14/10/2010 Intepe - Gelibolu (Distance 86km)

I'm definitely getting worse at these early starts. And talk about some late Mihailo influence - I now roll over and snooze when I hear the pittar patter of rain on my tent...what a softie I have become!

By 10:00am my oat and caffeine levels are sufficiently boosted and I'm feeling most operational. As I wheel my bike to the road I detect a slight tailwind. So to those of you who wished me a "good wind" - thankyou, I just got it! As to be expected (with said wind assistance) the ride to Çanakkale is easy and I arrive thirty minutes ahead of my ETA.

As I cycle toward the ferry port I notice a number of cycle paths! I think the first I've seen in Turkey. The town of Çanakkale has quite a modern feel - atleast when compared the settlements I've been passing to and from Babakale. Some quite trendy looking shop fronts and many cafés. I suspect tourism is rife here but it doesn't have the same feel as Sultan Ahmet (the hostel/hotel district of Istanbul, that gets quite tiresome after anything more than a few days thanks to the tourist density).

I pay my 2tl and take my place on the ferry. For the third time on the trip I use my webbing strap to lash the bike down securely. That's three uses in as many months - enough usage to justify the carrying the weight...let me consider it for another 5000km. I can't help but think that when I reach more exotic climbs it will become a sling from which to suspend my bike as I traverse a crevasse on a zip-line made of vines...yes...anyway.

Forgive my brief departure from reality. The real me is currently sitting under a meagre shelter on the top deck of a lumbering car ferry in the pissing rain.

Half an hour later, back terra firma, I roll through the town of Eceabat. I lean the bike against a bench and call into a shop for some bread and a jar of honey(which I have been craving for some days). By some bizarre means the tailwind has become a slight headwind - though I maintain the same direction as this morning. The flat road tucks tight to the coastline and so makes for interesting cycling. I see many potential scenic camping spots but having had several lazy days I need to press on atleast a little while longer. A road sign informs me I'm 300km from Istanbul - assuming no problems occur that's three days ride.



My only company for the latter half of the day is the raindrops - sometimes lots, sometimes only few, but always some. Not a single car passes me for several hours. At five o'clock I pull into a café to warm up with some çay (pronounced chi). I sit for almost an hour. My eyes flitting between the rain, my emails(thanks to free wifi) and the half dressed women that seem to feature in every Turkish music video(courtesy of a TV meters from my table). All the staff are very friendly and insist I sit inside rather than head out to the rain. At 0.5tl for one çay I could well do just that - but it wouldn't serve to get me any closer to Istanbul. Back on the wet saddle my body takes some warming up. I see the slightly unnerving sight of a kid(perhaps 14 or so) with a gun - that looks mighty substantial for an air rifle, though I suspect that's all it was. He doesn't return my cheery greeting and for the next 200 meters a tuck my head a little lower down between my shoulders – half expecting to feel the sharp sting of an air propelled pellet.

At 6:30 I start looking for camp spots. I'm not feeling very picky. Actually I'm feeling cold and wet. I wheel the bike down a small embankment and wait for the cover of dark.



Note: I've been attempting to shoot video - hence a lack of photos.

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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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