Get to the Turkey border and I’m expecting a delay of at least 3 inches of growth in my beard but it’s all straight forward and done in a flash.
The fucking wind is absolutely relentless and I’m not in the mood today. It’s shaking me about constantly to the point it’s hard to actually see. I’ve decided to stop short today and find a scruffy hotel at the roadside. Hot, tight and sweaty sounds great when you’re taking about a set of OnlyFans triplets but not so good when you’re taking about Istanbul traffic and you’re feeling sick astride a montage of melting metal.
Last night I went out looking for a shave at a Turkish barbers. Easy right? Wrong! I had to walk for miles past countless boarded up shops with ‘moved to Middlesbrough’, ‘relocated to Romford’ or ‘Pissed off to Peterborough’ scribbled on the fronts. Queues of hairy men withs beards down to their balls are desperately wandering about seeking help. I walk on and eventually find a bunch of youths with cut throat razors that they’ll put against my neck and I’ll pay them money. As I leave I see a bloke running past full pelt. I assume by the fact that there is an angry man chasing him, followed by his wife and kids, that he’s a pickpocket and he’s been rumbled. They quickly catch up with him, a crowd forms and the robber is given summary justice. He’s given a thorough flip-flopping by the whole family and is left bruised in the gutter smelling of feet and fear.
I went to lie down to read at 7pm and woke up at 7am this morning. Whatever it is I’ve got is pretty evil. It could be COVID. I’ve certainly not lost my taste though. I mean I still have a penchant for petit blondes, fine art and expensive cutlery. It’s just my digestive system seems to have fallen out with my appetite.
Anyway. Looks like rain again.
It’s more of the tarmac treadmill today. I’m heading for the Bosphorus bridge. The roads are all polished and smoother than an alopecia sufferer’s skin after a good waxing. That and the fact that the Turkish drivers seem to have joined the premier league of the world’s most dangerous makes it a no blink ride but I’m always happy to see the bridge. This is where it begins.
Definitely a different audience this side of the bridge
I think this one signed it ‘resting bitch face’
I often find myself in the less salubrious side of town and tonight is no exception. It’s scoring a very high 95% graffiti coverage and I’ve left The Bitch with strict instructions to bite first and ask questions later
I’ve not been to Ankara before. The camera wants to go out for a quick recce of the local area. It’s not constantly diving back into my pocket for fear of being snatched, and none of my spider senses have bothered to alert me so its not as bad as it looks.
And I just know the bathroom is going to sound like someone is trying to start a 30 year old Alfa Romeo in the morning after this
I woke up and heeded the Ktm call to prayer I could hear basting from some Akraprovics somewhere in the distance. I followed my ears to the local orange temple, took out my prayer mat and placed on the floor in front of the service desk and started chanting paragraphs from the user manual, making sure to shake my beads and make the dollar sign.
My prayers were met by a young Turk fluent in 50% English. He missed out every 2nd word. But I got the gist. They don’t have the discs in Ankara but there are apparently some in Istanbul. So either i make a 600 mile round trip or I wait a couple of days for them to roll over all by themselves. So option B it is. The Bitch has a discorectomy operation booked for the 14th at 2pm. I just have to kick my heals until then.
I’m bored already. Ankara is a pretty bland place. Bloody hilly though and laid out over a natural bowl. I took a long hot walk up to the castle. All those blokes in ages past that gave their lives to build a big fuck off castle just so people could open little shops selling cheap crap to people with no taste. What a waste.
Yesterday I was so bored I almost went to a museum. I know. But I pulled back right at the last minute thank God. I walked another hour in the heat to some big monument/museum place just for a gander. On the way I passed some massive military looking building with a big silver badge on the top. There were army everywhere and there was a billboard outside showing off all the multitude of methods Turkey has for killing people. Planes, guns, drones, the Turks are big on killing machines of all sorts. I was going to take a short video of the billboard but I noticed a bloke in plain clothes but with a radio looking at me. Time to move on I think
Got to the big fuck off monument. It was monumental.
Went looking for some Turkish baths but couldn’t find any nearby. On the way back i did pass a couple of dirty nanas outside a small massage shop. I reckon within 10 seconds of getting you on a bench they’d be tugging your todger like someone trying to start a reluctant lawn mower. I don’t want to have a nana accompany me to hospital with my togder in her hand so I give that a miss.
I hang around the hotel as long as I can then make my way very slowly up to the Ktm dealer. I’m 3 hours early. I walk in and I see something on his desk. It’s a disc. Singular. He says Istanbul on had one original. It’s like going for a transplant and seeing they only have one lung in the bucket.
But all is not lost. They did have a pair of competition discs that will fit. But they might not arrive for 3/4 hours. I go and find a coffee house to get out the heat and read. I go back in a couple of hours and the bike has been moved. And it’s wearing new discs! It’s done. The mechanic says one of the discs wasn’t just warped, it was sort of folded. Makes no sense at all. Maybe someone ran into the bike in a car and bent it. Who knows. But he didn’t know how that could have happened at all.
Who cares. I now have front brakes that can make my eyeballs pop out and squash against the visor .. if I really want.
It’s gone 2 and the bed is 280 miles away so I race the sun to the horizon all the way to Silvas. I loose by about 10 minutes. Silvas is hot and jammed. And when I get to the hotel the Ktm embarrasses herself by pissing coolant all over the car park. KTM. Keep Taking Money. It never ends 
I sometimes think I’m not human. Today taught me otherwise.
It’s a very beautiful and very cool start to the day. 20 degrees is a real breath of fresh air. I think I even slept through morning prayers.
Today’s target is the Karanlik Canyon. A 10km off road ride through chipped out tunnels next to the river of a .. yep.. canyon. It’s right in the middle of bum fuck nowhere so I head for the nearest town to sponge up with as much fluid as my body can take.
I thought the road started at the town but it’s a long 40 mile detour round and through a beautiful strip of mountain road. Narrow, tight and often fucking steep. The Bitch is getting hot. When I stop I can hear coolant pissing out and hissing on the hot engine. I’m so over this bloody bike. It’s all I can do not to just give it an oh so gentle push when it’s on its side stand near a 500m shear drop onto rocks. It would probably still run though. Fucking thing. Maybe I’ll donate it to the Russians if I ever get there.
Get to the start of the tunnels and it’s time to get my muscle memory out of its box and plug it in. If you like off-roading in pitch black tunnels and on strips of road etched into the rock just a few feet wide then this is the place for you. When I’m actually in these places I often wish I was back home, sat at my computer with a nice cold drink looking at them on the screen. In reality the thermometer is reading 43 degrees and my soul is getting edgy that my body isn’t coping. It’s difficult to admit sometimes that maybe you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.
We get out alive and make it to the next village. I run around the supermarket dripping everywhere and necking everything that is below 40 degrees before going through the checkout with a dozen empty cans and bottles. And I’m still thirsty.
I go to get some fuel. Go to get off the bike and nearly just fall to the ground. I’m beginning to wonder if both me and the bike will make it round this trip this time. Might be time for a good think.
The ride to the hotel is another bendy blinder. A roadbuilding masterpiece threaded up, around and over the mountains. Trouble is, going up is making the bike hot again. Get to town and I have to turn it off at every light. And it’s not always happy to restart. Get to the hotel and there is brake fluid all over one of the callipers too.
Beam me up scotty..
