13/10/2010 Kosedere - Intepe (Distance 59km)

6:30am - it's still dark. At 8:00am I remove myself from my pit to another grey day. I utilise my now functioning stove to make coffee and porridge. Somehow several hours pass and I'm still faffing around my camp. Dry out the mattress, wash up my pots, air the sleeping bag etc. At 10:00 I finally make it to the road.

Along the way I see some familiar sights. These bring some comfort - knowing that my course is correct. The usual friendly faces, toots and waves accompany my ride. I get to the town of Ezine. The faces aren't all so friendly. Nothing excessively unfriendly, but the blank stares make me feel very much the outsider - looking through my ever moving window at a tough, old fashioned, industrious town.



From Ezine I pick up the main road. It feels good to know I'm heading straight for Çanakkale - my intended stop for the night. The few big hills that I encounter are mellow enough. Up a particularly long climb it begins to rain. For no apparent reason my face cracks into a smile. I'm still very curious to find out what it is that I enjoy about this particular situation. I wonder what people think as they see my grinning mug pedalling up the hill in the downpour. “What could he possibly have to smile about!?”...And I sort of see their point – hence my curiosity...



I opt for no soundtrack today. There being two main reasons for this: the first - I'm hoping to wean myself off music a little, or at least not lean so heavily on it for purposes of motivation. And the second - its nice to get as much warning as possible from the angry dogs that are abundant in this area. Every meter proving vital in my sprint for survival. Okay - perhaps that's a little dramatic, but boy do those dogs look angry!



Twenty kilometers from Çhanakkale mother nature cranks up the anti and the rain really starts to come down. I take temporary refuge under the canopy of a disused fuel station. I remember passing it in the other direction thinking "that would make a cool place to sleep". I explore further and find the automatic doors can easily be pried open be hand. I wait for a gap in the traffic so no-one will see me enter and then roll my bike inside. I take a look around. In the cupboards and the desk drawers to see if I can find anything of use. Feeling a bit like a character in "The Road" or "Twenty-eight Days Later". I unroll my camping mat and tuck into my book. As I sit and read, my eyes constantly flick to the door with a porthole window leading to storage rooms at the back – fully expecting one of “The Infected” to slam against the glass before coming to eat me. This place is hardly the Marie Celeste but there's something eerie places once occupied by human life – with evidence they exited with little care for what was left behind. On the counter is the remnants of someone’s lunch, along with a news paper. I turn up various other artefacts when I have a poke around. I couldn't help but satisfy my childish curiosity and go “exploring”.

I feels nice not to be concerning myself with big distances per day. In the last of the light I cook some spaghetti and get an early night. Noting that the nights are definitely drawing in.




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12/10/2010 Kosedere (rest day)

The chirp of my wristwatch drags me from a deep sleep at 6:00am. Gathering my senses I hear the sound of rain on the tent. I need little excuse to sleep in. What a lazy git I have become!
Over the next few hours I wake periodically to the sound of persistent rain. I am pulled back into a slobbering dreamworld. Though I haven't been pedalling this past week, I don’t feel entirely rested. My days being spent slugging away with a pickaxe, and evenings slugging away at the organic wine on offer.

After some thirteen plus hours of sleep I unzip my door to the world, knock the sand off my boots, and step out to face the day. By the time I get myself ready for breakfast its practically lunch time. I decide upon the inevitable - that today will be a rest day. The quiet stretch of beach I occupy seems the perfect spot.

I fiddle for some time with my stove until I get it roaring (for the first time in weeks). Hot porridge with jam. Made with oats I brought way back in Austria! My friend Ellen whom I met first in Istanbul and then in Garp gave me Life of Pi, much of the afternoon is spent between the pages. I talk briefly with a shepherd who’s heard of sheep pass close by my tent. I share my biscuits with him, unable to understand most of the chatter.

I wave at passing fishermen – almost indiscernible against the grey sky and sea. I push the boat out with a whole bag of peanuts for dinner. More reading and I enjoy another early night – rock on!

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11/10/2010 Babakale - Kosedere (Distance 30km)

My iphone dies at some point during the night and so I miss my expected wakeup call. Fortunately I rouse just before 8:00am - giving me sufficient time to pack and eat. Once I'm through with breakfast I haul my bags up the hill to the main house. Sitting on the patio I soak up the vista before me. It's as though everytime I cast my eyes over the scene I see something new. Various features of the landscape are respectively cloaked and highlighted by the fluctuating light. On this particular morn the sun has pushed its way through the grey fluff to touch a circle of ocean. Another highlighted sliver appears at the base of the Greek island of Lesbos.



As the routine goes - George arrives on the quad-bike and we gather our gear for the days work. We walk the narrow path to the cluster of olive trees. With stick and rake we harvest a respectable quantity of fruit. Once the work is complete we make our way to the western most village in Turkey. I video my final ride - it being a most pleasurable segment of each day. If the commute I was making back in England had been like this, perhaps I would never have left.


As I pack my bike in the olive processing room George calls in to tell us its çhy time. For the last time I take my seat on the plastic garden furniture and sip the sweet tea. Looking around I see the walls I helped to work, along with the faces of my new Turkish, Australian and American friends. My investment of time, not to mention a few blisters, has been worth every drop of sweat. But as always the road calls. And I really must get on and sort this visa out.


Murat (Garp founder and owner) has returned today. Sahli suggests I stay for lunch and meet Murat. Well, who will eat Ramazan's delicious leftovers if not me!? I take a walk around the pretty little village and along the castle walls. At lunchtime I return for fish stew and fresh bread - scrumptious!! Once full I am beckoned up to the tea room over looking the harbour. Here I meet Murat and his girlfriend Simone who is from Holland. I'm glad I got to meet them but wish we could have spent more time talking. Sahli get a call and the group rush to catch a boat for an evening fishing. I say my goodbyes. Alone again.


I think because I was expecting the riding to be really tough, it turned out to be OK. Though I noticed my head throbbing as I crested the bigger hills along the coast - that’s a new, and slightly unpleasant sensation. I'm immediately struck by the silence, and actually I don’t mind it. It allows me the time to think and reflect on the week. Which has, even in its chilled out way, been quite full on. I'm excited to be back on the bike. In the three weeks that have passed sin e I arrived in Istanbul the weather has changed massively. It now feels very much like autumn. A very pleasant autumn, but autumn none the less. The temperature drop will no doubt make the riding easier. But the reduced daylight hours will mean I need to make efficient use of my time – hardly my strong point.


I use my phone map to pick the coastal road. I quite fancy a night on the beach listening to the sea. Soon enough a suitable path arises and I roll down towards the sound of the waves. Unsuccessful fire making attempt. Simple tea and an early night. Rain.