Lyrics From Songs Come To Mind . . .

"Nobody knows the trouble I've seen . . ."

"Sitting here in limbo, but I know it won't be long,
Sitting here in limbo, and I feel like a bird ain't got no song . . ."  Neville Brothers

And so on.  The situation is this:  There is no boat to Turkmenbashi today.  My visa expires at midnight tomorrow, and it can not be extended.  If there is no boat tomorrow leaving Baku for a foreign country, I have to ride out of here for the nearest border (excluding Iran of course) first thing in the morning.  Or at least clear passport control and customs  Maybe I can do that and sit on the dock until a boat comes along.

Crazy times, but the adventure continues.

What Did You Do In Baku, Dan?

That's a good question, as the time has flown by. . .

1.  I walked around Old Town quite a lot.  At first I was very intrigued and interested in it, but gradually I saw why Unesco is not happy at its treatment as a World Heritage site.  Much of the original "Old" has been totally replaced,  and all of the streets are repaved with new cobblestone and pavers.  They didn't even recycle the old stones.  The streets are still narrow, and most can't be negotiated by car, which limits traffic.  Nonetheless, the newness of resurfaced stone, and sandblasted stone, has taken away the patina of old, and the keyword does not seem to be "restore," bit rather "replace."

2.  I walked in the park along the seawall.  This park is a beautiful public space, with wide walks, shade trees, children's rides (no less than three carousels, two of which are double deckers, some ferris wheel type rides, motor/bumper car rides, and many others), restaurants, and outdoor cafes.  And benches.  Lots of benches.  On these benches you will see many, many, many young couples.  Public displays of affection is clearly NOT banned here, and these young people just ignore passersby.  Interestingly, I only saw one couple who were having a disagreement.  That portends for a healthy population growth curve . . .  I took some photos of the park, but I don't think I can upload them on the wireless at this hotel.  It should be better in Ashgabat.

3.  I repaired my helmet.  At the border crossing, someone (ahem, not the owner) took an interest on my helmet, and jammed the sun visor in the up position.  I had to disassemble the helmet to get to the cables that operate it and free them.  This actually took longer than i thought it would, a few hours, because I could not download any instructions.  I finally managed with two safety pins and a lot of caution.  But it works now, and I am thankful, as I still have two months of riding east in the morning.

4.  I searched for, found, bought, and installed a new battery.  You will recall from an earlier entry that I was chatting up a restaurant owner on Saturday night.  He was interested in this ride, so I described it to him in general terms, then told him about my battery problems.  The 25 manat, 9 amp hour battery just wasn't up to the task ahead of it, as it was already faltering.  I asked him if he knew of any motorcycle dealers in town.  He called over his "guy" (every business east of Greece seems to have one or more "guys."  They are like troubleshooters, go-to-guys, fixers, maybe even muscle.  They are never more than a phone call, or cooked finger, or head nod away from the boss), Shahib, and started talking in Russian.  After a lot of discussion, including much gesturing of hands (apparently street addresses are not used until the end of the trip.  The directions go more like "Behind the big Catholic Church, near the flag plaza, but up the hill and two or three streets over" which words are accompanied by all the movements the car must make to get there, and oft repeated. Kind of like Italians on speed), they concurred that there were maybe three places to go.  The owner, Azaad, said Shahib could take me for 20 manat, which would be cheaper than a taxi.  I said okay, and we agreed to meet on Saturday at 1:00.  We met then, and went to the Suzuki dealer first.  They didn't have any batteries, but the sales manager offered to sell me a new V-Strom as soon as they came in, maybe in November.  I said thank you, but no.  He also called to some other places to see if they had any batteries that might fit (I had brought with me my hand drawn picture of a battery, with the maximum dimensions in metric).  Meanwhile, Shahib and I headed over to the Harley Davidson dealer.  I knew from online research that Harley had two batteries in their catalog that would fit if they had them in stock -- the cheap one, and the expensive one.  Of cores, they only had the expensive one (203 manat, $238.00).  After checking with the Suzuki guy to see if any batteries had shown up in stock at his contacts, and none had, I turned over the cash.  But I wanted to minimize risk of future battery failure, because there isn't going to be much of anything available until Russia.  The foregoing took a couple of hours, because Shahib kept taking shortcuts that weren't.  There is no straight line between any two points more than 500 meters apart in this city, except one one-way street along the park by the seawall.  But I digress.  The next day, Sunday, I installed the battery.  It fit, but barely.  It also worked, which was great!  Of course it took longer than I hoped because first it rained, so I had to stop and cover it up, and then when the rain stopped, I had to move the bike because some workers were coming with a truck to take away some garbage and building demolition materials.  So I moved it, and they all thought I was just a great guy. And someone took and disposed of the other battery.  I hope it has a nice home now.

5.  I did some laundry.

6.  I napped a lot.

7.  I read a lot.

8.  I mended a broken zipper on my jacket, and did an awful repair job on  the rip in the left knee of my pants caused by the running into the post.

9.  I walked to the ferry terminal twice: first on Saturday to find it and scout around a little, and again today to see if anyone was at the office who could give me any information.  It's about a 5k roundtrip, and in the wind and rain of today, and in the heat of Saturday, I took my time.  Plus I just hung out there for about an hour each day, talking with those with whom I shared some kind of language, and just poking around.  Today I also got to watch the trains, which was kind of fun.  I also discovered the WC, which is an important item of information.  It is a "bring your own paper" kind of a place. . .

10.  Hung out, goofed off, strolled, ambled, snooped, people watched, and etc.  I filled my days.

That's pretty much it.  The for at the Burç Restaurant has been good.  They sauté their meats in this very heavy steel wok like pan, and it sears the meat wonderfully, and the fats from the meat flavors the vegetables as well.  Pretty good dish they make.  That's one of the reasons I've been walking so much, I need to keep moving or the fat will stick to me.

I will write more tomorrow as soon as I hear from Vika about the boat.  If no boat is in the offing, I have to get on the bike and ride to the Russian border, as my visa expires at midnight on the 3rd.  I'm admittedly concerned, because if there is no boat, that will effectively knock Turkmenistan out of the trip.  And add well over a thousand miles of bad road!  So let's all hope that there is a boat tomorrow, yes?

No Boat Today

Vika confirms there is no boat to Turkministan today. I am to call her at 10:00 am tomorrow. 

Meanwhile, I have to figure out how to ride the moto out of the Old City without going the wrong way on a one way street. I know one route, but it has stairs on it. Probably shouldn't use that route. I imagine pedestrians flying like turkeys to get out of the way. 

I also need to find a market. Perhaps I can get two birds with one stone. 

Quick Update

I'm hanging out at the ferry terminal waiting to see if the office will open. The wind is blowing and there are showers off and on. This is the sign at the terminal. 

It is leaning on the wall of this building, which has, as you can see, a grey steel door. 

The door is identified as the one you must enter to find Vika, the woman who arranges transport for passengers and their vehicle. There is a light on inside, but the door is locked. 

I used Google translate to ask a guy if there was a boat to Turkmenistan today. He said no. There is a boat at the pier that I can see.  There are many trucks parked on the road, and two trains have arrived and switch engines are moving cars around in the little yard. 

The boats leave in the evening, supposedly around 6:00 pm. It's noon now, so I'm going back to the hotel and will call Vika around 2:00 to see what she says. 

The Old Town Is Awesome

At the top of the alley (Gasser Street) is this view. 

Palace on the left, modern icons on the right. I will take a better picture tomorrow. 

They have cannons, catapults, all kinds of ancient warfare stuff. 

And restaurants with samovars that work. Which is where I am now, having salad, chatting with the owner, waiting for grilled lamb chops. Life is good. 

Safe At the Buta In Baku

Getting to Baku was straight forward enough, but finding the Buta Hotel was a great adventure. The major arterials in downtown Baku are being renovated in a pattern that makes sense to an Azerbaijani engineer. . .  I had to get closer to the harbor, but every street I took wound up being under construction and shunting me sideways.  Finally, after driving quite aways out south, I was able to head east towards the harbor and Old Town.  But not without going past the beautiful modern buildings for which Baku is known now, and some smaller than small alleys with children playing soccer and adults just being adults (I don't think they like the way my moto sounds).

I knew the hotel was supposed to be in Old Town, but the street listed on their website did not show up on any map I have. So I kept circling in on Old Town (running into a post to avoid a cab and tearing my pants on the way) until I got near. Then (Alors!), I stopped and asked!  Asking was not the masculine thing to do, but the adventure was in obtaining good directions without either party speaking a common language.  With seven Azerbaijanis consulting, they reached agreement on where it was located, and they imparted their consensus on paper.  This pen and paper stuff really works!

I wasn't far, two left turns, a short stretch, then a right to the Shirvanshah gates. I was stopped there, and told I couldn't enter on a motorcycle.  I explained I was going to the Buta Hotel.  "Okay, no problem. Just go 200 meters up that hill." The guard was short by a few hundred meters.  At the top of the hill, I finally spotted the sign for the Buta Hotel, tiny as it was, and turned down the alley.  And there it was, nowhere near any place anyone or the internet had said it would be.  Perseverance pays off again. 

It is a nice little place, and just what I need for some time to rest and prepare for the second half of the trip.  After a warm shower, I feel ready for a walk about to see what is out there.  More adventure?

Lunch Spot On Road To Baku

When I arrivef, a guy was fishing in this pond with a pole fit for a king salmon. He quit. 

Lunch was a salad and a kebab. Very good. 

100 kilometers of road construction so far at 60 kmh. Sloooooow. 

Bad Battery

With the gracious help of Ergül ÖZÇELİK, the General Manager of the Vego Hotel here in Ganja, I was able to find a battery that will work for now, and installed it. The moto starts, and I will head to Baku in the morning. Perhaps I can find one that is a better fit there. 

The Day Started. . .

Like any other day. Bacon and eggs for breakfast, along with a bowl of delicious fresh fruit. I loaded the bike and found the road to Baku without trouble. Some pretty countryside along the way, a little road construction, but nothing bad. Even traffic was reasonable. 

I got to the border when expected and the line was short. I thought I'd spend maybe 45 minutes to an hour getting through and into Azerbaijan. 

Getting out of Georgia was about as expected. The vanity plate threw them again, and I will never ride in a non-English speaking country with vanity plates again. But I cleared passport control and customs, and was out of Georhia. Since I was ahead of schedule, I thought I would stop at the duty free shop and use the WC. The bike stuttered and quit before I got there. I thumbed the starter, nothing. I looked at the instrument panel (the collection of idiot lights) and there was nothing there. Nor was there an odometer reading. This looked bad. 

A significant issue was I was between countries. I had left one, but not been admitted to the other. Another significant issue was the heat/sun. The language barrier came into play, as did the distance and the fact the last 100 meters was uphill. Finally, I've been dealing with diarrhea for the last 4 days, and hadn't realized the toll it has taken on my hydration level. 

Without getting into all the details, the Azerbaijan customs people finally got involved and started helping when I couldn't push any further and the bike fell over. They took care of me for a few hours until I recovered, and then I cleared passport control and customs, and bought my liability insurance. 

Then I had to push the bike again to a place to try and fix it. I took seat and cowling off, etc., checked wiring, fuses, connections. I tried all I could do without a multimeter. Nothing. I'm thinking now that the heat just killed the battery. I'll know more tomorrow. 

I buttoned it back up and started relapsing. The push now was downhill, so I coasted. The guard at the gate wouldn't let me go because customs forgot to give me a slip of paper. I parked the bike, walked up the hill, got the paper, and was finally released. It was 4:00. I got to the border around 11:30. 

Once out, I duck-walked the bike to the end of the parked taxis. Using pictograms and google translate, I was able to explain that I needed a truck and the moto was dead. One called a truck for me, and then they put me in the shade and gave me water and apples. 

It was pretty rough again for awhile, but eventually the truck showed up, we got it loaded (a story in itself) and headed for Ganja, 135 km, three hours, and $120 away. 

I arrived at the Vego Hotel, and was greeted by the manager, who had come out to meet me and to help unload the bike. With the truck driver, me, the manager, and 4 bell boys, it was off the truck and unloaded in no time. 

So here I am in Ganja, where I will stay two nights to recover and get the moto running. I have to improve my hydration plan. 

Sarpi Resort Hotel

This is the Sarpi Resort Hotel just inside Georgia.

You can kind of see my moto to the left of the car.  It is parked in from of the door to my chalet.

The Black Sea across the street.  You can see that people are sunning themselves on the beach, regardless of the cloud cover.

The large white structure is Georgia's border control point.  That is how close it was.  As Bryan said, "You could walk to the border."  I could, but I didn'tt want too.  I have places to go,

Putting Turkey In My Rearview Mirror

As I left the Davilar Hotel in Erzurum, a guy walks up to me and starts talking.  He's on a BMW F800 which he keeps in Europe/Asia/Africa, and just had received a visa for Iran.  We talked about 950, and he said it really wasn't that bad.  But I had looked at my Turkey map, and noted that if I headed east to Kars, and then looped back west to Hopa on the coast of the Black Sea and the border with  Georgia, I would be in a broad valley.  It was considerably longer, but I thought I would take the easier ride.  When will I ever learn?

The road was, indeed, along a broad river valley, and there were the fields and orchards along the side.  The road took me through Pasinier fairly soon, and it was a crowded and dirty little town.  I was stopped at the first traffic light in town, where the intersecting road came over the railroad tracks.  There were many, many people there, wiring for the light, waiting for the train,  waiting for whatever, and I was carefully scrutinized. There were burqas everywhere.  I was relieved when the light changed and I could go.

The rest of the ride to Kars was fairly uneventful, but I kept seeing more and more Jandarma and military vehicles.  This was on a Friday, and you will recall that at Friday sermons, the Mullahs preach their most important sermon of the week.  Hmmm.  I kept riding.

I came through this glorious stretch of road up some canyon lands.  I tried to get good pictures, but they don't seem to capture the beauty of the place.

The road surface wasn't the best, but I've ridden worse in Alaska.  I really enjoyed the riding and the scenery.  Not too hot, no wind, curvy roads.  Great stuff.

I got through Kars and headed north and then west.  More Jandarma, and all the sentry and guard posts were manned.  I came up through one pass and, on the hilltop to my left, commanding both the pass and the river below, was a new army post built on the remains of an old castle or fort.  You could see the old stone wall acting as the foundation for the new post's concrete walls.  Apparently, whatever type attack they feared did not involve artillery. . .

Not too long after that, the road took me from a high plain down into a valley, and then through the middle of a village.  This one didn't have a center median, unless the drain counts.  Regardless, I was once again being scrutinized, but now there were groups of men.  I checked to make sure there were women and kids still around, and there were.  In this village, all I saw were burqas.  Then as I came around a curve, there was a stream of men coming out of the mosque.  They seemed agitated.  I politely rode up the hill and out of town.  It was on the way out of this town that the goose attacked my moto.  An angry goose running at you and hissing with its neck stretched out is a funny sight on a moto accelerating away.

I kept on climbing.  The views were better and better, and the hills were greener and greener.  In a high pass, I came upon what looked like government built housing off on the left, as the houses were all the same size, color, and in neat rows.  There didn't seem to be any signs of life around them.  No smoke, no dogs, nothing moving.  Just after I crested the pass, I saw a fair or something, with tractors and tents and horses.  Lots of people, too.  They seems to be living in sod and stone huts, with grass growing on the tops of the huts.  Each hut seemed to have a little courtyard in front of it, and some had tractors parked in the gateway to the courtyard.  A stream ran deep in a little valley between the roadway and the cluster of huts that were strewn across the hillside.  Women were bringing water up the hill from the stream in tin pails and cans hung from yokes on their shoulders.  I didn't want to risk offending anyone, so I didn't stop to photograph them. 

Later, I stopped to take some photos at the top of the highest pass, 2500 meters or something.  It was just a really nice day.

Do you see that dark line just below the horizon?  That is not a shadow, those are the tops of some pine trees.  See how flat that looks?  Well, those pine trees open into a gully, that becomes a gorge, that drops fast and hard.  From this beautiful panoramic hilltop, I dropped into a beautiful, twisty gorge with hairpin 180 degrees turns.  The hills were covered with pine, and the smell was fantastic.  After getting to the halfway point, and passing a truck that had been in front of me whose brakes had just caught fire, the road split, and my route took me back up, this time (still through pines and now open meadows) to what looked like the Black Forest in Germany.  The surrounding mountains were clad in dark pine trees, and the lower slopes were green meadows and hay fields dotted with houses and small village clusters.    I had the sense that this was an area with many summer homes.

So far, the traffic had been light, and so it was a lot of fun to ride and see the views.  As I approached Ardahan, that changed, and there was more traffic, and I had to pay more attention to what was going on around me.  Ardahan is a city/town that is built on the side of a gorge with a river at the bottom.  I wondered if maybe they needed two mayors, one for the top half and one for the bottom half, as the top and bottom were separated by a vertical drop of a few hundred feet.  The top part was a narrow street with the usual bustle and clogged passageway, while the bottom was more open.  The road then followed this valley and the river.

By now it was getting hotter, and I was headed directly west into the setting sun.  The valley, which turned very narrow with room at the bottom for only the river, the road, and narrow little fields, had captured the heat of the sun, and was holding it close.  There was little wind in spite of the river.  That river was tumbling, too.  I didn't see any rafters or kayakers, just some fishermen, fishing away.

The road was cut into the side of the rock of the hill.  It followed every twist and turn, and the traffic built up.  The road was littered with potholes and rock debris from the hillside above, and the drivers became worse and worse.  I just hugged the spot where a fog line would be if there had been one, but the close calls kept coming, as driver after driver insisted on passing in the blindest of blind curves.  Suddenly, I noticed that the river was no longer tumbling, but had slowed considerably.  Sure enough, the river slowly started widening, and so did the gorge, which now became a valley.  

Now there were rock walls on the sides of the valley instead of trees, and you could see the monumental efforts the engineers had undertaken to maintain a roadway along the side of the mountains above this reservoir.  The rock wall of the hillside had still not found its angle of repose, and the evidence of near constant rockslides was everywhere.  The road crossed a bridge back over to the north side, and became much better.  That is, there weren't as many rockslides, and the road was wider and better paved.  And hell-on-wheels broke loose.  

Every dimwitted, unlicensed, egocentric, untrained, race-car-driver-wanna-be with a short p***s and a motor vehicle decided he had to set a new speed record to get to Artvin that day.  It was insane.  I had a guy pass me less than two feet away downhill in a blind curve against two lanes of traffic (another guy was passing someone coming our way) at 50mph.  A few moments later, a minibus did the same thing.  A few moments after that, a Volvo coming towards me decided to pass a truck coming uphill towards me in a blind curve.  That is, I was going downhill, right hand curve, and suddenly right in front of me was this Volvo coming uphill entirely in my lane, and not slowing or yielding.  The pucker factor meter went to 1 immediately.

I have had it.  I am not going to ride in Turkey again.  It is just too dangerous.  Or so I said at the time.  I made it into Artvin, got some gas, stopped at a stoplight and had some words with the guy who had barely missed me.  He held his hands about a foot apart and let me know I shouldn't complain, he had missed me by that much.  Good point.

I made it alive to Hopa, and thought I would spend one last night in Turkey.  I saw a hotel, and thought I would inquire about a room.  I had to ride two kilometers to get there (central median again).  I pulled into their parking area in front, which had a fairly steep slope to it, but I thought I could safely stop and park there.  Epic fail.  I put down the kick stand, tested the stability of the bike, got off, and it immediately fell right on top of me.  So there I am, on the ground, under the bike, crawling out.  I looked and, sure enough, I had broken the clutch lever, and the left mirror was on the ground, too.  Moreover, the stalk on the left front turn signal was broken.  So I stood up, dusted myself off, and with the help of the doorman and a guest got the bike up and stable again.

So there was good news and bad news.  First, the bad news was the hotel was full, and the mirror was going to be a problem because the shaft or stem that holds the mirror head had broken the jam nut that holds it in a bolt on the handlebars.  That is a bike specific part.  The good news was I had another clutch lever zip-tied to my frame, and replacing it only took a few minutes.  I was tired, I was hot, and I was thirsty.  I had Georgia on my mind.  I decided to put Turkey in my one remaining review mirror, and I did.

The border crossing was lengthy because of my license plate.  It is a vanity plate, OX AK.  They don't understand that.  They finally gave up both at the Turkish post and the Georgian post, and let me through.  At the Georgian post, a lovely young woman asked in excellent English if this was my first time to Georgia.  I said yes, and she said "Welcome to Georgia."  This has happened in several conversations with Georgians.  They are very nice, and pleasant to deal with.

After I cleared customs and passport control, I started off down the highway, headed to Batumi and a room.  About 100 meters in I spotted a sign that said Hotel.  I pulled in immediately.  Excellent choice.  This was a Western style resort motel, right across the street from the Black Sea.  I had my own chalet!  And dinner was outdoors, chicken Kiev, fries, and a salad.  The tomatoes were the best I have eaten in a very, very long time.  They were almost as sweet as apples.  That food and a hot shower made everything right, although I was still unhappy with Turkish drivers.  Turns out they are amateur hour compared to Georgians.

First Minutes In Georgia

After I left the hotel, I headed towards Batumi. Today I would navigate by road sign only, as I had no maps, either paper or on the GPS, for Georgia. I stopped a little way down the road to exchange my Turkish money for Georgian Lari, and to buy water. There was also a baker there "baking" his bread inside a beehive type oven. I ordered a loaf (less than 50 cents) and while it was cooking, I watched this cow stopping and slowing traffic. 

While waiting for the bread, four boys struck up a conversation. They tried to teach me hello, how are you, what is your name, etc. in Georgian. Epic fail. But I gave them half my loaf (they were waiting for a loaf too) for their efforts. Nice kids. 

Malatya, Bingol, Erzurum

I left Malatya in the sunshine, no wind, and what looked like a pretty day ahead.  After foiling a few more radar traps and predatory policemen, I headed out on what looked like a nice highway.  Malatya sits on the edge of a range of hills above a broad valley, and the hills and valley are lovely with green fields above and below the town.

As I headed east, the road started rising into hills, which were more arid, and I was to spend most of the day riding from hills to valleys and back into hills.  The roads weren't bad at first, but they gradually became more broken and patched.  The hills and fields, however, remained green and lovely.

Almost immediately after leaving Malatya, I started seeing Jandarma cars, and trucks both on patrol, and stopped by the roadside at junctions.  There were also Jandarma armored vehicles, both small four-wheeled scout-type cars, and the larger eight-wheeled infantry carriers.  At one point, I noticed that the Jandarma had two cars pulled over and were talking with people by the cars.  I have no idea what was going on.  So I started paying attention to the military presence and their bases.

The small towns through which the road took me were worn and dusty.  Many buildings are made of concrete block, and some have never been plastered over, so they look unfinished, even though they are occupied.  Not all buildings are painted, and so the villages all look as though they are unfinished.  Even the most prosperous looking and grandiose buildings and homes have trash strewn about in front of them.  This is curious because I frequently see garbage trucks picking up waste from bins and bags along the streets, and men and women sweeping streets and picking up trash.  It is as if there are two segments of this society: those who have pride and want a clean and neat(er) environment, and those who just throw trash out or discard it when they are through with the object.

The streets are crowded with cars, trucks, and pedestrians.  I have learned that it is best to stay to the left, close to the center island (almost all towns divide the traffic flows with an island or barriers in the middle of the street, probably to keep people from killing each other by head-on collisions) and to maintain a slow, even speed with my foot ready on the rear brake pedal.  Pedestrians are playing "Frogger" trying to cross the streets, and people in vehicles are stopping to chat with each other, or double parking while they have lunch, and so on.  If you stay to the left, you can kind of keep moving.

All of the military bases and posts I saw had taken some defensive postures.  Entrances had posts with sandbags, and caltrops and vehicle barriers in place.  All were manned.  Every post was fenced, some double fenced, with barbed wire and concertina wire on top.  Almost all had tall sentry towers in the center of the compound, and fortified fighting positions at the corners.  The larger posts had fields of fire cleared outside their wire, and internal fortified fighting positions, towers, and armored vehicles deployed near their fighting positions.  I also noticed that at all the very large positions, such as the one at Bingol, there were physical fitness obstacle courses near the main gates in clear view of the highway.  I surmise that this is so the population can see that the army is physically fit and ready to fight if need be.

In Bingol, I got turned around a bit, which took me through the middle of one of the bases.  The soldiers gave me the eye.  I finally turned myself around, rode back through the base, and stopped for gas.  Hilarity ensued.  I was invited to spend the next month on the couch in the office, I was warned it was very dangerous, that there were Kurds everywhere, had to drink some tea, and almost could not get away from them.

I rode out of Bingol on highway 950, which started out, as they always do, being a nice looking highway heading north through some hills.  It turns out that 950 is under major reconstruction, so I rode on bad roads most of the way to Erzurum.  There were some nice spots of pavement though, and it was great to just ride along, high in these green rolling hills, spotted with sheep, goats, and cattle.

You can see that my blue skies had turned to gray.  The humidity had shot up, and it was more than warm in the riding suit.  As I was standing there drinking some water after taking these photos, a small Jandarma armored scout car drove up to about where the truck is in the middle picture, turned around, tooted its horn at me, and drove off the way it had come.  

I rode on to Erzurum, got caught up in its one way streets, tried to find a hotel, and finally wound up at the Davilar Hotel.  They let me park right in front of the hotel, and as I was unloading, three Turkish bikers rode up on BMW's and parked there too.  They told me that 950 north was under heavy construction, and no good for motorcycles.

Right outside the door to my room was the large stain on the carpet.

I thought I was in the middle of a crime scene!  I finally figured out it was probably just some mahogany stain that they used on the interior trim.

The room's air conditioning was this window.  I ate at the hotel, and the food was tasty.  It was after this meal, though, that my intestinal tract started its current problems.  The hotel was on the top floor, so I took a few pictures.  There is a ski-jumping facility here, and from a distance it is quite impressive.  The closer one gets though, the clearer it becomes that there is a lot of deferred maintenance that must be done before it becomes usable again.

This tea tasted a little funny. I think this may be what caused my problem. 

I went back to my room. turned off the air conditioning, and went to bed.

Another Day In Tblisi

I'm staying another day in Tblisi. First, the hotel is nice and has this great little coffee shop. 

Here I can finish all the work on my maps. 

Second, my visa for Azerbaijan is not effective until tomorrow, and the border is not that far away. 

Third, somewhere in ir near Erzerum, Turkey, I caught a little of Traveller's Intestinal Delight. The more time in clean surroundings with clean water, the better. 

More later. . .

In Tblisi

Seems to be a nice town. Last night I was in a Georgian road house, the Otel Silk Road, just east of Kashuri. The ground floor is a huge open room, full of tables, with chairs upside down on top of them. In the back on the right is a bar with a reception desk on rollers. How much? 50 GEL, about $30, paid in advance.   Room is upstairs, take the grand marble staircase up one floor, mind your head doesn't get caught in the garlands of white(ish) organza. 

Security for the bike was excellent, as they opened both front doors and I rode it up the steps and into the big room. I took the key with me anyway. 

Dinner was a bottle of orange Fanta, because I saved the Snickers bar for breakfast. I wasn't up to going out for dinner, so I fasted. I couldn't get to sleep, probably a combination of the shouting down the hall, the Fanta, and the fall. 

This morning I was up, rode the bike out of the hotel, and packed it up. I shaved but didn't want to brush my teeth with the tap water, and the shower had no curtain so I passed. The toilet was leaking on the floor, too, so it was just time to go. 

About a mile down the road I stopped and had my breakfast, assured an old man with a wheelbarrow loaded with sacks of hay that, yes, I was going to Tblisi, and adjusted the air in the tires 

It was only a 71 mile ride, so I took my time. I stopped at one of their brand new rest areas, like the European model, for a coffee and cold water.  It was so nice I just sat outside on the curb near the bike and enjoyed my refreshment. A bus full of teenagers stopped close by. Two girls came over and asked if they could have a photo. I said sure, thinking they just wanted a picture of themselves on the bike. They did, but then they wanted one with me on it too. Maybe they were on a treasure hunt and had to get a photo of a grandfather on a motorcycle?

I selected a hotel off the internet, Betsy's Hotel, based on my usual criteria: wifi, parking, and funky. I got all three of those, plus a location approachable from only one street that took me forever to find. But I found it, in spite of cobblestone street after cobblestone street. I may hire a truck to take me back to the highway!

I'm going to spend two nights here to get the GPS set up for Central Asia. Or at least get a start on it. I will also blog about the last two days in Turkey. 

I am stiff and sore from the fall. I'm going to see if hot water will take care of that. 

Caution: Pig Crossing

I did not see that sign. I really did not see that sign. 

I was somewhere in Georgia, north and east of Kobuleti, enjoying the day. I had twice taken inadvertent routes, once in Kobuleti and once in Batumi, to the wonderful spot in each town adjacent to their bus station and their main market. There I had experienced and enjoyed the Georgian equivalent of the Turkish traffic jam. Only video can describe it. 

So now I was on the "highway," a two lane chipseal road out in the country, enjoying the day. This is free range country, and there is not a thing tied, tethered, clipped, hobbled or in any manner restrained. I always slow down when I see animals because I have no idea what they might do. Yesterday, a goose decided to attack me, or more likely, the bike. I'm hesitant to say it, but I just don't think like an animal. . .

While I'm doing about 80 kmh, a pig decides to cross the road from right to left in front of me. Came right out of the ditch where the dirty little beast had been hiding. Not a hog, but a full sized pig, maybe a couple hundred pounds. It scrambled on to the road 50 meters or so in front of me. 

As I braked, first front, then adding rear, trying not to lock up the rear, I aimed to get behind him, thinking he'd move a little faster as I approached. I didn't have a lot of room because of the ditch. Some Georgians were watching and I could see them starting to get up. 

Then the damn pig stopped in the middle of the road. It is unlikely the pig will ever even approach a road in the future. 

I hit him a very hard but glancing blow in the rear, and the bike started to go.  I fought it because I didn't want to go off the high side. I almost made it, but I pulled too hard to the left, and down we went. I went left, the bike went right, and we kicked up a heck of a dust cloud. The bike spun on it's right side, missed the ditch, and came to rest on a driveway over the ditch, motor still running. 

I spun on my left side and back, watching the bike spin away from me. I really did not want to get tangled up with it. I am okay, my gear all did what it was supposed to do, with no rips or tears. My left calf and shoulder are sore,but no bruises showing. The bike is running and acting fine. Broke the left front turn signal stalk, banged up the peg packer on the right side where I carry my fuel can, and abraded some of my cloth pannier on that side. It is "the little bike that can."  

I wonder how I'll feel in the morning!  I stopped at a roadside hotel because I was sore. My moto is parked in the lobby. Tore the kick stand extension plate off getting it in here. I think I've had enough fun for one day. 

An Up And Down Day

I think I went over five passes today: three at 1800 meters and two at 1900 meters!  The valleys between them were spectacular, with both lava flows and eroded sediment strata visible at various points. My new friend Liz would have made her husband Jon stop the car about every 20 kilometers to photograph and exclaim over the rock formations. 

Although the countryside is getting drier the further east I ride, there is still a lot of farming. In the bottomlands where there is water there are orchards and vegetable crops, and up in the hills there are fields of grain, still green, very pretty. At one point, the road ran between fields of green, with low brown hills way off to either side. The green fields and the road met an impossibly blue sky, with a few fluffy white clouds to emphasize the deep blue. I, of course, thought I had miles of such beauty to go, but then I crested a low rise and the land fell away in front of me to a deep valley. General George Armstrong Custer must have felt that same sense of surprise there by the Little Bighorn. Maybe more, because the valley in front of him had a lot of angry Indians in it. 

Besides up and down, the day was hot and windy, with flags straight out and snapping. If I were a Coast Guard Academy grad I could tell you how fast the wind was blowing from that fact plus one other-the size of the flag. It was windy enough to push the moto around. 

The heat also was a factor. Large parts of the road today were brand new asphalt, as pretty as a baby's smile, and as smooth as the baby's bottom. The rest was chipseal, and not all in good shape. In some places the tar and oil were melting/melted, and were on the surface, and slickery. Woo!  I'm still breaking in those new tires, and we slipped around a few times. 

I made it 267 miles to Malatya, where I have found a hotel. The first one I tried wasn't finished (and had a looooong way to go), the second was full (or maybe they smelled me), and the third one was just right. And I will leave you with a photo taken just before I left the Fairy Chimney Inn. I was sad to go, but excited to be on the road again. 

More About The Caspian Sea Ferry

Some of you may enjoy reading about the Caspian Sea Ferry, and what it has to offer.  If so, here is a link that will give you a good idea . . .

Caravanistan

New Tires

The tires arrived at 5:30. 

At 5:45 we were at the shop

Rear wheel on. 

6:25, he is done. 

I think he has done this before. Last year, a group of Italian riders came through. He changed out tires on 21 bikes. 

Contemplating My Next Move

Since the tires are on, I gotta make a move. Thinking is so much better with caffeine aboard. 

I'm checking out in the morning. Today I will spend going over the bike and gear, making sure all is ready. Then spend some time on route planning. I'm trying to get a handle on the Caspian Sea crossing. It looks like that will be a true adventure. 

I found some Arnica creme for the tendinitis in my right hand. I am very curious to see if it works. At least it doesn't hurt as much as the injured brachial plexus/ulna nerve I suffered on my left side on that very first ride 2-3 years ago!  That was like a horde of fire ants chewing on my shoulder and neck. 

And I suppose I should try to do a little laundry so I can leave here with clean clothes. Always a good idea. . .

Delightful People At Fairy Chimney Inn

So here are some of the delightful people I met at Fairy Chimney Inn.

From the left, B, Rola, Jon, Laonie, Lana, and Yasmin.

I don't have photos of Axel, or Tyler and his wife Nini (I hope I spelled that right!), or Jon and Liz, or all the other travelers who have been so nice and so enjoyable.  One of the many joys of traveling is just to happen upon these wonderful people. I can't express how much fun this has been, and just sharing experiences with them.  I've learned so much! 

Random Happenings

On the ride back from my visit to Soganli, I was riding along, just really enjoying the day.  As I came out of a corner, I spotted what I at first thought was a large cat, sitting in the tall grass by the side of the road.  Turns out it was a fox, which trotted slowly across the road, then stopped to watch me ride by.  Wonderful.

I then rode on to Avanos to look at some carpets.  Bazaar 54 in Avanos is a government sponsored cooperative which has masters who teach their techniques to other village women, who in turn bring their carpets to the co-op for sale.  According to the information I was given, there are 26 master teachers there, and they have taught 4,000 women in the villages.

After learning about kilim (flat woven) carpets, single knot carpets, double knot carpets, and embroidered carpets, I got to see a showroom.  A Turkish carpet showroom is quite an experience, with carpet after carpet displayed, some twirled in the air, others rolled out with a dramatic flair, and always a running commentary.  Here is what it looked like after about 20 minutes.

I was shown one particularly beautiful silk carpet of a shade that matched the master bedroom at home.  I asked the price, and was told, it was only 71,000 TL, or about $35,500.  I guessed I could do without.

I did purchase these three carpets.

The one above was woven of all natural wool fibers with no dyes. Lots of dark colored ( perhaps just dirty?) sheep near here. 

This one is a kilim. 

And this is an embroidered and double knotted wool. 

All three. 

After spending Matt and Ben's inheritance, I rode on back t Göreme.  Just as I arrived at the edge of town, I was attacked by a dog!  A Lhasa Apso no less, barking up a storm, came running out until it deemed it had come close enough to scare me away, then returned to its home.  I almost fell over laughing.

I went back to Avanos the next day to the pottery center, where I learned about the pottery made in the area.  Beautiful stuff, particularly the Hittite style wine decanters.  The Hittites worshiped the sun and the moon, or so I was told, and their wind decanters were made with a hole in the center.  The hole allowed the sun/moon to shine through, and it was also useful when pouring the wine as you stick your arm through the hole and pour the wine by rotating the decanter around your arm.  Pretty cool stuff.

So I bought this set for Meredith.

I can't remember if I posted this before, but I also bought this plate in Istanbul.

The Continuing Saga Of The Speeding Ticket (Or The Tale Of The Lawbreaker Dan)

After I arrived in Göreme, I went to the Post Office to pay my speeding ticket. The office was closed, as the postmaster's wife had tragically died the day before after a long illness. So I waited until Monday to go again. 

On Monday, the office was open, and I waited in line to pay. My turn came, and I presented the ticket, holding the cash for payment in my other hand. Merriment ensued, as, Hey! The cops had caught an American!  From Alaska!  Funneeeee!

After much laughing and comments back and forth between those Turks present, the clerk got down to business, and started entering data in the computer. Wrinkles popped out on his brow. I surmised trouble was in the offing. I settled in for what was to come. 

After discussing the ticket with the Turkish fellow next to me, and making two calls on the phone, he handed me the ticket and said "Nevsehir" while pointing to the block where the license number of the bike was printed. He couldn't get the ticket to come up in their system because of the plate (OX AK).  Vanity has done me in!  

As I have not decided yet how to deal with this, this post is

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

Soganli

Sognali town dates back to the 6th century.  I rode there on the moto after doing a small repair, and hd a lovely time on the road from Ürgüp.  The road passes through Mustafapasa, Cemil, Taskinpasa, Sahinefendi, and Güzelöz on the 44 kilometer ride.  Between Sahinefendi and Güzelöz, the road climbs up out of a valley it has been following and onto a large plateau.  On the climb out, the road has large storage tunnels or caves cut into the hillside in which they store their crops of potatoes until they are ready for market.  Each cavern is closed off with a large steel door.  It kind of looks like an ammunition storage facility . . .

Sognali was resettled at some point from the caves to government built housing.  Here are a few of the sights along the valley.

The plateau's top.

I'm told the white painted around the pigon's holes is to aid the pigeons in finding their homes in the dark.

A garden on the edge of the valley.

Entrance to a church.

The Domed Church

Entrance to The Hidden Church