THE BICYCLE TRIP
It seams that some of our best ideas often begin as spur of the moment decisions, and our recent bicycle trip was no exception! We were working in an old hotel in Aviemore, Scotland, feeling the bite of the northern winter when it occurred to us how nice it would be to go back to Australia; and what better way than by bicycle? From our wintery wonderland we planned our route to The Antipodes and wrote off many letters for information on the several different options. I had worked for two years as a tour leader/driver for a London based tour operator driving and leading expeditions from Kathmandu to London so I knew much of the route already. Before we were sacked from our dishwasher positions in the hotel in Aviemore for questioning pay rewards we had most of the route already planned.
Returning to Edinburgh we worked for six months saving as much money as possible and planning our itinerary. We had several possible routes we could take and after obtaining all the necessary information from the relevant Embassies we decided on a particular one. With the money we had saved we expected to take about a year to reach "The Land Down Under". I had worked for two years as an expedition leader/driver on the traditional Asian overland route and, as Louise had done the same route once, we decided to more or less stick to this route. We spent the week before leaving packing and repacking our panniers, every time leaving out some article of clothing or equipment. We thought we had it all worked out but on the actual day of departure our bikes were just a bit overladen and heavy and after a few practise laps around the housing estate we decided to leave out the tent. It was an easy decision to make as we knew what the weather was like at this time of year and we just hoped we would not get caught out. As it turned out we only had about 4 days of rain throughout the trip.
On the warm June morning when we cycled the first few kilometers out of my home town of Carnoustie, the thought really struck us," What a hell of a long way to Australia". No-one really took us seriously and in fact, it wasn't until we had cycled quite a few thousand kilometers that we even began to take ourselves seriously.
For the next week we travelled slowly southwards, enjoying the pleasant British springtime and giving ourselves a chance to adjust to cycling as a full time occupation. During that week we were treated to some of the best weather the country had seen for a while and we didn't even have one drop of rain. We took it in very easy stages and on our first day we only covered 50km to the town of Falkland which we reached in the early afternoon.We spent the rest of the day exploring the Palace and other ancient buildings. The following day we crossed the ForthRoadBridge and arrived in Edinburgh, hot and sweaty and looking for a cold shower. We stayed with friends and spent that last evening in Scotland drinking beer on the Rose Street circuit.
The next morning, after an emotional farewell to our friends, we took the backroads out of town and headed south to the "Border". Although there is no passport control between Scotland and England you do cross Hadrian's Wall. This wall was built by the Emperor Hadrian in the 4th Century AD in an effort to protect their conquered land from the marrauding Picts. The undulating hills of The Border's, as it is affectionately known in Scotland, tested our energy levels but we made steady progress and crossed the border early that afternoon. That evening we stopped in the Youth Hostel in Wooller and quickly cooked our meal before sinking into a deep sleep.
Our sleep was broken the next morning by a noisy bunch of school kids rampaging down the dormitories but as we had a long day ahead of us we dragged our weary bodies out of the bunk. We bypassed Newcastle but had a beautiful and fast descent into the TyneValley followed by an equally steep grind out again. We were only about 30km from my brother's house when we encountered roadworks! The road was being re-sealed and we had to push our bikes for 2km. We spent the following hour scraping the tar from in between the mudguards and from the tyres with the help of some diesel we bought from a very convenient service station. After two more horrendous hills we arrived at my brother's cottage near Durham.
During the previous few days we built up a routine on the bikes and had decided that we were carrying too much gear. On going through our belongings we decided to leave behind one sleeping bag, all the cooking utensils, one of our expensive padlocks and some odds and ends. Of course my brother was very happy with what we left as he knew he could make use of them. Were we making the correct decision? What would happen if we could not find shelter on a wet and cold night? With these thoughts going through our heads we took a walk through historic Durham and popped into the 'local' for a few drinks.
We only had time to spend one night there and the next morning saw us on our way before the sun was up. It was a sad farewell as we did not know when we would see Alasdair and his wife, Penny, again.
We took it very easy as we were still in the middle of a rare heatwave. We cycled the backroads wherever possible and made life as easy as possible. We arrived in York just as a thundersorm struck and finding the Youth Hostel full we cycled to the nearest campsite. It was also full! However the owner was in the middle of renovations and he said we could sleep amongst the debris. At least it was a roof over our heads and it kept out the rain that was now bucketing down.
This was the first of many building sites we were to sleep in during the following six months. During the night part of the York Minster was burnt to the ground so we made a detour the next morning to see the smoking ruins. Apparently a lightening bolt had struck during the thunder storm.
"This is a sign from God," said one of the locals who was standing next to us. He went on to explain that the fire had not destroyed the huge stained glass window or the main building. One of the locals ministers had spoken out against God's teachings and this was God's way of punishing him. With this in mind we walked our bikes through the old part of the city and headed south through the lush green fields with the livestock also enjoying the pleasant weather.
Three days later we arrived in Cambridge very early in the morning and headed straight for the Youth Hostel. Our plan was to leave the bicycles there and take the bus to London to see a few friends before leaving the country. This all went well until we heard the rumour of a Channel Ferry strike. We immediately bought a ticket to Zeebrugge in Belgium and made a mad dash back to Cambridge on the very late bus after only one night in London. Unfortunately we had to sleep the night in the local park until the YH opened the next morning. After grabbing a very quick breakfast we pedalled at a fast speed toward the Felixstowe. We were now testing our muscles we had built up over the previous few days. We made it in good time as it was flat all the way and the back roads were all very direct.
With the few extra pounds we had left we bought some food for the first few days in Belgium and drank a last couple of beers before tying our bikes up in the ferry's hold. While the cars were still queueing to get on we found ourselves a very cosy and secluded piece of deck and, as it is not compulsory to have a cabin,laid out our sleeping bag in a relatively quiet and secluded spot.
Across the Channel in Zeebrugge we were greeted by a curtain of grey drizzle which accompanied us all the way to Amsterdam. Luckily we escaped the traffic by taking to the excellent system of "Fietspad", or cycle paths which criss-cross the country. Most of the time they run parallel to the main roads but in the province of Zeeland they run through the fields and backcountry. It must have been when we were 'out bush' that we lost our way to Amsterdam. We did a scenic tour of Holland looking for the correct fietspad and eventually found our way into the suburbs in the pouring rain. Of course punctures only happen in the rain and it was with a feeling of acceptance when I felt the back tyre blow out. It wasn't much fun changing the tube in the pouring rain but it had to be done. We knew we were going in the right direction when we passed Schipol airport, Europe's busiest airport. Amsterdam wasn't exactly en route but, as Louise's grandmother and uncle lived there, we decided to spend a few days with them catching up on family gossip.
Louise's grandmother, Oma, had some lovely hot soup for us when we eventually arrived at the door. After demolishing the soup we set about drying off our bikes and checking our equipment. Luckily all our gear was in plastic bags but we did have to sort out our dirty washing. This was done with clothes pegs on our noses! By this stage of the trip we were more attuned to the bikes and our needs and we were able to streamline our panniers even more. We kept only what we knew we would need and left behind what was in excess. Any old or worn clothes were put into the rag bag for future cleanings of the trusted machines. This was to be an ongoing process throughout the trip.
After only three days in Amsterdam we set off again and continued south to Germany via Arnhem. Two days later we crossed into Germany for one night before cycling into Luxembourg. The two days in Germany were the most luxurious days I have ever had on a bike. Roads in this country are so smooth even cycling uphill became a joy with the downhill runs quite exquisite. As Luxembourg is only a very small country straddled between Germany, Belgium and France it took us just 2 days to cycle from one border to the other. After a quick day in Belgium we cycled into France where the weather finally improved and we took to sleeping out in the ripe cornfields and lunching on juicy peaches, crusty bread, soft cheeses and bottles of local wine. By this stage we were becoming rather stressed out with all the different currencies and exchanging and re-exchanging money.
We then followed the Rhone valley in a southerly direction toward Lyon. This was a very pleasant part of the trip as we took it easy and kept as much as possible to the back roads. We cycled through the vineyards of the Cote d'Or often stopping at the many cellars to sample to local vintage while enjoying some lovely food. We met an English cyclist in Beaune and spent two days in the local Youth Hostel talking about cycle touring and all its pleasures. However we had to keep going and after passing through Lyons we turned east into the grey-white hills of the spectacular Verdon Gorge and then south again through the lavender-scented fields of Provence. Reaching Nice and the coastal playground of the Cote d'Azur, we were confronted with wall to wall villas, not to mention electrified fences and guard dogs so we decided to retreat to the local Youth Hostel rather than sleep out!
From Nice we caught the ferry to Corsica, a densely green, rugged little island with horrendously steep mountain roads designed to test our fitness. It was here that we discovered another strange law of punctures: that is, tubes are most likely to blow out on Sundays, on isolated roads and when you only have one repair patch left.
Across the small straight again by ferry and we were in Sardinia, then mainland Italy via Civitaveccia. It was here that we met another cycling duo from Scotland who were hoping to get to Greece despite the fact they had run out of money. We approached Rome timidly on a Sunday afternoon, in fear of the legendary traffic, however the roads seemed strangely quiet and civilised. We kept waiting for the horror to begin and it wasn't until we were standing in full view of the Coliseum that we realised we were in the middle of town. In ignorance we had arrived in the middle of the main Roman holiday so we had the wide avenues to explore to ourselves.
In Rome we applied for our Iranian visas and while waiting for them to be approved we availed ourselves of vast quantities of pasta, pizza and vino rosso served at the tables on the pavement. The Iranians were very circuitous in their demands and after initially informing us that our visas would take three months they delivered them in only 4 hours.
Leaving Rome on the Appia Antica we travelled down the coast towards Naples, following an unending trail of squashed tomatoes, fallen from passing trucks. On the second day out from Rome we met Dave, a fellow Australian cycling around Europe who decided, after talking to us for only a day, to come with us. Dave was also sleeping rough and when he told us he had woken that morning with a rat nibbling his toe we knew he would fit in very well with our plans.
Naples, for the cyclist, is a morass of cobblestones and the built-up area extends almost 100km down the coast. The Italians in their true effervescent style would ride alongside us on their mopeds and attempt to practice their English in the middle of major intersections and peak hour traffic. Our concentration wasn't quite up to this feat. Darkness fell while we were in the middle of the city so we decided to eat first then find somewhere to stay. A giant pizza and a litre each of wine later we stumbled into a nursery and sports complex in the middle of a giant roundabout. We laid our sleeping bags out on the concrete of a tennis court and fell to sleep with the noise of the traffic blasting in our ears. Even with all the perpetual noise we all slept soundly and only woke the next morning when the workers arrived. They didn't even take exception to us as we realised it was a place many lovers came to for a bit of fun.
We continued down the heel of Italy where Louise had the first taste of feeling conspicuous as a woman wearing shorts. We didn't stay long in Italy and we were soon at Otranto waiting for the ferry to Greece. We took deck class and were soon asleep to the vibrations of the engine chugging beneath the wooden deck.
The heat of Greece was quite draining so we kept close to the aqua-blue water whenever possible. By the time we reached Athens we were beginning to wonder if the heat would melt our tyres, so we were glad to reserve our piece of deck on the boat to Santorini. Unfortunately the agent omitted to tell us that we would land on the island by boarding small boats which would row out to the larger ferry. Naturally there were a few precarious moments trying to load our heavily laden bikes onto the bobbing corks alongside. However, the disembarkation was nothing compared to having to haul the bikes up the 598 steps (we counted) to Thira. Later we discovered there was a proper jetty with a road leading to it further around the island. Our island hopping took us to Crete and then Rhodes where we admired the enormous yachts of the wealthy and had our last meal of moussaka, retsina and plump red tomato salad before mainland Turkey.
We arrived in Marmaris in the early evening and waved goodbye to a group of Australians on BMW motorbikes who had also made the crossing. After a comfortable night on clean sheets in the home of a friendly tailor we cycled into the sunny morning and were immediately confronted by a huge slain bull, bleeding all over the front lawn. A dozen dead goats down the road, we discovered that it was the Moslem festival of Beyram and the killing was part of a thanksgiving service.
We quickly found that the sturdy looking Turkish roads were not built with the cyclist in mind. The country has a vast network of sealed roads in good condition although the actual surface is very, very rough. They are built for the buses and trucks and not for the cyclists and at the end of the day our hands were all numb with the constant vibrations, very much as if we had been using a pneumatic drill all day. All towns are signposted at nearly all intersections with the distance marked to the next town. All villages and towns have a name indicator as you enter, giving the 'Nufus' (population) and 'Rakim' (height above sea level). As we made our way up the fertile coast to Istanbul we found our eyes watering on several occasions as miles of chilli peppers lay alongside the road.Turkey is full of historical ruins and we only had time to see a very few of them during our limited time in the country. On our way up to Istanbul we visited the Roman ruins of Ephesus and the Greco Roman ruins at Bergama. Istanbul is a magnificent, big, dirty and fascinating city which we spent several days exploring before taking the ferry to the Black Sea port of Sinop. We cycled for 14 days as far as a place called Hopa, 23kms short of the Russian Border.