I made my first photo stop at the dam creating the Lacul Obreja de Capalna. There was one small food stand working there and a few people milling about. I snapped my pictures, put a fighter squadron sticker on a pole there and mounted up wondering why everyone was looking at me so strangely. After leaving the dam the road was still great, the mountains had snow caps now and I had the road all to myself. I was enjoying the ride, taking it easy and looking for hazards. As I rounded a left I came to a stop. The road was completely covered by vegetation. From the look of things, a landslide had dropped about 200 pine trees across the road. There was a work crew there with chainsaws, chippers and logging equipment working to clear the road. I assumed the road was still there because you couldn’t seen anything but green and brown for at least a half mile. As I sat wondering what to do, one of the workers finally noticed me. He got the other’s attention and they all waived me through with great big smiles and some fist pumps. I couldn’t NOT ride through now, so off I went over the pine boughs, small limbs and very slick needles hoping I didn’t end up with the bike on top of me and a sharp stick in the eye. I put that obstacle behind me and felt pretty good about the ride as I climbed ever higher into the mountains. My bike told me it was about 37 degrees now and I was feeling it. Thankfully my heated jacket, heated seat and hippo hands were keeping me toasty. The forest was now right on the road with great trees at least 80’ tall lining each side of the road. Stealing a quick glance at the scenery I could tell that the pitch of the slope was very steep. I checked my speed to ensure I wouldn’t be forced off the road if I came upon another surprise. A few bends later – surprise! Fog. I’m not sure that this was ice fog but it sure seemed like it. Visibility was down to about 200’ and I strongly considered turning around. What was I up here for anyway? In this weather I couldn’t really enjoy the road could I? As I felt the yellow streak emerging on my back the bike topped the pass and we started down the other side. Soon I was back out of the fog and just surrounded by staggering drop-offs, huge trees and miles and miles of nothing. “There! That’s better.” I thought just as a logging truck swung into head-on view entering the opposite side of the downhill-decreasing-radius turn I’d just entered. The truck was using most of his lane and at least ½ of mine but the truly disturbing thing was that the ratio was quickly changing in the wrong direction for my liking. I prepared to bail out for the ditch just as the passenger slapped the driver, yelled something at him (Probably “holy crap, what’s the bike doing up here on this road?” in Romanian) and the driver yanked the truck back on his side of the road as I slid past the tail with about a foot to spare. Never a dull moment in the mountains of Romania.