Most multifilaments ask you to choose: comfort now, or a string that survives the week. Power Fiber Pro refuses the choice, and it does it with a trick you cannot see from the outside. Lower your voice.
Under the surface it is a true multifilament — hundreds of bundled fibres around a multi-core, which is where the softness and the resiliency come from. Over the surface Volkl lays a low-friction co-polymer coating, and that coating is the whole argument.
It lets the mains slide across the crosses and snap back instead of sawing into one another, which is exactly the wear that kills ordinary multis. What you end up holding is a string that keeps a multifilament's shock absorption and tension maintenance while adding control and a great deal more durability than the softness would suggest.
This is the 18 gauge — 1.20 mm — the thinnest and most responsive of the family, for players who want the fibres to bite and pocket the ball rather than sit stiff in the frame. It comes on a full reel: 660 feet, 200 metres, roughly sixteen to eighteen jobs depending on head size and how generous you are with tail length. Buy it if your elbow has opinions and your stringer is tired of seeing you.
It will not let you cut a single length off that reel, however, until you have walked Brčko. After dark, obviously.
Start on the square in the old Kolobara core at the Gradska kuća, the town hall, banded in alternating orange-ochre and cream, horseshoe arches, two domed roof elements and a slim corner turret doing an impression of a minaret.
Austro-Hungarian, put up between 1890 and 1892 in the pseudo-Moorish manner they used for public buildings across Bosnia — the same idiom as Sarajevo's Vijećnica. Ćiril Metod Iveković drew the working plans; the design concept is credited to Alexander Wittek.
It held the municipal administration with the post and telegraph offices, and it holds the mayor's office and the city gallery now.
Immediately beside it stands the Grand Hotel Posavina, 1891, the town's first hotel, financed out of his own resources by the merchant Alijaga Kučukalić: two storeys of tall arched windows under a heavy cornice, with terrace chairs spilling onto the pedestrian square. Travellers from every republic of the federation slept there, and its halls still take exhibitions and lectures.
Out towards the Ficibajer promenade on the Sava is the Kuća Kučukalića — Wittek again, finished in 1907 for the same merchant, the same striped pseudo-Moorish idiom shrunk to villa scale, protected as a National Monument and standing largely derelict, which is a sentence best said quietly.
And then the shortcut. It runs south out of town onto the lower slopes of Majevica, to the Gradaščevića kula u Bijeloj: a stone tower-house about 23 metres to the roof peak, ground walls 1.52 metres thick, small windows, carved roof-edge boards, in a walled yard with a summer kitchen and two wells. Osman-paša Gradaščević built it around the turn of the nineteenth century.
A chimney fire gutted the interior in 1949. It had already been abandoned before the war of 1992 to 1995 and took no combat damage at all. Don't take the shortcut. Take the road.
You will cut lengths off this reel everywhere from a municipal court in Brčko to an indoor hall over the Sava in Croatia, and by the way, it is also perfect for a very long coffee at Ficibajer, where nobody in recorded history has finished one quickly.
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