Kazakhstan.

The four of us stood on the deck, watching eagerly as the cargo ship pulled in to Aktau. The ship docked and we were immediately boarded by the military with their drug dogs. All the passengers were lined up and made to stand still while the dog ran around, sniffing our pockets. Once everyone was cleared they herded us off of the boat and into a waiting van, a bit disconcerting seeing that our bikes and all our bags were still on board! The van drove us to the nearby customs office, where we were stamped in and were then made to walk back to the ship to collect our bikes. We weren’t done yet though, we still had to be inspected by the customs officials. They lined us up and emptied our panniers one by one, until they determined that we didn’t have any contraband and we were allowed to ride towards the exit. At the final gate we were told to wait some more, but no one would tell us why. We stood around in the hot sun for too long, getting hungry and impatient. I finally asked a soldier if they had a washroom I could use. He got a bit flustered and hurried away, only to return a couple of minutes later to let us through the gate, saying there was a toilet on the outside. Free at last! I should have pulled the toilet card sooner. We rode the short distance to Aktau where we ate a nice comforting lunch at the Burger King before finding a hotel for the night. 

 

The next morning we rode out of Aktau and entered the desert. Ever since we rode across the Sahara on our last trip, Steve and I have had a fondness for deserts, so we had been looking forward to this stretch. The thing about memories though, is that the hard parts soften after a while, and you only focus on the fun parts. The true extent of the challenges and the misery sort of fades away with time. We’d been talking a tough game leading up to this, about how much we loved desert riding even though it was hard. Well, our first day out of Aktau was really hard. We struggled against a headwind for the entire morning while we watched Karen and Jamie pull away into the distance, riding so much faster than us that they were soon out of sight. We fought, the wind held us back, and eventually we admitted defeat and pulled off the road for a small siesta behind a dirt pile. Motivation and coping skills were rock-bottom and we wondered if we’d made a mistake by not going home from Baku. After a short catnap and some cookies we headed back to the road, only to find K&J riding back towards us. They had waited long enough to start worrying, so were coming back to make sure we were ok. We rode together for the rest of the day until pulling off into a nice sandy depression to set up camp. That night the moon was full and we were all bit taken aback by the desolate beauty of this place. I fell asleep hoping for tailwinds.

It seems like every time we push through a bad day, we’re rewarded with something amazing. Our second day of desert riding did not disappoint. We woke up early to sunshine and a light breeze, and were greeted by a pack of wild horses galloping by as we pushed our bikes to the road. The barren landscape gradually gave way to sandy dunes and rocky plateaus, with one lone puffy cloud floating in the sky up ahead. We watched the desert come to life around us; huge tortoises and lizards hiding in the scrubby bushes, groundhogs popping out of their holes and chirping at us. An eagle glided by on the wind and camels dotted the open plain. I love how they look on the horizon, their long legs and bumpy backs silhouetted against the open sky. Wild horses would run across the sand or watch us ride by, sometimes running alongside us, as if we were racing. The horses always won. Around mid-day we stopped at our first Chaihana, a road-side tea-house where travellers and truckers can get food and drinks. We drank tea and tried our first Plov; a rice dish with mutton, which was about to become a staple of our diet for the next two months. In the evening we set up camp behind a small hill beside some rocks and a small ravine. We ate dinner under a bright orange sunset, and crawled into bed as the moon climbed into the sky. 

As we were about to fall asleep, we heard a truck driving by, close enough that it had to be off the road. I tensed up, hoping it would pass us by, but then the headlights lit up our tents. It’s always a bit scary being seen at night, even though the most likely outcome is someone trying to offer you food or invite you to sleep at their place. The truck stopped and we heard voices. They were obviously talking to us, so Steve stuck his head out of the tent. Two men were out there and wanted us to come out. We were cozy and tired and didn’t really want to. Steve popped back inside to get dressed, intending to get out and see what they wanted. He unzipped the door and came face to face with a giant eagle. “WOAH” was all I heard. “What is it?” I asked. “He has an eagle. Like a real eagle. On his arm” was the reply. From the other tent, Jamie pipes up with “we’re coming out!”

Within seconds all four of us were dressed and outside, staring in disbelief at this huge golden eagle sitting on its master’s arm. The two Kazakh men were all excited, one of them was wearing a traditional jacket that he took off and put on Steve, while the other guy slid a leather gauntlet onto Steve’s arm. They put a blindfold on the eagle and placed it on the gauntlet. I grabbed the camera as Steve stood there, lit up by headlights in the dark, somewhere in the Kazakh desert, holding this giant eagle on his arm. Words will never describe how surreal this was. Then it was my turn; I braced my elbow against my ribs as the weight came onto my arm. I was speechless and in awe, gazing at the massive, razor-sharp beak just inches away from my face. Then it was Jamie’s turn, then Karen’s. The men told us they use the eagle to hunt foxes. Once we had taken our pictures and asked our questions as best we could, the master took his eagle back and put it into the truck. He used his phone to translate the words “Good Luck”, shook our hands, and they drove off into the night. We stayed outside for a while, too excited to go to bed and still trying to process what had just happened. I’m still amazed that night was real. Amazed and stunned by our good fortune to have experienced something so extraordinary.

Eventually morning came and we began packing up our things. A large herd of goats and sheep was passing by, and the shepherd wandered over to say hello. We chatted and mimed as best we could with our limited language. I was admiring his donkey and asked if I could pet it. He laughed and told me to hop up and sit on it! It was great. The donkey was kind and patient, and I was thrilled that during the last 12 hours I had gotten to hold an eagle AND ride a donkey. Eventually he said goodbye and wandered back to his herd, and we pedalled onward.

When the four of us had discussed teaming up for this part of the ride, our biggest concern was that K&J would get tired of waiting for us all the time. We knew that with their triathlon background, they were much faster riders than us and there was no way we could maintain their pace. After learning from our first day, we settled into a daily routine that worked well for all involved. Steve and I were usually packed up first, so we would head to the road and start riding. After about 20 or 30 minutes, the other two would catch up and pass us, and ride until stopping for lunch. We’d catch up and eat together, us happy with a slower pace and shorter breaks and K&J happy to have a bit more time off the bike. The afternoon would be a repeat of the morning, where we would meet up again to choose a camp spot. Sometimes we would all ride together for chunks of the day, or Steve and Jamie would race off ahead and Karen and I would take our time and chat while we caught up. It worked surprisingly well for two teams with different styles and speeds. 

On our third day in the desert we passed through Shetpe, a real town with a market where we stocked up on fresh produce, cheese and other goodies. Most of our supply points for this stretch were Chaihanas, where we could get water and chocolate but not much else. There was nothing at all in between the Chaihanas, so we were carrying a 3 day supply of food. Water was another resource that needed to be carefully managed. We were drinking a lot of water, because the days were starting to get really hot. Often the only shade we could find would be underneath the random animal statues that appeared along the highway. We were eating lunch under one of these statues just past Shetpe when we met a man who declared himself to be the only cyclist in this part of Kazakhstan! He had zoomed past us earlier, on his Giant mountain bike, and was now on his way back home from his training ride. He loves to cycle, and one day wants to tour like we were doing. He spoke English very well and it was nice to have a real conversation with someone, who could tell us a bit about the place we were riding. It doesn’t happen often when we don’t speak the local languages.

After lunch we pedalled on into the vast, open landscape. It was sandy, but greener than I expected, with hundreds of tiny bushes poking out from the ground. The terrain was also quite featured; we passed small ravines and large plateaus, dunes and boulders, and some rock walls in the distance that looked like sandstone cliffs. There were even a few small hills, with signs warning of a whopping 4% grade on the descent! It was after rolling over one of these tiny bumps that the Ustyurt Plateau appeared in the distance, rising up from the sand and wavering in the heat. It looked close, but appearances are deceiving here; we pedalled towards the plateau for 40km before finally getting to the bottom. This was our one big climb in Kazakhstan, and it was also unpaved. There’s nothing like a dusty, bumpy climb to cap off a long day. We managed to make it to the top but not much further, opting to pull off into some dirt lumps to camp. As we ate dinner a meteor streaked across the sky. In the dark the headlights of passing cars were visible for miles. With no cities anywhere to cast light, the night sky exploded with stars. Our tents were surrounded by small desert bugs; spiders, beetles, ants, and crickets that chirped us to sleep. It felt great to be in the desert again. It’s a harsh place, but so intriguing. There’s so much going on out here, if you just move slow enough to become a part of it.

Once on top of the Ustyurt Plateau, our road was flat. So flat, with endless distances on all sides, and shapes appearing close when in reality they are still forever away. The heat shimmered on the horizon and distorted all the images we thought we saw. It got hotter, too. The bike computer started showing temperatures of 37 degrees, then 39 degrees, eventually heating up to 42 degrees by the afternoon. So many hours we spent pedalling, towards nothing, just an open highway with no end in sight and no relief from the scorching sun. We were plowing through our water and the last few Chaihanas we had passed were closed. Finally the town of Beyneu appeared in the distance, low hazy buildings with red, blue, and green roofs flickering in the heat. This was our last town in Kazakhstan, where we would rest and restock before riding to the Uzbek border. Pretty stoked to not be dying of thirst, we rolled straight to the first gas station we saw for some cold water and ice cream snacks. 

We enjoyed Beyneu. It wasn’t fancy, but after spending the last five days in the desert it felt like a wonderful oasis. It was oppressively hot during the day so we kept our wandering to a minimum, venturing out only to buy groceries and supplies before hurrying back to our air conditioned hotel room. In the evening though, the place came to life. Once the sun was down and the heat had dissipated, the central square was full of people playing and relaxing. It was fun to watch kids racing around on bikes and roller-skates, or kicking balls and running around while the adults sat and chatted, enjoying the cool fresh air. 

The morning of our departure we woke up early in an attempt to beat the heat. It started out fine, but it wasn’t long before we were sweltering and burning again. The road to the border is infamous in the bike touring world as being one of the worst roads on the planet. I’m not sure about the entire planet… but it was pretty bad. Again, I started out all cocky, thinking that I was used to bad roads and so much tougher than all those other people who whined about it on the internet. After about 40km, I was eating my words, along with all the dust that the passing trucks were kicking up into my face. And that wasn’t even halfway. It was 87km of bumpy, sweaty, dusty, slow riding before we reached the border. We made it though, after a long and tiring day. The last thing we did in Kazakhstan was take a break in one more Chaihana, to enjoy some cold drinks before bumping over towards Uzbekistan.

The Kazakhstan Roundup!

ODO start: 8210 kms

ODO finish: 8800kms

Total distance: 590 kms

Actual County name: Қазақстан Республикасы

Days in Country: 8

Nights camped: 4

Flat tires: 0

Crashes: 0

Other cyclists met on the road: John and Caz, from Scotland, riding from UK to Hong Kong

# of screws rattled off our panniers on the road to the border: 2

Most water carried at one time: 15L between us both.

Georgia and Azerbaijan

After our second big push through Turkey, and our previous night of questionable sleeping arrangements, we were pretty wrecked when we got to the Georgian border. They made us go through the pedestrian line-up instead of the car line-up, which was fine, but it seemed sort of silly to make us weave our loaded bikes through turnstiles and narrow corridors when we could have just rolled through with the cars like at every other border we’ve crossed. Oh well, the lady who stamped us in was friendly and welcomed us to Georgia with a big smile.

The very first thing we did was buy a bottle of wine from a guy selling it out of his car beside the road. He waved us over to taste and it was so good we couldn’t resist. He was prepared too, big canteens sitting in the trunk of his car and plastic bottles from 500ml to huge. We bought a litre, though I wish we had bought more. It ended up being the best wine we found in the whole country!
We spent about five days in Batumi, resting and generally being pretty lazy. It’s an interesting city, but also sort of weird.  There’s the old part of town, where you find 19th century houses and buildings that have mostly been converted into tourist cafes and shops. Then you have the newer parts of the city, which almost have a Las Vegas feel to them. Picture big skyscrapers, lots of glass, bizarre angles and irregular shapes that look almost futuristic. There’s a big zoo with exotic animals and a tall building with a ferris wheel built into the side of it. Then you have the unfinished part of the city; dozens of concrete shells that seem like they’ve been under construction forever. The strangest part about these is that many of them are being built next to already finished buildings that are sitting empty. Batumi must be busier in the summer. In early April the place felt pretty empty and all these construction projects seemed doomed to fail. The city does have a gorgeous waterfront though. I can see the appeal of the Black Sea beach resort experience, if that’s what you’re into.

It took us four days to ride from Batumi to Tbilisi, the capital. To be totally honest, I don’t have much good to say about these four days. Our initial plan had been to take quieter mountain roads, either north through Mestia or south through Khulo. We heard that the Mestia road was still closed for the winter. Karen and Jamie (who were about a week ahead of us at this point) had tried the Khulo road, but had been turned around for the same reason and had to ride all the way back to Batumi. So, we ended up on the busy, narrow, main road through the middle. It was not an enjoyable experience. Georgian drivers are by far the worst and most insane of any country so far. The whole way was heavily populated which made camping, eating lunch, and even peeing a challenge to do without being surrounded by people. We were happy to make Tbilisi, but the traffic getting into the city was just ridiculous. We spent a day exploring Tbilisi on foot and then another 3 days getting to the Azerbaijan border.

The day we left Tbilisi was one of the worst days of the entire trip. It was raining, we were grumpy, the road was narrow and just slammed with cars, and every single driver was a giant asshole. We made it about 40km before finding some soggy trees and pitching the tent at 2pm. Our jar of Nutella, which we’d bought on the way out of the city and was supposed to last us a week, was devoured in less than an hour as we tried to cheer ourselves up. The next two days were not quite as awful, but we were still pretty happy to get to Azerbaijan.

So what did we like about Georgia? My favourite part was the food. There were so many delicious dishes to try and lots of variety. For meals there were dumplings and vegetable salads and sauces and dips and they were all so flavourful and colourful. For snacking there were endless roadside stands selling breads and fruit leathers and churchkhela! Churchkhela is a long string of either hazelnuts or walnuts, dipped into a mixture of grape juice and flour. You can also get ones dipped in honey or pomegranate juice. They are hung to dry and look like colourful candles when they’re ready to eat. I think snacking on these was my favourite part of Georgia.

We also enjoyed exploring Tbilisi, without the bikes. I actually think I would have enjoyed the whole country more if I’d been on a different mode of transportation. The roads were just too stressful and not the type of terrain that I like to ride through.  I prefer more wilderness and less people. I’m sure the roads we’d wanted to take would have delivered this, but on a trip of this length it’s hard to hit the perfect season in every country. We timed Turkey just right, and the desert stretches coming up are only going to get hotter and hotter as the summer approaches. Unfortunately, something has to give, and in this case it was Georgia. I also think there’s always going to be highs and lows while travelling, especially over many months. At this point we’d been on the road for 6 months, and Georgia was our 15th country. They can’t all be winners, and the high we were riding after Turkey couldn’t last forever. For what it’s worth, Karen and Jamie loved Georgia so much that they extended their route to spend more time in the country. We were getting messages from them about how awesome the place was, but the magic never happened for us. By the end we were just trying to get out, hoping that Azerbaijan would be better.

Azerbaijan definitely started out on the right foot for us. I had no idea what to expect; this is a country that I barely knew existed before planning this trip. I would never have been able to pick it out on a map. I’m not even sure I knew it was a country, and not a city or something. Here we were though, riding towards the border, to a place I’d never even considered visiting. When we got to the border it was closed for lunch, so we waited for a bit while having a pleasant “chat” with a couple of the soldiers. One of them pulled a pack of cookies out of his pocket and gave them to me. How did he know?

The crossing was smooth, a soldier asked us about what was in our panniers but didn’t seem too concerned. The officer who stamped us in gave us a huge smile , threw his hands over his head, and said “Welcome to Azerbaijan!!” as he handed our passports back along with a handful of candy.

One of my first impressions of Azerbaijan was that, of all the Muslim countries I’ve been to, it seemed like the least Muslim. For a country that is 97% Muslim, (according to Wikipedia) we hardly saw any mosques, and only heard the call to prayer a couple of times. This was a sharp contrast to Turkey where we could tell the time of day by listening for the muezzins every few hours.  I also noticed a difference in the way the women dressed; knee-length skirts and T-shirts were common, and most women had their heads uncovered. Tea culture had also returned! We were back to being offered Cay as we rode through towns and villages. The drivers had relaxed noticeably since Georgia, which meant that we could relax a bit more too.

We spent two days riding from the border to Sheki. One of the oldest cities in Azerbaijan, it’s also billed as one of the country’s main tourist attractions. The town used to be an important stop on the Silk Road routes that linked Baku to Tbilisi, and both of those cities to Russia. It has old palaces and fortresses, but by far our favourite sight was the old Caravanserai. These were essentially hotels, and there were many located along the old trade routes where travellers could stop to rest and share information with other travellers. The Caravanserai in Sheki dates back to the 18th century, and is still being used as a hotel today. We didn’t stay there, but we did wander around the inner courtyard and through some of the hallways where the rooms are. It’s beautiful. They’ve done a great job with the restoration and the upkeep. Just stepping inside the door makes you feel like you’re an old trader, finally arrived at your oasis after a long day’s travel. You can feel the history, you can picture so clearly how it would have looked 300 years ago, in it’s prime. Part of the appeal for us was that we’ve seen quite a few other caravanserais in different parts of the world, but most of them are in various states of ruin. To see one so well-preserved made all the previous ones come to life a little bit more. We were impressed and glad we’d taken the time to visit it.

From Sheki we took another three days to ride to Baku. The first part of the ride was great. At this point we were following the base of the Caucasus Mountains so our views were incredible. The roads were   calm and quiet, lots of shady kilometres underneath huge oak trees. We had a great campsite among these trees too, right next to a creek that bubbled soothingly all night. On day two, a storm caught up to us, so we got grumpy and wet. As we got closer to Baku the landscape changed, from forest and mountains to flat and dry. We had a distant view of the Caspian Sea while rolling down one of the last hills. Unfortunately, as the terrain flattened out, the wind picked up, and in addition to being grumpy and wet, we also had to fight a headwind for the last 50km or so. Nevertheless, we finally reached Baku, which felt like a pretty big milestone.  We’ve mentally divided this trip up into stages; Iceland, Europe, the Balkans, and this section from Turkey to Azerbaijan. With our arrival in Baku, we had not only completed our 16th country, but this leg of the trip as well.

In Baku we met up with Karen and Jamie again, the first time we had seen them since Cappadocia. It was nice to catch up and talk about everything that had happened since then. We also had errands to do: some TLC for the bikes, getting our Uzbek Visas, and figuring out how to catch the boat to Kazakhstan.   Even though we were there for five days, we somehow managed to procrastinate enough that our last day turned into a mad dash around the city. In the morning we went to the bike shop for some last minute parts. As we were doing that the embassy e-mailed us to say our Visas were ready. So then we had to run to another part of town to pay the Visa fee at a bank. As we were doing that, Karen messaged to say she had found out that there was a boat leaving tonight and we had to be at the port by 8pm. So we rushed to the other end of town to pick up our Visas. While we were running around, Karen and Jamie packed up all of our stuff and checked us out of our apartment. They had gotten their Visas a few days earlier, so were able to help us with our impossible timeline.
When we finally had all our things, we got back to where Karen and Jamie were waiting with all four bikes. It was now around 2pm, and we set off to ride the 70km to the port. We managed it thanks to a slight tailwind and a flat highway. At the entrance to the port they tried to turn us around. “Go back to Baku to buy your tickets”, they said. “No. Bicycle.” was our reply. They repeated it. We insisted. Finally, they let us in and sold us a cargo ticket with our names listed as the “cargo”.

We’ve heard stories about people waiting days, even a week for this boat. Because it’s a cargo ship that runs depending on weather and how full it is, there’s no schedule. Even when they tell you there’s a boat coming, there’s no guarantee when it will actually leave. We chatted to a French couple in the parking lot who had been waiting there with their camper rig for 3 days. In the end, we got lucky. They put us through customs and let us board the boat around midnight. By 1am we had been assigned a cabin and could get some sleep. They spent the next few hours unloading and reloading the boat, and we passed out hard after our long day. Around 7am we woke up to the ship slowly pulling away from the dock as we set sail across the Caspian Sea.

The crossing itself was pretty uneventful. Decent food, calm seas, and communal bathrooms that progressed from slightly gross to an absolute nightmare as the hours passed. About 100km from Baku we caught a glimpse of Neft Daslari, an entire offshore city built on top of sunken ships that serve as its foundation.  It was the first oil platform in Azerbaijan, and the first operating offshore platform in the world. Now it is actually a fully functioning city, with a population of about 2000 and over 300 km of streets built on pilings, dirt, and landfill. It rose eerily up from the smooth, oil-slicked water as we floated past.

The next morning we woke up to see the shores of Turkmenistan and Kazakhstan in the distance. It’s sort of funny to think back to September, before we left home, looking at all these unknown places on a map and trying to imagine what this trip would be like. I always figured we could make it to Greece, but I don’t know if I ever believed that we’d make it much further. Maybe it was just too far into the future to seem real, and there was so much to think about in between.  Especially with how close we came to pulling the plug in Turkey, it felt pretty good to have made it this far. Central Asia is somewhere we’ve both wanted to ride for years. One of the motivating factors to keep going through Georgia and Azerbaijan was that the closer we got to Baku, the harder it was to think about going home. Once we were in Baku, there was no way we could leave without crossing the Caspian Sea and giving it our best shot. At noon, around 30 hours after leaving Azerbaijan, we pulled into the port at Aktau, Kazakhstan. It took us a little over six months, about 8000km of pedalling, and a whole lot of effort, but we had finally made it to Central Asia, and the next leg of our trip.




 The Round-ups!

Georgia

ODO Start: 7162 km
ODO Finish: 7728 km
Total kms: 566
Actual country name: საქართველო
Days in country: 13
Nights camped: 5
Closest we came to dying: Sharing an unlit tunnel with crazy Georgian drivers.
Flat tires: 0
Crashes: 1 (Elaine, tires skidded out on a wet road edge.)
Languages related to Georgian: None
Other cycle tourers met on the road:
-Victor, a Spanish guy headed to the Pamirs
- Frances, a Scottish girl, riding London to Mongolia
- An Iranian guy, riding a loop from Iran to Turkey
- Marc, a French guy, headed to Kazakhstan, started out hitchhiking but picked up a bike in Istanbul.

Azerbaijan

ODO start: 7728 km
ODO Finish: 8210 km
Total kms: 482
Actual country name:  Azərbaycan Respublikası
Days in country: 10
Nights camped: 3
Flat tires: 0
Other cycle tourers met on the road: A French couple, travelling east, with their dog!
Weirdest tourist attraction: Naftalan, a spa town where the popular treatment is to bathe in crude oil. Yes, seriously. No, we didn’t go.

Turkey part 2: Kayseri to Georgia

The road out of Goreme was extra steep and made of cobblestones. We struggled up it in the hot afternoon sun, eliciting stares and thumbs up from passing cars. By the top we had decided to just take the fastest road to Kayseri, which meant getting on the main highway. It wasn’t the nicest ride, but we were racing our package and didn’t want any delays in the form of questionable roads. As we rode closer, the huge Mt Erciyes volcano dominated the sky, looming over the farmland on the outskirts of the city. We found a nice deserted orchard about 30km out and set up for the night, falling asleep to the barking dogs that had become a nightly fixture of camping in Turkey.
In the morning we were up early and before long had found the DHL office that we had used as a delivery address. Luckily, the man behind the counter was friendly, helpful, and spoke enough English to understand our predicament. “No Problem”, he said, he’d keep an eye out for the parcel and phone us if it came.

Feeling hopeful, we rode over to our hotel and checked in. The next stop was the central PTT Office, where all the mail would come before going out for delivery. This visit was more confusing, and a lot less helpful. After finding a kind stranger who could translate for us, the man in charge told us that we could not have our package until they had tried to deliver it. If the delivery was unsuccessful, we could try coming back here and maybe pick it up, maybe after a week. It was all very vague and didn’t sound too promising. Extra frustrating was that after we left, we saw our tracking information update that it was at the Post Office! We were literally in the same building as our mail, and couldn’t get it.

So, the next morning we decided we were going to run a stakeout on the DHL Office. We rode out early and set up on a bench across the street, eyeing every yellow vehicle that drove by in hopes it was the postman. We were prepared to wait all day, and the next day if necessary, but it didn’t come to that. After just over an hour, a PTT van pulled up and a man got out with a big box. This was it! Our DHL man greeted him at the door as we ran over. The postman was a bit confused as to why he had a package for a DHL Office and two random tourists were apparently the recipients… but our man smoothed it all out, signed for the delivery, and the now amused postman handed it over! I can’t really express how stoked we were that this whole situation had actually worked out. Over the last two weeks we had spent so much time and energy thinking about this delivery, that to actually have it in our hands seemed like an impossible reality. After many, many thanks to our DHL guy, we headed straight to the bike shop.

With our shiny new rims getting built into wheels, we were free to explore Kayseri. It’s an interesting and diverse city, with modern fixtures like escalators and shopping malls mixed in among old mosques, castle walls, and a huge covered bazar from the 15th century. We were staying right in the centre of town, so there was no end of shops and market stalls to browse through as we ticked off our big city shopping list. As much as we usually try to avoid big cities when biking, there have been a few that just seem to draw us in. Wroclaw and Sarajevo are two examples, and Kayseri was another one. It had such a fun, energetic vibe that we really enjoyed our few days there. Finding a Starbucks and sipping on some real coffee probably helped too.

It also helped that we’d managed to find an amazing bike shop, who stripped down our bikes entirely for a good deep clean while they were building our new wheels. On the evening before we wanted to leave town, they stayed open late to finish the job and make sure everything was perfect. We hung out in the shop, chatting about bikes through Google Translate and watching mountain bike videos, while they put the finishing touches on our wheels. If anyone reading this ever finds themselves in Kayseri needing a shop, go visit Zirve Cycles. You won’t be disappointed. They didn’t speak much English, but the mechanic has a friend in Antalya who’s fluent. Anytime we needed to communicate in detail, he’d dial up his friend who would translate everything. This friend even told us that for our entire time in Turkey, if we ever needed help with language or anything else, we could call him, anytime. It was just another example of how friendly and helpful so many people were in this country. Also, the wheels they built us were the most perfectly true wheels ever. They were by far the best bike shop of the trip.

Leaving Kayseri, loaded down with food, we climbed back up to 1700m, through rolling farmland and   hills streaked with brown, red, and yellow. We were mostly on back roads, some of questionable quality. One was bad enough that multiple people stopped to warn us against going further. Stubborn as always, we continued bumping up over loose chunky rocks and steep grades. It was washed out in four places, two of which we had to push about 50m off the road, through the grass and bushes to avoid the mud puddles that threatened to suck us under. Once we connected to the main road again, we lucked out with a long, smooth descent that allowed us to break our all-time loaded-bike speed record, with an exhilarating 82.7km/hr!

After lunch we turned up another valley, heading in the general direction of Erzincan, but still trying to keep to the backroads. After a few kms, a car pulled over and the driver told us the road was closed. We had a nice tailwind, and really didn’t want to turn around and take the main highway. Also, we were feeling confident after the morning; a closed road for cars is just better for bikes right? We waited until he had driven off and then continued up the valley.

We passed through a couple of small towns, all strangely quiet and lacking the usual curious looks and waves we were used to. Further up the valley, another vehicle stopped, this time the driver was very insistent that we could not go any further. We especially didn’t want to turn around now, having come even further up this valley. Steve tried asking him why, and through a combination of hand motions and Google Translate he managed to say “Danger” and “Forest Terror” and something about guns. Well, that was it for us. We turned around and pedaled out of there so fast, right into the headwind, suddenly very eager to get back to that main highway. That night we hid our tent in some nice dunes, close enough to the main road that we felt safe from forest terror. We never did manage to find out exactly what he meant. Our best guess is clashes between the Turkish government and the PKK. There was definitely some instability going on in the neighbouring province of Tunceli/Dersim, which we had been avoiding for that reason. Even though we were about 200km away from that area, there’s a good chance it was related.
 
In the end, following the main highway was great. Roads in Turkey are some of the best I’ve ever cycled on. The highways are smooth and wide, with 8 foot shoulders and mellow grades, and never as much traffic as we expected.

If the theme of the first half of turkey was tea, then the theme of this section was ‘Road Gifts’. We were offered many things from windows, including a 2L bottle of coke (which we guzzled immediately) and pretzel sticks. There are two that stand out, though. As we grunted up a small hill, a car passed us, honking and waving frantically. They crested the hill and disappeared over the other side. A few minutes later, we reached the top, and saw them pulled over, scrambling around in the backseat and the trunk. As we got closer, a man started waving us down, obviously wanting us to stop. We did, and as we pulled up to them, a woman pulled a tray out of the backseat, presenting two steaming mugs of tea and some snacks. They had actually pulled over and brewed us roadside tea! In addition to the tea we were also gifted two mini bottles of wine, two cans of beer, some bottles of water, and a huge handful of candy. It turned out that they were from Iran, vacationing in Turkey, and he was a sponsored cyclist at home. He showed us pictures of his bike and the bike tattoo he had on his arm, as further proof. It’s always the fellow bike people who are the most excited to see us. After making sure we were well fed and hydrated, they wished us luck and drove off. It was lovely to chat with them, they were so friendly.

Later the same day, as we plodded up another hill, an ambulance pulled over ahead of us. “Do we look that tired?” Steve asked, laughing. Maybe we did, because as we approached, the medic hopped out with a box of pizza. He handed us each a slice to eat right then, plus a pile of extra slices for later. He made sure we were fine, we thanked him profusely, then they drove off, leaving us completely humbled by the generosity we had been shown today by total strangers. That night we enjoyed beer and pizza in our tent, courtesy of those kind people we’d been lucky enough to meet.

At this point we had a choice to make. We could ride out to the Black Sea and follow the coast to Georgia, or we could stay inland. Inland, as always, looked harder, and longer, but we decided to go for it anyway. I’m glad we did, because the next stretch ended up being my favourite riding in Turkey.

It started after Zara, when we found ourselves riding through a pretty, high valley with colourful villages nestled underneath huge snowy peaks. Since leaving Kayseri we hadn’t dropped much below 1200m, and had been doing most of our riding between 1400 and 1700m. The air was fresh and cool, perfect riding conditions. The open valley pinched down into an unexpected orange and red canyon, following a gushing stream in spring flood.  Also unexpected was the pass we were starting up, already tired after a long day. We climbed up and up and up, I kept myself going by imagining that each corner would be the top, but was always disappointed. As it started getting dark, we passed a sign indicating more uphill for another 4km. Nope, too tired. I was done. We were above 2000m now, with patches of snow still on the ground, so it got cold fast. We tucked the tent behind a wind fence and crawled in while the full moon lit up the snow on the peaks around us. In the morning we finished the climb, finally topping out at 2190m, our new trip high point.

The next few days delivered much more climbing, with fun descents, but always followed by more climbing. There were more passes, and steep sided canyons, and quiet high roads winding through the mountains. We passed through the picturesque little town of Bayburt, which is tucked into a steep valley underneath a huge castle wall that wraps around a mountaintop. We had planned to climb over a pass here to reach the coast, but found out that it was still closed for winter.  Instead we kept heading towards Aartvin, deeper into the mountains. The deeper we went, the steeper the grades got too. We would climb straight up and over ridges, and then drop steeply down to creek beds, only to climb straight up the other side. It was exhausting and really started to take a toll on our legs. We also started to get really, really hungry. There were a couple of days where we didn’t pass through any villages big enough to have a shop, and we hadn’t yet adapted to all the extra calories we needed to pull off these big days. I remember being so tired, and absolutely ravenous, and there were at least a few tear-inducing hills that I couldn’t pedal up, but the landscape was worth it. The camping was great, too. Night after night we’d find perfect little hidey-holes in beautiful places. One of the best ones was perched up on a knoll, with steep drops all around and small towns clinging to the hills nearby. We watched an epic moonrise there, which started out as a faint glow behind a mountain. We watched it grow and rise until it burst into the sky, reflecting off the backs of the clouds and casting a glow ever everything.  One of my best memories of Turkey will always be all the great places we ended up camping, there’s too many to describe them all.

After Ispir, we entered a huge canyon.  It was steep sided with big craggy cliffs rising over foamy green water. We passed brown rock, red rock, and bright purple rock, with light purple rock dust littering the road where it had come crashing down.  Every time we thought it was ending, the canyon kept going and going. We ended up riding through this canyon for three days, it was so long.  The road started descending and as we got lower, leaves and buds started coming out and the canyon turned lush and green.  There were wildflowers and cherry blossoms everywhere and the canyon was full of life, both in the towns and in the trees.  We rode through Yusefeli, a bustling and lively town of 7000 people. The Turkish government has plans to flood this entire canyon for hydro projects, which will displace an estimated 20 000 people and ruin hundreds of acres of agricultural land. It was hard to picture a place so vibrant having an end date, hard to wrap our heads around the fact that all this will cease to exist.  Further down the canyon we saw the future, as we passed towns that had already been claimed by the water and flooded out. I read that when the project started, the people of this area were trying to fight the dams, to stop the construction. Now they have stopped trying to fight it and are instead just trying to negotiate good deals for their relocation. It was sad to think that our favourite part of Turkey is going to be destroyed, but sadder still to think of what the people who live there will end up losing.

A by-product of the dam construction was the rebuilding of the canyon road. This meant that towards the end, the rough goat –path we’d been following turned into smooth, contoured pavement.   This also meant tunnels; lots of them. We rode through over 50 of them in 2 days. I know because we counted. The first few were awful; dusty, unlit deathtraps with no ventilation, but most of them were pretty decent. There wasn’t much traffic either, so we felt pretty safe going through. The most epic tunnel though, was the brand new masterpiece that took us through the mountains to the Black Sea. Until very recently, the only way to get from Artvin to the coast was to climb up and over the mountains via another high pass. However, as of March 1st, one month before we passed through, there is a brand new tunnel built to bypass this high road. It is 5km long, four-lanes, divided, and downhill the whole way in our direction.  We zoomed through this epic tunnel at 40km/h without pedalling, loving every second of the brand new pavement. Is it possible we’re the first people to come through it on bikes? Maybe, I doubt there were many people riding this route in the month before we got there.

Popping out the other side of the best tunnel ever, we found ourselves in Hopa, the last town in Turkey before crossing into Georgia. The timing was less than perfect, because the sun was going down now and we were too close to the sketchy-feeling border town to find good camping.  It was a gorgeous sight to see though, as the sun dipped down below the water and streaks of pink and orange shot across the sky. We debated finding a cheap hotel, but a quick internet search found the cheapest option to be more than we were willing to pay. Neither of us wanted to ride around looking for something cheaper, so we opted to dirtbag it. When we were riding in Spain a few years ago, our last night in the country was spent doing an open bivy on a muddy hillside in the rain overlooking the port of Algeceiras, and it was this memory that convinced us we’d be able to find something; not necessarily something comfortable, but somewhere to lie down at least and wait for the morning.
We rode into the night, along the busy coast road, passing a huge lineup of transport trucks waiting for the border.  We tried one dark bushy area, but it turned out to be a swamp and we decided we weren’t that desperate. A few more kilometres, past the truck drivers, and we found a gravel road that led off the highway into the dark. Following it, we discovered that it was a firing range, with targets set up in an open gravel space. It wasn’t swampy and the headlights were blocked by a dirt mound, so we took it, opting not to set up the tent because it felt less conspicuous that way.  We rolled our sleeping bags out on the gravel and bedded down next to the bikes, fairly certain that no one would be coming to the firing range at night. There was a building nearby with lights on and people pacing back and forth in front of the windows, so we tried to keep a low profile, which meant no headlamps and no cooking. Instead we tore through all our snack food and crawled into bed.  I actually managed to doze off for a bit, until a giant floodlight turned on from near the building, lighting us up like a football field. I vaguely wondered if we should move, but in the end thought “screw it” and rolled over to hide from the light. I fell asleep thinking to myself, “Good job Elaine, you saved $30 tonight. Hope it was worth it...”

The benefit of the open bivy is that you’re up as soon as it’s light, which was good given our very public spot.  We made a quick breakfast and packed up, glad it was daylight again. As we rode out, we passed a military compound, and realized the firing range we’d slept on was part of the military base. That explains the pacing figures! They must have known we were there the entire time, decided we were harmless, and opted to let us sleep. The soldier on guard smiled and waved as we passed the gate. We were only a few kms from the border, and the exhaustion was high. It had been 12 days since leaving Kayseri and we hadn’t had a rest day since then. The steep and endless climbs, day after day, had worn us out, but Turkey itself had been wonderful. Especially this last bit, through the mountains and the Neverending Canyon, had really confirmed that we made the right decision to keep riding.

We’ve cycled through some pretty amazing places, but it’s hard to find one place that has it all. Maybe a country will be wild and beautiful, with friendly people and interesting history, but you can’t camp anywhere because of landmines (Bosnia &Herzegovina). Or maybe the landscape and camping will be amazing, but the weather and winds will be the challenge (Iceland).  I feel like Turkey might be the closest we’ve come to having it all, with friendly people, delicious food, great weather, gorgeous landscapes, and some of the best camping of the trip.

Our time in Turkey really reminded me of why we’re doing this, why we’re putting up with all the hardships and challenges of life on the road, on bikes, vulnerable to the elements and the world. It’s because on the good days, nothing beats the freedom that comes from travelling this way, and the connections you build with a place by moving through it so slowly. It can be an incredible feeling, rolling along, figuring out your life as you go, sleeping in a different spot every night, a spot that you don’t even know exists until you find it.  Even on the bad days, you learn so much about yourself, about what you can withstand, how strong you can be, and just how much it takes to break you. After getting worn down by the winter, but toughing it out and pressing on anyway, it felt like we were finally back on track.

The Turkey Round-Up:

ODO start: 4860 km

ODO finish: 7162 km

Total: 2302 km

Actual country name: Turkiye Cumhuriyeti (Republic of Turkey)

Days in country: 35

Nights camped: 24

Highest pass: 2190m

Flats: 1 (Steve)

Distance back-tracked to avoid forest terror: 35 km

Loaves of bread eaten per day at our hungriest: 4

Other cycle tourists met on the road: Philippe, from Switzerland, heading towards Iran.

Cups of tea offered by strangers: hundreds

Turkey Part 1: Cesme to Goreme

Turkey Part 1: Cesme to Goreme

The ferry ride from Greece to Turkey was a bit of an adventure. It only took about an hour and a half, but the seas were by far the roughest I’ve ever been on. The little boat got tossed and bucked by ten foot waves and most of the passengers were looking pretty green. Steve was pretty happy to stand out on the deck and ride out the storm. Jamie also managed to stay standing on the deck and snap some photos. Karen eventually retreated inside to lie down, while I wedged myself into a corner near the railing in case my breakfast needed to come back out. It was pretty unpleasant. In addition to us four, there were four other cycle tourers on the boat, which meant a deck full of bikes sliding around in the rain and pulling against the ropes holding them in place. Finally we docked, and raced off the boat through a downpour towards customs.

At this point we were still feeling the lack of motivation that had been the theme through Greece and Albania. The current plan, though we hadn’t told anybody, was to head to Istanbul and catch a flight home from there. We did have a few detours to make though, some sights that we figured we should visit since we were so close, so we started by riding south towards the old roman city of Ephesus. The ruins were enjoyable, but the riding was just OK. Both the coastline and the towns were essentially the same as what we’d just left in Greece, and we weren’t overly inspired. We were meeting up with Karen and Jamie regularly though, and their enthusiasm made it hard for us to commit to the Istanbul plan. Stubborn as always, we headed inland to Pammukale, to yet another historic Roman site, the Heirapolis.

Surprisingly, the amphitheater here was one of the most impressive we’ve seen, mostly because it was so well preserved. Also impressive were the Travertines; Calcium deposits from hot mineral water which has hardened into huge cascades on the cliffs below the ruins. Picture a huge, wide, low-angle frozen waterfall, but with a bright white chalk-like substance instead of ice, and you’ll get an idea of what the travertines look like. You can take off your shoes and walk around on them, mushing the white mud around between your toes and dipping your feet in the pools of mineral water that have collected.  It was fun.  We started to wonder if we should reconsider the Istanbul plan, but there was one issue; my rear brakes had worn unevenly and before we noticed, I’d managed to put a huge gouge in my rim. There was no way it would last if we continued riding, and we weren’t sure if we could find the correct size in Turkey. Equally catastrophic, Steve’s kickstand had broken, and if you’d ever toured with him you’d understand what a deal-breaker this is.  If that wasn’t enough, Steve’s rear rim, though not as damaged as mine, was also beginning to look pretty worn. It seemed easier to buy a plane ticket than to deal with the bikes. We debated, went back and forth, and changed our minds hourly.  In the end, we couldn’t bring ourselves to break the news to Karen and Jamie that we were going home… so we figured we might as well keep riding.  In a fit of optimism, we ordered some bike parts from Germany, to be delivered to Kayseri, roughly 2 weeks further down the road. The company was going to ship DHL, so we selected a DHL Service Point as the delivery address, and made plans to ride towards Cappadoccia.

The stretch between Pammukale and Goreme did a pretty good job of healing our broken spirits.  Slowly but surely, the pieces of us that were worn out began to weave together again, to get stronger. As we headed inland, the scenery got better and the towns got more interesting. We climbed up into the mountains and rode over high passes, hitting 3 new high points in as many days.  Each climb was followed by thrilling winding descents.  Good campsites were everywhere, the days were longer, and spring had officially arrived. Most days we had amazing views of snowy peaks and bright wildflowers. With hardly any rain during these days, we finally started to remember that bike touring can be comfortable.  Our tent actually stayed dry for days in a row, and our rain gear got buried deeper into the panniers. Most importantly, our attitude had changed. There was something there that had been missing for a while; excitement, maybe, or inspiration. We were enjoying the ride again.  It felt like we just needed to relax, and let Turkey show us it’s magic.

One really special part of this stretch was the people. Multiple times a day we would be invited for tea, and though we couldn’t stop for everyone, we met some great people this way. Once, as we rode past a school, one of the teachers chased us down the road, blowing his whistle to get our attention. We ended up spending the morning at the school, drinking tea and chatting with the teachers while the students did their lessons. At recess we got mobbed by curious kids, all crowding around wanting to practice their English. After a few hours of hanging out they gave us some bread, re-filled our water bottles, and sent us on our way. It was a lot of fun, but also really interesting to learn a bit about how schools work in Turkey. It’s actually quite similar to schools at home.

Another time we were stopped on the road by a doctor and invited to have tea with him at a small hospital in the next town. The doctor and two nurses were part of a mobile clinic which rotates around between a handful of rural towns that don’t have their own full-time health professionals. Again, we spent an entire morning hanging out with the two nurses, exchanging stories and asking questions, while the doctor popped in and out, alternating between us and his patients.

There were more fun tea breaks with farmers, old men, and various other people we passed. Overall, the Turkish people are just so kind. They loved to smile and wave at us, stop to take photos with us, make sure we weren’t lost, and generally help out in any way they could.

This stretch was rejuvenating for our minds, but tough on our bodies. We had ridden for 10 days straight with no rests, and done a pretty decent amount of distance and elevation gain during that time.  Rolling into Goreme, past the cave houses that make the region so famous, we were tired, but motivated to keep the trip going. The new plan was to take a few rest days here before pushing on towards Georgia.

With our desire to keep going, we now had to deal with our bike situation.  During the ride from Pammukale my rim had just gotten worse, and had slowly started folding in on itself. The package we had ordered from Germany had been delayed about a week thanks to a very complicated fraud verification process and a very unhelpful employee, so it had only just shipped. We also learned that instead of shipping it DHL Express, the company had shipped it DHL Global, which makes a huge difference. This meant that it would be transferred to the PTT (Turkish Postal Service) after clearing customs, which meant that the DHL Service Point we had used as a delivery address would be unable to accept the package. After multiple phone calls to every customer service line I could find, we determined that the chances of us ever getting this package were pretty low. The only chance would be to try to pick it up at the central post office in Kayseri, but no one could confirm that this was possible, and we had no idea when it would arrive. The tracking hadn’t been updated since it shipped. We debated going to Kayseri anyway, to wait indefinitely, but that didn’t sound very appealing. Another option was to try and buy rims in Kayseri, but we couldn’t find any bike shops listed that looked promising.

We spent a few days stressing out about our rims while exploring Goreme and its surroundings. The entire area is beautiful, with unique rock towers called Fairy Chimneys, and entire villages carved into the towers and walls. There are churches with carved pillars, painted ceilings, and random tunnels that lead deeper inside the rock. We had a great time hiking around the valleys and crawling in and out of these old caves. They aren’t all abandoned either; many are still being lived in or used as cafes.

After a few days of distraction and deliberation, we gave up on getting our parcel and made a new plan: Leave the bikes in Goreme, take a bus to Ankara, and buy what we needed there. In no time we had bought tickets and were sitting at the bus stop with our wheels and overnight bags, set to try our luck in the big city. We had about 3 hours until the next bus. As we waited a man came up to us: “Where are your bicycles?” he said. After explaining our situation he mentioned there was no need to go to Ankara, we could probably buy the correct rims in Kayseri. It would have been good information, if we hadn’t already bought our bus tickets and if we could trust his knowledge about bike parts. We kept waiting. About 3 minutes before the bus arrived, Steve randomly checked the tracking number for our package. Updated about 10 minutes ago, it had cleared customs and was in Istanbul!


Stunned, we tried to process this information. This was an unexpected development. As we frantically weighed the options, our bus pulled up. In a split-second decision, we asked the ticket man if we could cancel our tickets. He was understandably a bit confused as to why we had just waited 3 hours for this bus, only to change our minds the second it rolled up. Regardless, he gave me the cash and took our tickets. We ran back to the guesthouse where our bikes were waiting, quickly packed up, and hit the road.  As we rushed out of Goreme, the adrenaline from the last-minute exit had us pretty fired up.  We pedaled off towards Kayseri as fast as we could, excited to be back on the bikes and looking forward to the next leg of this journey. Most of all though, we were determined to get our hands on this package, no matter what!

Greece – A Crisis of Motivation

In the weeks before entering Greece, our motivation began to wane pretty badly.  This post focuses on the things that grated on us over several months, so it reads pretty negative.  Most of days, however, we keep pretty positive, laugh at the weather and enjoy the riding!

After our race out of Albania, narrowly outrunning the ‘Beast from the East’ winter storm that paralyzed the country, we rode across the border into country 13, Greece.  The crisp morning air was warmed by the morning sun over a cloudless sky.  The waters that had flooded roads all along the coast had already receded and by all appearances hadn’t been as severe here as it had been in Albania.  At the border, the guard did a quick cursory check of our passport, lingering a moment on our previous stamps, and admitted us into the country.  At this point, we had nine days left on our Schengen Visa.  We’d been racing against the clock from Iceland to Croatia, trying to keep as much time available for Greece as we could.  The Balkan countries were meant to be a space of time where we could relax a bit without having any challenging deadlines.  This was sort of the case.

Winter burned us out.  And we were lucky.  

As much as we’d like to say cycle touring is a relaxing activity where you can just toddle along at your own pace, for the first 81 days of our trip, we were under pressure.  From Iceland the clock started.   As Canadians we have a paltry 90 days in every 180 day period to visit a 26 country region known as the Schengen Area.  This zone allows for border free travel between countries and is super convenient for your average tourist on a short holiday and EU residents.  For those looking for a longer stay, such as the former right-of-passage 6 month tour of Europe young Canadians used to do, or for slow travellers like cyclists, it’s a royal pain in the ass.   In Iceland we had to race across the country in a little over two weeks to Seydisfjordur to catch a ferry to Denmark.  We rode every day, breaking in our touring legs in crazy headwinds.  At times we were cycling downhill in first gear at 3.5km/hr.  We were blown off our bikes by wind gusts, we pushed our bikes against the wind and we were drenched by heavy rains.  Luckily, we were let off easy most days, by Iceland’s standards anyhow.  We had unseasonable warmth, with daytime highs ranging from +4 to +10 and most of the time we had manageable winds.  We made our ferry and travelled to Denmark.   Our time in international waters counted against our visa. 

In Denmark we ran into another problem.  The push across Iceland had left Elaine with a sore knee that crippled our days down to 40 or 50km a day.   We dealt with this easily during the first few days when the weather was good, but our moods turned when the weather turned sour, soaking us daily.  The pedaling was slow, the tent soaked, our sleeping bags wet and finally, her wet foot rubbing inside of her boot developed an infection on her toe.  We rode into Germany, hopped a train and went to Hamburg for medical attention.  We rested, dried out and tried again.  Her knee hadn’t healed and the rain was relentless in Northern Germany.  We ended up back on a train, this time to Wroclaw, Poland.  We needed to make up miles and time. 

In Wroclaw a physiotherapist worked his magic and fixed the knee problem.  We trained to Krakow, allowing the knee a couple more days on his recommendation.  Back on the pedals with the knee issue solved, we rode to Slovakia and our first snowy passes.  We decided we actually preferred snow to rain.  It’s easier to stay warm when dry than warm when wet.  Slovakia challenged this when, on our last couple days in the country, a frigid ice fog descended on the land and produced the coldest -2C we’ve ever experienced.  It cut through to your bones, and no amount of clothing seemed to bring warmth.  We pedaled on to Hungary, frozen.  

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In Hungary we met another bout of good fortune.  After a really nice Christmas spent in Budapest, we rode out under sunny skies and soaring temperatures.  On December 27^th it was 14C.  Glorious sunshine prevailed every day.  The nights continued to be very cool.  This cold air, meeting the top of our tent and the warmth coming from our bodies inside, produced an ongoing problem on this trip: condensation.  Every morning, no matter the weather, the underside of our tent was soaked, which meant every night we were setting up and sleeping in a wet tent.  It really added to the difficulties because we always felt damp and all our stuff would eventually be slightly damp.  The long winter nights found us cooped up in this damp space for up to 14 hours.  In any case, we kept going and finally exited the Schengen Area on January 1^st.  This left us with 9 days to pedal Greece.

 The Balkan’s were unseasonably warm, a refreshing experience, at least in Croatia and Serbia.  We avoided riding in rain until the last days and the landmine situation in Croatia put us in Guesthouses a few nights in a row.  When we rode into Serbia on January 4^th, it was +18C, 42 degrees warmer than the same day on the previous year.  We took a day off in Bogatic, a small town of no significant appeal, over the Orthodox Christmas.  We had Christmas dinner with the guesthouse owners and got further insight in to the lives of Serbians.  From there we rode straight south to a southeastern crossing into Bosnia.  The good weather began turning cold and wet again, soaking us before rolling into Visegrad.  Winter arrived.  We took a 4 day break here to allow for a forecasted snow storm to blow through and dump 15cm on the town.  We took a high mountain road out, slipping and sliding through the snow on our way to Sarajevo.  A surprise blizzard slammed us on the second day out, plastering us with snow and making for some hazardous riding conditions as we made our way to the next town and a B&B.  Once in Sarajevo, we parked ourselves for 6 days.  It’s amazing how comforting it can be to just sit in one place for even a short amount of time.  The cold snap passed for the most part while we were there.  We pedaled out on roads wet from melting snow, heading for Mostar and on to the Mediterranean. 

Back in Croatia, this time on the coast in Dubrovnik, we rested a couple days before pedaling south towards Montenegro, Albania and Greece.  We got smoked by a severe storm between the Croatian border and Kotor, two days in a row.  In Montenegro we got nailed twice more in two days, the first we spent an hour huddled under a small canopy as sideways rain battered the mountains.  Once in Albania, we saw a nightmare of a storm known as ‘The Beast from the East’ heading our way.  The forecast was bad, heavy snow in the north and east of Albania, torrential rain in the south and west.  Looking at the severity, we opted to not wait it out but instead pedal it out to Sarande, on Albania’s southern coast.  We took main highways; skipping past all the quiet inland roads we’d planned to ride. We got lashed by wind and rain that preceded the storm and we pedaled 100km and did 2,300m of elevation on our final day. We arrived in Sarande just a few hours before the cataclysm hit.  That night the skies lit up with lightning which continued for 15 hours while the roads of Sarande filled with water.  The forecast was correct and the country was paralyzed north and east of us by snow up to 50cm deep.  We allowed a couple days for the flooding to recede south of us, and left for Greece.

Crossing into Greece returned us to the Schengen Area.  The border guard was unconcerned and allowed us to enter without mentioning the days left on our visa.  We rode through sunny orchards and along beautiful, seemingly forgotten, stretches of Mediterranean coast.  Even as the weather improved, I couldn’t shake a nagging voice in my head telling me to go home.  I was tired.  We were both tired.  Our bikes were having problems. They were rusting from regular coatings of road salt and our bottom brackets (the part that spins inside the bike frame as you pedal) were loose and the seals had failed.  Our tent was still getting soaked every night with condensation, so things were still damp.  Every day felt like a routine, and a routine I seemed no longer interested in fulfilling.  Cycle touring had become work, and it was hard to enjoy any aspect of it.  I missed our friends and family, I missed our property and I was beginning to stress about finances.  I’d first broached the subject of going home back in Serbia.  The distances ahead seemed insurmountable, and the weather and routines had begun to take their toll physically and psychologically.  We agreed to wait until Greece and talk about it again there.  Now in Greece we decided that, after flip flopping several times a day, we would head home from Istanbul.   The toughest aspects of the decision were that Turkey was basically where this ride would really begin to get interesting and that in all truth, if we fly the bikes home, it’s unlikely they’d come back anytime soon.  

After making this decision, we ran into a French couple who were cycling from France to Thailand on a Tandem.  We chatted briefly about plans.  We said we’d probably go home from Istanbul and they asked a tough question:  “Why from there?  Why not keep going?  Do you have somewhere to be?” They were simple and valid questions which led to further flip flopping.  Their enthusiasm for the road ahead was infectious and just talking about continuing made us want to press on.  Later on their blog, they would mention the two Canadian’s they ran into who seemed worn out by the weather and noted how unfortunate it would be for them to quit just as the weather is improving.  A few days later, we finally caught up to Elaine’s sister Karen and her boyfriend Jamie who are on a similar path to us.  Just being around friends, family and other like-minded people is such an enthusiasm boost. 

Cycle touring can be lonely business.

I can’t actually imagine riding for this long alone.  Even as a pair, it’s lonely.  Elaine and I spend an insane amount of time in each other’s company.  After six months, we’re basically one person.  We think similar thoughts, all things we talk about are things we both saw or experienced and it becomes harder and harder to find different things to talk about.  It probably sounds worse than it is, we definitely enjoy each other’s company, but it is hard to keep conversation fresh.  Add in six months of language barriers and the same ‘where are you from, where are you going’ conversations and you can see how it begins to feel pretty lonely.  Finding others to chat with becomes a necessity and is a prime source of motivation at this point.  Our time in Athens and on Chios with Karen and Jamie re-ignited our desire to keep riding, at least as far as Cappadocia, Turkey.  We decided we’d reassess there and keep options open for as long as we possibly can.

As we departed Greece, we were slapped with a 4 year ban from the EU Schengen visa zone.  The guard mistakenly included Croatia against our time and refused to hear our protests.  Croatia is not a Schengen country and as Canadians we receive a 60 day travel visa on arrival, indicated by the passport stamp.  He refused to rationalize being stamped out of Hungary and into Croatia.  This left us appearing to be overdue by 14 days.  In reality, we were overdue by just 4 days.  We tried our best to work the ferries in our favour to make it out in time, but a reduced winter schedule prevented this from working out.  The only options that remained to us were to depart 4 days late, or fly from Athens to Turkey.  Flying had its own complications.  We’d need to track down a bike boxes and duffel bags for our gear.  Our bikes also needed parts and service which we weren’t sure would be available in Turkey.  We decided to roll the dice and leave late with properly functioning bicycles.  This bit us in the ass.  I understand it’s our fault for overstaying, however our options were limited.  Due to the winter storm, we couldn’t leave Albania via any other way than through Greece and the reduced winter ferry schedule wasn’t apparent to us until we were already in Greece trying to get out.  Also, had the border guard known his job properly, he might have given us a lighter punishment.  He gave us the maximum he could with no explanation.  Worse, even if he were right, we would have been admitted into the country illegally at the Albanian border, as we only had 9 days remaining on the visa.  We weren’t deported, we left on our own.  We weren’t rude, we tried to explain the Croatia situation and he wouldn’t hear it.  As a comparison to punishments in other countries, a 2 week overstay in the UK would result in a 90 day ban.   It was 7am, the guard didn’t give a shit, and so with our ban in place, we boarded our ferry and left for Turkey.  This also extends beyond the EU since the EU shares it's information in real-time with Canada, USA and the UK.  So if we travel to USA or the UK, our ban from the Schengen Area will probably cause us a lot of of grief.

As I write we’re in Batumi, Georgia.  We cleared Turkey in 35 days, we’ll write about that sooner or later, and plan to continue to Azerbaijan.  We’ve broken the trip down into smaller goals which we’ll pick away at bit by bit.  Motivation continues to waver, but we are determined to overcome the difficulties.  We miss our friends and family, we miss our beautiful piece of land we’re slowly developing and we miss the financial security going to work provides.  That last one is hard to admit to, but we don’t hate our jobs and the longer we’re away from them, the harder it will be to go back.  There’s a certain fear of becoming destitute for an ambitious goal of uncertain reward.  For now though, we just keep it in the back of our minds as we look forward down the road into Asia.  Overall, our attitude is much better now than it was in Greece.  The good weather has made a huge difference for us.

Top of a 2190m pass in Turkey

We don’t know exactly where we’ll call it quits.  We sometimes find ourselves wavering or feeling like we’re pressing on when we don’t really want to.  What we do know is that each time we press through the tough times; we’re rewarded with wonderful experiences further down the road.  The more times we press on through the tough parts, the more sure we’ll be when the time is right to pack up and head home.  In the meantime, we’ll keep pedaling.

Greece Round-Up:

ODO Start: 4167km

ODO Finish: 4860km

Total: 693km
Actual country name: Hellenic   Republic (Ελληνική Δημοκρατία)

Days in country: 14

Nights camped:  8

Nights aboard a ferry: 1

Ferries taken: 5

Km by ferry: 305
Other cycle tourers met on the road:
        - Charlene and Damien, a French couple riding a tandem, France to Thailand
        - Molly and Hayden, a British couple, England to... east?
        - Karen and Jamie! London to... undecided
        - A Swiss couple, Athens to Switzerland, combo cycling/climbing trip

# of times we quit: 1000

#of times we changed our minds about quitting: 1001