We don’t get an exit stamp from Kosovo, which is a shame because it’s one I really wanted.

The ride towards Skopje is a nightmare of heat, roadworks, potholes and diversions. But for the final part there is a riverside bike path all the way into the centre of the city. We’re only here overnight, so we take our time seeing the sites when we arrive. It’s baking, but we’re already hot and sweaty so we’d rather get it done now.

The ridiculously massive Alexander statue is something I’ve wanted to see for ages, for some reason. It’s not as garish as when it was first erected, but it’s still weirdly over the top. Skopje has gone all-out in Greco faux-ancient statues and monuments. It’s definitely showy, but lovingly done.

Having seen what we wanted, we go to a famous street food stall to eat, and that means we can just crash at the hotel later. It’s a horribly expensive city to stay in, but Richard had saved some vouchers for an occasion such as this, so we get to stay somewhere decent for not much money. I sit on a bench and try to clean myself up a bit with wet wipes so I am presentable. The dirt and dust clings to the base layer of sun cream, and then is progressively caked on top of that throughout the day, so by the afternoon we are filthy. When we arrive they upgrade us to a massive suite, which is amazing. It’s hilarious to walk into a suite as a grimy, sweaty cyclist, but maybe that’s why they did it.

The following day we stop at a couple of mini supermarkets to pick up supplies, but nowhere is stocked. Rows of fridges and shelves are empty, so we have to make do with pricey petrol stations, but we need cold drinks in the heat.

It’s very flat for ages, which sounds nice, but I know we have a lot of climbing today, so the later that happens the steeper and more painful it will be. We stop at a bakery to get our food for the day and accidentally over order, which turns out to be a blessing.

The climb starts gently, then quickly steepens, but there’s patches of shade to stop in. After another hour it’s become really gruelling and way too hot again. We’re above the trees, which had been offering some shade. There’s a false summit, before the road deteriorates into a mess of barely rideable stones, and rocks, with more climbing still to go. Richard’s chain comes off. I can feel my lips and tops of my toes burning. 

The descent is beautiful, and once the road becomes paved again we can let the brakes out and really enjoy it. The landscape has completely changed from tall green trees on the other side of the mountain to a brown landscape with low shrubs. It’s gorgeous and so suddenly Greek. After a long and welcome cruise down the slope, we reach the large lake at the bottom which made the view so spectacular. There are lots of abandoned cafes and restaurants, and we are able to sit along the shore on the abandoned permanent sun loungers and finish off the last of our drinks, and some of the borek we bought from the bakery.

It’s a short and flat ride to a newly built apartment, where the owner is waiting to greet us, and proudly show us round. He’s left water, drinks and some cake, and with some food still left from the mammoth order at the bakery, we are grateful that we don’t need to go back out in the heat for supplies. Hunger eventually drives us out. It’s past 6pm and it’s roasting. I feel a wave of dizziness just stepping outside, it’s so hot. How the hell we cycle in this I’ve no idea. We’re shattered, so make a beeline for a supermarket and a mountain of eggs – the easiest things we can cook for dinner.

The way out is a gorgeous road cut through rock, and the wonder of this sudden new landscape. The rock reminds me a bit of Cappadocia, but with the caveat that I know nothing about rocks. I had woken up with painful legs from yesterday’s exertions, but am feeling good once we get going. The whole day is beautiful, along an old road following the river, rail tracks and motorway.

We stop at a supermarket on the way to our destination town, where Richard waits outside while I choose the food. He’s approached by a Macedonian who has recently returned to settle here after living in Australia for years. He offers to find me in the supermarket and translate for me.

Macedonia is a small country, so we only have one more full day of riding in this little gem of a place. There’s gentle climbing, and lots of lovely views. We’re by a river for the first part of the day, and a parallel motorway takes most of the traffic, so it’s another relaxed and beautiful day, mostly. Lots of people beep and wave, as they have done since the border. When Richard pulls over for no apparent reason, I assume our peace has been shattered by a puncture or his chain coming off. But he’s stopped to remove a boulder from the road, where there has been some rockfall.

We stop at an abandoned restaurant, and Richard muses about all the businesses which close when a new road is built and footfall (or carfall) disappears. It is one of his favourite subjects. No doubt one day he will start a Facebook page dedicated to it. A scrawny dog comes to see us. I give her some of the cat biscuits we bought for cats who don’t care, and Richard finds a working tap and something to put water in. We go around the corner to find some shade and sit down. A few minutes later the dog appears and does a shuffle and a bark before going back into the undergrowth. It’s probably fanciful, but I think she came to say thank you.

It’s a hard final climb near the end of the day, and Richard falls apart a bit in the 43 degree heat. We cross the point where four years ago he was suffering from lingering laryngitis, while I pushed us on through the mountains.

Our stopping point is near a popular local lake resort, but in August there’s nowhere to stay so we have to find somewhere a bit out of the way. It’s just a short distance the following day to the border with Greece, and onward to our last country in Europe, again.

Our final ride in North Macedonia is along Marshal Tito road; named after the man who held Yugoslavia in peace and unity, until it exploded after his death. North Macedonia was the only one of the former Yugoslav countries which left without bloodshed. Perhaps it explains why it has seemed the most relaxed and carefree of the nations in this deeply scarred region. 

A playlist for the ride: