly it was a test of lungs and legs – especially the final climb before the descent to the sea. It’s a road that asks you: how badly do you want this? Cars struggle to park there. Cyclists? We just leaned our bikes against a rock wall, climbed over a fence, and followed a faint trail toward the small cove.

At first, it was just us and the relaxing water. For a few minutes, time stopped. Although eventually others came, the magic didn’t disappear. The fear of climbing the 12% ascent in the hot sun on our return, fortunately, turned out to be unfounded. Luckily, the most challenging part of the ride was already behind us at that time.

On Day 3, we promised ourselves rest, so we took our car south to Malinska, where, naturally, we ended up walking 18 kilometres along the coast. We stumbled across another picturesque bay, this one untouched and quiet. We took a swim. The day ended like the others: sunburnt, tired, and somehow… clearer.

That’s the strange rhythm of these trips. The more we moved, the more stillness we found. You don’t always have to sit still to become still. Sometimes, presence waits at the top of the hill. Or behind a fence. Or in the aching muscles of a day, you didn’t plan.