Georgian river running

An already leisurely departure from Batumi was further delayed firstly by meeting a friendly South African cycle tourist who was bird watching his way from Europe to Cambodia. After sharing route tips and discussing the Georgian raptor migration the sun had drifted past the yard arm so I decided to have a hearty lunch before setting off.

Eventually I rolled out of the hostels door, went all of five feet before pausing to add some little extra air to my front tyre. This provided all the opening Georgian hospitality required. A head popped out of a shop doorway and beckoned me in. Slightly dubious I followed slowly and found a butchers where he and his coworker were sitting down to a hearty meal of sausages and chilli to which I was clearly invited. Fit to burst already I simply couldn't bring myself to look this gift pig in the eye and so forced down some excellent fare before being offered (and accepting) some rather fine cognac.

Despite his minuscule amount of English and my absolute lack of Georgian we talked freely using bits of French, German and universal hand gestures and I think discussed at some length the unfairness of Georgia letting everyone visit easily while Georgian's finding it impossible to holiday in Europe and elsewhere. I could only agree and was heartily embarrassed once again by the UK governments visa policies.

Thus It was mid afternoon by the time I wobbled out on my bicycle (more due to overeating than the cognac) and set about a pleasant roll along the sea front cycle route before, eschewing the flatter main route north east towards Tibilsi, I struck due east towards the inviting mountains on what had turned into a delightful sunny day.

Looking up the Chorokhi valley's broad and verdant lower course 

Batumi

So having escaped the glorious clutches of Cappadocia - cheated by catching a bus to Trabzon - I entered a new country, Georgia after a month in Turkey.

A nation in love with tea (Chi) as much as the Brits, where backgammon (Tavla) is taken almost as seriously as being a good host; Turkey had been more than good to me but it was refreshing to cross another border and find a new and very distinctive land spread before me.

The most noticable change was the weather which had been chilling even in Anatolia and had now taken on a definitley autumnal feel as I cycled along the black sea coast accompanied by blustery squalls. The subtropical lushness of Alara was a marked contrast to the continental aridity from which I had emerged. Suddenly thick green vegetation punctuated by waterfalls proliferated.

I crossed the border under dreary skies which occassionally summoned the will to drizzle.

Day trip - disapearıng lakes and a hıdden cıtıes

Together with Celıne, Benoıt, Alkım, Javı and his wife (who had gamely hired bikes) I continued my burgeoning love affair with Cappadocıa by going on an expedition to Derınkuyu to visit it's underground city.

The roads were quiet, the hills hard but rewarding, the sun high but not too hot. In short it was nearly perfect.

Being in such a large group was refreshing and after the bashing my cycling self-regard took [with Fred](http://blackdogbicycling.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/the-bay-of-kotor.html) it was satisfying to be the one out in front.

the landscape was lent an Alice in Wonderland feel by fields of pumpkins which stretched as far as the eye could see.

Cappadocia

Cappodocia (or Kapadokya) is glorious.

It's geology begets vibrant colour and surreal shapes. 

I dropped out of the rolling hills east of Aksaray near Nevsehir. Immediately it was clear that I was somewhere very special. I rushed to Uchisar and climbed it's unique castle the better to appreciate these incredible surrounds.

Sılk Road or Safarı? Cold or hot?

When I set off from London the plan was to head east wıth the ıdle ambıtıon of makıng ıt to Sydney.

In and amongst thıs were romantıc notıons of cyclıng the extent of the Roman empıre, followıng ın Alexander's footsteps and of treadıng the sılk road to Chına.

Now as I am setting off for Georgian mountains and Armenia with Iranian visa in hand what I will do after Persia is very much on my mind

Salty Anatolıa

Cycling south from Ankara out of its bowl like geography I was soon sucking in breaths from the climb. Entirely too much time had recently been spent sitting around in cities smoking and drinking.

Fortunately I was diverted by a relaxing off road loop around Eymir Gölü, a small lake south of Ankara bathed in bright autumnal sunshine. I took an early lunch in the dappled light using the time to tlc the bicycle after its bus ride. My saddle and cleats successfully repositioned I got underway properly and joined the E90 south of Golbaşı.

My rhythm didn't return straightaway and I made hard work of the afternoon despite the good road surface. Gliding along with cheese cake hills flanking my left and large flat fields stretching away to my right I was flabbergasted to realise that this part of Turkey was in fact flat. Most disconcerting.

My one disappointing shot of the cheesecake hills

Ankara

Having made a promise to myself during the harrowing ride into Istanbul I caught a bus out of the city.

Emerging from the cramped confines at 06:30 I discovered that the cheap front brakes I had bought in Thessaloniki hadn't survived the trip. This made for an interesting cycle to Christina's flat. Ankara's hills are steep and feel steeper still with only a back break and the sole of my shoes to slow oneself.

My host said there was nothing much to do in Ankara. A claim she almost immediately scotched by taking me to the fine Castle overlooking the city.

Ankara at ground level felt a staid city after Istanbul. Full of embassy compounds, banks and doctors offices. From this vantage a well situated city flowing up and over the surrounding bowl of mountains revealed itself.