Having a paddy

Ok, this was Greece, but it's my stock 'rainy weather' shot!

Thunder and lightning for breakfast, along with a hard-boiled egg and carrot marmalade. Yes, carrot marmalade.  Take that, Paddington.

Rain outers on, and we’re grateful Oliver is leading us out of the city – I’m amazed he can navigate so well in these conditions; it’s not just the roads that are slick.  If you're not familiar with it, imagine struggling for vision through the rain drops, dealing with slick patches on the road (paint, manhole covers, oil slicks); dealing with foreign signs and questionable driving standards in an unfamiliar environment... oh, and reading a small map on your lap whilst on the move.  Piece of cake, eh?

In my head a teacher’s voice starts up, to alleviate the depressing weather. ‘This morning, class, we will be riding in the rain.’   I start to run through an internal checklist.

Keep your wet summer gloves on for feel, but try not to get cold. Stay off the white lines and manhole covers - they’re slippery when wet - and remember your braking distances are doubled, so don’t make late turns or sudden stops.  Choose between stinging rain in the eyes, or stare out from behind the misted rain-drops (which is like peering through a net curtain).  Allow for the other road users being similarly handicapped, and try not to miss the crazy driver slaloming up the lanes.  And finally, for the next 90 minutes as we descend muddy, greasy mountain hairpin corners, keep well away from those massive Russian lorries – they probably couldn’t stop even if they wanted to.

It was a rotten start to the day.  Still, at least we were heading to the beach.

This was the day Tiff stripped off (her boots) and went for a dip, Iran-style

By late morning we’ve made it to the coast at Astara and the rain has eased this side of the mountains. [As I write this, another thunderstorm has just knocked out the power at our hotel... and we’ve not had even dinner yet.]  The guys stopped for fuel and, having plenty, I go on to try and experience some ‘culture’, like.   Oliver and Tiffany made the most of the coast and went for a dip.  Hardly Hawaii, eh?

I didn’t much fancy the ‘Russian Bazaar’ that was on the tourist trail, and nor was I ready for another bitter tea that comes at our regular refreshment stop.  I was feeling a bit of cabin fever, I guess, after being rather constrained by our rules and routines.  I took my time and instead followed a little side road up amongst village fields, away from the main coastal A-road.  I was after a bit of 'me' time and distraction.

This area has lots of rice paddies and I wanted to take some movies and some stills of the lovely settings: this could almost be Vietnam, somewhere I visited a couple of years ago.  

Without being told, I'd never have suggested this was "Iran".  You?

Again, he looks grumpy, but he gave me a friendly enough wave.

I had a few mini-conversations with folks who stopped to see what I was doing. It was easy to convey how picturesque the setting was. Green prickles where the rice seedlings were being planted; wonderful reflections off the muddy water of mountains, and of study women up to their knees in the paddy. I really enjoyed just fiddling around with the camera, watching the different activities.

A decade ago I was in Japan for work for a few months.   One long weekend, I accompanied friends out to the countryside and helped harvest the rice crop.  It was hot, hard work and I ached afterwards.  

I remember the harvesting processes now, and I'm very satisfied to see another part of the crop-cycle.  And I don't get sweaty this time.  Back-breaking work it looked.

After about half an hour later, I was getting nervous - best not to let too much time go by in case something happens later on, I said to myself.  Same story - this trip is about covering ground quickly, when I bet a cyclist would actually engage more and thus appreciate everything more deeply.  Tick tock tick tock.

I knew I’d be somewhere in between the various riding groups, and moved on.  As it happened, Mark and our Swiss cheese, JB, went by as I got back to the main road; so I tagged along with them to a lunch stop.  Mark was eager for fish from one of the local seaside towns, now that we were on the coast of the Caspian.  We looked, we hunted, we were willing...  Yet again, however, we had to make do with lamb kebabs.  For the fifth time in a row.

Anything...  so long as it's garlicky...

The rest of the ride – the last 100 miles of the 270 we did today – was pretty uneventful. We’re even become adept at predicting the hazards that keep us wide-eyed – cows in the outside lane (munching from the central reservation); local motorcyclists weaving past at high speed to impress us; curious car drivers pulling alongside and barely watching the road thereafter as they look over our bikes. Big, bad lorries and plenty of smartly attired speed cops - watching us, watching them.



This evening I’ve been grumpy. You didn’t have to be Eyore to groan when realized I’d left a small camera at yesterday’s hotel, or possibly on the bike over night. Add it to the long list of lost-in -action items.


I then proceeded to wipe a rather funky video that I’d taken hours to prepare the night before: all that time, effort and original footage now gone. To those who say I never swear… cover your ears.

I decided to end my losing / loser streak.  Exercise: something to generate those endorphins I usually rely on.  That'd do the trick I was sure - and the hotel had facilities so this would be great.  Something to burn off the stress and nerves.

The Reception guys were unable to explain why the hotel manual in each room mentioned a pool and spa – they’d either only just started working here, or else the facilities are well hidden.  Exercise was going to be limited to walking back to my room.  I was now frustrated, hungry and grumpy; my first deep funk of the trip and a sign of fatigue on many fronts. 

To bring me round with the speed of a smelling salt, at this evening’s briefing we heard JB’s news.  His bike has sprung a nasty oil leak from the final drive, 20 miles from the hotel today.  He only had that part serviced just before the trip, as a safeguard, so he's got rotten luck and is effectively out of action until we get to Dushanbe, i.e. where spare parts are being sent.  That’s 11 days away.  11 days riding shotgun in the support vehicle with Alan, instead of threading his way across the ‘Stan lands.  He’s going to miss out on some tremendous riding and will be properly pissed off tonight.  We felt awful for the guy.

In light of his bad fortune, if nothing else, I think I’m not in such a bad position and should STFU, as my favourite columnist might have put it.