15/07 Istanbul to Aizanoi, Turkey

After a ‘Full Turkish’ breakfast consisting of bread, olives, cheese, tomato, sausage and some black tea taken on the roof terrace of our Pension we packed and headed out of the city, trying to put thoughts of being scammed the night before firmly behind us. Getting out was a complicated and stressful affair, with local drivers favouring their horn rather than mirror or indicators.

We eventually found our way out and onto open roads again, first heading East towards Ankara then turning South towards our randomly chosen mid point between Istanbul and Denizli. We’d spotted a green star denoting a ‘site of interest’ on the map in the general area we wanted to be so in lieu of anywhere “better” we headed for that.

I wasn’t into the ride today at all. I just felt I couldn’t be bothered for some reason. I wasn’t looking around at the scenery or anything, it was a real head-down attitude of get where we’re going and go back to bed. In hindsight, and although it’s funny now, I think we were both a bit down about the “nightclub” incident the night before. Dusty, dirty, unfinished, desperately poor-looking towns passed us by, their main roads often nothing more than dirt tracks where there either was no road or, like the buildings to either side it was simply unfinished.

We were heading down a long, straight and reasonably steep hill hill when suddenly the bike felt all wrong. I hadn’t been concentrating too much, but I woke up double quick. The front wheel was weaving around for some reason. Dumping the throttle on the downhill stretch had little effect as we were doing about 60. Then I saw it, there was oil all over the road. Not just a little patch, but a good 50 yard stretch ahead of us. The bike was going mad, and I felt sure I was going to come off. It was going to hurt, I was still doing about 50 and the verges to either side were bristling with a murderous looking array of pointy rocks and large tree stumps. I briefly glanced ahead and saw Steve having the same trouble, before popping back onto ‘dry land’ and straightening out. I got as much weight down low over the tank to try and steady the bike and held onto it until I too popped back onto the “dry” tarmac again. My heart was absolutely pounding. It was about as close as I’d come to ever having a proper ‘off’, and about as close as I want to get.

We stopped for coffee a little later and as usual were quickly surrounded by curious locals. With much pointing to the map and mime, we established we were on the right track and managed to communicate how far we’d already come and where we were headed. The café owner would not accept payment from us for the coffees, and would no doubt be something of a short-lived local celebrity himself for having had us in his cafe! We clearly were well off the beaten track, this was not in any way tourist territory.

We pulled out of the café and up a smooth gently curving hill out of town. Around the bend was a Police car and we were duly flagged down. ‘Driving Licence’ said the Officer, so I stepped off the bike and rummaged for my documents. ‘Robert’ he said, reading my licence ‘Problem… here 77kmh… Radar, you, 88kmh… 92,000,000 YTL’. I immediately protested as I had seen no roadside cameras, the other guy in the cop car had no camera or radar in evidence and there were even no road signs indicating a speed limit.

He gave the same speech to Steve and as he was doing so a blue Renault 19 pulled in behind us. ‘Here… radar’ said the Cop as a Police Sergeant stepped out of the car. We were beckoned over and there inside was the radar device and a video monitor, and there we were large as life on the video screen! A great shot too of us pulling away up the hill, headlights blazing, it was most certainly us! A fair cop guv indeed.

We duly paid our fines and as our tickets were being written out the Sergeant compared the stripes on his shirt with those on my jacket… they were the same! As Steve received his ticket, I took a picture of him and the ‘arresting officer’, his arm around Steve’s shoulder as he proudly held up the ticket.

Strangely as we pulled away again I felt a little better, it had been an amusing if costly experience, although once converted, our fines stood us at around £35 each! We were back out onto the open road when it started to rain. Really rain. It was absolutely hammering it down, and with our summer gear about as waterproof as a sieve we were quickly soaked to the skin. Our visors steamed up and the roads turned really slippery. I was beginning to sink back into a gloomy mood again when I saw a Silver Audi ahead with one tail light out. The rear plate was yellow and I thought it might be Dutch as we had seen a few of those in the last day or two. As we pulled closer, preparing to overtake a head popped out the window and looked back at us. The face broke into a smile and I noticed the UK plates on the car… another Brit!

As we slowly overtook them, the guy leaning out the passenger window waved furiously and shouted encouragements. Minutes later they came past us again, this time the middle aged driver leaning out beaming from ear to ear, giving us the thumbs up and looking genuinely pleased and surprised to see us. I felt the same for some reason and it lifted my mood again, despite being soaked through. The rain subsided shortly after, with an almost visible line on the road and within about 10 minutes the relentless heat and the wind from the motion of the bikes had us bone dry again.

We arrived at the ‘Site of interest’ marked on the map not knowing what to expect. Following the signs for Aizanoi we passed through another dusty village with a very out of place looking modern bank building on the corner sporting a shiny new looking cash machine. We rode over what was signed as a 2C AD Roman Bridge and pulled up opposite what we would later learn to be the Temple of Zeus.

Entering the gated compound, we approached someone looking like they were in charge and asked if there was any camping locally. We had seen no signs for camping anywhere all day so I wasn’t holding out much hope. Speaking in a mix of German and English the owner swept his hand over a dusty field behind the Temple and said ‘You can stay in my garden!’ No further encouragement was needed. As heavy skies bulged and churned ominously above us, we hurriedly pitched camp in the shadow of the Temple, put a coffee on and rode back into town for supplies.

After a hearty dinner of rice, an assortment of more unidentified yet tasty meats and a free loaf of bread we retired for an early night about 10pm. About 10.10pm evening prayer began. The speakers on the towers of numerous unseen Mosques blaring out their sing-song chants. Quickly we were surrounded by prayers from 2 or 3 more Mosques that we hadn’t seen on the ride in. Lightning flickered and thunder rumbled and along with the prayers it made for difficult sleep.

Around 11pm some locals turned up and began a noisy game of football under the floodlights of the Temple. There was much laughing and joking and belching, perhaps alcohol fuelled, but their game was cut short about midnight when the heavens opened. Once again it seemed like we had storms all around us. Lightning flashed on all sides of us, lighting up the tents and the thunder crashed noisily above us. The rain got heavier and heavier, drumming on the tents and drowning out all but the rumbling thunder.

I was just dozing off around 1.30am when I heard Steve shout ‘Rob, Rob… the bike’s gone!’ The what?! I scrambled quickly out of my sleeping bag and into some clothes and shoes. I clambered out of the tent into the pouring rain and looked round for my bike which wasn’t where I’d left it. There it was lying on its side. The dusty field where we had pitched our tents had become an instant muddy quagmire in the continuing deluge. Parked up between our two tents, the centre stand of my bike had sunk unevenly into the mud and fallen over under its own weight – right onto Steve’s tent, missing his head by inches!

Steve climbed out of his tent, looking around for interlopers who might have pushed the bike over. It turned out that what he had said was ‘Rob, Rob… the bike’s down!’. Black Bike Down. We struggled with it in the rain and slippy mud before getting it back upright on the second attempt. A quick inspection in the dark revealed no damage and we went back to bed and this time fell quickly asleep.