in memoriam — it’s just a bike

I’ve toured on a number of bikes over the years:

  • my powder green Centurion in Vermont with Megan
  • Kevin’s old Miyata on the long trip through Africa
  • Jeff’s old MB-1 in Colorado and Utah
  • the Raleigh tandem in France and Brazil
  • the CoMotion tandem in Thailand and India
  • the Traveler’s Check in Norway and Mexico

I think I’m forgetting one or two others, but for sure my favorite was the Long Haul Trucker that took me on this trip from Berlin to Antalya.  It was my favorite bike of any I’ve ever owned, the only bike that I ever put together exactly how I wanted.  It was the most comfortable bike I’ve ever ridden, an absolute joy.

On my first weekend in Antalya I rode it up Tünektepe, a steep 600m climb in 6.5 km.  The next day I got up a bit early and got ready to meet a new friend for a ride.  We were going to head up toward the mountains in the direction of the nearby ski area, Saklıkent.  It still makes my stomach churn when I think about walking out of the door of the apartment that morning and not seeing the bike.  Yikes, it’s amazing how vivid that memory is even 5 weeks later (yes,  that’s how far in arrears this blog is).

The bike was inside, upstairs, locked to the stairwell railing.  It seemed like a very safe place.  For years I locked bikes up outside to the railing at 701 Arapahoe.  I’ve been on the road by bike for a total of over 3 years, maybe close to 4 over the last 20 years.  I’ve left my bicycle much more stupid places than I did that night, and I had never before lost one.

Many people since have told me that bicycles get stolen all the time in Antalya, but I’ve heard that in so many places.  Bicycles get stolen everywhere.  I guess I’d like to believe it was just bad luck.  I do think someone must have followed me, maybe attracted by the fancy light that showed me the way home every night.

It’s just a bike.  At first some Turks tried to tell me that, but I didn’t want to hear it.  I sold everything I owned (ok, not really everything) to come on this trip with a bike and some gear.  I was certainly reeling from the incident, and no one seemed to understand.

That morning I spent a couple hours at the police station and was helped away by the friend who I was supposed to ride with.  His girlfriend gave me lunch and seemed to be the first person who could express a little of the sympathy I wanted.  Later that day I had a nice Skype conversation with my friend Mike in Boulder, who certainly gets more attached to bikes than I do.  That helped.

After a week or so, I began to believe the Turks and friends from home who assured me that, really, it’s just a bike.  This sentiment came crashing home when I heard that Gertjan’s cousin was riding his bike in the Netherlands and was hit by a car and killed.  This happened the same day that my bike went missing.  A young friend of my mother’s — someone around my age — also died around the same time.  Yes, yes, it’s just a bike.

In the meantime I’ve been enjoying Antalya, but I’ll save that for another post since I’m a bit short on new material for the time being…  I have some cycle touring eye candy for you, all with my favorite bicycle.

The first is a photo that I sent around Antalya and Turkey, hoping that someone might see this beauty at some second hand pazar.  It was taken near the Belgrade bus station last March.

DSCN6156_1 by bryandkeith on flickr
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Guest blogger alert: Kurt talks Turkey

I’m honored to be chosen as this week’s guest blogger. Rather than specifics of our route or experiences, I’ll talk here about the big themes of my month-long shared slice of Bryan’s adventure.

The people

The Turks we met were almost universally friendly, welcoming, curious, and eager to talk. This didn’t surprise me a lot, based on reports from other travelers to Turkey, and on the cultural history in the region of generosity to guests that stretches back at least to Homer’s time. The tea and food we were given came from the heart every bit as much as the silver bowls Odysseus collected on his travels, and they were a good deal more practical for bike tourists. Lots of people wanted to talk about American politics — there’s no doubt that esteem for the US has risen since the 2008 presidential election. They didn’t want to talk so much about Turkish politics, at least in the southwest, said to be the most liberal and Westernized part of Turkey.

The one disappointment was that because of residual, de facto gender segregation, we talked mostly with men. It was discouraging to get surrounded by a throng of curious villagers and see that every last one of them was male, or to see not a single woman in a crowded teahouse. It also got a little old for me to always be a spectacle, at least outside the big cities. From their perspective we were a novelty, in villages where there hadn’t been much novelty since the domestication of chickens. Still, I got tired of it.

PICT0960 by knordback on flickr
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A short loop SW of Antalya

My first pass through Antalya with Kurt was a quick and busy one.  Since he was on a short (one-month) tour, Kurt was ready to leave after two nights.  I could have easily stayed twice that long.  I was tired from our fairly fast, somewhat challenging ride from Mumcular, and our 48 hour “rest” in Antalya wasn’t restful for me.  On my first evening in the city Snežana and I had a difficult, emotional meeting where we decided (for sure this time?) that we won’t be traveling together anymore.

I spent much of the next day running around interviewing potential language schools.  The one I had had the most communication with seemed rather flaky so I’m glad I looked further.  I’m liking my teacher, the area of the city where I’m staying, and the family I’m living with, but, wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Just like the meteorologists forecasted, it was pissing down rain the day Kurt and I had planned to leave Antalya.  We waited till the afternoon and pedaled away with the sky looking like this:

Leaving Antalya on a stormy day by bryandkeith on flickr
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A wintry trip from the Aegean to the Mediterranean

Turkey’s convoluted southwest coast means that it’s actually impossible to bicycle from Bodrum to Antalya sticking to the coast.  You must go inland and cross some mountains.  Inland we went.  Mountains, oh yeah!

Snežana took a bus to Antalya, and we agreed to meet there in about 10 days.  Kurt and I chose a fairly direct route to Antalya, trying just to head east.  Of course, the mountains will have nothing with such plans.  We started by heading south to the Aegean and followed the coast east.  Then it was NE to Beyağaç, SE to Arıkaya to cross the Gölgeli Mountains, NE to Beyköy and Hasanpaşa, SE to Korkuteli to cross the Katrancık Mountains, and finally east again and south into Antalya.

We ended up paying quite a bit of attention to the elevation, trying to find a route that wouldn’t have too much snow.  Since we never had to turn back, I guess you could say we succeeded.

The diversity of landscapes in this short tour was stunning — bright green hills covered with olive trees; steep escarpments straight down to the stunning blue Aegean; a steep-walled canyon which opened to a gravelly, braided river; rolling mountain pine forests with clear streams; a roaring river cutting a fantastic narrow gorge near Yolçatı; two mountain valleys full of fruit of orchards; at least three high plateaus reminiscent of San Luis Valley or North Park; brown, desolate hills that seemed a world away from the lush green Mediterranean land just over the last pass before Antalya.

As always, the Turks were generous.  In Yeşilköy not only were we treated to çay, but two different groups gave us bags of locally grown apples.  Down the road in Hasanpaşa, I asked the friendly grocer if she had any onions to sell.  “No, but I have some at home.  Would you like me to get some for you?”  Please.  Her mother soon showed up with 2-3 kg of onions.  Oh, and she bought us tea as well.  When I tried to give half the onions back (we didn’t really want to carry so much), she insisted, saying they were a gift.  They lasted over a week even as Kurt and I used as many as possible in every dinner.

At a small pass above Kirazlıyayla, a man selling sweets out of his van stopped to say hello and give us samples of his yummy treats.  In Büyükalan, however, the generosity was over the top.  The vegetable seller, after selling us vegetables, bought us tea.  Then the boy who served the tea insisted on treating us himself, and, thinking that we had put the money on the tray, gave it (back) to us.  So in the end we actually got paid to drink tea there.

In Yoçatı an extroverted boy started talking to me at the fountain near his house.  Soon we were inside as his parents served us hot tea.  Down the road in Suçatı, or up, as it were, the owner of a leather clothing factory treated us to tea and then gave us a tour of his operation.  When we didn’t buy anything, he ended up giving us a couple leather purses.

At one lunch stop I tried to return some generosity.  An old man stopped to say hello and sat down next to us.  I offered him peanuts.  He smiled, pointed at his empty mouth, and said, “diş yok.”  Indeed he didn’t have any teeth!  I managed not to laugh right there, but Kurt and I laughed about this interaction with diş yok many times afterwards.

As I write this, I keep remembering more and more offers to tea, a number of which we actually turned down.  In Antalya I found the auto mechanic part of town (eski sanayi) where I asked about getting a broken bolt removed from the attachment block of my Tubus rear rack.  Two guys got right on it, bought me tea while I waited, and wouldn’t take any money for their work!

I can get used to this.

DSCN8666 by bryandkeith on flickr
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Over the river and through the woods to Bojan and Fu’s

Wintry songs weren’t the only reason it felt like Christmas.  Kurt arrived at the İzmir airport laden with gifts.  Schwalbe tires from my parents, an ipod and chocolate from my sister, a Kindle from Cher, panniers from Krista, a helmet-mounted mirror from Father Christmas himself, a stove, fuel bottles, books.  The list went on and on.

Kurt built his bicycle at the airport, and I put on my new tires and new kickstands for both Snežana and me.  It was dark and pouring rain by the time we left the airport.  We camped that night just a couple hundred meters from the arrivals terminal where it was surprisingly quiet and dry.  Welcome to Turkey, Kurt!

Someone gave us this yufka as we were making lunch (fish) in the park by bryandkeith on flickr
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