Distance: 117km
Elevation: 1506m
Gesi Bağpınar: https://maps.app.goo.gl/LDSnqdnRntNtx8yU6?g_st=ic
The night was short because Morito-san got up at half past three for his balloon flight. Others from the campsite filtered past in the dark as well. By five I gave up on sleep, peeled myself out of the sleeping bag, made coffee, and walked over to the cliff above the Göreme Valley.
There were perhaps eighty balloons in the air, maybe more. They rose slowly and drifted in loose clusters, the early light catching the envelopes as they climbed.
I stood there for the better part of an hour and did not find it dull for a moment.
Coming uphill, a convoy of old convertible cars had formed — Germans, Americans, every brand you can think of, all of them old and squeaky — driving rapidly along the paths so that passengers could film the balloons from underneath. It was an alternative business model of a fairly pragmatic kind. Other than that, it was quiet.
I went back, made breakfast, packed up, and was ready to leave when Morito-san emerged from his tent. He had slept a little after the flight and now wanted to know about my gear. He was curious about the technical details, specific and thorough in his questions. We talked for a while, shook hands one more time, and at quarter to nine I was heading down into Göreme and through the valley.
I cycled on back roads with very little traffic the whole day. Beautiful roads, but with no infrastructure of any kind. By the time I had covered fifty kilometers — the most beautiful stretch of riding on this tour — I was running low. The short night and the wine from the evening before had not helped, and there had been a lot of climbing, including sections where I got off and pushed Rosinante.
I was cycling up a small valley alongside a river when I noticed an old man working in a field. He looked up, and it took him about one second to make the gesture: do you want something to drink? I had been quietly hoping for exactly that. On tour I have a rule that when someone offers or suggests something, my answer is always „yes“. At home my first instinct is usually „no“ because I have a very strong idea of what I want and how things should be. Out here I try to stay open. So I stopped, pushed Rosinante off the road, and followed him onto his little veranda, where a sofa was standing.
He lived alone. It looked like his wife had passed. The house was somewhere between a hut and a proper dwelling. There was no mobile signal, so Google Translate was useless and we were left to our own devices. He brought out ekmek, halva, chai, lemonade, and cold water. Then he gestured that he was going for a nap and that I should rest on the sofa. I did, and I dozed off. I woke up when the cat made a move toward the halva. I intervened. The nap had done its work.
When he came back he was visibly disappointed that I had not eaten anything. He picked up a piece of bread (ekmek), split it open along the middle to make a kind of pocket, packed it with halva, and handed it to me with a look that did not invite refusal. I ate it. Carbs with sugar in white bread — not a complicated meal, but I needed the energy and it was good. We sat in silence for a while. At some point I went through the objects on the table and pointed at the ones I knew the Turkish words for. Şeker (sugar), su (water), ekmek (bread), çay (tea). I learned a few new ones. He was ready to give me his entire stash of bread. I traded him down to bir (one). After about three quarters of an hour I thanked him and said good bye — teşekkür ederim, güle güle — and we shook hands and went our separate ways.
The energy came back quickly. I continued east and eventually reached the last major climb of the day, steep enough to require more pushing, but so beautiful.
My entire day was accompanied by the great views on the snow covered Mount Erciyes which rises south of Kayseri. With 3.900m it is the highest mountain of Central Anatolia.
From the top of my last climb I had thirty-five kilometers left, and the descent was something else entirely. It dropped away at an angle that made it feel like coming in to land in a small aircraft, the valley floor far below and the road cutting down through it in long curves.
Then a noise from the rear wheel, and a lot of resistance. Something was wrong. I kept going for a while, hoping it would sort itself out. It did not. My first fear was a broken spoke. That had happened once before in 2021, when I was heading for the North Cape, and by the end of it I had needed to replace the entire rear rim. Back then it had been quite an odyssey to find one north of the arctic circle. But it makes for a good story today.
Around seven in the evening, tired and still some distance from anywhere, I turned Rosinante upside down and pulled off the rear wheel to have a look. The problem turned out to be two pieces of dried mud — left over from the day I had ridden through muddy gravel paths in the early part of the tour — that had broken loose and worked as additional break pads. I picked them out, checked everything, and was free to go.
I stocked up on water for the night and then looked for food. Back roads meant limited options. The best available was a gas station on a nearby highway. I bought sandwiches and cold fizzy drinks. A cold beer was not something I had any hope of finding. What I wanted was something that tasted different from the lukewarm water I had been drinking all day.
It was getting dark quickly. I found a spot between a railway track and a highway. Not romantic, but functional, and I have learned that I handle constant background noise far better than I handle total silence broken by distant dogs. I put the tent up in the dark, took a shower, ate dinner inside, and was asleep by ten.
All in all, a good day. The rivers and lakes in this part of Turkey were clear and clean in a way I had not seen so far on this trip. The mountains. hills and roads were stunning and very easy on the eye.
Oh, and by the way, I cracked the 1.000km mark yesterday.
My learnings for the day:
The biggest obstacle to receiving help is usually the inner resistance to accepting it. Too proud, too shy, not wanting to be in anyone’s debt. Once that resistance is lowered, help appears in many different shapes and sizes. An old man in a field who takes one look at a tired cyclist and gestures toward his veranda does not require to be asked. He just requires you to stop.