Diversions

Even our early starts are long after those of the locals.

Bikes clatter down the steep cambered cobbles into the town square; follow the road round and head north-east towards Develi.  Another beautiful morning, 8am, and we’re fresh after our break in Urgup.  Around us the locals are already busy and many stores are open.  Well, the tourist-related shops are closed, a telling indictment of lazy holidaying Western habits.

Develi, only 40 miles away, is relatively easy to navigate through.  The route notes are accurate and the townsfolk have, obligingly, raised a large-mosque-with-twin-minarets in the town centre.  Hard right towards Bakardagi and we’re suddenly on wide open, windswept plains.  The wind gathers, blows and buffets us - our biker profiles like spinnaker sails compared to the sleek suited rice-rocket racers that lap the circuits on TV.  

Fortunately the roads are mostly straight, tracking long lines of telegraph poles, and an occasional weave is not a problem.  We watch the sun rising ahead of us, south-east, and scan the vista for small groups of workers: families probably, often bent double in lines over their tilled fields.  The winter thaw has only just finished, so relative to the seasonal schedule of the Balkans, say, these Turks have been held back.

Our bikes are labouring too as the mountains start to nudge towards us and the gradient takes its toll.  A lovely twisty road takes us up to 2,380m for a pass and now we’re riding on the shoulders of giant rock masses.  The road surface deteriorates each time we crest the higher hills:  potholes appear from nowhere and need to be dodged deftly.  There are splotches of white snow on the sides of valleys, and I flick on the heated grips.  

Our groups stop for petrol or food, or in my case of course both, and we all loop one another.  Andrew and Marg purr by just as I’m putting on my gear.  I’m always surprised at how far a bike travels in a short space of time, and I look forward to playing catch up, and then a ride in a trio for a while.  I fumble in my gloves to connect cables and route the GPS, the pit-stop timer whirring in the bottom of my mental TV screen.  Then it’s go!

Secretly I’m curious to see how the KTM and Suzuki perform, and I guess I want to assess the riding level of the newbies.  With riding being such a large part of this trip, it would be odd not to be inquisitive.  Slotting into hierarchies is usually left unsaid, here as elsewhere, but you need to know who you're in with.

Can we miss the weather?  That's the question.  Raingear ready.

More majestic scenery so I stop for another photo.  More scenery still, yet I’ve not caught up with the guys - damn, that 650cc must have more to it than I thought.  Maybe my BMW bias needs recalibrating.

60 miles flash by since the last turn.  Still no sign of the others... and then I realise I’m out here alone.  Oops.  The penny drops.

I take a fresh look at my road notes, and groan as I notice the last right should have been a left.  Easy mistake to make when glancing down at the tankbag - the way the directions are set out it takes two or three glances to read the full line, and like an an old gramophone record I ‘jumped’ onto the wrong line, repeating the previous instruction.  

Yeah, whatever Ed.  The words of my first headmaster ring in my ear - ‘more haste, less speed’.

Turkey Part 1 Movie

I coax the clever GPS to tell me my future.  With no hint of complicity in her voice, the GPS declares solemnly that I have to follow the road to Malatya instead of Silvas, and loop back around to get to Kangal.  That’s 130 miles added the day, and the back up van doesn’t cover frolics such as these so I'd better be careful and trouble-free.  Bugger.

Just deserts?

I follow the Standard Operating Procedure and call in to group leader Mark, letting him know that I’ll be late.  I then set about getting home - curves and straights, cattle, cars or cops...  I roll in trouble free at 5pm, and note ruefully that Rory and Oliver were here by 1.30pm.

Still, I have to say I had a fantastic afternoon out there.  I’ve not missed anything.  It was a lovely few hours of riding, and I’m almost happy I got lost.  Almost.

I soak away the road miles in the hot thermal pool - just what I need to ease the aches.   Weird fish peck at my skin, whenever I stop splashing around long enough, and that passes for luxury in these parts.  Strange place, Turkey.

Alan and Tim offer their feet to the nibbling fish, whilst Rory goes the whole hog...  brave man.