After the normal bureaucratic back and forth at the border I made my way out of the cool frontier hills.
Flanked by the lush green of Thale Ban National Park
Showing posts with label bikepacking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bikepacking. Show all posts
Faux pas on another planet
Siam shimmered in the heat.
After the normal bureaucratic back and forth at the border I made my way out of the cool frontier hills.
After the normal bureaucratic back and forth at the border I made my way out of the cool frontier hills.
False starts and faulty parts
Having arrived in Melbourne I then flew directly to Malaysia.
...
Wait that's not right.
There was a glorious intervening year spent cycling in Australia and New Zealand and staying with my sister and her family in Sydney.
Have no fear hardy handful of readers. The pictures of that leg are uploaded and copious notes have been prepared. A poorly spelt overly loquacious account of those antipodean adventures will be enumerated here.
Just not right now. My sluggardly blogging output has left me so far behind that the entries risked becoming more memoir than travelogue.
So with a waft of my cyberJedi wrist while murmuring 'those were not the posts you were looking for' I invite you to join me as we touch down in steamy Kuala Lumpur at the tail end of the rainy season.
...
Wait that's not right.
There was a glorious intervening year spent cycling in Australia and New Zealand and staying with my sister and her family in Sydney.
Have no fear hardy handful of readers. The pictures of that leg are uploaded and copious notes have been prepared. A poorly spelt overly loquacious account of those antipodean adventures will be enumerated here.
A sneaky peak of Tas, Nz and Gippsland
Just not right now. My sluggardly blogging output has left me so far behind that the entries risked becoming more memoir than travelogue.
So with a waft of my cyberJedi wrist while murmuring 'those were not the posts you were looking for' I invite you to join me as we touch down in steamy Kuala Lumpur at the tail end of the rainy season.
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.
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.
Turkish travails
This border felt rather different to the cozy, porous European crossings. I drifted out of Greece onto a bridge with marksmen posted periodically along its span. However receiving my visa quickly and hassle free combined with the border guards easy manner put me at ease.
That ease wouldn't last. It soon became plain that the Turkish highway from border to coast (D110) had zero regard for geography. Long, straight, busy and unpredictable. Turkish roads west of Istanbul were a trial.
It is seen as something of an accomplishment that the Romans built such marvelously straight roads. I say pah! Building a straight road reveals nothing more than a lack of on the ground knowledge and or care for the most suitable route. It's the same kind of detached arrogance that led British and French empire builders to draw the dead straight borders which still plague Africa and the Middle East. Great road building seeks to link valleys and surmount rises in the easiest manner possible perhaps, appreciation the gradient a traveler will encounter. Perhaps providing a switchback or two!
Such human design was entirely lacking from the D110.
This, combined with the unrelenting folds of the earth that characterise much of Turkey, ensured a relentless series of stiff rises and unnecessary descents. Up and down, up and down; straight and straight some more.
For the most part a wide shoulder ensured I was well out of the traffic, but without warning, this space would disappear for kilometers at a time throwing me into the inside line to fight for space and breath with large trucks and coaches.
That ease wouldn't last. It soon became plain that the Turkish highway from border to coast (D110) had zero regard for geography. Long, straight, busy and unpredictable. Turkish roads west of Istanbul were a trial.
It is seen as something of an accomplishment that the Romans built such marvelously straight roads. I say pah! Building a straight road reveals nothing more than a lack of on the ground knowledge and or care for the most suitable route. It's the same kind of detached arrogance that led British and French empire builders to draw the dead straight borders which still plague Africa and the Middle East. Great road building seeks to link valleys and surmount rises in the easiest manner possible perhaps, appreciation the gradient a traveler will encounter. Perhaps providing a switchback or two!
Such human design was entirely lacking from the D110.
This, combined with the unrelenting folds of the earth that characterise much of Turkey, ensured a relentless series of stiff rises and unnecessary descents. Up and down, up and down; straight and straight some more.
A miraculously traffic free moment
For the most part a wide shoulder ensured I was well out of the traffic, but without warning, this space would disappear for kilometers at a time throwing me into the inside line to fight for space and breath with large trucks and coaches.
Lombardy, Piedmonte, and Po
**Warning may contain multiple rhetorical questions read at your own risk(of annoyance)**
04:00.
Even in the pre-dawn gloom Maggiore looked inviting. Awake and feeling good despite the hour I decided to take a dip, enjoying the privacy of the early morning.
Lounging on the concrete dockside Towl-less with a cup of tea and a cigarette I watched a dragonfly mired in some gravel having just sloughed off its skin.
For an hour I watched as this imposing insect exhausted itself crawling. Where was it trying to reach? Why didn't it simply stop, wait to dry, and then fly? The dragonfly was seemingly making his life so much more difficult than it needed to be.
Might a (not so)alien observer find my own journey equally incomprehensible?
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