8/1/25
The morning was bright, but not sunny. We woke up before Quinn and started packing away. Halfway through we decided we should wake him up. We wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye but waking up when the others have completely packed might be disheartening. He was sleeping like a log. Firmly at home in his tent.
We didn’t have breakfast or coffee, we planned to stop in the village just up the road. We said our goodbyes and began the arduous task of pushing the bikes up the rocky path. Quinn didn’t leave long after us and we waited to see him off, after insisting he wore his helmet, which appeared to be falling to pieces. He was heading back the way we’d come, then travelling directly north.
It was odd how quickly we’d become accustomed to his presence and there was a momentary silence in the air. After a short incline we were at the village and it felt like it would be a popular tourist spot in the summer. Colourful signs and closed market stalls along the street. The restaurant was open, and we ordered some Turkish coffee. They were 30 Lira each, that’s about 66p. They came with a shot of water, a flower and a little bit of Turkish delight on a stick. Unfiltered coffee is a lot grainy, agitate at your own risk!
It wasn’t very early. Maybe subconsciously we were delaying the inevitable. Before we left we bought some water. It’s stupidly cheap and the cost must be entirely eaten up by the plastic and the transportation. The cashier spoke fairly good English and was a full on Liverpool supporter. He was very friendly and we discussed how unbearable it is in the summer.
We left the village and soon saw the looming steep ascent ahead. It looked ridiculous and we had no choice now. We were to climb for the next 8km, and travel upwards over 500m. There were multiple switchbacks and the gradient was easily a sustained 10% in multiple places. We stopped a couple of times when there was a little bit of flatness and we could take a picture.
The road flattened out a couple times when we passed settlements. This meant the overall average grade was a bit misleading. Before the final, and steepest part, we saw a jam stall and hopped off. There was no one there and we went in search of the owner, calling out ‘Mehraba’. A young man came out. He barely knew what they all were but we figured it out with some sniffing. We bought an apricot jam that had the kernels in, and a jar of figs in syrup that looked sublime.
Before we left he asked if we wanted to visit the mosque. It was right behind us, hiding in plain sight. We said sure, and told him that we didn’t have any long clothes to hand. He gladly went inside to get us some more acceptable attire. After covering up, Frankie wasn’t sure if she should be using the shawl for her arms or her head, another older man had arrived.
He seemed to be a humorous soul, and we would have loved to have been able to understand him. As it was, the younger man translated what seemed to be lengthy sentences into brief interpretations, all the while chuckling at what he was hearing in Turkish. It’s customary to wash before prayer and the man wanted to show Frankie while encouraging Jonathan to film them. It seemed more performative as opposed to proselytising. Jonathan happily washed afterwards, despite it not being insisted upon, having not washed in a few days.
They put the heater on in the corner of the ornately, but not lavishly, decorated hall of the mosque and we waited till prayer time. Apparently twenty past one was precisely the right time, rather than on the hour, and the call to prayer went out on the megaphones above us. After it had finished we sat to watch them pray. Standing on the rug in their places, kneeling and then walking in to the front to chant. It was quite peaceful.
Or it would have been, had the older man not told us, through our translator just before praying, that the route we were taking was dangerous. Apparently some tourist had been mugged and it was ill advised to go that way. We desperately sought more information but to no avail. Just before we left the Imam seemed to arrive. He first whipped a large colourful bird, that we couldn’t identify easily but which looked like a slender turkey, off the top of his car. Then he said he’d heard nothing of the sort, again through our translator.
We decided to ‘chance it’. We’d had nothing but good experiences of the Turks so far and the whole place had been lovely. We set off up the final hill, our legs difficult to get going again. At the top, this was the very top, we stopped again for some food. Some bread and banana. We’d ridden a grand total of 10km in an hour and a half of total riding time. Which seemed minimal and kind of ridiculous as we were completely knackered.
Still, it was downhill from here. We went hammering down the descent, a little nervous about the next turning, when a man riding a scooter pulled up next to us. He was grinning, it was the older man from the mosque. He waited for us to reach the turning and then insisted we don’t turn left but keep straight on. It was miles round the other way. We had no internet so couldn’t translate and simply apologised and took the turning we intended to.
It was narrow rural road with a good surface. It was quite flat to start with, and the ground either side would have made an excellent campsite. We hadn’t booked our accommodation in Bodrum yet, as it seemed to be way too far the rate we were going. The road mainly headed downhill through the pines. Soon we were in the dreaded village. There was a silent tension between us. It was ominous to have such a warning. Was he a guardian angel or just a little eccentric?
It was a pretty village, we didn’t see anyone but a man harvesting olives. Nothing happened. We were soon entering a denser pine woodland and there was a steep climb. We weren’t in the mood for it but the scenery was sublime. It probably should have been the nicest part of the day. Slowly but surely we both climbed the hill and decided we had absolutely nothing to worry about. Especially once we hit the downhill again. We had a big descent on our hands, through gorgeous woodland to start with.
When you’re travelling faster, you obviously spend less time looking around in each moment. The next 20km took no time at all. After speeding through the woods we went into an urbanised area, a long town called Çiftlikköy that seemed to go on for miles. We stopped and decided we could, and would, make it to Bodrum so we confirmed our reservation.
The road continued winding down all the way to the coast. The route was hard to contemplate looking at the map. It was hard not to correlate the up and down of the route with the elevation. The route said there was only 10km left and 150m of ascent. We were encouraged by the closeness of more comfortable lodgings and pressed as hard as we could. It was uphill first, one last 7% incline, before we met the busy dual carriageway that was the D330.
It had a hard shoulder, and we utilised it the best we could but it had some weird dimpling. Probably to make a noise for cars to slow them down. It was a fast downhill with some tight curves. We endured it and resisted trying to come off it too early. We had to travel a good 2km further, and go up and down a couple of times, to find the house.
Even then, we weren’t at the house. We had to message the owner when we reached a supermarket to get further directions. She video called us and asked if the bikes were light. That would be a no. She suggested going up and round the back of the houses. They were set into a steep hill. At the top we had about 30 stairs to come down. We were used to it.
It took us 15 minutes but we were soon able to relax a bit. The house was small, dark and cool but with a lovely outdoor terrace. We quietly took the bikes into the house, not drawing attention from the owners parent who lived above. A quick trip to the supermarket, that was directly below, and we had some bread, chickpeas and smoked aubergine paste. A little mezze dinner platter.
We’d booked three nights in Bodrum. Two nights was never enough to really rest. We’d done some mega climbs and were free of the time pressure, at least for the moment. Hopefully Bodrum would be an interesting place to stop. We ate some of the delicious jams we’d bought. They were divine. Later on it started to rain hard. We’d made a good choice apparently, let’s hope this place doesn’t flood.
Surly They Won't Make It 