7/1/25
The night did turn out more peaceful than the one before it. Once the Moon had set, the true number of stars revealed themselves. It was an epic night sky, the kind you can only dream about in the UK, where staring at an area of sky yields a seemingly limitless number of tiny specks of light.
Frankie was sure she heard some foraging boar during the night, but we never saw them unfortunately.
Before the Sun came up we got the stove working again. We had suddenly realised that drinking the tap water perhaps wasn’t advisable. We’d filled up all our bottles at a tap by the side of the road the day before. We made some coffee before we even starting packing up. It was refreshingly relaxing to feel free camping and not worry about being seen.
The man we’d helped the night before waved and said good morning. We offered him some of our food. He turned it down, pointing to his gut, and said he had a problem. He didn’t look well. It was sad for us to see. He wished us a good holiday. We wished we could do anything to help him.
We pushed our bikes up the steep rocky path back to the road. It remained a glorious coastal route. Right on the edge of water. It undulated along amongst the pines. A Turk Telecom lorry went past hauling telephone masts. A little further along we were riding over the cable laid across the road. This whole road would be shut at home. Probably for months.
We passed a lot of logging operations. It wasn’t clear whether they were cutting plantations or freshly deforesting the area. Some men were stacking logs by the side of the road. They didn’t seem happy to be there. As we passed one of the logging camps a dog started barking. We were ready to jump off before we saw he was on a leash. He was jumping a metre clean into the air. We could only imagine how he wanted to greet us.
We had some big climbs to do today. It was only the second day back on the bicycles full time and we were a little apprehensive now they would go. They were both about 5km and 250m of elevation each. There was only a couple of kilometres in between them so it may as well have been one big climb.
The climb started just before the village of Arbuk when the road turned steeply uphill. The gradient continued to be signed, and it suggested it was 5%. It was definitely a lot more in many places. There were a couple of switchbacks, with tricky steep corners. We’d have liked to utilise the other side of the corner but there were often cars coming. Looking back across the sea was idyllic.
We reached a flatter part, a scenic viewpoint. When we stopped we were overcome by the smell of urine. Then we remembered that we’d just seen a camper van stop. Not to admire the view, but to empty their sewage on the side of the road. Great. We moved to the next lay-by.
We probably shouldn’t have stopped, because after we swooped downhill, this first climb continued, and our legs did not enjoy getting going again. As we finally passed the top and entered the inner parts of the mountains it was all worth it. Like another mini world. It was cloudy. Houses dotted all around the valley. We could hear the sound of buzzing machinery, probably olive harvesters.
It really wasn’t far before we were heading uphill again. It was brutally steep once more. Ten, eleven percent. We couldn’t help but compare it to our other climbs, like the Lukmanier pass. It never seemed to end. It passed the edge of a village and there was momentary respite before it continued climbing again.
Just as its endlessness was becoming more than irritating, a young man arrived behind Frankie and said hello. He had a clear New Zealand accent and told us of his travels from Singapore. He’d been on the road a balmy eleven months. The company was relieving. We forgot we were even climbing. Shortly after meeting we all stopped by a bus stop which had an orange tree. We devoured some oranges together. A bit pippy, but still delicious.
We’d basically reached the top, but there was a few metres more elevation. At the top Quinn went into downhill mode and off he went. Oh to be 19 again. He actually enjoyed racing to his death. We went slowly, taking a few pictures on the way. Not far from the top we bumped into some Russians who’d been touring round Turkey. They looked pristine. All their gear was immaculate and it was hard to believe they’d cycled anywhere, let alone up the 7% slope that we were now descending.
On the way down the air turned humid and the landscape green. There was a definite microclimate of sorts. We passed an old arched bridge of some kind, as well as something built into the side of the cliffs. They looked potentially Roman. Eventually the road turned flat and we were cycling through yet more olive groves where people were working to harvest.
At the turning to Oren was Quinn. He must have been waiting a while the speed he was willing to go. He’d bought some typical Turkish bread. It was a sort of elongated diamond shape. They sold it everywhere, often in glass boxes outside the shops, and they didn’t sell many other kinds. Only sesame seed covered rings. The three of us decided to cycle into Oren to find a larger supermarket. There were some ruins of some kind on the way, tucked away amongst the houses.
The area was completely flat, no wonder there was a settlement. It was at least 2km and the long straight road made it drag on. We bought supplies, including Turkish bread, some more nuts and dried fruit as well as some peppers and cucumber. We finally remembered to buy more toothpaste and some small cloths. We needed to clean the rust off our chains. The wet day in Rhodes had left its mark.
Quinn wanted to stay a bit longer and charge his devices in a restaurant. We headed off west out of Oren and towards a campsite that looked good. The route took us through much ‘missed’ industry. We hadn’t seen any in Turkey yet but it had to be somewhere. A huge towering coal power plant, but also a shipyard where they were constructing sailing boats.
Our legs were completely shot by now. Every little climb was tiring. The road surface was horrible. It seemed to have been resurfaced with comparatively large stones rather than tarmac. They do this stone spraying at home too. It’s a cheap method but it was bumpy and hard to keep a rhythm.
The campsite was round one last bend according to google. But then it came into view. The most beautiful bay and beach, it looked perfect. Only it was at least 20m below us, down a ridiculously rocky track. Nothing could cycle that. Let alone drive it.
We were committed. Down we went, walking, hands on the brakes, bumping the bikes down as gently as we could. All the while desperately trying not to think about pushing them back up.
It felt worth it already. There was a choice of places. Difficult vehicular access meant there weren’t any other people and much less rubbish. The beach was littered with fire pits. We found a nice place to sit on the beach to eat. Quinn had said he would join us and we couldn’t help but look back up the hill expecting to see him at any moment. It got later and later and we assumed he’d carried on, it couldn’t possibly take him that long to get to us from Oren.
It was just before sunset when we saw him coming down the track. Walking, no bike in sight. Turns out he’d already been down once, but lost two of his many loaves of Turkish bread on the way down and had gone back up to retrieve them. We were in the process of boiling some water for tea and after Quinn returned from his beach exploration we sat together to drink.
It was a warm evening and it made the long night palatable. It had been a while since we’d had a fluent discussion with anyone really. Quinn had an infectious youthful exuberance which we’d been soaking up since we met him. It made it very hard to know why we were ever worried about anything. We nibbled at our snacks and discussed everything and anything. From our current journeys to our past experiences. Quinn had travelled the world alone and had gained a curious maturity that intertwined with his youth.
Eventually the time came to set up our tents, just as it began to lightly spit. it was nice to be camped next to someone else. Like we were in a team. Though Quinn had posited the idea of riding with us for a few days, he’d decided to head north more quickly. It was only a matter of hours but we felt like we’d known him for weeks.
Surly They Won't Make It 