22/1/24
It genuinely amazed us that there could be lightening all night long. At home we would stare longingly outside, hoping to see the lightening. Here it was relentless. Occasionally it was a bit closer and we did hear the thunder, but only once was it less than 5 miles from us. It was hard not to check the lightening map to be sure. It rained a lot later in the night. It was a bit of a disrupted sleep and we woke regularly.
The morning came and though we didn’t exactly hurry, we didn’t hang around. The wind hadn’t managed to dry the tent very well so we kept the outer separate in an empty bread bag. We pushed back to the road and set off on the slightly wet road. Fathi had nothing but incomplete holiday boxes. The road then gifted us a couple of climbs, they were hard to get into first thing in the morning. A couple of whooshing descents soon woke us up though.
One such descent led us into Yenifoca. It didn’t appear that the town had really woken up yet. We skipped the harbour side coffee shops and went down a little alleyway to something quiet. There were only two tables inside and one of them was occupied by two women who appeared to be council officials doing some stamping of paperwork. One of them helped translate that we only wanted a small amount of sugar in our coffee.
After using the tiny little toilet under the stairs we got moving again. We’d hadn’t got that far yesterday and so felt the urge to pound. The road was quite fast, so we made some progress, but it had a few unassuming ascents. A couple of villages later the EV8 tried to take us down a literally nonexistent road. We were beginning to have serious doubts about this supposed route.
We took the next possible turning when we could cross the central reservation and went down to the water. We found a little park to sit in and eat the kind-of-like cinnamon rolls, but with less sugar and cinnamon, that we’d bought the day before with some bananas. A couple of men came over to say hello. The older man explained that his friend, who didn’t speak any English, had been expecting some cyclists to pass through yesterday and they’d wanted to stay with him but he was away.
Murat, the younger and keen cyclist, invited us back to his house to have coffee and a sandwich. We reluctantly but quite willingly accepted. It was just that we had started pushing a bit harder but we couldn’t say no to meeting and talking to some friendly people. Why else would we be here? We wheeled our bikes with them, along the quiet street to Murat’s house.
His house was very modern and neatly organised. It was intriguing to learn of their standard of living. The outside of the house was never a trustworthy indication of the inside. As Murat made coffee, Arjumand took us to see his very excitable and fortunately locked away dogs, Kontes (Countess) and Aysa (Asia). We also met his shy nephew, who was spending his summer holidays gaming hard in a dark outbuilding.
Back at the house we drank coffee and then Arjumand wanted to feed us. We had to inform him of our vegan diet, and he brought a plate of tasty slighted toasted bread with a bowl of olives, dried red peppers and lots of olive oil for us. Murat served us garlic covered carrots and broccoli. We were happy to wolf this down while talking about religion, family, cycling, littering and careers. Murat had managed to comfortably retire by the age of 50. Arjumand was 70, and didn’t think it was good for the country that people were retiring so early. It was also nice to hear that he was pleased his country gave lots of food to Palestine. A proper Muslim will always give to those who need it. It made us sad to be reminded that our country, which has so much, is so inward looking.
We were there way too long and not long enough. Arjumand said he had a friend with a restaurant on the beach in a town 40km away. We may be able to camp there. It sounded like a good plan. Murat told us the EV8 would send us down very dangerous roads nearby and told us to detour using the main road. They walked with us till we started riding again.
The road we joined instead was a link road to the motorway. It had one of those signs that prohibited certain traffic, like bicycles. We wondered if we’d gone the wrong way but we hadn’t actually joined the motorway. It was a big wide road and it climbed gradually for a while. When it went back down, and then back up, it reached a huge junction with the D550. We knew Quinn had come this way a few days earlier. The weather had been glorious so far, but as we looked to our destination it looked dark and moody.
The reason the road the EV8 followed was so dangerous was because of the trucks. It went through an appallingly big industrial centre. We had looked down on it at first but now we seemed to be travelling through it. We weren’t sure how the road we were now on wasn’t dangerous. It was a hellscape. The air pollution was bad enough but then it began raining too. We had to mash as hard as possible. In some places there was no hard shoulder or worse it was covered in mud and stones.
Trucks often passed us closely, this road wasn’t really safe for cycling. It felt like we were being punished. There was a massive petrochemical factory nearby, that was where Arjumand had worked all his life. Whoever thinks these places are good ideas certainly hasn’t cycled or walked near them. As we got closer to Aliaga, the road got wetter. It was like a river in some places.
As we were about to turn off a lorry passed, drive through a puddle soaking Jonathan, and then promptly stopped at the red light. Infuriatingly short sighted driver. We were finally off the D550 but the road was still very wet. We must have just missed some torrential rain. There was actually a good cycle path through the centre of the town. We found the bakery and bought plenty of fresh, circular breads.
On our way out along the coastline, we got some salad too. Frankie also bought some dark chocolate hazelnut spread. It was like a little park but the big road ominously sat above us. We had to get back on it. There was a much better hard shoulder, and the world felt a little brighter, for a moment.
Bertrand had told us he’d had a puncture per day since Istanbul. We’d never spoken of our lack of punctures, 4000km and not a single one. Well now was the time. The rear wheel on the black Surly deflated quickly. A hundred metres up was a Shell garage, so we sped there as quick as we could.
We pulled out, not one, but two sharp pieces of thin wire like metal. Glass isn’t the problem, these are. We just swapped over the inner tube. The hardest part was getting the tyre back on, it was a two person job. The Sun came out and we hurriedly cycled the last few kilometres.
The restaurant wasn’t that appealing to us. It was probably a sandy beach with people. Not our scene but a good backup. Çaltılıdere had a little woodland behind it, near the water. There were lots of picnic benches but the areas near them were covered in glass and rubbish. We popped our bikes up top near the park where we’d put the tent, then went down to a bench to eat.
A few cars came in and out but it was quiet apart from the noisy nearby road. In the tent we enjoyed some more of the bread with some sweet foods like halva, tahini, poppy seed paste, jam and of course the chocolate spread. There was a big lighting pole nearby that illuminated the area. It wouldn’t bother us though, we were tired as hell.
Surly They Won't Make It 