I left the Freak Show Town known as Pamukkale geared up for rain, as the skies were foreboding. Good thing I did, too, as later the skies would open up. But first I was treated to good roads, not too much traffic, and beautiful country. Okay, so there were some spots of road construction, and some very poor looking villages, but the countryside was very nice.
I was still in the green part of the country, and I suppose all the recent rainfall in Western Turkey helped keep things green. The roads were paralleled, by and large, by fruit orchards and cultivated fields. Workers were in both orchard and fields, hoeing, pruning, making tea, drinking tea, living life. I also passed through pine forests again, and untilled fields spotted with Russian Olive. The Russian Olive is almost the same color as sagebrush, so it can give the country an occasional appearance of the American West.
As the road passed along through broad valley after valley, it occasionally passed close to the hills and ridges defining the valleys. The rock on the upper slopes and hilltops also brought to mind routes through eastern Oregon and Washington. I wish now I had taken a picture or two, but the threatening weather kept me rolling. My overall impression was one of natural beauty, the lands older cultivation being well maintained, and sweeping vistas across wide valleys to the ranges bordering the far side.
I also rode near two large lakes, Açigol and Hoyran Gölü. It was near the latter where the skies opened, and the rain came. To the left was a fairly ;rage hill or ridge, and I could see the thunder clouds working along the sides, obscuring the top from view. Then I heard the thunder, and saw the lightening, and it was but a moment until the water was splashing axle high on the roadway.
I thought I would find a tree under which to shelter for a bit, but of course there were none for the next kilometer or so. I finally found a place, and pulled over. I can't say it was any better under the tree, but it certainly wasn't any worse. Putting my thinking cap on (under my helmet), I decided maybe I should ride on, and see if I could escape this rain cloud. So settling into the puddle of cold water on the seat, I rode on. Sure enough, in two kilometers I rode out of the rain, and slowly steamed inside my rain suit.
A little after two o'clock, I was riding along, not paying attention. I was in a municipal zone, but there were no building in sight. I should have known trouble was right around the corner, but I hadn't eaten lunch, my energy levels were low, and I was not paying attention. I crested a hill doing the limit, and headed downhill, as I rolled the throttle to get my speed down, I saw the little white car at the bottom of the hill. The law of gravity had thrown me into the arms of the law of Turkey. I was speeding, and I was caught.
Sure enough, on the other side of the next hill, the cones were out and there were the police waving me over. As they walked up, one officer held out his arms and said "You have your house!" No kidding. He told me I was speeding, I asked how fast, he said 140 km/h. I asked the limit, and he said 90 km/h. So, 14 km/h over, or a little less than 10 mph. He wanted to know where I was from, and I smiled and said "America!" This did not produce the desired result (catch and release), and he asked for license and papers, and went to the trunk of his car to write the ticket. I couldn't help but notice the handle on his shiny chrome plated semi-automatic pistol sticking out of his shiny white holster: wood inlaid in a pattern with something that looked like mother-of-pearl. I was tempted to ask if I could get a photo, but decided, nah.
After he wrote the ticket, I noticed that the form was in both Turkish and English. I have thirty days to pay the 172 TL fine, and I can pay it at the post-office (In Turkey, the Post-Office acts as many things: DHL package center, bank, ATM, Western Union office, and a place where you can pay money owed to the government. That way, all financial transactions can take place at one location, and commercial banks don't have to worry about serving small communities. A novel thought: A post office that provides service.).
Somewhat chagrined, I rode on in search of food so I could be more alert. I was also thinking I should stop in Aksehir for the night. Shortly thereafter, I found a gas station/restaurant road stop, an stopped for a late lunch. Little English was spoken, but I was served chicken kebabs with a green salad and pomme frites. Now I was refueled in body, and had a much better attitude.
I should mention that I only took the route along the northern edge of Hoyran Gölü because Mr. Garmin was feeling a bit frisky again. I had planned on riding from Dinar to Isparta, then alone the southern and eastern shore of the lake, and thence to Aksehir. Not to be. I went north on 650 for 9 kilometers out of Dinar instead of south. Then the wicked device routed me south for 20 kilometers to the junction with 320, where I turned northeast. I should have known an adventurer was nigh just because of the orange sign that warned of something in 3 kilometers, and the same thing 32 kilometers along the road. That and the fact that weeds were growing up out of the asphalt, indicating little usage, and that there was no traffic.
But I rode on, secure on the knowledge that BMW makes a good bike, and that I had food, water, and a satellite phone. Three kilometers in, the road turned to dirt after it crossed a little bridge, and it was very rutted dirt and mud for about a kilometer. Whee! Up on the pegs, knees on the tank, and away we went. After that, the road was broken chip seal until I passed through the village of Senir-kent. his village looked in part like it may have been a company town. However, I have since learned that the government has been building a lot of housing for its citizens, which gives rise to the look of similarity of the structures. This village was one of many I passed along this route that looked very poor, but the roads were still bordered with land and orchards under cultivation.
After I left the village, I could see a hill in front of me, with a road going up the hill, right to left, and a dump truck driving slowly up the road, dragging a cloud of dust. I surmised it was a new road under construction. I was right. A few kilometers later, I was at the bottom of that road, headed up hill, on a gravel and rock road under construction, eating dust. A note to riders: You can't spit out the dust from under a full-faced helmet unless you lift the bottom of the helmet. Maybe I should switch to a motocross helmet? Just as I arrived at the top of the hill, I passed the truck. Almost immediately, I was on brand new asphalt, headed downhill! What a nice change! After that, for the rest of the day, the road alternated between new asphalt and chip seal. Good riding - if you keep your head in the game.
When 320 intersected with 695, I turned northeast again to get to Aksehir, only 42 kilometers away. The road took me up through a beautiful rocky pas at about 1660 meters, with grand views of a large valley in front of me as I came over the pass. On the plain of the valley before me, I could see villages sited between orchards and fields, and curtains of rain drifting down from the very dark clouds above. Here and there were shafts of brilliant sunshine, but they were all to few to encourage me to ride on. I determined to secure lodging in Aksehir, and call it a day.
When I arrived on the floor of the valley, the city was to my left, and the rain was in front of me. I took the exit to the left, and rode into town. As I neared the city, the rain started and the road became lined with auto and motorcycle repair shops, each dingier than the next. Things were not looking good. I looked at the clock. I looked at the time. I decided I could be in Konya, a much larger city just a little further (130 kilometers) along by 5:30. I decided to go for it. I put that into Mr. Garmin for the next destination, fired up the moto, and rode on.
It rained off and on into Konya, a large city with a population of over a million souls. Entering from the north, i passed a very large university area, riding a wide multi-lane boulevard bounded on the right by the passenger light rail tracks. All of that was very pleasant, but I needed a hotel. I looked up a few, programmed one into Mr. G, and reentered the boulevard, which turned into a limited access, overhead major roadway. Okay, traffic is not bad, take me to the hotel, Mr. G. Finally, I left the freeway, turning on to another multi-lane boulevard, and I hope I was getting nearer. After a number of roundabouts, stop-lights, and other oft ignored traffic control efforts, I was directed onto a side street, around a corner, then another, with the hotel t be just there on the left.
The street was narrow, they were constructing a building on the right meaning there were construction materials in the road way narrowing it even further, and a quick scan showed no parking spots. However, right there, on the left, where my selected hotel was supposed to be, there were some cones, indicating "No Parking! Adana Bey Hotel." What? This was supposed to be the Pasa Park Hotel. Well, maybe they changed hands and renamed it? I was stopping here and checking in. They showed me a room, it was nice, they had secure parking in a fenced lot with a gate and video coverage, so I decide, "I'm in."
I unload the bike, and as I am taking in the last load, I look across the street and up thirty meters, and there is the Pasa Park Hotel. Too late, Mr. G., am already unpacked and checked in.
Since I had eaten a late lunch, I decided to skip dinner, and take my rest. It had been 268 miles through rain and up and down hills (net gain of about 800 meters in altitude), and I needed rest more than food.
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