Tour de Taklamakan – we made you our bitch (pardon my language)

Tour de France 2012            Tour de Taklamakan 2012

Day 1 – 198 km                     208.09 km
Day 2 – 207.5 km                 208.62 km
Day 3 – 197 km                    178.69 km
Day 4 – 214.5 km                 153.72 km
Day 5 – 196.5 km                 167.84 km
Day 6 – 205  km                   166.16 km
Day 7 – 199 km                    168.68 km
Day 8 – 157.5 km                 97.33 km (half day due to sickness)

Total:    1,575 km                 1,349.13 km

Tour de France notes: carbon bicycles, spend half the time chilling in the peloton, comfy hotel at end of day, trainers, dieticians, food cooked & prepared for them & ice-baths.

Tour de Taklamakan notes: none of the above, just 2 semi-fit men trying to survive by cycling through the desert as fast as possible, camping in road tunnels & fierce winds, trying to summon the energy to cook a hearty meal at the end of the day and having a cheeky cigarette after dinner. We do have Red Camel though!

It seems only a couple of days ago that I last wrote, time (and the km’s) have literally flown by! On the morning of our Kashgar departure we were up by 0500 to put the final preparations to our bikes before hitting the road. Unfortunately, we were off to a bad start as the puncture monkey had visited during the night and attacked Zac’s front tyre – not the first time this cheeky monkey would appear either! After a quick fix listening to the morning call to prayer, an average breakfast and 3 flights of stairs the road was ours. The first 20 kms were back-tracking from where we had come from the border. This flew by as it gave Zac and I a chance to get to know each other a little as we were essentially strangers committed to helping each other survive. It didn’t take long to realise we would get along. As soon as we decided the granny chatting time was over, it was time to discuss our cycling pattern. For the first couple of hours we cycled in each others slipstream 15 minutes on / 15 minutes off. We then experimented with 10 minute stints as it would be enough time to recover and more energy could be poured into cycling like a maniac for 10 minutes. For those of you who don’t cycle, slipstreaming is something like this; the guy out front is the tank taking all of the wind and flies, peddling his heart out for the benefit of the guy behind. The guy behind is the cruiser taking his well earned rest in the slipstream behind, taking about 1 rotation of the peddles to the tank’s 3-5 and has time to powder his nose should he wish to. The cruiser’s main jobs are not to crash into the tanks’ tyres or panniers, to remember to overtake after 10 minutes and to not become too fixated on the tanks arse. We settled on the 10 minute strategy doing 4 stints as the tank each, meaning a drinks, toilet or snack break every 80 minutes before the next set began. This worked very well, resulting in each hitting their P.B.’s on the first day, 208.09km. The wind was favourable for most of the day, but it did begin to swirl against us near the end. There was an abundance of salt in the air leaving us saltier than cheap cinema popcorn at the end of the day. Fortunately there was a train station in THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE that had a fresh water hose, a miracle. That night we camped hidden from the road by the railway track in a gale force wind which made life quite difficult.

Our muscles felt surprisingly fresh the following morning whilst we ate our breakfast at 0530 in the pitch black. The first 40km of the day were blitzed and we reached a mini oasis town where we treated ourselves to some breakfast noodles. Wherever we rocked up we would always draw a crowd. The Uighurs, local to the state of Xinjiang who are more Turk than Han Chinese, are much more touchy feely and not shy to get all up in your personal space and touch everything you own, VERY frustrating. The Chinese stand back a little more, with the t-shirts rolled up to their nipples showing off their rotund bellies for some reason yet unbeknown to us, trying not to be phased by our presence but secretly desperate to know what the f#%k we are doing here. Our patience and politeness was directly correlated to how many km’s we had cycled, touch our bikes at the end of the day at your own risk! I was feeling rather sleepy so I had a Nescafé iced coffee and a Red Camel (seriously!) to give me a boost and stuck on DJ Fresh. I flew like shit off a shovel for the first 10 minute stint, as did Zac whilst listening to his audio book. I fear his pace when he listens to music! Today everything was going smoothly and we were slamming the road. Whenever we complete a perfect 80 minute set the satisfaction is very high and I feel strangely cool, as if we are real cyclists. I did feel sorry for Zac though when he was the cruiser as a pair of my lycra bottoms (now in the bin) were see through just above the butt crack. Your efforts for putting up with this alone are commendable my friend! It wasn’t long before we realised another 200+km was on the cards and another P.B. of 208.62km. This was achieved by 1730 and with an impressive 29km/h average speed, a solid British pat on the pack was deserved as well as a swim in an irrigation channel. What a result. That night Zac received multiple phone calls from a random Chinese man which made us both laugh a lot, as we can hear everything through our tents at night.

Our alarms are now going off at 0430, not 0500 anymore, ouch. We were well into our first set of the morning when a tractor with a trailer gently overtook us. We both glanced at each other and smiled thinking the same thought. For the next 20 minutes the truck was our giant tank breaking the wind for the both of us. Unfortunately we had to stop due to a rear naughty for Zac (puncture is henceforth referred to as a naughty). Nay bother, as soon as we were back on the road a tricycle thingy rolled on past offering us another free slipstream, schweeeeeet! We could have eeked out another 200+km day but we thought better of it and decided to conserve some energy. At this stage of the day we were on the highway which has barbed wire all along it fencing us in from the nothingness of the desert. Therefore, we decided to camp under the road in one of the underground tunnels. It definitely wasn’t the Ritz but it would do for the night. As we were discussing our find for the night a Chinese man came galloping down from his car into the tunnel of the opposite lane yanking his shorts down in the process. He then squatted down and I’ll let you imagine the rest. We stifled our giggles to not be detected and then it dawned on us to immediately check our tunnel for similar ‘problems’. Our tunnel, thank God, was poop free, hurray! After dinner I clicked my fingers for Jeeves to do the dishes, Jeeves never came, the bastard!

Today (day 4) we had some problems reading the map, “impossible in a desert with one main road” I hear you cry, yet we managed.Twice did we think we had arrived in Kuqa when it was not. We even took a glory photo of reaching Kuqa (which wasn’t Kuqa) and argued with an innocent man from a hotel who we thought had no idea what he was talking about. Alas! it was us who were the buffoons. The main issue is the road signs to towns & cities, which involves an expert level of spot the difference. Me: “what is a hidden 4 behind 3 lateral lines followed by a barn and a robot with tentacles,  Zac: “I think that’s Luntai…” There was one drinks stop today where, for no real reason, we completely attacked the fridge drinking gallons of all sorts of liquid and eating snacks & fruit. Looking at the pile of destruction afterwards was funny, not as funny as the owner trying to sit us down to watch an 80 minute clip of WWF wrestling with the slowest internet connection known to man. When we finally did reach Kuqa it was a lot bigger than we had imagined. We did some e-mailing, some supermarket sweep and some serious eating having already cycled 130km by 1230. Our plan was to saunter along in the afternoon but the puncture monkey had other plans, and this time I was his victim. At 1700 he struck with a naughty, followed with another 20 minutes later. This second one I simply could not fix and I had run out of pre-repaired  tubes so some roadside patching was necessary. This was equally unsuccessful for several reasons, all my own fault, but would rather not recount as it makes my blood boil remembering it. Eventually Zac gave me one of my inner tubes he was using back and put in a dodgy one of his own. At this stage all we wanted was to cycle 2km to the trees to find somewhere to camp. This we did by 1820. We had bought a bottle of Chinese wine to relax in the evening, but not much relaxation was had. I had to patch a handful of inner tubes whilst Zac took over the cooking duties. By the time everything was completed and I had sat on and broken my prescription glasses, darkness had crept up on us and I was too tired, and part drunk, to erect my tent. The decision was taken to sleep out under the stars on our deflating sleeping mats and covering ourselves with deet to fend off the ravenous mosquitos. This had been a dream of mine on this trip but not in these circumstances, especially when it began to rain at 0200. Zac: “what are you going to do?” Me: “cry!”. I draped the tent over me like a blanket and tried to transport my mind elsewhere. I woke up 40 minutes before Zac to continue fixing tubes, I was not a happy bunny.

I feel this is the first time I’m saying day by day stuff. I thought the desert would be uneventful; cycle, rest, eat, sleep and cycle. Turns out stuff does happen. Day 5 I will glance over as I’m beginning to get tired… Needless to say I was very sleepy today after a poor nights sleep. This sleepiness nearly caused a serious accident. We were cycling up to a toll station on the motorway whilst I was the cruiser. I thought the barrier for the cars was up so I started heading for the middle of the track. The barrier was not up, it was down. I only noticed this at the last second, when a drastic swing of the handles bars and girly cry was needed to escape. A slap around the face to wake me up was required! Today saw me reach 11,111 km for the trip and Zac the big 10,000 km. As a celebration we showered under a gushing fresh water pipe. I even used one of those minuscule shampoo sachets, which I have always ridiculed as being useless, sponsored by the one & only Jackie Chan. On the ride into Luntai we were in the slipstream of a woman toddling into town on her electric bicycle, much to our own amusement. Everyone who passed us looked back with open mouths (as they tend to do) and the woman must have thought she was looking especially radiant that day, not realising that 2 sweaty and filthy British cyclists were tailgating her. Ah the simple pleasures in life. After a delicious lunch in Luntai  we saw a truck about 800 yds ahead of us travelling between 40-45 km/h. Zac had blasted us to within 300 yds when it was my turn to tank it up. On my first attempt we didn’t catch it. Then Rob Zombie-Dragula came on my iPod and gave me an injection of speed. I signalled to Zac one more attempt by raising my index finger to him behind me. I gave it everything, got up to 51 km/h when I suddenly saw Zac slingshot past me at 55-60 km/h using the slipstream I had created and we were suddenly behind the truck, BOOM. For the next 20 minutes we were swept along at42+ km/h. Eventually losing the good spots for he slipstream I had to bail out, but it was fun while it lasted. We had hit 160 km by 1500 so we thought we would have an early afternoon to relax and fix some more inner tubes. This we did and it was fantastic.

On day 6 we decided to create our own time. The official time in China is +7 GMT, but Xinjian unofficially works off +5 GMT. Neither of these times suited our needs, so we changed our various time devices to +5.5 GMT to match the rising and setting sun to the times we would like. Just because we could 🙂 This worked out wonderfully as that first morning of Zac & Mark time we were blessed with a blisteringly beautiful sun rising over the mountains. A perfect sphere of fire getting ready to illuminate the day and make us sweat. In the late morning we reached Korla which was the end of the Taklamakan, so within 6.5 days we had crossed one of the largest deserts in the world. This felt pretty great, but Korla was not. It was simply a sprawling Chinese city with annoying officials in red armbands barking orders at us for doing nothing.  We were left bemused at their abuse of power. After a swift lunch we left and climbed up over a mini hill out of the desert and into another… Although in this desert it rained, very hard for about 40 minutes including some nasty hail. I felt sorry for Zac as I have no mudguard so he was on the receiving end of a very dirty shower. Sorry buddy. That night we had another great camp spot with no mosquitos for the first time in China and a good 2 hour down-time period. The only obstacle was lifting the bikes over the motorway barrier and under the barbed wire.

Up at 0430….again, and this time it was very cold, warranting a hat for the first hour. Today’s cycle involved minimal stops, just the bare essentials to keep us going as we were hell bent on reaching a town I can’t remember the name of and is not on my map or in my diary, but it began with H! In between there was an annoying slug of a climb from 1,000 – 1,500m which seemed to go on forever. But we finally made H by 1540 and treated ourselves to well deserved cold beer and some nuts in the dusty truck-filled town. The wind had really picked up now and was blowing into our faces. As there was nowhere to camp for shelter, we opted for another tunnel under the motorway. This time it was not high enough for either of us to stand up in and the wind was really howling. We had enough time to use the stove 5 times though; to boil some eggs, 2 lots of noodles, a batch of sauce and even some honey & ginger tea for dessert, what a luxury! After fumbling around with my tent in the wind using my glasses with only 1 arm, it was finally up with the wind smashing against it even with Zac’s tent as a barrier (his does not require the use of tent pegs). It was another rough night, but we survived, well one of us did….

Day 8, the dreaded last day before the rest day. Where your mind plays tricks on you making you think you are already there; only another 160km to go and a 1,780m pass, easy! Not. Zac woke up feeling nauseous which soon resulted in numerous vomit stops, and unfortunately the climbing started straightaway. From 0500 to 0930 we were battling the worst pass known to man, winding and weaving it’s way uphill. By no means was it the highest or steepest, but whichever way you turned the wind lay in waiting to smack you directly in the face, as if the wind was on a slip’n’slide rushing down the road. It was definitely having all of the fun, not us. At some point Zac tore away and I kept my slow methodical pace of going uphill. At 1,720m I caught up to him lying on the ground in multiple layers and wrapped in his winter sleeping bag looking rather weak from illness but still smiling! I too felt a little chill and my eyelids began feeling like lead, I needed titanium matchsticks to keep them open. A real bedraggled pair, we worked our way to an unceremonious summit before the downhill began. This could not be enjoyed to the full either, due to the wind doing its best at pushing us back up the dreaded hill. Zac was feeling especially weak so until we reached Toksum he sat in the cruiser position while I tanked away. What kept me amused during this time was catching glimpses of my moustache in my shadow on the road and listening to Michael Kiwanuka. The lower we got, the windier & hotter it got. The Turpan Basin, where we were heading, is apparently the 2nd largest depression in the world at -152m below sea level. The 1,900 odd meters of descent that should have been a delight was more tortuous. Eventually by 1400 we reached Toksum, 60 km shy of Turpan, our target. Our mother’s shall be glad to hear that common sense prevailed, as I too was starting to feel a little ill, and we decided to take our rest day in Toksum rather than kill ourselves in reaching Turpan. We found a hotel that excepts foreigners and collapsed in our room. Job done!

Since arriving a few have asked that I must feel a great sense of achievement, strangely I don’t, not yet anyway. I just feel really tired (I have had more naps in 24 hours than I have ever had in my life) and glad to be in the vicinity of a sit down toilet. I’m sure Zac and I will look back on these 8 days soon and go “huh, that was quite impressive, well done old chap”, but for now it’s just time to recover, clean clothes, patch up broken equipment and get mentally ready to hit the road again tomorrow for more desert fun. We should be out of this 2nd desert (I think it’s south of the Gobi) in 6/7 days, then I can relax a little more. It has been a real blessing having company for the last 1,400 km and for the next x km, even more so that Zac is a great guy bounding with an envious amount of optimism and a reassuring smile when the shit hits the fan. If you want to read his account of the last 8 days click here, http://www.zacplusbike.com/. He makes my bike ride look like a boris bike cruise around Hyde Park.

For photos of Krygyzstan and China please click here, http://www.facebook.com/thewrightwayeast/photos

p.s. If any of you have any friends, family, work colleagues or vague acquaintances that live in Hong Kong, please tell them to keep the afternoon/evening of the 11th October free. I will be arriving that afternoon and plan to arrive at The Peak Tower on top of The Peak by 1600. The Peak Tower have kindly offered to host the big party, so it should be lots of fun and a breathtaking view if I’m too tired & smelly to be around. Better yet, if you fancy coming out for a long weekend it will be a blast!

Love

Kyrgyzstan?!?! …. more like Crazy-Beautiful-I-Love-You-stan

I don’t know why I feel compelled to tell you where I am writing each blog, I guess it helps me sit up and appreciate the glorious surroundings. It is now 15.07 on Wednesday 21st August and I am 2.5 km from the Chinese frontier. I was hoping to cross on Monday, but due to the end of Ramadan the border has remained closed. Arse. I can see the Kyrgyzstan customs house in the middle of the Kyzyl He valley, completely deserted except a line of about 100 lorries waiting to drive into the China with me. I am lying in a field with a Belgian couple, Clare & Tim, next to the murky Kyzyl He river running towards China and a mild easterly wind creating the ideal cloud-watching conditions. The surrounding northerly Alau Range & southerly Chong Alau Range have lost their snowy peaks, but not their awesome beauty. I am rather content with the situation, apart from the fact that these 2 days lost have increased my required daily mileage from here on in to make my October 11th arrival date in Hong Kong…

I loved my time in Samarkand and wish to return one day to delve deeper into the thousands of alleys, mosques & medressas the city has, but the time to hop back in the saddle came, despite my stomach screaming out for another day off. I half conceded and only left at 15.30, mainly because the toilet was holding me hostage. With little energy I pushed off and cycled a mere 38km north-east before the little energy metamorphosed into zero energy. I found a hidden corner in a corn field, erected my tent and went to bed with no dinner feeling decidedly sorry for myself. I knew full well that this feeling is futile as the only person who is going to encourage & motivate me out here is me, so a pair of big-boy pants was needed. Mum did offer some sweet words but also the kiss of death: ‘no more ice-cream until you feel better’! This news only compounded my foul mood and since Mum said it I had to obey, despite being half-way around the world. I did manage a great long sleep, dreaming that someone was looking after me which was re-assuring, even in a dream. Breakfast of water & biscuits were forced down. The road had me by 06.45. That day all my stomach was allowed were biscuits, bread and ice cold ice-tea, which made the 125km even more difficult. Cramps came & went throughout the day, along with the quality of the road and the obnoxious local kids. That night I did eat some pasta and plain tomato sauce and had a bath in an irrigation canal. Both improved my physical & mental health dramatically. The physical aspect was important as the mountains were coming closer & closer and I would need all the strength I could muster.

On the other hand, I was craving the mountains and the possibility of wearing my jumper & hat, as long sweaty nights whilst being eaten alive by mosquitos was becoming rather tiresome. My stomach recovered just in time for the 2,267m Kamchik pass which would bring me into the fertile and vast Fergana Valley – famed for its horses and fruit. Before attacking the pass, I devoured 1kg of pasta with garlic, chillis, onions, tomatoes, cheese, a loaf of bread, nutella, a handful of apricots, 2 apples & 3 snickers. I thought I was ready so I began by plodding up the Ahangaran valley to the base of the pass, but the sheer quantity of food added to the heat of the day had made my eyelids sink. A nap was in order. The 15.00 nap turned into a 3 hour heavy sleep making it too late to climb the pass. A freezing cold swim in the river was had instead followed by an equally vast amount of food for dinner. That night I slept in my thick sleeping bag for the first time since Turkey, it felt wonderful! I almost didn’t want to sleep, I just wanted to bask in the feeling of being rather nippy and not having sweat drip from my body. The pass the following day was 22km of sheer torture even though it was early in the morning. It started with long & windy turns up the valley before the steep and dramatic switchbacks began. My legs were strong enough to warrant only 1 rest en route to the top, but I was pretty whacked when I got there. It was one of the best exhaustions I have felt, knowing that the sweltering plains of Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan were firmly behind me. A sense of achievement not only in the mountain pass but the last 2 weeks of terrible roads, rude kids, illness, heat, mosquitos, defaulting sleeping mat (although this would remain) and my body crying out for ice-cream but my dear mother refusing this simple pleasure in life.

The 2-day cycle through Fergana Valley was pretty uneventful. My aim was to reach Osh, Kyrgyzstan by the end of the 2nd day, which I did. I was expecting a problem at the Uzbekistan/Kyrgyzstan border as I did not have any hotel registration slips for my time in Uzbekistan. Fortunately a soldier took a shine to me and whisked me past hundreds of locals crossing the border. Being British I hung my head in shame for not queuing properly and I could feel their fiery gazes burning into the back of my head. Crossing another border felt great and I was one step closer to the final frontier, China. I arrived in Osh at 16.00, enough time to run around the closing bazaar like a headless chicken gathering supplies and other bits & bobs for the mountains, have a proper shower as opposed to bathing in irrigation tunnels, do some laundry to bring a little sparkle back to my murky clothes and email some of you lovely people. The next morning I left at 06.00 to begin cycling up the Gulcho valley after a Somsa (very similar to Cornish pasty) and Fanta breakfast 🙂 I immediately fell in love with Kyrgyzstan, despite only being in the foothills. The children would wave enthusiastically and wave me down for a photo, the roads were immaculate, the scenery got more dramatic around every corner and the weather was cooling down for the first time in a long time. The pace of life through the valley was ideal; horses would trot in their herds along the road or on the road causing peaceful road blocks. Children would be riding their steeds, shepherding their flocks of goats & sheep. Elders would potter around the village shouting at everyone else for being lazy, only to then smugly sit down and do nothing for hours on end. And everyone wanted to talk with me. One bunch of kids who stopped me piled apricots in my handle bar bag and offered me the local fermented mare’s milk. I had heard about this atrocious drink, but having been offered it by a cute snot-filled child I couldn’t very well say “no”. I put on a brave face and gulped down the whole bowl of fizzy, sour & warm liquid doing my best not to retch. I returned the bowl with a smile that said thank you but please! no more. Soon the slug turned into a snake and the 2,408m Chyrchyk pass began in earnest. It wasn’t the toughest but it had a good bite to it. After the resulting sweet downhill, I found a little tea house in Gulcho to eat before riding out of town and finding a beautiful stretch of grass running directly along the fresh glacial river. That night I got to wear my hat, jumper and use my big sleeping bag, it was bliss!

The next was the big boy pass standing at 3,615m and my body was ready for it. The day was mellow enough with gentle climbs upstream, kids forming barriers in the road to prevent me from continuing before inspecting my bike and keeping the sugar levels high with plenty of chocolate bars. The mellow slug was turning into a big slimy one so I decided to stop, gather strength before the impending snake would commence. During this break I met a Spanish/Japanese couple who had just come the other way so I asked them what it was like. They said it was easy from their side but oooooo have you got a tough climb ahead of you, exactly what I wanted to hear….NOT. They were not lying! When I finally turned the last corner of the mellow climbing I was presented with a fearful sight – switchbacks (where the road snakes back on itself up the mountain) for as far as the eye could see upwards, making out tiny dots above me that turned out to be trucks! I swallowed hard, clipped my shoes into my pedals and commenced. For the next 140 minutes and 50+ switchbacks (I lost count), I was travelling at 6-8 km/h whilst breathing extremely heavily due to the climbing and altitude. The climbing was tough but the views were out of this world! The awesome Pamirs rising in the south and the giant Python that I had just slayed laying underneath me and my bike. I patted Knödel on the back, and myself a little, took the glory photographs and had a private moment of thought which you are not privy to. I then understood what the other cyclists meant, as the 10km cruise down to the town of Sary- Tash was only a 500m descent, but fun for me nonetheless. Sary-Tash lies in the very open Alau Valley with the snow-capped Pamirs as a backdrop making it look like a postcard. My plan was to grab a bite in town and camp in the valley. However, I stumbled across mini-Europe in a guesthouse (9 cyclists on holiday attempting the Pamir Highway which is closed due to unrest in Tajikistan, 2 backpackers and 1 Frenchman in a Land Rover) and 1 of them informed me that the border to China was closed due to the end of Ramadan, Oh Bother! For the next 2 nights I stayed at the guesthouse in Sary-Tash – once inside and once camping in the front yard with the sheep – swapping stories with the other travellers, hiking in the hills and generally relaxing in the high altitude sun thinking myself very lucky to be in such a beautiful place with a great bunch of guys & girls. We became like a mini family for those 48 hours, each of us with our own role to play.

Finally the time came for all of us to go our separate ways, with me the only one taking the lonely road to China. Handkerchiefs were waved and tears were shed. The following 65km to Nura was one of the most peaceful moments of my life; there is not a single whisper of wind, the air was crystal clear providing an immaculate view of the Pamirs, there were NO trucks or cars on the road due to the border being closed. I could hear a pin drop from 1km away. I didn’t dare spoil the moment with music, it was too pure. I just sat back and watched the odometer tick over to 10,000km 🙂 Well I say sat back, I actually climbed higher to the previous evil snake pass, to just under 3,800. But the conditions were so perfect and there were no switchbacks so I barely noticed, only my puffing lungs gave it away. I arrived in Nura at 15.00 and found the only shop in town with help of a 10 year old girl who had the mannerisms of Marilyn Monroe, she will be a real handful one day. The shop turned into lunch, the lunch turned into a nap in their lounge until it snowballed into a 2 hour hike with 10 of the village kids, a drive into the mountains, dinner & bed. It was a lovely afternoon & evening and a great way to end my short but sweet stay in Kyrgyzstan…or so I thought. I woke at 06.00 in order to cycle the final 5km to the border and to be first, this turned out to be futile as it was only me and hundreds of lorries. We were all waiting very patiently to be allowed across. When the time came, a lone soldier approached us and said: “closed until tomorrow”, and walked away again with no other explanations. Huh?! I waited for 1 hour just in case he was playing a cruel joke on us all. He wasn’t. Out of nowhere a Belgian couple on bikes, Clare & Tim, rolled up, who were equally miffed at the situation. There was nothing to be done, so we bought some measly supplies in the caravan park of a border ‘town’ and peddled 2km whence we came to find a peach of a camping spot right next to the river. From midday until dinner we sunbathed, ate, read and I wrote the beginnings of my blog. Things were oh so peaceful until we noticed the river begin to rise ever so slightly. We mustered all the optimism and bullshit we could and told ourselves not to worry, it won’t flood, knowing full well it would. Low & behold at 01.00 my tent was floating on 2cm of water. The emergency bells were sounded and our swimming tents were evacuate to higher ground in the middle of the night at 3,000m. Not many words were shared, just move, dry and back to sleep. I did steal a quick 10 minutes staring up at the sky. The stars were out in their abundance for the last 4 nights and tonight was equally spellbinding. The blackness could barely be seen between the clusters of twinkling stars with the odd shooting star dashing across the whole horizon. Sheer beauty!

The latter half is being written from Kashgar, some from my first hostel and some from the second as the police evicted us from the first one…… Clare, Tim and I woke early for “Take 3” of the border crossing and again we got there first in the queue of no-one but the trucks had multiplied tenfold overnight. HALLELUJAH, we were out of Kyrgyzstan within minutes. All that wait for a 5 minute stamp. The Chinese side was a different story. First our passports were checked by what looked like a 10 year old in uniform, I tried my hardest not to snigger. This was followed by a 4km cycle to another equally pointless check point for another child to scan our passport aimlessly. We had heard of a 142km no man’s land before the true Chinese customs, for which we would have to take a truck. We were on a dirt track for 7km wondering when this would happen, or whether they forgot about us and we would have to cycle it illegally. Then out of the mountains the spooky old customs house appeared, completely rundown. This didn’t stop a gaggle of policemen searching our bags, looking at our photos, maps, books, passports (countless times) before they hailed a truck for us. The Belgian couple took one and me & a French cyclist, Valentin, took another. This 142km journey was more strenuous & painful then any of the cycling so far. His trailer seemed empty, but in fact he must have been importing half of Kyrgyzstan’s dust, you could hardly breath in there. Our poor bicycles had to be lugged into the trailer and locked away without being strapped down for the two and half hour journey. This was not a journey along smooth tarmac either. The road was non-existent, a wriggly line filled with pot-holes and bigger pot-holes. This did not phase our nonchalant Han Chinese driver who drove like Sebastian Vettel in the final race of the Grand Prix season. Valentin and I took it in turns to sit in the passenger chair, the other would be crouched in the back on the driver’s bed being rattled around like a cocktail in a shaker. Finally at 16.30 (Beijing time, 2 hours ahead of Kyrgyzstan) we emerged shaken not stirred at the shiny new customs house in Wuqia. Part one of the journey, tick, as I planned to still make Kashgar by the end of the day. The customs officials had other ideas, they were still on lunch break and the driver would not open the trailer to inspect the damage. Finally, 1 hour later, the doors to the world’s largest dust import swung open and we clambered into the bike graveyard. Miraculously nothing was damaged apart from my bell (sorry Sarah), but we did feel bad as half of his precious dust was not caked on our bikes & panniers. Like wounded & filthy soldiers, we wheeled our bikes into the customs house for more passport checks, bag scans, stamps and other nonsense. Finally at 18.15, the 4 of us were in China looking tired, dejected and filthy. The motley crew cycled side by side, like a poor rendition of Reservoir Dogs, along the brand new, empty, 6-lane highway. What a sight we must have been, but we made it. Only 100km to cycle now, hmmm.

We found the first restaurant we laid our eyes upon and ordered 4 Chow Mein. It…was…incredible. Freshly made pasta, with other ingredients thrown into the wok by the expert chef. The food in China was going to be great, I could feel it. I wolfed mine down and bid my farewells to hit the road for 18.45 and the optimistic task of reaching Kashgar. Valentin decided to join me on my hopeless escapade. We chatted furiously for the first 40km so the time flew by and so did the tiring mini climb, then the final 60km would be downhill so we were flying at 28km/h still nattering away like 2 grannies. It was a beautiful ride, apart from a 500 yard stretch of a dirt track where all the trucks decided to come out of nowhere and spit the road in our faces. When we came out the other side we looked at each other and fell about laughing. Our faces and body hair had turned grey, actually making us like 80 year old grannies. I didn’t think we could get dirtier, but we managed it. Darkness came at 22.00 and we still had 20km to go. The chatting stopped, it was time to concentrate 110%, especially after a very long day. I hadn’t cycled at night before but we had Kashgar in our sights. A glowing halo started to appear so we knew we were close. Finally at 23.15 we reached the Maitian Youth Hostel where Zac, a British cyclist was staying and waiting for me to cycle the desert of death together. We showered, ate, drank, showered again and fell asleep. What a day!

I had planned 1 rest day in Kashgar to get my shit together for the Taklamakan  desert. My first experiences of China have been eventful: language barrier is already proving very tricky, the food is deliciously fresh, the people very friendly and the cities vast and Las Vegas-esque with the flashing lights. Kashgar used to be a sleepy trading town, now it has become a sprawling Chinese city. I managed, to my great surprise, to get everything done. So I returned to the hostel to have a well earned beer and some downtime. That was until 2 policemen arrived & argued with the owners, resulting in us being kicked out of the hostel as they didn’t have a permit to host foreigners. This was annoying to say the least, especially as we weren’t able to contact Valentin about this and we were going to cycle as a threesome through the desert. Valentin, if you read this, good luck and we hope to see you soon!

We are now packed and ready for the desert. Our plan is to cycle some monstrous distances every day as the desert is approximately 1,500km long, ouch! We have no idea what to expect, but I’m sure it I’ll be tough & hot to say the least. It’s now 22.00 in the evening so I should really be going to bed.  I apologise to anyone I wasn’t able to reply to via email/Facebook. Time has been tight. Also, it’s a shame I’m not able to accompany this blog with some pictures as I have some real beauties to help tell the story! I will do my best to upload some when I get a chance. If some of this doesn’t make sense, well that’s life. My mind is fried & buzzing at the same time, I don’t even have time for a witty p.s….

Love to all and see you after the desert!
X

3 Angels & a Clown

I’ve waited a while until writing this blog as I simply have not had the energy to think about what has happened. The road from Mashhad, Iran to Samarkand, Uzbekistan has truly been one of the most testing experiences of my time on this earth. It’s going to be very difficult to put the pain & exhaustion into words as, to be honest, I would rather forget some of the last 9 days of cycling. The combination of suffocating heat, fierce sandy headwinds, dodgy stomachs, more litres of luke warm water than I care to remember and the solitude, which is starting to get to me. On the flip side, I am writing this whilst sitting on a perfectly manicured lawn with the sun rising above the surrounding majestic ensemble of tilting medressas of the Registan in Samarkand, Uzbekistan – one of the most spectacular sights my eyes have set upon. The whole of Samarkand is a gem, with it being the most evocative of the cities that line the ancient Silk Road that I’m travelling along. For many people it has the mythical resonance of Atlantis, with many Western poets writing about it but never having seen the city in the flesh. James Elroy Flecker being one of them, whose final lines of his 1913 poem ‘The Golden Journey to Samarkand’ were:

We travel not for trafficking alone,
By hotter winds our fiery hearts are fanned.
For lust of knowing what should not be known
We take the Golden Road to Samarkand

Before hitting the road again I had another 2 days to while away at Vali’s in Mashhad, oblivious as to what lay ahead of me. I thoroughly enjoyed my time in Mashhad; eating like a king courtesy of Vali’s wife, wandering about town with no clear aim but enjoying it and buying myself a very extravagant silk Persian carpet. This was not the plan at all, but those who know me well also know that I am a sucker for a good salesman and this guy must have had his tongue coated in honey as a baby as his pitch was as smooth as. I do not regret it at all as Mashhad is the home of Persian carpets and it will adorn our new flat with grace. I shipped it home along with a whole host of other bits & bobs that I no longer needed and were needlessly weighing me down. I left town on 31st July with a passport full of visas, a stomach full of food and a mind bounding with optimism.

It was a 180km to the Turkmenistan border and I would cross on 2nd August so the pace for the last few days in Iran was pleasant. It allowed for plenty of stops for melon and water. A few concerns started to arise now which would multiply come Turkmenistan; a mild headwind was building, the stretches between places to buy water etc was increasing and the heat was growing in its intensity. There was 1 minor climb of 720m with some switchbacks which resulted in cycling down through a rocky valley which reminded me of a miniature version of the Grand Canyon. For my final night in Iran I camped in the desert with some shrubs offering shelter from the road and the setting sun. Here my already strong hatred of flies grew. Around dusk they would appear out of nowhere in their thousands and mysteriously disappear once the sun had set. This made my relaxing & dinner time not so relaxing.

My sleeping mat has started to deflate in the middle of the night again. This is disheartening to say the least. On the day of crossing the border I ate my watermelon for breakfast and peddled into the border town to buy supplies for the first day in Turkmenistan which included 10L of water. Naturally this added 10kg to my load but would be necessary, and turned out not to be enough! After a wild goose chase I found the border crossing and got through the Iranian formalities quickly enough. Being a tourist on a bicycle made this pretty simple as I was whisked through. A swift 1.5km dash across No-Man’s Land brought me to the Turkmenistan customs. I had heard some nightmare stories here but I was not subject to them; must have caught them on a good day. They were more baffled as to why I wasn’t in London for the Olympics. I was able to weigh myself and my bike & luggage for the first time: me 93kg | bike & luggage 58kg. After 45 mins of pointless paperwork and having my bags x-rayed for the first time, the ‘Golden’ (rusty & dilapidated) gates were opened and the nightmare would begin.

My first day in Turkmenistan has been dubbed ‘Three Angels & A Clown’. I had heard that there were no road signs in the country, but I thought there would at least be some directions to major cities etc. Negative. No guidance whatsoever. Within 2km my first angel appeared in the form of Khazim – a 22 year old steel trader who spoke perfect English. He gave me pin-point directions to the first town, Hauz-Han, a mere 138km away – directions such as 20km after a large bridge turn left at the camel turd – and also US$7 worth of local currency. This made me feel good. By the time I started cycling the desert in earnest it was 11.45, not exactly the best time to be cycling but I had little choice, time to suck it up. The road was very poor indeed and the wind was blowing directly in my face. I would stop every 45 mins to guzzle some warm water and have a biscuit, then continue the battle at a mere 13-16 km/h. The water would never quench my thirst, it would merely moisten my mouth before the wind & sand swiftly dried it up again. The only things to distract me were the trucks flying past and mini sand tornados that would swirl across the road like whirling dervishes occasionally coming to engulf me. The second angel was a slight mystery. Around 14.30 a truck stopped ahead of me, the driver’s window cracked open, 2 ice cold bottles of water were dropped out and he drove on without me having the chance to thank him. I fell on the bottles and rubbed them along my exposed skin before downing one and savouring the other. Thank you mysterious man, if you ever stumble across this on the world wide web…

The heat would continue through to 18.00 without abating much at all, so when the third angel appeared at 1700 I was already in tatters. A melon-seller flagged me down in the middle of the road. I was going to buy a melon off him anyway, as melons are the only way to properly quench one’s thirst, however he very kindly gave me one and cut it up for me. It was quite simply the best melon of my life. I followed this with a quick dip in the irrigation canal nearby – funnelled down from the Aral Sea to breath some form of life into this desert country – to revitalise me, albeit briefly. Soon I stumbled across a cafe selling water, ice-creams and other drinks & snacks, you don’t need a lot of imagination to picture what I did next… Although, there was a girl that worked there that was very beautiful! I removed my salt encrusted hat and tried my best to charm her, naturally the cold shoulder was shown my way. I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror as I left the cafe and I don’t blame her at all. Shortly after I arrived at a crossroads where I met the clown. I had a good idea which way I wanted to go, but I wanted to quadruple check, as going the wrong way here would be catastrophic. The clown rolled down his window and I felt intoxicated just breathing in the fumes emanating from his car. I asked which way to Hauz-Han, to which he replied not in words but a fit of giggles, burps & grunts before pointing in the direction from which I had just come. My mind was so blurred at this stage that I couldn’t help but laugh with him and the state he was in. As we parted he gave me a chunk of bread that must have been at least 1 week old. Thanks clown, you cheered me up at least.

Hauz-Han felt like it would never come. I eventually hit the main road at 1830 but the quality was still terrible, as if Thor had gone on a mad rampage thundering his hammer all along the tarmac. The first angel gloriously re-appeared! Khazim drove up from behind and gave me 2 bottles of cold water, I nearly erupted into tears. What a hero! The sun began to set and I needed this town to appear. I popped in my iPod to M.I.A.’s ‘Boyz’, a song that is a quite annoying but strangely motivating, on loop. This would drive me to town and I stood up out of my saddle to cycle to really race there. Not too easy with all of the weight, but it was necessary. I arrived at 2000, found a truck-stop that would house me for the night and serve me fillets of the biggest fish I have seen. All I wanted was a cold beer and copious amounts of vodka, but this would be a bad idea especially with 4 more days of this. Day 1 complete…

Day 2 was similar to day 1, terrible roads, intense heat and a wind that would break down my morale to dust. I arrived in the city of Mary at 11.00, changed some money, had some lunch and took some pictures of the empty boulevards and the giant buildings housing nobody. The ex-president Niyasov who died in 2006 was a tad eccentric/insane and built some truly extraordinary buildings with no real purpose. One annoying thing was being given the wrong directions, so I headed towards Afghanistan for 15km before being told of my wrong turn. I was furious, but there was nothing to do but to return, forget those 30km and continue. I reached Zahmet at 19.50 after 155km and found another truck stop where I could sleep. The room was very comfortable and given to me for free. This was the last frontier before the completely deserted stretch across Turkmenabat. I was very nervous. The truck station suffered from a power cut so candles were lit everywhere, the most romantic truck stop I have ever been to. For the first time of the trip my stomach started to cramp up and the toilet was frequented many times that night. The thought of hitch-hiking crossed my mind, but fortunately when I woke at 0530 it seemed to have settled. For a while anyway.

Day 3 in Turkmenistan shall be known as ‘The Day of Death’. I took 15 mini video diaries on this day which will hopefully be edited into 1 video in the next 10 days. Therefore I won’t go into great detail of what went on. My goal was to reach Turkmenabat (180km) in one day and nearly killed myself trying. Very reckless. The first 3 hours were OK as the wind hadn’t picked up yet, but then it did and it all began to wrong. I was cycling from before sunrise to after sunset, fighting against the wind and desert. There were 2 cafes along the whole stretch. My mouth felt like a cotton factory all day. My mood was swinging as if I was pregnant and my stomach was not happy to say the least. It is the time of the year of the Mongol Rally and approx. 10 cars drove past me today but none of them stopped to help – bastards. I ended up pitching my tent 25m off the road behind a sand dune. It took 30 mins to push the bike across it, completely sapping my energy of which there was none left anyway. The sand was too soft for tent pegs so I used the most brittle twigs I could find resulting in a tent that looked like a drunk 5 year old had erected it. In the last video which you’lll see ,I say that I’m about to cook plain pasta. I didn’t. I crawled into the sorry looking tent and collapsed straight away. I was so tired I forgot to close the tent, so when I woke at 02.00, I immediately launched into a blind panic, that my tent had been invaded my snakes, spiders & scorpions. It hadn’t but my mind was completely fried. I woke at 05.00 the next morning to find my bags scattered everywhere and 2.5L of warm fizzy water gifted to me by a passing truck the following evening. I cycled the remaining 50km into Turkmenabat, found a shit hotel and collapsed for the whole afternoon feeling dejected and worn down. I learned 2 things from the desert; 1 – always buy as many ice-cold bottles of water as you can when the chance arises, buy double what you think you need. 2 – don’t be afraid of failure. I was so set on succeeding reaching Turkmenabat in 1 day that I nearly ran myself into the ground trying. Naturally set yourself the goal to succeed, but don’t be scared of failing your goals. Whether it’s setting up your own business or chatting up a girl at a bar. As long as you give it your best, you will learn a lot from the failed attempt and come back stronger. Don’t kill yourself trying first time.

Turkmenabat was similar to Mary, large & deserted although there was a bustling market 10km before I reached town. I left at 05.30 on the morning my visa was running out and reached the border to Uzbekistan to be first in the queue. I was given ‘VIP’ access and whisked through the procedures and paper work and shot out the other side by 09.40. I quickly changed some money with a dodgy but friendly taxi driver before wanting to blitz the 100km to Bukhara for a day’s rest. The money here is ridiculous with 2,800 Som to the dollar and the highest note you get is 1,000 (approx. £0.25). I have stacks of cash coming out of my ears and it’s weighing down my bike! The cycle to Bukhara was still not easy with the wind still beating my face but at least there were more stops to buy water and the scenery was slightly different with fields of green as opposed to deserted nothingness. I pushed to Bukhara harder than I normally would have done as I knew a shower was waiting for me. When I saw the city gates I actually punched the air and whooped & shouted like an American. Embarrassing & cheesy but the emotions got the better of me.

Before reaching the guesthouse I was recommended by someone on the road, I dominated a large melon and relaxed. The guesthouse was simple but clean and for the first time since Istanbul full of other travellers. It was a real treat to be able to have proper conversations again and I met up with John, a British motorbiker I met in Mashhad. The town of Bukhara is beautiful and has a wonderful sleepy feel to it. It has been heavily renovated as the majority of it was in ruins, but it has been done very sensitively and with great success. I spent the day ambling the old town finding a deserted mosque or medressas around every corner. Shadows are cast majestically around the city making photography a dream at all times of the day. In the evening I had my first beer since Turkey on the roof terrace with 2 very good-looking girls and a great Turkish guy. Life was looking better again.

I wanted to do the 275km from Bukhara to Samarkand in 2 days, and I did. My stomach still wasn’t 100% and the heat is still unbearable so the cycling was not the most fun, but I was excited to see Samarkand. I planned to camp with John on the road, but we just missed each other. As I was buying my water for the night a kind man invited me to his house, result! We had soup, bread and tomato salad for dinner with a bottle of strawberry vodka. I slept outside on a sinking bed with a duvet under hanging vines, it was idyllic. I even managed to watch some Olympics: synchronised swimming. Along with some homo-erotic Greco-Roman wrestling and Iranian table tennis – my Olympics have been rather strange. But I hear Team GB are doing everyone proud which is fantastic news.

I am now in Samarkand, still lying on the grass after 2 hours of typing and lots of annoying kids coming up to do nothing but be a nuisance. They seem to specialise in that in Uzbekistan, especially whistling at me whilst cycling. I am here for another 24 hours before pottering up to Fergana valley and into Krygyzstan. I can’t wait for the mountains and for cooler weather. I want to sleep in my hat and jumper, I want to schnuggle, I want to be cold.

As always thank you for reading. A lot more has happened than I am able to write about here, which is a shame, but time is always a factor. As a round up; I’m alive, sweating, tired of the heat and drinking 10L+ a day and I want a hug.

For pictures visit Facebook.

p.s. a big shout out to Emily’s granny who is apparently an avid reader! In fact a big shout out to any granny reading this – this includes you too Mum 🙂

p.s.s. I promise to be less reckless, especially in the next desert. The next desert, Taklamatan Desert, China, is 7 times larger than the Karakum in Turkmenistan and more deserted than the Sahara. Translated it means: ‘He who enters, does not come out’ – brilliant! I will be there around 22nd August. Before that I have the Himalayas & Krygyzstan.

Napping, sweating & laughing

The last 10 days or so were spent resting in the oasis that was Mohammad’s villa on the Caspian Sea and cycling the 848km to Mashhad in the east of Iran. There were some fantastic days with wonderful people, but also some gruelling nights of extreme humidity. This resulted in my mood swinging from complete ecstasy to shouting to the heavens, in vain of course. I am learning now that however bad things get on the road, or in life, the next great chapter is always just around the corner. Knowing this makes the bad moments more bearable, and my shouts less extreme, safe in the knowledge that things will soon take a turn for the better. Ever the optimist you might say, but this has been the case throughout my journey and I have faith in it. It will be very important to remember this for the next ‘leg’ as things are only getting tougher. The next stage being one of the toughest, through the Karakum desert of Turkmenistan: unexpected winds & sandstorms, 300km stretch of nothing but sand dunes & drunk truck drivers and only having luke warm water to quench ones thirst. Joy of joys…

My time at Mohammad’s villa was divine. After I had got my admin of kit checks & blog out of the way ,the days were spent in a haze of filet mignon & chicken kebabs, as much ice-cream as my stomach could handle, Bloody Mary’s from noon until they were seamlessly replaced with Scotch on the rocks from 1800 onwards, swimming in the Caspian sea and just floating away for hours looking out at the jungle & mountains and general merriment & relaxation. Many of their friends would pop by to meet the foreign cyclist and I thoroughly enjoyed telling them about my trip over Scotch & melon. They seemed to be happy to listen, and I was more than happy to waffle on and on and on… Unfortunately, like many times on this trip before, I had to say goodbye to these lovely new friends and embrace the road once more. This time was more difficult than most as they truly made me feel like home for those 5 nights and I learned a lot about Iran & life in general from Mohammad & his friends.

On 21st July, with a mild hungover and my panniers packed with sumptuous snacks for the day, I hit the road at 0800. The road was just how I had left it, flat. This made it easy to get back into it but my mind would often wander back to the villa and its comforts. I needed a pick-me-up. Today was my first day cycling day during Ramadan, the month where Muslims fast (no drink, food or cigarettes) from sunrise to sunset. Naturally I would not be fasting, mainly because I’m not Muslim, but I did not want to offend anyone by openly drinking & eating. I saw a restaurant on the road that was open, so I poked my head inside the door as the windows were completely covered with old newspapers. To my surprise it was full! I soon learned that if you are traveller you are allowed to break your fast, so I would meet many Iranians who would suddenly think it a good idea to travel to visit distant relatives just so they could eat – sneaky. I had a giant plate of chicken rice – what would be my staple lunch for the next 6 days – and immediately felt sleepy. The owner clearly saw this and led me & my bike to the napping area, BRILLIANT. It was an air-conditioned room of about 3mx4m covered with Persian carpets. It was by far the best nap of my trip and I was out for 2 hours. Upon waking I went to pay and the gentleman stubbornly refused my money. Another generous act that I will never forget and this lunch time break was the exact physical & mental pick-me-up I needed! That afternoon I caught up with an Iranian cyclist who was on a cycling pilgrimage to Mashhad, unfortunately he did not speak any English and my Farsi is very limited. This did not deter us one bit. For the next 2 hours we rode together and we talked non-stop, having no clue what each other were saying but we would nod, laugh, shake our heads at moments we would feel it appropriate. Company, in whatever form, is a true blessing and we both realised this. After 2 hours we parted ways and I shot on ahead to camp in a park outside Qu’am Shahr where I was showered with fruit and a comfy mat for under my tent. I was already worried about the night due to the humidity which makes sleeping in the tent unbearable and outside the tent frustrating due to the mosquitos. I decided to flop my upper body out onto the grass and cover myself with deet, this worked to some extent but little sleep was had. Especially as the Iranian cyclist rocked up at the park at midnight exhausted and wanting to converse again.

I could not wait to escape these humid conditions, but I knew there would be another 2 nights of it, scheisse. My target for the next day was Kordkoy, a 120km stretch. The day was easy enough with 2 lunches of chicken & rice, a drinks stop to down 1.5L of Lemon Fanta, a nap in a prayer room only to be awoken by 4 women telling me to piss off (I guess) and Harry Belafonte helping me glide along the flat road. At 1700 I was 5km shy of Kordkuy when a man on a motorcycle pulled up beside me grinning and wielding a heavy duty metal chain. I immediately drew my horse whip as if to say “Bring it on punk”, half expecting a Mortal Kombat style duel in the hard shoulder. Turns out Ali, the most gentle of souls, just wanted to give me a tow to his house in Gorgan. Gorgan was another 35km from Kordkoy, but the lure of a shower & a bed in his house instead of another sweaty night in my tent won me over. I declined his offer of the tow, imagining it ending in tears and broken bones, and powered those 35km as fast as my legs would allow. Upon arrival he knew exactly what I wanted and in what order; shower, wash my clothes, cold drink and something to eat. I loved him for reading my mind but felt bad for eating & drinking in front of him as he & his family were fasting. His wife was too shy to say hello, so all I ever saw was a dainty hand passing incredible food & drink through the door of their daughters bedroom – the room that would be mine for the night. After joining his family for Iftar (the fast-breaking meal after sunset) I was ready to collapse, however Ali, had different plans. We went on a motorbike ride at 2145 up into the mountains. The weather was perfectly cool, the streets were lined with families having late night picnics and my bottom felt every bump the motorbike went over. At 2300 we returned and my body was about to give way when Ali enthusiastically announced: “Let’s…go…SWIMMING!” I thought he was kidding, he was not. We went to the local indoor swimming pool for the midnight swimming  session with 500 other men & boys. It was quite an experience and actually helped my body recover, but the hour of the activity and the chlorine in my eyes were making me ever sleepier. At 0100 we returned and I was finally granted to go to bed. I felt bad for stealing the 10 year old girls bed for the night, but as soon as my head hit the Barbie pillow case I ceased to care and passed out.

Before I would leave Gorgan, Ali was intent on showing me around town. Frustratingly all of the museums were closed, so we spent 3 hours walking around, sweating & seeing nothing. But the walk & conversation was still very welcome. My patience was waning after this wild goose chase and I politely told him it was time for me to continue. Thank you Ali, for everything. That afternoon km’s were cycled on the fringes of the jungle. The scenery of paddy fields and an abundance of green made me think I was in Bali or north Vietnam, not Iran. I realise that I haven’t touched too much upon the time I spend in the saddle… When I cycle, my legs generally turn round & round & round between 6-9 hours in a day. My eyes are concentrating on the road and looking out for the wild blue van drivers & bikers whilst occasionally swivelling my head left & right taking in the beautiful scenery. My iPod is treated as a drug for when my spirits need lifting or when I fancy a bike boogie. Throughout the day I know when different parts of my body will begin to ache: my left shoulder after 60km, hands after 70/80km, left knee after 90km and my toes after 100km. I await each niggle with bated breath and a grimace. I smile & laugh sporadically whenever something funny happens or my mind triggers a happy memory. I humour people who ride alongside me trying to speak to me whilst driving on a busy highway. Occasionally people shout “hello, how are you?” whilst driving in the opposite direction giving me no time to answer, this always makes me laugh. Whenever I spot a giant sprinkler watering a field, a river running with clean water or simply any source of cold water I pounce on it for a welcome wash & cool down. Generally the riding section of my day has its routine, with the odd spanner thrown in to keep things spicy. On another note, can people stop asking me how many punctures I’ve had!! As soon as someone asks me this, I receive a string of them. I blame the last 3 on you Uncle John!

My last night camping in the humidity was the worst. I did not sleep at all and was eaten alive by bugs. It was the longest night of my life and I decided to hop on the bike at 0400, simply not being able to stand it anymore. I craved the beginning of the mountains and for the first time I was relieved to see some steep climbs. Despite sweating buckets and cycling on no sleep at all, my determination to climb ever higher was strong. I stopped for a nap in the middle of the jungle in the mountains & a swim in the river before continuing on the road uphill. I was expecting an Orang- Utan to pop out of the trees at any point, so thick was the jungle at points. Finally at 1700 that day, after going through a short tunnel the world around me changed dramatically. Dense jungle and the deafening sound of crickets and other midgies were immediately swapped for semi-arid mountains and tumble-weed. The change was startling! I stopped at the next & first rest station since the beginning of the climb and asked for the biggest sandwich the guy could offer me. It was pretty f&#king big. It wasn’t long before I was joined by a host of people asking questions and generally being rather curious as to my being there. Among them was a boy of about 8, Mohammad. He would constantly extend his hand for a high-five and I would always pull away at the last minute, swing & a miss – you would have loved it Mark! We all found this intensely amusing, me probably the most but I could see in the poor kids eyes how he craved a high-five. I therefore made him work for it. I asked him to clean my bike and fill up my water bottles, which he duly did. You might think this mean of me, but I saw this as teaching him a valuable life lesson. You have to work for the good things in life and I rank high-fives to be one of the best things in life, right up there with sex, drugs & rock ‘ n ‘ roll. Considering he was too young for the latter 3 joys of life, a high-five would have to suffice. Just as I was ready to leave our palms met with a resounding clash and we both smiled. Lesson well learned my boy. I found a perfect camping spot that night; off the road, fresh water for a wash, no-one to disturb me and the evening weather was blissfully cool. Sleep was no issue that night.

My choconanabab was devoured for breakfast and camp was packed up…again. Today would be last mountain pass for 2,000km, until the Himalayas. However, I did not know how high it would be. After peddling through acres of heavenly vines – the grapes are seriously the best I have ever tasted in my life, truly the food of the Gods – the climbing & profuse sweating began. My face started to contort, my breath became heavy and themountain switchbacks commenced. Everything was serious until Marvin Gaye started to serenade me with ‘Let’s Get It On’ whilst my iPod was on shuffle. I had to stop immediately as I nearly wet myself with laughter, not exactly the inspiring tune needed for climbing. As soon as I composed myself & recovered from my laughing induced stitch, I changed the music to a more suitable Jay-Z & Linkin’ Park track and plodded on. The top was a mere 1,418m, but I was elated. I could see Bojnurd below, my city for the night. I showered in the park bathroom, bought a fresh melon & a bottle of frozen water and found a nice patch of grass to collapse on. Within 20 minutes a young man approached me and asked me if I would like to join him for dinner and to stay at his house. I replied by saying “Does a bear shit in the woods?”. This went over his head so I simply said that I would love to. He said he would return in 2 hours, and then, I quote: “I’m off to do bad things to my girlfriend”. For the second time that day I cried with laughter. I trusted he would return, and he did at 2030. Amin, a 24 year old 2 weeks away from being drafted into the military, took me back to his parents house where I briefly met his girlfriend and sensed the bad things were good. It was just the two of us for the night and it wasn’t long before a bottle of vodka was brought out, of which we drank 3/4 in shots. We were soon acting like long lost best friends; dancing around his lounge covered with Persian rugs (I’ve learned some serious new dance moves from this guy ), munching on crisps, attacking his fresh herb garden for nibbles and singing before collapsing on the floor at who knows when. To my surprise I still got up at 0630 and left at 0715, as I wanted to reach Mashhad in 2 days.

Needless to say that day was a struggle with yet another hangover in Iran. I’ve had more hangovers in Iran than an other country so far, go figure… Fortunately the road was flat and the wind blowing from behind, so I squeezed out a good 126km to Quchan. 1 more night before Mashhad, I was strangely excited and I wasn’t quite sure why. I was about to put my tent up on a perfect piece of grass when the park attendant came scurrying across to stop me. I was initially annoyed until he guided me into a room where I could sleep for the night. This wasn’t just any room though, it was the male prayer room for the area. Before sleeping a man of about 65 approached me to practice his already very good English. We talked about a whole range of topics before suddenly, out of the blue, he asked: “do people have sex in England?”. This threw me a little, but I said yes, of course. But then he asked, “but in public places, like parks?”. I said no, normally people would have it in the privacy of their home. This shook him to the core, and I could tell that I had shattered a beautiful image that had been in his head for 65 years – people having sex wherever they please. I felt bad, so I retreated to my prayer room and crawled into my sleeping bag inner to sleep. 45 mins later my make-shift bedroom for the night, a room of 4mx4m, was inundated with men coming to pray. I felt very awkward tucked away in the corner, but listening to their murmuring prayers was strangely soothing…for the first half an hour anyway. 2 hours later it got a bit annoying, but I had no choice but to stick it out.

143 km to Mashhad and I hoped to arrive by 1600 in the afternoon. Thanks to a delightful tailwind I blasted it in 5 hours with an average speed of 28.6km/h – winning. My only stops were for a man wanting to give me grapes and to take a picture of reaching 8,008km. This looked very similar to BOOB on my speedometer and made me chuckle.  I was gutted that I didn’t wait until 8,008.5km… A very kind man guided me to the homestay I would be staying at for 4 nights, and where Vali, the amazingly enthusiastic & friendly big dog, would help me with my Turkmenistan visa. This I now have. As of 2 days ago I no longer need a Kyrgyzstan visa, which has saved me $120, yay! I am now visa’d up until Hong Kong, what a relief. For the 3 full days that I’m here I can relax, catch up on fixing equipment and wander around the city that has so much to offer. This is my last 4 night stop before Hong Kong, all the other rests will be maximum 3 nights but most likely only 2. Time to man up… but first relax in the eccentric company of Vali. Last night we slept on his balcony looking up at the stars, it was perfect!

I’m not sure if you have been reading the poems/limericks that my good friend Sophie Bentley has been leaving in the comments section (not sure she does any work to be honest!), so I thought I would bring one of them into the limelight:

As the summers sun fades away,
The Olympic games come into play,
Dreams of silver, bronze and gold,
Shine upon a torch of old.
It’s hard to contain the pride of a nation,
Everyone cheering with such jubilation,
As Team GB start to win and score
The Great British public will begin to roar!
With Wiggo’s cycling feat we are wowed,
But equally Mark’s journey makes us so proud!

Thank you Sophie, I thoroughly enjoy reading them!

I will now leave you to enjoy the rest of your Sunday and indulge in watching the Olympics. I was promised some highlights last night, but all we got was the replay of the whole table-tennis game between an Iranian & an Australian. The Iranian won in case you were wondering.

Who knows when Internet will next come to me, but whenever it does I will do my best to write again. For updated photos, please click on my Facebook album here.

Love,

Mark
p.s. if anyone knows of anyone cycling through Turkmenistan on 2nd August 2012, please let me know. Company in the desert would be invaluable…

 

Photos of Iran (& Turkey)

Please click here to see a handful of photos on Facebook.

Iran is like a box of chocolates…

“Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.” – Goethe

Just so you know, I am writing this sitting on the veranda of a beautiful villa 40yds from the shore of the Caspian shore drinking a Bloody Mary & eating grapes, mmmmmmmm.

Leaving the city of Van in Turkey felt great, like the last frontier before reaching Iran. This was very much the case as the final 2 nights from Van to the border were truly in the wild. The road that led to the border was, for lack of a better word, shit, and the fate decided to throw in a mean head wind as well. One good thing about a terrible road is the lack of cars on it, so for hours on end I would see nothing but giant flocks of sheep grazing on the green mountain sides. When the conditions are like this I can let my mind truly wander as opposed to concentrating on the erratic driving. That first night I found a peach of a spot right on Lake Erçek (Lake Van’s smaller cousin). As soon as the sun disappeared behind the mountains and I had emerged from my evening swim the wind began to howl, putting my tent to the test. It survived and i nthe morning, not for the first time, I was woken up by mutterings outside my tent. It was a father & son sheep herding team who invited me to have breakfast with them down by the lake. No English was spoken, but plenty of sign language. I was in no rush that day so I hung out with them for a while. The funniest moment was when the elder started  savagely dragging the sheep 1-by-1 into the lake for a bath. It looked like such fun that I stripped down to my shorts and jumped in to help, taking the sheep by one hind leg and hoisting them in the lake for a 2 min shake down. He then waved me over to the donkey, it was time for the big boys bath! He did not go down without a serious fight, one might say he was being as stubborn as a mule…; legs kicking, water splashing,  ee-or wailing. His fight was brave but futile, as we finally conquered and submerged him for his bath. After 2 hours with them it was time to get on my bike to Özalp, where I would hopefully watch the Wimbledon final. I did find a kebab shop with the correct chanel, Hallelujah! Murray was looking good when suddenly the town had a power cut, great. So that was that. I blame my lack of support for his shortcomings.

Swing Lo, sweet Turkish tea
Brewing forth to take me to Iran
Swing Lo, sweet Turkish tea
Brewing forth to take me to Iran
I looked out my tent and what did I see
Brewing forth to take me to Iran
2 herdsmen standing there, beckoning me down for tea
Brewing forth to take me to Iran

This tune  – with extended verses for those interested – was ringing in my ears all the way to the border. 1km before the border I put on my trousers, as I had heard that this was necessary in the Islamic Republic of Iran, made myself as respectable as possible and went forth into the unknown. Making myself respectable was pointless as I had to march through 10  meters of thick mud to reach the Turkish checkpoint before being led to the Iranian part. It was a fairly simple affair with offices in porter cabins. I was asked about my health and my intentions in the country, standard for any land border crossing. The only minor problem was them thinking I was Irish despite me saying I was English , as it says Great Britain & Northern Ireland on the front of British passports. They did not understand the GB part, so assumed I must be Irish and that I was lying. It took some persuading, but eventually the pearly (muddy) gates were opened for me and my bike. I changed my clocks to 1.5 hours ahead, changed US$50 on the black market and cycled into Iran. The first 60km to Khoy were completely deserted but fortunately downhill as the trousers were already uncomfortable. The valley was gorgeous with jagged rocks and already far more trees than I had encountered inTurkey. The river was however very muddy and reminded me of Nesquik the drink, this made the sight of it more appealing. I was reluctant to start judging Iran on first experiences, otherwise you would think very little of the UK & France upon setting your eyes on Dover or Calais for the first time. I was going to let the country blossom in front of my eyes and witness the changes at cycling pace.

And blossom it did! In Khoy, my first true Iranian experience, I had a delicious kebab, ice-cream & internet given to me on the house (a recurring theme, I have not paid for a single ice-cream in Iran yet!) and 2km outside of town a young kid came straight towards me on his motorbike and stopped. He was returning my iPod to me, which I had stupidly left charging in the restaurant. This experience put my mind at rest and was the first of many truly kind gestures. The guys at the restaurant also taught me that there was a nut inside an apricot pip, this blew my mind! I soon found out that this was common knowledge and I felt silly for not knowing this before. If this is also news to you, you are silly also. Leaving Khoy I entered into field upon field of sunflowers, a true joy to cycle through. That first night I camped amongst them, surrounded my Nesquik streams. This was frustrating as I really wanted a wash and to clean some clothes. The time difference was also playing a role as it was now 1.5 hours ahead but the sun was still rising & setting at the same time as it did in east Turkey. This meant watching the sun rise whilst cycling, very cool, and the sun setting later so I could enjoy reading my Kindle outside my tent for once. 

The scenery changed dramatically from Khoy to Tabriz. From rocky deserts with large mountains to vast green fields growing all kinds of vegetables. There were not many towns so I had to amuse myself in other ways than meeting strangers. One game that has kept my mind ticking over so far has been with license plates, trying to guess where the car is from and thinking of words with all of the letters on the plate. Here in Iran the game has been taken to the next level, with everything being written in Persian, a completely foreign alphabet including the numbers. I would have to think like John Nash or Alan Turing to decipher these codes. This added to the challenge and I am now proficient with the alphabet & numbers, well kind of… Cycling in trousers was also starting to become a real issue and I knew I could not continue like this for the rest of Iran. I therefore decided to flaunt this rule and show my bare legs to the ladies of Iran, ready to accept any punishment that would come my way. My first striptease was before a police stop as I wanted to test it to the extreme. If it would pass this test, I would be fine. I gingerly cycled towards the stop, only to be hailed down by the policeman, bummer. However, all he wanted to do was chat and know where I was from over a cup of tea. The fact I was wearing shorts did not come up once in the conversation. Phew! From here on in I would happily cycle in my lycra shorts and put on my trousers whenever I stopped in a city, for lunch or in a market. Just before entering Tabriz I decided to camp in the town park of Sufian, as many people camp in parks here and it can be a great atmosphere. The grass is also normally pristine, so walking around barefoot feels like home. This night I saw 2 young French cyclists come by so I hailed them down and we camped together, swapped jokes & stories and enjoyed escaping the rigours of the standard conversation; where you from, name name, how much is your bike (hate this question), how are you etc etc. The following day we cycled the 30km to Tabriz together which was great. Without even discussing it we took it in turns to break the wind at the front in 6km stints, killing the distance in less than an hour. Trust the Frenchies to know how to cycle properly!

We spent the day sightseeing together and it was great to have company once again, albeit only for 24 hours. They then stayed the night but I left as I had organised a Couch Surfing host in the next city, Miyaneh, the following night. After climbing to the top of the Shebli pass at 2,200m it was all downhill to Miyaneh. Due to this I was able to cycle the 135km along the valley by noon. The valley was filled with fruit orchards, from apricots to cherries. I thoroughly enjoyed picking the fruit whenever I so desired. At one point a car stopped whilst I was having a rest, they were after directions to Tabriz. As chance would have it I could actually help, to which they were extremely grateful & surprised. As a thank you they lavished me with fruit and some of the best grapes I have ever tasted in my life, fresh from Shiraz in the south of Iran. I devoured the 4 bunches in no time eating them like an apple taking large bites out of them covering myself & my beard in red juice. To a passer by I must have looked a right mess. I arrived in Miyaneh with no means of contacting Poorya, my host, so I had to have faith that he would find me… I asked for directions to the nearest Internet cafe, but the guy I asked insisted on taking me to lunch instead. He spoke very little English, was a big dog bank manager and we went to the best hotel in town. This was great but the conversation went stale very quickly. He led me back to the net cafe where word had obviously spread like wild fire of an English man being in town and 2 of Poorya’s friends came to collect me. I was beyond glad! I had been camping for 12 nights in a row and I was crying out for a real shower. 

On the way to his house they told me they had a big surprise lined up, I was excited. Upon entering his house, I was greeted by 5 of his best mates all setting up the giant lounge for the evenings party. This was the last thing I had expected as alcohol, boy/girl mingling and generally having fun were all a big no-no in Iran and highly illegal. I had landed on my feet once again! The lounge centred around a central pillar which was surrounded by 4 beautiful & large Persian carpets. Professional lights & music system were hooked up, a bar in the corner where the host Poorya mixed some delightfully exotic cocktails and most importantly there was enough food to sink a battleship. Around 1900 people stated flooding into his house and immediately getting changed into their party gear and the girls shedding their hijāb’s (headscarves, which they are forced to wear in public). The atmosphere was palpable with the dance floor being immediately filled with my kind of dancing, free & wild. Persian, Turkish & Western music was blasting out. Needless to say I impressed everyone with my fluid dance moves. There was one hulk of a man from Azerbaijan who had all the moves, so I tried to mimic him. Everyone was laughing, drinking, dancing, having fun like young people should be able to do without the fear of the repercussions. At midnight the beats stopped, the guitar was brought in and a mass sing-along gathered pace, it was truly a beautiful thing and I felt so lucky for being there. That night I slept on a Persian carpet with 2 other guys in the room, sleep had rarely come so easily to me before. Not only did they know how to party hard, but they knew the importance of the morning after. A feast of a breakfast was had, after which lunch was already a hot topic – my kind of people! The day was spent talking politics, life in London, their wish to emigrate and escape the oppressive government, eating, me learning guitar (ish) and oodles of practical jokes. They were relentless! You couldn’t turn your back for one second without a live chicken being thrown in the shower with you, shaving foam being sprayed around or many many other little tricks. I was getting stitches with  the amount I laughed. One of the guys gave me his necklace to initiate me into their gang, I was touched. A close group of 5 of us went for dinner outside town before returning and drinking a bottle of vodka in chill-out style with more jokes being played. I thoroughly enjoyed my time in Miyaneh and a thousand thanks must go to Poorya and his friends for opening my eyes, making me feel so welcomed & one of them and being so open with their thoughts & feelings about life in Iran. The country is beautiful, the people are warm & hospitable to the Nth degree but the government are a disaster. This sentiment is shared by the youth & elder generation alike, and is sad to see.

After going to sleep at 0300 and numerous vodkas, I woke at 0530 to hit the road again as I wanted to reach Mohammad’s villa on the Caspian in 3 days. There was no real need for the rush but I fancied a challenge and a good rest in the villa. The next 3 days turned out to be the most physically, mentally & emotionally challenging of the trip.

Day 1: up at 0530 for an early start as I knew the Elburz mountains had to be dominated today, culminating in the 1,999m Rovra pass. After saying farewell to a groggy looking Poorya, an equally groggy looking Mark left town with barely any traffic on the road. Soon after leaving town I turned left onto a small country road which would take me through the mountains. The first 20km were stunning with views reminding me of England and absolutely no-one on the road, it was extremely peaceful. This peace was shattered by the first climb! I have no idea of the altitude as I don’t have an altimeter and the road was so minor there were no signs, suffice to say it was the steepest thing I have ever experienced in my short cycling career. At this stage of the trip my legs are at their prime and I could just about handle it taking one rest. When I did stop I was panting so hard I could hardly breath, and getting going again was tough. The one car I did see stopped to give me an apple, however the acid reeked havoc with my struggling heart. Reaching the top was an anti-climax as this only got me into the mountains. Before my eyes lay a jumble of peaks and valleys, and under my arse lay a puncture – fuck a duck. Quick fix and back on the bike. The next 85km were all uphill with varying degrees of steepness. I was in the saddle for 10 hours today with only a short break for lunch and a few water stops. I was really pushing my body to the limit. I camped 10km shy of the pass over the final peak as I wanted to save the downhill for the morning and see the sun rise over the Caspian Sea. My legs were shaking slightly at the end of the day so a good stretch was needed. I enjoyed the high altitude camp for the cool weather, this allowed for a good schnuggle in my sleeping bag. 
129km cycled

Day 2:
Another early morning with my signature Iranian road breakfast; banana & chocolate spread in a kebab wrap, this has been christened the choconanabab. First peddle at 0620 and a 10km climb to the top. Due to the cool weather and lack of traffic, it was bearable and actually quite enjoyable. Shepherds were leading their herds towards the mountains and on 2 occasions I was caught amongst hundreds of sheep in the road. When I was at the top, 1,999m, I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that the coast of the Caspian was at sea level = best downhill of my life, 60 km of it! iPod went in and the rest is history. The road began with giant winding turns before it delved deeper into the valleys with snappier turns. This 60km rivalled any ski descent I have ever done. Soon I entered a jungle and the humidity shot up! I had heard about this in Iran, but I had to see it to believe it. Not a single car overtook me due to the high speed I was travelling and the occasional ‘WHOOOOO’ would escape my lips. At the bottom I hit the main road, reality and traffic. The road was flat and would be for the duration of the Caspian Sea. Heaven for some but, as T will testify, I strangely don’t particularly like flat roads. I find them dull and monotonous, one would seem there is no pleasing me! I reached Bandar Anzali by 1130 and 110km had been cycled, at this point I knew a 200km day was a possibility if the conditions held out. In Bandar Anazali I had an early lunch of kebab and popped into the hotel by Dad used to stay in when he worked here in 1977. Then it was back on the road to Rasht and there were some ominous clouds in the distance. Just short of Rasht the heavens opened in serious style so I dived into the nearest shelter which was a flour factory. They offered me tea and biscuits, yes please. I sat it out for an hour before continuing. I reached Lahijan at 1800, 185 km and the rain came again, double hard. Again shelter was sought and I had dinner in town as I did not fancy cooking that night. I left at 1900 for the final 15km. I was drenched, completely knackered and just craved that elusive 200km to appear on my speedometer. At 198km I went over a bump and the contents of my handle bar bag went flying across the road. The road was rebelling against me making it a challenge right to the end. I reached 201km in Langarud and found the nearest place to camp at 2000, a park next to a mosque and collapsed in a heap. My head was a mess, dirt & grit was everywhere and the last thing I wanted to do was pitch my tent. Although 60km were downhill, the concentration was still needed for every km and I was completely spent. As I was putting up my tent a couple of guys approached me clearly high on something and I knew trouble was on its way. They left, but I had a feeling they would return. They did at 2100 and started shaking my tent & shouting violently in Farsi. I popped my head out of the tent with my knife at the ready and get very pissy back at them, shouting at them to F&%k off. One of them lashed out and kicked the head of my tent snapping the guy rope and sending pegs flying. They were high on crystal meth, morphine & alcohol, not a good mix and I was scared. I got out to fix it, very shaken by the whole confrontation and unstable after a long 2 days with little sleep. Once fixed I crawled back into my very humid tent full of mosquitos and wept hugging my teddy. There was nothing else I wanted at this stage than to quit and go home That night I slept very little & very badly.
201km cycled

Day 3:
I got up early and escaped the park still very shaken and very down. I was not in a good way and felt filthy. I tried music to lift my spirits but nothing helped. Looking left & right everything was flooded from the heavy rains as I was in a marshy area before Rudsar. At 0730 I came across a crowd of people; a family with 2 young kids were stuck on a roof with no immediate means of escape. It didn’t take long to realise that no-one there could swim. I soon realised this was my time to give back after being on the receiving end of so much kindness thus far. I parked up, stripped to lycra shorts and swam across throwing caution to the wind about the state & speed of the murky water. I took one kid on each shoulder and waded back to the road with them writhing around. I then returned for the mum who was clearly distressed to be in the hands of a semi-naked man and finally the husband who I took on my shoulders. He waved & smiled to the crowd as if he was Mohammad Ali after winning a boxing fight, I laughed. They were very grateful, I was just glad I could help. This made me believe again and I put the previous night behind me. I took the family & spectators for breakfast screwing my daily budget. I would happily live off bread & fruit at this stage, especially after what had happened to them. I returned to the saddle and the long cycle to the villa. For the first time my poor derrière was feeling it. The humidity, dirt and sweat were causing problems. The whole day was a battle between me, my bottom and my thoughts. The coast was beautiful though with families enjoying picnics and town after town smelling of sweet kebabs and selling fresh fruit. The jungle mountains were only 2km to the south. I, however, had one major focus at this point, reach the villa and relax at whatever cost. After 176km of flat roads and pushing myself beyond my limit, I saw Mohammad waiting in the road at 1600. I was elated & exhausted, bursting with emotion but I contained it.

Mohammad & Fuzzy have been wonderful hosts so far, taking care of my diet & health with great care. Mohammad cooks a mean kebab, we had filet mignon last night 🙂 I have repairing & cleaning my equipment, whilst they have been plying me with Scotch & delicious food. He works in the oil business, so hearing him talk about the sanctions and learning about oil in general has been fascinating. They lived in Iran before the Shah fell and have told me many stories about the wild contrast in living conditions, it’s quite extraordinary. Yesterday we took a drive up into the mountains topping out at 3,000m, quite a lot easier in a car! The temperature dropped from 33C to 18C in the space of 40 mins. I am going to leave this oasis on 21st July for Mashad in the east of Iran before entering Turkmenistan and cycling through the desert. There are many more challenges to come I’m sure, but I’m ready for anything the road throws at me. My pace will drop back to a more comfortable 120/130km a day. Those 3 days of wild cycling were enough for me but were an interesting test should I need to hit those distances at the end to reach Hong Kong in time.

Adieu for now, thank you for reading and your ongoing support. It helps more than you know! And thank you so much to those that sent post to Tehran, it lifted my spirits a huge amount and for this I am in your debt.

p.s. I have no energy for p.s.’s now. Although a quick ‘I’m fine Mum’ will never go amiss! Time for an afternoon swim to keep the muscles active..

Photos: unfortunately the internet is too slow at the moment. Please check Facebook album for a handful of pictures. I will do my best to upload some more soon!

 

Onwards & (hopefully not too much) Upwards

“I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m on my way” – Anonymous, but I will credit it to Fatma in Malatya

The last 19 days have seen me take my sweet time between Malatya and Van, where I am now. There have been some tough physical challenges en route, but, strange as it may sound, the mental challenge of adopting a slower pace for the latter 1/3 of Turkey has been greater. The sun gets me up at 0500 nowadays which means I turn in around 2100. During this time I have been pootling around 70/80km a day, which takes approximately 4 hours. The rest is spent reading, writing notes, trying to write poems, soaking up the sun, listening to banging tunes amidst some awe-inspiring landscape, eating and studying the road ahead… This last activity is definitely the most unsettling and makes me realise I should be relishing this downtime, not damning it. I won’t bore you with the discoveries I’ve made, as they will be revealed here as they occur. The most daunting, however, is China! I (stupidly) grossly under-estimated this vast country, realising now that I have less time in China than I have had in Turkey, yet the distance to be covered is 3 times greater (circa 6,000km). I have of course had 19 rest days in Turkey and the pace has been slow at times, but still. The daily km’s needed to reach Hong Kong by 11th October is rather large and I’ve only realised this now after actually studying the maps (I essentially plucked a date out of the air that seemed feasible at the time). I dare not utter the exact daily amount as it sends shivers down my spine. I can already hear the bets being placed 🙂 If they are, put me down to back myself, double H & Cyrus (my invincible thighs).

Anyhoo, enough about the future, let’s recap some of the past… I left you in Malatya, where I was awaiting my passport and being excellently hosted by Kemal & Fatma. When they would go to work, I would saunter into town and go to my favourite Gözleme (thin pancakes with savoury fillings) restaurant to watch Malatya go about its business along Kanal Boyu; kids riding around on bicycles with an abundance of mudguards, adult males going to Mosque or playing backgammon smoking water-pipe and women gossiping on the street (standard). During the 8 days I spent here, I fell a little bit in love with Malatya and the quality of life here. They seem to have got the balance just about right, and the food is excellent (the true way to my heart)! Kemal also opened my eyes to the other side of life, by going to impromptu garden parties out in Yesilyurt to eat sumptuous BBQ’ed lamb, all kinds of fruit fresh from the garden – especially apricots (65% of the world’s dried apricots come from Malatya) – drink wine & Raki and sing Turkish folk songs into the wee hours. Finally I got wind of my passport being in town, in a wedding dress shop of all places! I hastened to collect it and plant a big kiss on the crown. Sadly, its arrival was the cue for my departure. I left with a (metaphorical (grrrr, I’m a man!)) tear in my eye having made some fantastic new friends in a great town, but I was also excited to be back on the road! A thousand thanks must go to Kemal, Abdullah, Fatma & Penny. Without your help & kindness I would still be a criminal on the run with no passport. I am extremely grateful and I hope to re-pay you in kind one day soon!

Fatma, and her friend Seher, organised for me to stay at a friend of theirs in Elazig. The cycle from Malatya to Elazig was pretty mellow, which for Turkey means no +1,800m climbs. I remember there being forests of delicious apricot orchards and personally making sure that they were of the highest quality, a flurry of Turkish army jets flying overhead following the Syrian incident and the odd soiled nappy strewn in the hard shoulder. Everything else was business as usual. One morning I had noticed one recurring event throughout the trip, no matter what country I’m in. Every morning at around 0600 when I appear from the bush, forest, valley, river bed or come tumbling down a mountain back onto the road with my bike in tow looking completely dishevelled, I get the oddest looks from lorry & car drivers. I can see them mouth, “What’s your deal Broseph?!”. However, their intrigue does not extend to them stopping to ask what’s clearly on their mind. Perhaps they are simply too scared to approach the lycra-clad weirdo emerging from the wild. This makes me chuckle and enjoy the start of the day.

I arrived in Elazig around midday and waited to meet Dogan, my organised host here. He arrived on his bike, so I knew we would get on. After very kindly treating me to a delicious lunch and dinner of oodles of meat, I learned that he was taking a bus to Ankara that evening. He tried to find a friend of his to host me instead, however, after much calling around he had no luck. Instead, having known me for 6.5 hours, he gave me the keys to his flat and told me to stay as long as I wished.I was initially taken aback, but I realised that we were like-minded people and I would have probably done the same for him. I therefore graciously accepted and made sure I took extra good care of his flat in his absence. Over lunch we talked about a Belgian cyclist who had stayed with him 2 weeks prior to my arrival. He told me a story about him getting his throat cut by kids on the way to Bingöl, hmmm. As you can imagine this shocked me a bit as this was on my route east. Two hours later when I gingerly brought the subject up again he laughed at me! I had heard throat when it was in fact his road that was cut by kids trying to rob him. Still bad but considerably less worrying for me. To put my fear at the thought of him getting his throat cut into context, every time I mentioned Bingöl to people at petrol stations/restaurants etc I was greeted with the same reaction: raised eye-brows, “big problem”, “PAPAPAPAPA, PKK terrorism” and so on. Upon being asked whether they had been there, the resounding answer was ‘no’. My research on the area was of course far more extensive than asking your average petrol station attendant, resulting in me considering it perfectly safe to cycle along my planned route, especially as no throats were cut.

I left Elazig after 3 nights knowing that the Kuruca mountain pass (1,800m according to my map) was approaching. This turned out to be the toughest pass of the trip so far, but with the help of Eminem, Cee Lo Green and the fact it was only signposted 1,770m I made it up & over. The subsequent downhill was a delight, as always. Bingöl was now only 3km away and despite feeling 100% safe, my mind was playing evil tricks on me. I therefore stopped to put my trousers on (as a sign of respect) and to plug myself into my iPod to the only song suitable for the occasion, ” Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag” – James Brown. This made me feel pretty bad-ass rolling into town. Just as expected though, it was another town with people going about their daily business as usual. All that scare-mongering for nothing. I wanted to be able to tell the people who were just embellishing the apocryphal stories they had heard that they should actually visit a place before condemning it. I sat down to a succulent kebab with mountains of deliciously warm fresh bread and a cold glass of Ayran (a salty yoghurt drink; scrummy and a great source of calcium). A couple of very polite kids approached me and asked if they could join me to practice their English. I of course said yes and told Mr James Brown I would meet up with him later on the road. If there is one thing I have learned from this Bingöl episode is to take people’s advice with a pinch of salt, unless they themselves have experienced what they are talking about. I read dozens of stories and spoke to many people who said not to worry one iota. And at the end of the day go with your gut extinct, it’s your choice after all.

The next city on the map was Mus with a few little towns en route, as well as the Buglan mountain pass (1,640m). I have completely forgotten what a flat road feels like! I dominated the pass by 0830 and just sat at the top for 2 hours listening to some music, eating biscuits, trying to shed my ridiculous tan lines and looking into the beautiful Mus valley. My daydreaming was brought to an abrupt halt when I saw something (barely) moving across the road. It was a tortoise!! Naturally it had neither the reflexes nor the speed to dodge the cars & lorries rushing past so I dashed into the road to save the little guy. Good deed for the day, check. For the next 30 mins I was mesmerised by him (whom I dubbed Leonardo), watching his every movement until he disappeared into a bush. I took this as a sign that I had procrastinated enough, so I dropped into the valley of Mus – well in my opinion it was more like a plateau at 1,350m with a length of 80km and width of about 30km – and the first flat road since Greece, a thing of beauty and memory was jolted! Things appeared even more dreamy when I entered a town called Yaygin. I spent the next 40 mins searching for a Gin & Tonic. Alas! There was none, so I settled for my 24th Çay of the day. That night I slept in an abandoned house 15km shy of Mus, a scary but, on hindsight, fun experience.

The flat road continued for the next day, oh how sweet! Upon arriving in Mus it began to hammer it down with rain for about an hour before the sun re-appeared. During this time I sought shelter in a petrol station – a regular saviour throughout my trip so far – and after chatting with the manager he felt sorry for me and ordered a takeaway kebab which I devoured with glee. Following an easy day’s cycle on flat roads with a light tailwind, I saw a cluster of trees in the distance. This, I thought, would be my camp for the night. I peddled across the deserted fields for about 1km and arrived under the trees at 1630. Not a soul to be seen nor a sound to be heard. That was until about 1830 when the dusty plains came alive with vast herds of cattle, goats & sheep. Not quite the great migrations of Africa, but the closest to it I have experienced. Fine dust was being kicked up by the livestock creating a mystical haze in front of the sun setting behind the mountains, chains of animals stretching as far as the eye could see were being ushered by the shouting herdsmen across the plains & main road and the smell of fresh manure permeated the air, it was quite an experience which I enjoyed perched on a rock.

I was looking forward to reaching Lake Van for 2 main reasons; I smelt REALLY bad and was in desperate need of a wash and my sleeping mat had been deflating every night making the latter half of the last 10 nights very uncomfortable! I would be able to use the lake to discover the holes in the bottom of the mat and hopefully fix them with my bike puncture kit. The running water of rivers is no good for this and I am yet to come across a bathtub on the side of the road that would help me find the bubbles the air holes should create. Riding down into Tatvan, on the western shore of the lake, was a dream; greenery re-appeared in the landscape, towering mountains surrounded the lake and the thought of cycling downhill to a lake which is at 1,720m above sea level was pretty cool. Prince’s “Purple Rain” was chosen for this occasion. I stocked up on supplies of food & water in town as I planned to take a rest day on the lake. Finding a secluded spot was not difficult, so I spent 48 hours repairing 6 holes on the underside of my sleeping mat, reading, pondering life, the universe & everything and trying out some new cooking techniques of frying meat on a heated stone. It worked surprisingly well! I also promised my colleagues at Ampersand Travel that I would come up with a limerick for Lake Van, so here it goes:

Rolling downhill to Tatvan
My goal was to cook without a pan
I put a fish on a stick
A steak on a hot brick
Nothing like the wild life on Lake Van

After my rest & the resurrection of my sleeping mat (you would be so proud of me T) I left to cycle north around the lake. A slightly longer route than the southern road, but I avoid 2 x +2,200m passes, wise choice methinks. It was a pretty uneventful 2 days ride to Van, where I am now. The sun was shining, the camping was glorious and I pumped out a 134km day trying to get my legs used to the longer distances again. I normally love the company of kids, as I consider myself to be a large one. However, some brats have really pissed me off in eastern Turkey. They are rude and persistent, and then wonder when I don’t stop to chat to them. A group of them were mucking about near my tent until one of them tripped on one of my guy lines, snapping it in the process. I went ballistic and nearly caned the guilty child with my horse whip. Luckily I restrained myself, as that would have been wrong of me, but the little runt deserved it! It’s now lunchtime in Van – the city was levelled by a large earthquake in October last year, so currently re-building itself – and I’m about to find the deserted road that leads me to the Iranian border. 2 more nights of camping before I get to experience a new country once again. I’m expecting extreme heat (especially as I have to wear trousers), extreme hospitality and a good swim in the Caspian Sea.

I will really be hitting the km’s again with visas now restricting my stay in each country and 11th October in the back of my mind.I am of course sad to be leaving Turkey! It has given me so much in so many different ways and I can’t wait to return for a more traditional holiday, but for now I am itching to explore Iran. I will do my best to make another video perhaps a little shorter & less waffly this time… For now perhaps tell me what the last alcoholic drink you had was, go on, make me jealous!

p.s. a BIG congratulations to Jacintha Love & Christian Hamilton who are getting married today!!! I’m sad I can’t be there to celebrate with you guys, but I’m sure you will have a wonderful day nonetheless 🙂

p.p.s. for those interested 6,153.5km killed so far

Not quite as inspiring, but funny nonetheless:

“Shit doesn’t just happen, some arsehole causes it” – courtesy of Anthony Wright

Photos: Biggest kebab stick I’ve ever seen | Reunited with my passport | Me, Penny, Fatma & Kemal in Serdivan | Studying my map whilst the water is boiling | At the top of Kuruca pass 1,770m | Metin & I outside his shop in Malatya | Beautiful scenery but shit road to Bingöl | Beautiful road & scenery going up to Buglan pass | Sunning myself at the top of Buglan pass | Leonardo my tortoise buddy | Waiting for darkness before sleeping in abandoned house | Rock ‘n’ Roll on Lake Van | Leonardo’s cousin paying my tent a visit | The view I’m welcomed with in the morning |

I’m melting and it’s only June

“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose.” – Dr Seuss

I’m sitting in a cafe in Malatya writing my blog, eating a bucket of ice-cream and sweating profusely! The worrying thing is that it’s only 33C and I’m expecting heats of +55C whilst cycling through the desert in Turkmenistan and I bet there won’t be ice-cream stores every 15km. Due to the increasing heat my cycling routine has had to change to getting up at 0530 and cycling from 0615-1200 when I have lunch, nap, read and take whatever surprises come my way (some rather strange!). I hop back in the saddle at 1430 for the afternoon stint, it’s still remarkably hot at this time as the road retains the heat and acts as a furnace. Soon I will be getting up at 0400 to escape the scorching sun.

I left you last time whilst I was in the extremely good care of Abdullah (from Kale Konak) in Uchisar. My plan was to spend just 1 night at his house, but for numerous reasons I spent 3. His hospitality knew no bounds and I was happy whiling away the days visiting the sights of Cappadocia, attending classical concerts in caves and chatting to the guests of his boutique hotel. However, the main reason was to do with my Chinese visa. Long story short, I am not able to get it in Tashkent, Uzbekistan as I thought anymore. I had to courier my passport back to London to apply at the Chinese embassy in London and get them to FedEx it back to Abdullah in Uchisar, from where he will send it on to me domestically – quite the operation! It has also been rather nerve-wracking cycling for 7 days without a passport. I am still without it, according to FedEx it is currently in Paris on it’s way to Istanbul. I have the utmost faith it will return to me though. For now I am ‘hiding out’ in Malatya waiting for it as I have heard of more random police checks further east in Turkey due to the terrorist organisation PKK. What a palava!

After bidding farewell to my passport, Abdullah and his army of 7 giant dogs (Zeus the Great Dane being the Godfather of the gang) I hit the road towards Kayseri. I was quite sad to leave Abdullah, but the road was calling my name once more. Having boasted the night before to my friend T that I had only received 2 punctures on the whole trip so far, fate kicked in and gave me 2 more in the space of 30 mins, thanks (I’m blaming it on the bubbling tarmac). I pulled into a petrol station to repair them and stumbled upon a lovely French couple, Benes & Pauline, who were riding a seriously bad-ass tandem bike. I was both jealous of their bike and the company they give each other. As they were in no rush, and I’m generally pottering through Turkey waiting to be able to enter Iran (and on my passport of course), they waited for me to fix my rear tyre and we ended up spending the next 2 days riding & camping together. On the first night we were blessed with a beauty of a spot overlooking the twinkling lights of Kayseri from a hill 20km away. That night we indulged in Raki (local drink like Ouzo, present from people at Lake Sapanca), cigars (present from Abdullah) and star gazing – camping in style 🙂 The following day we peddled towards Sultanhani, a detour for me but they said it would be amazing (and it was) and I was loving the company on the road. I picked up lots of little tips from them on cooking, cleaning and shedding weight from my panniers which was great. Lots of people have been asking about my personal hygiene after 7+ nights of camping in a row and in the heat, good question. It’s surprisingly high even by my standards, as I realised early on that it was integral so staying fit & healthy! There are road side springs everywhere in Turkey for washing & drinking water, which is truly a life saver. I also try and camp next to streams as much as possible to have a bath at the end of the day and to clean my clothes. Despite wearing my Breast Cancer Care pink shirt in most of the pictures, I do switch tops on a regular basis – I promise! Having camped with Benes & Pauline for a 2nd night at another beautiful spot off the road (we were treated to a dramatic lightning show in the distance), we parted ways that morning and once again I was by myself. They have their own blog here, which is pretty cool.

Over the next 4 days I powered through to Malatya over 3 mountain passes of 1,800m, 1,900m & 1,800m. Just to put that height into perspective for you…..it’s really fucking high! There were lots of faux tops as well, meaning I thought I was at the top on many occasions only to creep around the corner and see a lorry crawling along 150m above me. I had an interesting camp site about 1km off the road overlooking a stunning valley, I felt completed isolated…or so I thought. I went to sleep at 2100 (on my now deflating sleeping mat from a teeny tiny puncture I picked up a couple of days ago and am yet to fix) and all was good. At around midnight I was rudely awoken by the sound of cowbells in the distance, I knew trouble was on its way. The sound of the bells got closer & closer and soon a torch was being shone on my tent from above and 2/3 dogs were barking wildly. Without going into too much detail, I was a tad scared. Rather than getting out, I thought I would flash my torch back at him in a “please leave me alone, I mean no harm” kind of way. He returned with more flashing, at which point I thought he was probably as scared about what was in the tent as I was about what was outside of it. With this in mind, I sheepishly poked my head out of the tent to be greeted by 100’s of smelly cows, 3 giant Anatolian sheep dogs and 2 petrified herders. Upon realising I wasn’t a serial murderer, and vice versa, they invited me for cay (tea). So there we were at 0025, in the middle of nowhere, with no form of communication, surrounded by animals and drinking tea. Rather pleasant, if not surreal. After 35 mins of this strange scene I gave a world-class charades performance of my need to sleep and tackle the mountains in the morning. I think they understood and slowly herded the cows down into the valley. The next morning I fumbled my way out of the tent, being careful not to touch the built up of condensation on the inside of the tent. My efforts were in vain, so I just stood up straight when I stepped in something with my bare foot, something soft and squelchy. “Hmm” I thought “If I didn’t know any better I’d say I’ve just trodden in some shit” I half-tiptoed half-hopped to a nearby rock where a quick nasal diagnostic comfirmed my hypothesis. The culprit (no, it wasn’t me, honest!) was one of the bastard dogs who it seems have a cruel sense of humour and laid cable right outside my porch. The war continues.

Cleaning the dog muck off my foot with my breakfast water, reaching the next town of Gurun – 17km away, no towns en route and a 1,800m pass in the way – was imperative. I arrived at 0745 parched & knackered. I then only left this small town at 1530, it was impossible to leave! First of all a local kid chatted to me for an hour over some morning cay, and then said I must see something in town so I said why not! He told me to follow him in his car, which I did. After 7.5km of going in the direction I had just come from, we arrived at a waterfall, whoop-dee-doo. Of course waterfalls are beautiful etc. but not when they are 8km off the road up a hill! He then left me to find the main road again, which I eventually did. 1200, time to leave town, that was until a motorcyclist stopped going the opposite direction. We chatted for a bit and decided to have lunch together in a nearby cafe. Nic, from Australia, is biking from Singapore to London so it was good to chat about the rest of Turkey and get some advice on Iran. Then another motorbike pulled up, a couple from Sweden! The guy running this tiny roadside cafe looked completely baffled at this international gathering on his property. I left these guys at 1430 only to bump into a Polish cyclist 1km further on feasting on a watermelon, so naturally I stopped. We chatted, swapped stories and so forth until I told him I had been in this tiny town for 8 hours now and felt it was time to leave and cycle more than 17km in a day. Meeting fellow overland travellers is always lovely, especially solo travellers as we are all craving contact and conversation about ANYTHING!

The ride into Malatya (where I am now) was an absolute dream. There was a downhill of 16.5km on the smoothest tarmac imaginable. Hitting 60km/h was always a target for me and I thought I would hit it here. I smashed it! I was shocked to look down at see 73.1km/h (45.4mp/h) on the dial! My average speed over these 16.5km was 41.5km/h. These are just impressive statistics not achievable on many roads! I arrived in town and was greeted in the main square by Fatma & Kemal, my Warm Showers hosts. Sounds dodgy I know, but it’s like Couch Surfing but for cyclists. They said I could stay with them until my passport returns which is very kind of them indeed! I am sleeping on Kemal’s couch in his flat and despite having never travelled to Europe, he knows more about European culture than anybody I’ve ever met in my life. They showed me to the only bike shop in town, which has been open for 2 months. They lack inventory there but they are keen and want to make a difference and I’m going to try and help them while I’m here. I used their workshop to fix a few ticks on my bike and change the oil in my Rohloff hub (quite nerve-wracking involving a syringe!). They invited me on a night ride to a nearby local town, Yesilyurt, for dinner. I was very excited at this propect! The beginning of the ride was beautiful; the weather was cool, roads empty and my belly was rumbling. Then, whilst riding downhill, Penny (an American teacher in Malatya) slipped on a wet part of the road and crashed quite severely. She was completely disorientated, couldn’t remember anything and had severe pain in her left shoulder. The ambulance was swiftly called and all 14 of us followed by bike, in the back of trucks and taxi’s to the hospital. It was all a bit crazy for a moment but everyone acted very quickly and professionally, and fortunately she was wearing a helmet. We were all at the hospital until 2300, waiting for the results – nothing drastically serious, phew! I wish you a speedy recovery Penny!! At this point my stomach was reaching critical stages of hunger so Kemal led me to his friend’s house close by. For the next 4 hours until 0300 things got a little crazy, in a good way! Upon arrival I was greeted with a domino’s pizza, :), a table full of fruit, bread & cheese, bottles of fine red wine, Jaegermeister and 4 of the kindest men! For the next 4 hours we ate, sang, danced, chatted and ate some more. I was still wearing my lycra but I didn’t care! I love these moments of the trip, when you don’t expect anything and you receive everything. These guys I will never forget! Today has been a bit of struggle post-wine, but totally worth it!

I will now remain in Malatya until my passport makes its way back to me. Then it’s time to knock the final 650 Turkish km’s on the head and enter Iran. May the adventure continue…

With the extremely patient help of Mark, we have been able to upload a video to the website and YouTube, you can watch it here. Comments have been made on the length & waffling nature of the video, and I agree. I will strive to make the next one more concise, somehow… Thank you to everyone who told me what they had for breakfast. As I hadn’t watched the video since making it, I was initially completely baffled why people were telling me what they were eating for breakfast. Took a while to put 1 & 1 together.

p.s. I have received a few messages regarding the recent PKK attack in south-east Turkey. This occurred a considerable distance away from me and of course I am monitoring the situation on a daily basis. Please do not worry, especially you Mum!

p.s.s. for those that are interested 5444.1 km have been dominated so far.

Pictures: Abdullah & Zeus, Me & Emel, Me & Abdullah, cycling to Kayseri taken by Pauline, Pauline playing backgammon, Benes & Pauline on sweet tandem, heavenly camp close to Sultanhani, Benes & Pauline, impressive bird shit pattern inside Sultanhani, mosque in Sultanhani, long road to mountains, power stance from cow-herder, another sublime camp near Pinarbasi, typical roadside water well for showers & drinking, top of Ziyaret pass (1900m), camp at 1670m before Mazikiran pass, my natural kitchen, having lunch with some Nic & Swedish couple and impromptu party night in Malatya (host Kemal 2nd from right)

I’ve got a lot of Love for Turkey!

If I liked a Turkey initially, I have now fallen head over heels in love with the country! I will try and outline why throughout this blog. This blog will not be in chronological order over the last 5 days, but more a mish-mash of goings on and my day-to-day moods, as well as general feelings since the beginning of this journey. Let’s see how it goes…..

I must confess that the dream shave I had about a week ago was not a complete shave; some pretty terrifying sideburns & goatee remained. It was so dreamy because all I had was my razor, a bar of soap, a running stream into which my feet dangled, a bicycle wing mirror and the rising sun. The result was not so dreamy. I then made things worse by shaving the goatee part and left a powerful handlebar moustache with the sideburns remaining. What possessed me to do this I simply do not know. Upon arriving at a restaurant one evening in this state, a man (Bayram) greeted me with delight – until he saw my facial hair up close. The sheer sight of me seemed to offend him greatly,and he mimed to me in no uncertain terms that I looked dreadful. At my request he glumly said I could camp in his yard and use his shower, which was super kind. As a surprise, and thank you to him, I shaved once again (this time a true Turkish moustache) and trimmed my sideburns. I showed him the clean, new me, and a giant smile was plastered on his face. This simple act earned me a free feast of a dinner and a roof over my head (well the floor of the restaurant). For this reason, the moustache shall remain!

I left the next day feeling renewed and refreshed after a rare shower and hearty breakfast, courtesy of Bayram. As aforementioned, Turkey has many, many hills! Since the last blog there have been 4 cheeky passes of 1190m, 1195m, 789m and 1350m, none of which were mentioned on my map, thank yo uvery much. In my mind there are 2 different kinds of climbs, slugs & snakes. A slug (the greater of 2 evils) just gently crawls uphill, sometimes relentlessly for 3 hours straight, plodding along at around 11km/h. Sometimes the road looks like it should be flat and I check my bike for problems as to why I’m travelling so damn slowly. There is no problem, I’m just on a slug. Then there is the snake, at least the snake knows it’s a mountain with roads winding all over the place with a solid increase of 8-15%. I respect the snake, as it’s not trying to be something it’s not. I am however dreading the day of a sluggish snake, I’m not sure what that would be like, but I’m sure it’s out there. Whether it’s a snake or a slug, the little known dark side in me comes out. Fortunately it’s a side no-one will ever see, unless they come cycling with me. All other problems (to be outlined later) I deal with better with time. Climbing I don’t. There comes a point, approximately 90/110 mins into the climb where I start to lose it and I mean compete lose it – not physically (my thighs Cyrus & double H* can handle anything), but mentally. I can’t quite explain it, but it’s as close to torture as I would like to be. I lose all sense of time & composure. I sometimes dare a dog to cross my path at this point, it would regret the day it did!

The camping & scenery is an absolute dream in Turkey! There are beautiful spots everywhere be it on a lake, in the mountains, in a valley, next to a stream. My favourite was on Tuz Gulo (Salt Lake); peaceful, stunning scenery, miles from anyone (naked time) and the sun slowly sinking behind the low lying mountains. If I had had more water & food I would have had a rest day here. I feel so fortunate to see parts of the country that others would not normally even see, or just whizz past in a bus gazing blankly out of the window. The joys of cycle touring I guess. Another joy is never knowing what is around the next corner. But I have found that if you are patient (and lucky) enough, good things normally lurk there. I won’t start philosophising yet, that will come in a later blog when I am even wiser from life on the road, but thoughts are definitely formulating in my mind…

One afternoon when the asphalt began to bubble once again I decided it was time for an ice-cream. I therefore pulled into the next petrol station in the middle of nowhere, drenched in sweat, mouth watering, knowing what was about to happen. I was slightly miffed to see 12 kids standing around the freezer, pas de probléme, I used my superior strength and brushed the little mites away – no-one gets between me and my ice-cream! Upon reaching the fridge, I found it was bare!! Not unlike one of the bears’s bowls Goldilocks stole porridge from. I raised my arms high in faux disbelief much to the kids amusement. I demanded to know the reason for no ice-cream, however being in the centre of nowhere (and, crucially,  not speaking Turkish) no-one could understand me. After much sign language with these children, I learned (assumed) that a delivery was on its way. We waited, all 13 of us, staring hopefully down the long & barren road. Eventually an eagle-eyed kid spotted a red & white in in the distance, seemingly crawling towards us. I’ve never witnessed such joy & complete pandaemonium in all my life. As soon as he pulled into the forecourt the kids pounced! Trying to open the freezers of the van to get at the good stuff, others were jumping on the poor delivery man, 2 kids even got up on the roof which helped nobody but was pretty funny. There was no way I could control them, so I joined them 🙂 I found my inner child (not a long search) and joined the mayhem. I managed to fit my whole body in one of the freezers to cool my body down. The vendor realised that the only way to appease us (12 unruly kids & 1 lycra-clad, moustached large kid) was to give us free ice-cream…SUCCESS! We were appeased. I then followed up with buying a round for the kids, and 2 for myself 🙂 You may think I’m exaggerating, but these 7 year olds were even more desperate for ice-cream than me. Utter madness.

I am now in Uchisar, in the heart of Cappadocia. It is one of the most beautiful spots I have been too, simply breathtaking. I arrived here and climbed the Uchisar Castle (1350m), quite a formidable view from the top! From the top you could see the sweeping valleys, the chimney style rock formations famed here in Cappadocia and the countryside as far as the eye can see. Upon descending there were 2 roads leading to my next town, Goreme; one the shorter, bumpier more scenic road, the other the longer road on tarmac. After considerable thought I chose the bumpy & scenic trip, and I’m so glad that I did! After 100yds I was already lost in the small streets, at which point I looked up to ask someone watching on. After saying hi etc. he invited me up for a cold drink on his terrace, which looked divine from the cobbled road I was on. Turns out Abdullah runs & owns Kale Konak, one of the finest hotels in Uchisar (recently voted so by the Daily Telegraph, Top 5 hotels in Capadoccia). I am a lucky boy! After chatting with each other over an ice tea and a thin cigar, he learned of my cycle and I learned about his hotel and his love of cycling also. In 2 weeks time he is organising the 3rd annual Tour of Cappadocia (sorry to break the story but as I’m typing they just played At Last by Etta James. The 1st dance Nick (my brother) & Karien danced to as newlyweds and it made me smile – love to Isabel & Robin!) and I’m sad to not be here for it. Instead I ditched my panniers, he, and his friend Nesat, donned their lycra and we went on 30km off-road tour of Cappadocia’s valleys. Not having suspension made this a bit tougher for me, but the scenery and simple joy of riding a bike with no luggage made me forget about each bump harming my derrière. I was in heaven! We stopped in the middle of the valley for a fresh OJ and another cigar (true cyclists 🙂 and stopped on various occasions to steal cherries & blackberries off local farmers’  land – so naughty, but so right. Oh the joy! I would never have seen this side of this area if it weren’t for these 2 kind gentlemen. I am forever grateful to you both and will not forget those 30km. After slogging it back up the off-road hills for an hour, we indulged in Kale Konak’s own Hamam (no massage this time) before feasting on mountains of food. Abdullah has invited me to stay at his house tonight, so I shall. My plans in Kayseri jut have to wait… For now I’m drinking a cold beer, overlooking the delights of Cappadocia from the hotel’s terrace and may even go to a local classical concert later, who knows…….

Just a mini-list of concerns & joys on the road:

Concerns on the road: getting in & out of tent without collapsing it due to my size & clumsiness; unannounced passes; sporadically checking my compass to double check I am actually heading east; dogs approaching whilst listening to iPod**; finding the perfect campsite; heat and protecting my nose; having to keep my clothes clean & salt free; rehydrating before you dehydrate:- that’s to name but a few.

Joys of the road: waving from everyone always keeps me going; stopping for tea every 10km and communicating my story; seeing the landscape slowly metamorphose from place to place; surprise roadside water fountains; the unexpected hospitality & kindness of strangers when least expected; eating whatever I please, whenever I please.

After my request for news in my last blog, I was inundated with messages of all sorts! Thank you so much and please keep them coming (funny, made-up stories, serious or mundane), they really do help a a great deal! However, despite going through the daily physical & mental strains which I moan about, it is nowhere near as serious as the chemotherapy my mum & thousands of other women have endured, are enduring and will endure. The big difference is that my pain is self-inflicted, whereas theirs is not, so I do not expect a great deal of sympathy (well a little is always nice). Please do give whatever you can to help here. In the infamous words of Tesco: “Every Little Helps”.

Im not sure if I’ve mentioned this, but my good chum Mark Chalmers has done a sterling job on the website (www.thewrightwayeast.co.uk). A complete re-vamp in style, notes to all the photos and a 2nd map to the exact route I have taken so far. Whenever I can, I will e-mail him my route taken and he will update it on the website, simples. I will try and update this as regularly as possible, so keep an eye on it. Thank you Mark!

BREAKING NEWS: I have set an arrival date for Hong Kong: Thursday 11th October. If you wish to be there, I will be at The Peak at 1500 sharp. Perhaps slightly masochistic to end on a crazy hill, but why not. This is for anyone wishing to fly out or for anyone who has friends in Hong Kong they would like to let know. The more the merrier!!!! Come rain or shine / mountains or deserts, I will be there!

* left thigh = Cyrus – from Cyrus Harding in Mysterious Island by Jules Verne. Strong, methodical and will never give up whatever is thrown at him
right thigh = double H – meaning Hungry Hippo. Not sure if Hippo’s have thighs, but if they do they must be pretty strong & powerful to hold up that weight. My right is definitely the power house.

** I haven’t mentioned any dog stories in a while, as I don’t want to bore you with them. Suffice to say that they are a daily nuisance! One day I saw a dog that was hit very badly (won’t go into details) in the middle of the road. I stopped to help the driver move it from the road and wait with it for the vet to come, even giving it some of my prized water. I had hoped this would appease the God of Dogs. It has not.

p.s. if you ever come to Turkey go to Istanbul, Sapanca, drive to Ankara via Mudurnu, go over Tuz Golu for a lunch stop then come to Kale Konak in Uchisar to feel the love that Abdullah and his team pour out on a daily basis. There may be more, but I’m yet to discover it.

p.p.s. I took the first video for the website at my amazing campsite on Tuz Golu. Hopefully it will be up soon, when I can send it to Mark somehow.

Thank you for reading.

Love,
Mark

Pictures: Me & Bayram (man who respected the Tash), sunset in Bala, me & waiter, me wetting feet in Tuz Golu, Knodel enjoying the limelight for once, in front of tent camping on Tuz Golu, perfect campsite on the lake, me & Tash, place called Cumhuriyet-amazing!, top of Uchisar Castle (1,350m), cycling trio enjoying a cigar and fresh OJ, Cappadocia, after off-road cycle with Abdullah & Nesat.

Istanbul & Beyond

First of all, apologies in the delay of this blog. I have a mixture of having too much alcohol on the last night in Istanbul with my parents and complete lack of internet thereafter to blame. But here I am, alive and well enough.

As I mentioned last time, arriving into Istanbul was not a triumphant affair for some reason. There was no relief, no shouts of joy, no downing of beers, just a sense of “huh, I’m here. Let’s find somewhere to stay”. And that I did. The first 6 nights I spent at the Chillout Hostel very close to the Galata Tower and just off Istiklal (their Oxford St). My room was extremely small but it was at least bigger than my tent, so I shouldn’t really complain, and the staff were amazingly chilled & cool as the name would of the hostel would suggest. That first weekend was spent doing some much needed laundry, buying some supplies for the ‘Asian leg’, wondering aimlessly around the city, eating 6 meals a day interspersed with much snacking and chatting with some ‘normal’ travellers who have far more sensible means of transport. On the Saturday night before my birthday Nate, Ben & I decided to hit the town to eat, drink & be merry. We succeeded in all 3 departments with the drink taking centre stage in the form of Raki (similar to the Greek Ouzo). I’m not sure when we got in, but I do remember the mad-skills of an 40ish year old man on the dance floor. Waking up alone in my tiny hostel room was no way to start my birthday, so I got myself together and decided to wander around town and eat lots. I soon bumped into another resident of the Chillout, Patrick, and we wondered together eating on street food all day. That evening I was treated to dinner by Chris, Amanda and their friends (neighbours of my Dad from childhood) on a roof terrace offering sublime views of Istanbul. All in all, a pretty successful birthday.

I wanted to get as much of my ‘admin’ stuff done before my parents arrived, so I could relax with them. This involved getting my bike fixed, buying spare parts, obtaining my Iranian visa (a mere €150!) and going to a very local hamam, Buyuk Hamam. Having a bit of online research I found picture resembling the one below, how misleading that picture is! My time in the Hamam was spent in the burly presence of ‘my man’ who beat, exfoliated, and hurled ice cold water in my face not too dissimilar to Chinese water torture. It started innocently enough with a 20 minute swelteringly hot sauna, my man led me to be doused with water and then rather rigorously exfoliated my skin removing a good 3mm. This disgusted us both equally. After another drowning session he led me to the main room for the main event, the massage. Now I don’t enjoy massages at the best of times, but this was more like him practicing some WWF moves he has seen Hulk Hogan perform in the ring, only I couldn’t fight back. Throughout this rub down a half-naked man was casually trying to make conversation with me, asking me why I was being such a wuss. I tried to inform him that body is stiff after 4140km of cycling, he did not see this as a valid excuse and I can only assume he muttered in Turkish, “harden the fuck up man!”. His favourite move was standing with all of his weight on the back of my knees, intertwining our calves, leaning forward and beating my back with his fists whilst my face was squashed against the marble floor. I tried to tap out on numerous occasions, but he took this as an invitation for more back beating. I decided to just wait it out and grind my teeth. Eventually he stopped and gave me 1 final rinse before leading me out to the foyer to drink freshly squeezed OJ and watch 70’s Turkish Rambo on TV with the locals. I have to admit, that once allowed 5 minutes of respite I did feel quite a lot better. I thanked my Hulk of a man and floated back to the hostel to chill out hard.

On 31st May my parents arrived at the House Hotel Bosphorus. It was a real treat to see a familiar face, especially ones parents. We ate lunch overlooking the Bosphorus before retiring to the room where Mum gave me new pants, Haribo & chocolates, maps of Central Asia and a host of weapons to combat the dogs, including a 3 foot horse whip…bring it on pooches! I gave her the stuff that I no longer needed/haven’t used since the beginning but didn’t want to throw away and then meticulously re-packed my panniers. In the mean time Dad was researching the road that lay ahead of me, it included: 7 mountain passed in Turkey higher than any of the Alpine passes, mountains in Iran that rose to 5000+m, the desert plains of Turkmenistan that have to be crossed in 5 days due to visa constraints, the Himalayas and then Talakmantan desert in North-East China (dubbed the Desert of Death), said to be larger and much more devoid of life than the Sahara – thanks Dad! I think I was quite content in my ignorance, now I can’t sleep at night!

The next 2 days felt like a normal holiday, seeing the sights, taking a boat trip up the Bosphorus to the Black Sea and eating & drinking lots. Seeing the Black Sea was very special, even more so as I won’t be heading up there on my bike as I have chosen the longer route through the mountains, clever me. This is more due to visas: my Uzbekistan visa starts on 5the August and prior to that I only have 5 days in Turkmenistan & 25 days for Iran, so I can enter Iran on 5th July at the earliest. Therefore I have a bit of time in Turkey and decided to take a longer route taking in the sights (and so far they have breathtaking!). After the joys of wrapping myself up in a duvet for 3 nights, showering whenever I please, eating & drinking to my hearts content, chatting with parents, sitting down to go to the toilet, saddling up on the morning of 3rd June to continue the journey eastwards was extremely tough. I couldn’t have been more physically prepared, but truth be told my mind was a bit all over the place. The inevitable question of “why continue” kept cropping up, London – Istanbul is pretty impressive. I now knew what lay ahead (well more or less…probably still don’t have a clue) and it excited me as much as it daunted me. The only thing to do was suck it up and start as early as possible (0700) and peddle hard out of they city, trying to get back in the groove….

That groove took some finding. Leaving Istanbul was as expected, lots of traffic, no scenery and I felt down. I went passed one of Istanbul’s airports and was very nearly tempted to take the turning off the highway. I didn’t and ploughed on instead. I needed a pick me up, something to tell me that what I’m doing is still worth it. You ask and you shall receive! The next 2 petrol stations I stopped at I was given water, biscuits and bread on the house, as well as comforting words and advice for my proposed route through Turkey by ex-lorry drivers. This may not seem like a lot, but these 2 simple acts of kindness cheered me up no end and made me believe again. It made me believe in what I was doing and why I was doing it. They will never know how much they helped me, but I am a strong believer in what comes around goes around. They will be fine! I pushed on to Lake Sapanca for the night as many have told me of its beauty, and I was not disappointed. I plugged into my iPod for the final 15km and was loving life once again. Families were picnicking on a sunny Sunday afternoon with the sound of laughter and the smell of BBQing meat hung in the air. I wanted to get involved in these smells & sounds. I found a cafe directly on the lake and had a sprite & a loaf of bread. The lawn was pristine, so naturally I asked if I could camp there. They politely declined and said camping on the lake was not possible. This sounded preposterous, I had to prove him wrong! 3 plots of land down there was a giant piece of land with perfect grass, directly on the lake and plenty of large trees for shade. This was it! I peddled down to the lake and found 5 x 20 year olds relaxing. I soon found out this was private land, but the son of the owner (Mufa / Mustafa), having asked some questions of why the hell I am here, said of course I can camp here! For the next 6 hours I experienced the kindest hospitality of the trip so far. After pitching my tent in the most idyllic spot of the trip, we went for a spin around the lake on his boat, which i got to drive as well 🙂 we then went for dinner where I could order whatever I pleased. We cruised around town in his white convertible Mercedes of course! After dinner we returned to the lake, he invited some of his friends to meet me and we drank 2 x bottle of Jack Daniels (well 3 of us did). At 0300 we had the best late night kebab I have ever had in my life, well I had 3. I couldn’t quite believe my luck, the whole evening was a bit surreal and a real treat of Turkish hospitality. I collapsed into my tent feeling very drunk, but also very happy.

Needless to say the following morning was a struggle. Despite waking up at 0700 due to the sun, I only left at 1100. 2 of those hours were spent just sitting down looking at to the lake, watching a few rowers and the ducks go about their morning business. Watching a duck dry itself by wriggling its tail is quite possibly the most enthralling thing I have seen in quite some time, also very amusing. I was not alone, for those 2 hours the gardener of the land (55ish old man who spoke no English) and I sat side by side not moving an inch and just looking at on the lake. It was simply perfect. Sadly I had to leave. That 70km day was uneventful. The hangover & 4 hour drunken slumber forced me to stop at 1700 and go to sleep at 1900. I knew the following day would be the beginning of the mountains so I needed rest.

With a 12 hour sleep, I was ready for the hills and they started straightaway. By 1100 a 753m pass had been dominated. Before the next one, I stopped for water and a rest in Taskesti only to be invited for lunch by a group of friends and the local Imam of the mosque. Eggs, mixed vegetables in a tomato sauce, honey, cheese, bread, olives, fanta, tea, were feasted on. What a blessing that was! This gave me the energy to climb up the next pass of 1210m during the heat of the day, not advisable. Fortunately there was a natural spring 2/3  of the way up the mountain which I stood under for about 10 minutes drenching me from head to toe. During this pass I started to hear the sound of popping candy, it was like music to my ears! This was until I realised this was an impossibility, it must be my bike. Hearing my bike cry out like this it always concerning, as I always worry its something I can’t fix. Upon closer inspection it wasn’t my bike, it was the tarmac bubbling up under the heat and my tyres were popping them. This did no real damage but was not ideal for the tyres. I only discover the height of these passes once at the top, as my map does not deem it worthy to mention anything under 1500m. This could prove interesting throughout Turkey. At some stage on this day I lost my watch which was a bit annoying, nay very annoying, but what are you going to do?

Along the mountain roads I was being entertained by every 2nd approaching or passing car honking & waving at me, this constantly kept the spirits high. Not quite the turn-out David Walliams had for his Thames swim, ;), but it felt good to be acknowledged. I passed Nallihan at around 1600 on 5th June and the scenery just took my breath away. It was as dramatic as the Grand Canyon and I was immediately glad I took the road less travelled to Ankara. This view continued for 40 km and I found a beautiful camping spot right next to a running stream miles away from anyone or anything. I could happily wander around naked, wash myself and clothes in the water and attend to my out of control facial hair. The ideal camping spot one might say!

It is now 1600 on 6th June and I’m in Beypazari. My route through Turkey will take me south to Nevsehir before turning left and east through the mountains, Malatya and up to Lake Van. I am now feeling better than I did after leaving Istanbul and am tired of writing, the road is calling me. I will try to write a little more frequently, as condensing 12 days into 1 blog is quite a task, as you can probably tell by the mish-mash of this blog. All you need to know is that I am very well, honing my camping & wild-living skills to keep my budget down, enjoying the Turkish hospitality and unexpectedly dramatic scenery!

I have also just realised that over the next 4 months (120 days) before reaching Hong Kong, I will not see a familiar face. This is a lot longer than anything I have ever done, in fact the most I have ever gone without familiar contact is probably 1 week. Please do keep your messages coming via phone, Facebook, e-mail or other, they really do keep me going even if I don’t reply! Thank you.

p.s. congratulations to Rachael & Paul on their engagement!

p.s.s. it’s starting to get really hot, I need more Haribo Mum.

Pictures: promenade on Sea of Marmara, blue mosque from birthday restaurant, fishing in Galata Bridge, scary baby heads in Grand Bazaar, cool Buddha with feathers in him, Black Sea opening, Mum & me, Dad & me, Mum & Dad, me & world’s largest ice-cream, driving a boat on Lake Sapanca (as you do), my idyllic camp spot on Lake Sapanca, lunching with the local Imam, beautiful but tough climb up to 1210m, stunning scenery, singing to The Good Ship Band, camp with running stream, what I expected a hamam to be like…me & my man.