To wrap things up, below are the stats and map for the final route from Paris, France to Baku, Azerbaijan.

Total days: 149

Riding days: 105

Rainy days: 29

Total distance: 4346 miles

Average pace: 41 miles/day

Languages butchered: 12

# of flat tires: 1 (in Turkey)

# of people who stopped to check on us while fixing said tire: 8

# of times Kat stopped to pet a stray cat: definitely over 100

# of times Kyle contracted Giardia: 1

# of shots of raki/rakia/moonshine taken: too many

Gear broken/replaced:

• 1 pairs of cranks
• 3 saddles
• 1 handlebar bag
• 2 chains
• 1 flat tire
• 2 sets of brake pads
• 3 bike bells (don’t ask me how)
• 6 water bottles (we keep forgetting to grab them in the morning)
• 1 wallet (Kyle dropped it somewhere before the Bulgarian border)

Books read: 10

Most consumed food: Haribo Gold Bears (Kyle ate these almost daily)

Favorite city: Budapest (Kyle), Munich (Kat)

Favorite country: Georgia (Kyle), Serbia (Kat)

Things I learned:

• The world is a very safe place
• Most everyone is incredibly kind
• You can push your body much harder than you think
• You can mime your way through any conversation
• Never take directions from a local without a second opinion
• Any food tastes good after riding 50 miles
• Good roads make for easier days Bad roads make better memories
• Playing dumb gets you out of a lot of sticky situations
• Not everyday is packed with adventure. Some days were straight up boring. Podcasts and music helped immensely
• The best day in the office is never as good as the worst day cycling
• If you forgo the rain fly on your tent, it will rain

Thank you to everyone who followed along to our adventure. And a big thank you to my friend Craig who wrote us letters throughout the trip, which were always the highlight of our day.

Until next time,
Kyle & Kat

*Bonus Pics* Our favorite photos from the trip

I’m heading home! Long story short, getting ill and missing Kat really dampened my spirits. Also, the other cyclists I crossed paths with who’d come from China described the journey from that point forwards as grueling. I like my type B fun, but frankly didn’t feel up to going solo the rest of the journey.

With my mind made up, I booked a flight from Baku, Azerbaijan to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. My flight out didn’t depart until late so I waited in the Baku airport entrance area for about eight hours with my luggage until the flight crew arrived to start checking folks in at the counter.

Similar to my bizarre grocery store encounter earlier in Azerbaijan, it’s illegal to take photographs in the airport. This meant that every few hours, some poor tourist would snap a pic with his family, causing a gruff security guard to come up and snatch the phone, going through all their photos and deleting things as they saw fit.

Qatar Airways didn’t charge for the bicycle which was dope and I got through Azerbaijani immigration without issue. The flight was 3 legs with a duration of 30 hours. I had an overnight layover in Qatar which seemed like a common occurrence for travelers as the Doha airport was filled with sleepy people trying to get some shuteye on the many benches in the terminal. I got some jealous stares as I unpacked my camping gear and set up my inflatable bed…

The next morning, I boarded my last flight and headed home after 5 months of travelling East.

Now I’m back home, happy to be with friends and family again. I’m thrilled Kat and I got to go on this trip, even if it was cut short. Before this trip, I’d never fixed a flat tire; never biked more than a week straight, and never experienced such kindness and generosity from so many people across the world. Overall, it’s difficult to describe the impact this tour had on us. To put it simply, we got to see some cool places and meet some cool people and for that, we’re thankful.

*Bonus Pic* Kat was excited for me to come home but not as much as Cooper

Azerbaijan broke me. Let me explain,

I left my hotel in Zaqatala early in the morning. The night before, they conveniently didn’t have change when I paid for the room and the next morning “forgot” I was owed anything when I pressed the issue. I wasn’t going to get in a fight over $6 but it made another bad impression of Azerbaijan. I try not to extrapolate my few interactions in a place and apply it to an entire country but honestly, getting scammed was typical for most of my time here. This was a shame, because it meant I always had my guard up, even when buying food and water.

Talking with some folks there, it seemed like the perception of foreigners is that they’re wealthy and can afford to be scammed. I’m used to paying the “tourist price” when haggling and don’t mind that I won’t get as cheap a deal as the locals. But getting shortchanged constantly drove me up the wall. It was also routine for locals to come up and just start asking how much money I make or how much I paid for my bicycle which I obviously avoided sharing.

I kept riding to Sheki, then Gebele. Sheki was probably my favorite town in Azerbaijan. They make a lot of sweets there called “halva” (essentially a variant of baklava), and after stopping for tea with one of the many roadside stands selling it, I negotiated for a box of walnut halva for only a couple bucks. Everyone else on the road wanted $20…

I grabbed some dinner in town. The food isn’t as cheap as Georgia and the selection is much worse. Without the Orthodox influence of its neighbor, gone were the variety of vegetables and back were the countless shish kebabs. I’d really grown tired of the greasy meat back in Turkey and longed for something green in my diet. The markets in the smaller towns didn’t have any produce but I stocked up on fruit whenever I found a supermarket.

After reaching Gebele, I checked into my guesthouse. Or at least, I tried to…

I couldn’t find my passport. I searched forever but it definitely wasn’t anywhere in my bike bags. Then I remembered… the front desk of the hostel needed to hold onto it and I’d forgotten to ever ask for it back. No worries, I looked up their number to call them and they couldn’t find it.

Worry, big worries. They passed the phone around to a number of workers, each of whom spoke less English. I started to panic; did someone swipe my passport? Was I stuck in Azerbaijan? Thankfully, no. After about 10 minutes, someone recalled throwing it in a random drawer – PHEW.

After calming down from my series of heart attacks, we arranged a pickup and I got it back the next day without issue. I blame my poor memory on the lack of vegetables.

Gebele itself was a town backed up into hills and had a cable car up into the mountains that I didn’t try. I (again) was shortchanged by the hotel clerk. After calling him out, he insisted it was just an honest mistake but when I asked for the correct amount he (again conveniently) didn’t have enough change on him. He said he just needed to run down to the market for it, and would return the money soon. I hounded the guy every time I saw him and the story got more elaborate each time. Around 10pm, I pressed the issue and he returned with some of my change and asked if that was good enough. I was ticked off. I just wanted to enjoy the hotel room I paid for instead of wasting time chasing down another scammer.

I looked up the owner’s phone number on booking.com and shot him a message on WhatsApp to “remind” his worker to return my change. About 30 seconds later, the clerk knocked on my door and my change miraculously appeared. The clerk (who I assume got reamed out over the phone by the owner), then kept trying to offer me tea (at 11pm) as an amends. I had to tell him to screw off twice before he let me get some sleep.

The next morning as I was saddling up my bike to leave, the scammer clerk asked if I wanted breakfast. I declined but he insisted. I declined again but curious now, I asked him how much breakfast was. He said it was $5, which is exorbitant, so I said no again. He then offered “$3”. Then he said “free”.

My ears perked up. Nothing is ever “free” and at this point, I needed to know what scheme was in store. It was a normal Azerbaijani breakfast (an egg, some bread, and cucumber) at a small restaurant across the street from the hotel. At least, everything seemed normal. As I got up to leave, the scammer clerk ushered me back into my seat and joined me at the table. He then proceed to hand me a phone logged into booking.com and it all made sense.

Because I had gotten a free breakfast, he told me I needed to write the hotel a good review. He said a good review from an American would really help them. I think I embarrassed the guy, because I laughed pretty hard. It was bizarre to see such flagrant coercion and I declined the “offer”. I thanked the scammer clerk for breakfast and biked off.

No sooner did I leave before starting to feel funny. About midday, I started to feel weak. Like, really weak. And I ended that days ride early in the next town. I suddenly felt incredibly nauseous and found a guesthouse to hunker down in while I barfed my brains out all night. I stayed an extra day hoping it would pass, but it only got worse. Being totally unfit to bicycle the last 100 miles to the capital Baku, and with there being no doctors in town, I arranged a taxi to take me.

The taxi ended up being an old sedan without A/C. It was also something of a rideshare, as the driver kept stopping to pick up folks for smaller fares along the way. It took everything I had not to ruin the interior of his car. Ultimately, it was only $15 to go 100 miles so I can’t complain. Tips aren’t normal for taxis in Azerbaijan, but I offered the guy a $5 tip anyways just because I was so thankful to be in the city. He then said he wanted a $10 tip, and I remembered why I dislike Azerbaijan.

I had booked a hotel the night before and proceeded to hole up inside for about 4 days. I couldn’t keep down any food and didn’t eat during that time. My symptoms were spot-on for Giardia and recalling the timeline of what I ate, it was probably the cucumbers from my “free” breakfast that did me in.

With my situation not improving, both Kat (over the phone) and the hotel workers insisted I see a doctor to seek some antibiotics. The owner of the hotel studied abroad in Boston in his youth and was a super nice guy. He explained that medical care was free and when I offered to walk to the hospital, called for an ambulance instead. The ambulance then delivered me (and the hotel owner who joined me to translate) to the hospital one block away.

My experience with the Azerbaijani health system was not a positive one. To summarize it:

Hospital 1 (Public):

• Given treatment which further dehydrated me
• Asked for bribes for incorrect treatment
• Told I need to stay overnight at the hospital (likely to try for more bribes)
• Angered the doctor when I asked them about their diagnosis
• Told I needed to get a shot of mystery fluid (I further angered the doctor when I asked what was in it)

At that point, I told them I was leaving as it was clear they had no idea how to prescribe antibiotics. The hotel owner later informed me that they weren’t going to let me leave until I paid the bribes. He avoided this by telling them I was “a YouTuber” and would make a bad video about them which the government would see. He told me this works great when dealing with any government employee in Azerbaijan.

Hospital 2 (Private):

• All the doctors were on vacation
• Called me a cab and sent me to a different hospital 30 minutes away
• No bribes

Hospital 3 (Private):

• A nice young nurse helped me translate with the doctor
• Doctor insisted I had “heart problem” and “bad diet” and to come back tomorrow for an EKG
• I said sure as long as they’d give me some freaking antibiotics
• Paid $25
• Taxi tried to scam me on the ride back to the hotel
• I did not come back for the EKG

Over the next few days, I started to improve and started eating again. In total, I was bedridden for a little over a week. Feeling better, I spent my last two days in Baku checking out the old city and finally reached the Caspian Sea.

The road out of Tbilisi was a nightmare. There’s only one motorway leaving the city East to Azerbaijan and it was under construction, resulting in all traffic being funneled onto a tiny frontage road (me included). It was suicidal to try and share the narrow road with the semi’s and crazy Georgian drivers so I begrudgingly hopped on the broken, rutted trail posing as a sidewalk instead. My pace was abysmal and it took all day to go a measly 60km.

I’d lost all my elevation from the lower caucuses by this point and the landscape had become distinctly hotter and drier in turn. The winds had also changed and the forecast suggested headwinds until the Caspian Sea- over a week away. One nice perk of this region was the numerous roadside stands selling homemade fruit snacks. They offered a range of fruit leathers and (my favorite) a string of walnuts dipped in gummy, fruit gelatin. The treats aren’t super sweet, more like savory gummy bears, but I found they hit the spot better than anything else for sale in this part of the world.

I found another cheap guesthouse for the night. The owners had a large compound where they made and sold fancy cheese- the guesthouse more an afterthought for some extra cash. They spoke excellent English though and were beyond excited to show off their American cars to a real American. We had an awesome dinner of homemade cheese and pickled fruits and veggies before I retired for the night.

I spent my last day in Georgia cycling to the Northeast border near Balakan. There’s a great national park near there that draws many international tourists for hiking and I bumped into a nice German couple there on a long holiday and shared a lovely dinner with them at the guesthouse where I drank too much cha-cha. The next morning I changed out my Georgian Lari for Azerbaijani Manat and crossed the border just 3 km past town.

I’d read this border crossing was tiny and preferred for cycle tourists. Leaving Georgia (unlike arriving) was quick and easy. The Azerbaijani side was also uncrowded but the guards wanted to go through all my bags before they’d let me cross. They were checking to ensure I hadn’t brought a drone but quickly lost interest after the first bag they checked was full of dirty laundry…

The most apparent thing crossing into Azerbaijan is the people. Georgia was closer to Europe culturally and now I suddenly felt like I was in Turkey again. Gone were the orthodox churches and vodka, and back were the mosques and chai. Frankly, I was glad to be done with the “cha-cha” many of the Georgians imbibed as it seemed to affect their driving. The drivers on this side of the border were 10000x better than their Georgian neighbors and I felt much safer riding the shoulder here.

Further along I bumped into a cyclist coming from the other direction. He’d been cycling for 22 years (!!) and was currently doing my route in reverse. Incredibly nice guy- we talked for about 15 minutes and swapped tips for our respective roads ahead.

Still early in the day, I stopped in the next town to scout out an ATM for some cash and a new SIM for my phone. I got scammed buying the SIM but it only amounted to an extra $7 and I decided not to get too worked up.

My first night in Azerbaijan was at a cheap hotel. While walking around town, I grabbed groceries for dinner at a local supermarket. At one point, I snapped a pic which caused a nearby employee to run up and yell at me “No photos! Photo’s dangerous!”. This was obviously bizarre, but that night I looked online and found the great country of Azerbaijan had made taking photos in many places illegal for no discernible reason. Worst case scenario they delete your photo- nobody ever got fined apparently.

Now with cash, food, and SIM, I spent the night planning my route for the next week until Baku!

*Bonus Pic* “Kat” is a common word here and is on literally everything 😦

I spent my day off chilling in the town and checking out the local castle in the center. For food, one of my favorite meals in Georgia is Kachapuri. There’s different versions, but in the South it’s a bread boat filled with soft cheese and topped with butter and a runny egg. You stir it up, rip off the edges, and dip those into the fondue-esque cheesy center. It’s probably a ton of calories which suits me just fine.

Leaving town, I continued to lose elevation. The western part of the lower caucuses was very wet- nearly tropical. By contrast, the eastern side was bone dry and the scenery changed quickly to rolling tan hills.

I came across several signs from the Georgia equivalent of the DOT apologizing for the state of the roads. This is probably a cheaper solution than fixing the roads. It was also pretty ironic as these were the best roads I’d seen since Turkey.

My destination that night was a guesthouse in a small town just before Gori. Georgia has been great when it comes to lodging. I didn’t camp once as there were plenty of cheap hostel and guesthouses all over the country. They usually include a decent breakfast and more importantly, always include a dog and a cat to play with.

One quirk in this part of the world: all of the gas lines to the homes are above ground. It’s a bit unsightly and probably a huge hazard (what happens if a tall truck hits the gas line crossing the road?). Plus all the valves were right on the street and unlocked. (Note from future Kyle: it’s the same in Azerbaijan).

The next day was a short day to Gori but with 30mph headwinds, it didn’t seem short. The scenery continued to dry up, but it was beautiful all the same.

Gori is the area where Stalin was born. Back when Georgia was part of the USSR, they erected a large museum to Gori’s golden boy. It’s largely remained unchanged despite history’s generally negative view of the late dictator. It was a unique experience, like a time capsule to a museum from 1950. The museum included Stalin’s childhood home (picked up and moved under a temple) and his famous train car (he wouldn’t travel by air). Everything else in the museum was mostly just propaganda gushing about how great Stalin was though even the locals would probably object to that view nowadays.

Leaving Gori, I bumped into my first cycle tourist from China. He had come a long way already and was heading to Europe to finish. I don’t remember much from out talk except that for a bike bell, he used a Shrek squeak toy.

The rest of the ride into Tbilisi was easy and quiet. There were plenty of backroads to avoid the worst of the Georgian city traffic.

I spent a couple days in the city exploring and getting my visa arranged for Azerbaijan. Tbilisi is a modern city and had tons of international food and western brands. The old town has been greatly restored in recent years and was cool to walk around- it featured a tons of slick street art. It seemed like Tbilisi was popular with Europeans, there were many visiting here on their gap year.

Besides the cheap, carb-heavy food, my other favorite thing to consume in Georgia was the coffee. It’s served cowboy-style, thick and viscous with coffee grinds. It tastes much better than it looks…

My last day in Tbilisi was spent hanging with some cool Russians staying at the hostel with me. We checked out the castle ruins above the city and had dinner and homemade wine back in the hostel that night prepared by the owner.

I’ll be in Azerbaijan next- only about 100 miles to the border from here!

Ya boi is in Georgia!

Before entering though, I had to bike across the border from Turkey. I shared this journey with a 10km long line of semi’s. These guys took up the whole right lane (and shoulder) which meant I had to share the left lane with car traffic. Luckily, there were very few cars to speak of and those that did drive by were going extra slow to avoid hitting the countless truckers milling about outside their rigs.

The border crossing itself was hectic. I’d been spoiled so far by quiet, easy border stations. This one was packed full of lines of cars, trucks, and pedestrians. I left Turkey easily enough, but as I biked up to enter the Georgian side with the other vehicles, a guard insisted I join the pedestrian queue inside the billing. I tried to argue that I clearly have a vehicle and should be treated the same as a motorcyclist, but he wouldn’t have it. Flustered, I dismounted and led my bike into the the hoard of people being funneled into the arrivals area.

The pedestrian “queue” was actually a swarm of people shoving to get to the front where the border agents stamping passports were housed in their booths. With my large bike, unwillingness to shove, and incredibly slow Georgian officials, it took me about 1 1/2 hours to move the 40ft necessary to get to the front. One of the guards even came by to ask me why I wasn’t outside with the cars…

The fun was only starting though, once the official took my passport, he quietly reviewed each and every page for about 5 minutes. Then he called over another official and they reviewed my passport for an additional 5 minutes. Anyone who’s ever gone through customs in an airport knows that 10 minutes at the border booth is an eternity and I began to get nervous about the hold up. Abruptly and without a hint of what the issue was, he stamped my passport and sent me on my way. I then had to clumsily lift my bicycle over the turnstyles that was clearly not intended for cyclists and head for the exit. As I was leaving though, the same official yelled after me to wait. He ran up to me, checked my passport yet again. This time, he only spent about 5 seconds before deciding everything was actually okay, and then finally, I entered Georgia. Mental.

I had a short ride into Batumi, the “Las Vegas of the Black Sea”. It had a bunch of casinos and new buildings with glitzy veneer. It wasn’t really my scene and I was beat from dealing with the border, so I sourced a new SIM card, withdrew some cash, and called it a night.

The next day was pouring rain. I donned my rain gear and headed East for the Goderdzi pass. It would be roughly 85 miles and 6,500 ft of elevation gain until I crested the top. Fortunately, the road is lightly traveled and the scenery was beautiful. Lots of waterfalls, rivers, and tiny villages linked with tiny bridges.

Occasional soviet structure adorned with hammer and sickles juxtaposed frequent graffiti lambasting the Russian occupation of northern Georgia after their 2008 conflict.

There have been recent efforts by the EU and the USA to invest in Georgian infrastructure projects to kickstart the economy. It wasn’t uncommon to see the two flags on display alongside the Georgian flag.

The end of the first day of climbing was in Khulo. I found a hostel, empty except for a friendly Polish hitchiker named Patrick. Turns out the hostel owner was out-of-town and just asked any travelers who arrived to make themselves at home and leave some money on the table. I changed out of my wet clothes and settled in.

Patrick and I grabbed some Khinkali (Georgian meat dumplings) for dinner and then checked out Khulo’s main attration: the second longest cable car in Europe.

The car led to a tiny, isolated village high up on a mountain. We grabbed some coffee at the “cafe” (a picnic table with a Cafe sign), enjoyed the vista, and then called it a night.

I set off early the next morning, preparing myself mentally for a 7 hour, uphill slog.

The road disappears immediately after Khulo and transforms into a muddy, rocky mess of a trail. I honestly think I had an easier time of it than some of the small cars braving the journey. This is the only region in Georgia with a sizable Muslim population and the small remote villages had the familiar mosque silhouettes and call-to-prayer that had been so commonplace in Turkey.

It was slow going up the mountain and the dogs didn’t help. The dogs in Georgia are little bastards. Unlike everywhere else I’d been, these guys don’t give any indication they’re going to get aggressive until the absolute last second you pass by, at which point they go nuts and try and take a bite. I started preemptively dismounting and walking by any dogs I came across because they almost always gave chase if I rode past.

Right on schedule, I reached the summit after 7 hours in my granny gear. There was a new ski resort being built near the top but until it finished, the only structures were small shacks selling snacks and sodas. I enjoyed the clever graffiti some other cycle tourists had left on the sign for the soon-to-be ski resort.

Initially, I had looked forward to my well-earned descent down the other side of the pass but the road was so bad that I found myself riding the brakes and being shook senseless.

I bumped into two bikepackers headed the opposite direction. Super nice folks. We talked about our respective trips and they gave me some tips on where to stay that night. I kept riding and after about 15km, the tarmac miraculously reappeared.

I stopped for the night in Akhaltsikhe and grabbed a well-deserved dinner. I’m giving my legs a day off, and then headed East to the capital Tibilisi.

Heading east from Gerze, I stayed on the motorway along the Black Sea. The weather was perfect and the views weren’t bad either. Everything was going good. Too good…

About 20 miles from Gerze, I snagged a piece metal in my rear tire and got my first flat of the trip. It was only a pinhole leak, so I managed to ride on a few miles until I found a nice spot to attempt a repair. I pulled out the tube, found the hole, and applied the a rubber patch per the directions. This was my first time using a patch, so crossing my fingers, I reassembled the bike, inflated the tire and waited…

Everything held! Even better, a nice family stopped for a picnic nearby and gave me some fruit to snack on while I fixed my flat.

Having lost an hour, I quickened my pace. A few miles away from my intended stop in Samsun, some nice guys at a Lukoil gas station offered to let me camp in their nice yard/park beside the station. Being super nice folks, they fed me dinner AND breakfast. We chatted (with the help of google translate and some miming) all evening. Definitely one of my highlights of the whole trip.

Continuing past Samsun, there were tons of scenic vistas so I did a mix of campsites and wild camping and enjoyed the ocean while I had it. At one campsite, there was a van doing the 2019 mongol rally. I’ve seen four cars participating so far, so it must be the time of year for them to hit Turkey. They’re easy to spot because they’re the goofiest looking vehicles and always give me a lot of supportive honking when they pass by.

Heading to Trabzon, I passed through the longest tunnel to-date. Over 4 kilometers in total, it felt like some sort of never-ending purgatory. After the better part of an hour, I finally emerged to fresh air and pulled off to the side for a breather. Interestingly, there was an old phone booth here laden with stickers from other cycle tourists who’d passed through the tunnel and done the exact same thing. Being in a remote area, nobody but other cyclists would ever see these stickers. It felt really cool to be a part of this secret club that all acknowledged how much that tunnel sucked.

That would be my last tunnel for a while, as I descended back into the beach villages that occurred ever 10 or so miles along the coast. Many of these had new bike paths which I greedily hopped onto whenever one appeared.

It seemed like every one of these towns had some combination of old military jets, statues, and carnivals to populate their beaches. I even managed to see the first camels of the trip.

I stopped that night and camped near the beach. The following day was a grueling 80 miles, but I made good time with the cool weather and slight tailwinds. Unfortunately, I forgot my helmet during a run to the bakery. While looking for a bike shop in one of the coastal villages to buy a new one, some nice guys from the town helped me search . We were unsuccessful but they did hook me up with some cold Fanta followed by chai. I’m always amazed by how friendly and hospitable the people in Turkey have been.

I finished the 80 miles and set up camp overlooking the water. The campsite had a cute dog and cat which I played with most of the evening.

Below is video of my time hanging with the Lukoil guys and the bike ride along the coast.

*Bonus Vid* Not the best TV selection

My route continued along a plateau sandwiched between two large mountain ranges. The weather was beautiful and traffic was minimal. Even better, I hadn’t seen a tunnel in days.

The next day was pretty uneventful except for a nice family that pulled alongside me in their van and handed me some pastries to snack on. Between the free food and the frequent public water fountains along the road, I barely had to stop for supplies.

After a long 70 miles, I set up camp in a forest near the road. It was a great spot except for the hundreds of mosquitoes that made quick work of me while I scrambled to rig up my tent.

The next day was a 10% grade slog up 2000 ft before descending for an hour back onto the black sea cost. My prize at the top of the hill was a 2km tunnel 😦

Now I’m in Gerze enjoying the beach and the view before continuing east towards Georgia.

The water in my hotel had a unpleasant brown color so I grabbed some bottled waters from the market as well as some grape leaves for dinner. 

Hotels have gotten pretty cheap with rooms+breakfast averaging only $15/night. The flexibility of camping is nice but I’m definitely appreciating having a bed and WiFi to video chat with Kat. My budget is $30/day and most days I struggle to spend $20 so it’s pretty easy to justify the luxury. 

The next day, I wake up and grab breakfast (typical Turkish breakfast is heavy on the bread, cheese, veggies, and olives) before setting out on what I knew would be a challenging ride.

My route inland would be 65 miles, hilly, with a steep 2000ft elevation gain just before my destination of Devrek. The good news is that I got to avoid some of the hills, the bad news is that it was only because of many tunnels.

For those who don’t cycle much, tunnels are harrowing. Low light, tight/non-existant shoulders, and deafening from the reverberating road noise. In total, I had 10 tunnels on my way to Devrek. I rode through the short ones during pauses in traffic. For the long ones, I walked my bike along thin pedestrian path meant for tunnel personnel. Ultimately, they proved to be do-able but I’m already looking forward to getting back to flatter terrain.

As I started climbing, the temps dropped back into the 70s. Combined with the nice views, the miles went by fast.

I stopped in front of a house for a water break during a particularly steep bit of hill and a puppy came out to greet me. I played with him for a minute before leaving him and pushing my bike onwards. The dog had different plans though and ran up alongside me, refusing to leave. “Will this be my new cycling partner?”, I thought.

Sadly, we parted ways after about 45 minutes so the partner position is still open.

I arrived in Devrek and had an uneventful evening chilling by the river in the middle of town. The next day was 55 miles of rolling hills, rivers, cliffsides and 12 more tunnels 💀

I stopped for lunch at a snazzy new gas station in one of the small towns. Some men at one of the picnic tables outside invited me over for tea (very common now). I obliged and we chatted for a bit with the help of Google Translate. Very quickly though, the conversation turned uncomfortable and they wanted to know what I thought of their president Erdoğan, what I was doing in their country, and why didn’t I know more about their small village. One guy kept saying I was an American spy. Just what I was spying on, he couldn’t say, but a guy riding his bicycle was just too fishy to not be some kind of spy. I didn’t really feel like playing nice with a bunch of Turkish rednecks, so I walked off and got on my way. 

After about 60 miles I rolled into my stop: Karabük. There was a nice (if a little unmaintained) bike path along the river which I happily rode until it abruptly dead ended. Understanding now why no one had bothered to provide upkeep on a path to nowhere, I backtracked two miles and got back on the road and headed to my hotel.

*Bonus Pic* My hotels overly honest motto is “Maybe Not the Best But We’re Better!”

I helped Kat box her bike and took a shuttle to the fancy new Istanbul international airport.

There were literally 50 desk agents free, but none of them could check in Kat’s oversize luggage. After an hour of getting sent back and forth between different desks, we FINALLY got the bike box checked in. Kathleen had to visit “ticket services”, take a number (she was the only one there), and then once they called her number (20 minutes later) a man had to produce a hand-written invoice for her bike. This was the dumbest, convoluted, most archaic way to check in oversize luggage.

Relived to be done with that ordeal, Kat and I said our goodbyes at the security line and I grabbed a bus back to our hotel in the old city. I spent my last day hanging out with the hotel staff who Kathleen and I had made friends with earlier in our stay.

One of our new friends Ahmad was interested in bicycle touring and asked to come along for a couple days. Happy for the company, I agreed and we set out from Istanbul first thing the following morning on a ferry to Kadıköy. From there, we had a fancy new bike path along the Mediterranean Sea. With good weather and a nice tailwind, we made good time and spirits were high.

Following a route I’d found online to dodge some nasty highway bits, we took a second ferry after a further 20 miles to Yalova. Ahmad and I continued East but our nice bike path was now a large highway. Worse, a large storm was brewing so we got a brutal headwind and soaked for about 4 hours. There were deep puddles forming on the highway which we found ourselves fording. Drenched and spirits no longer high, we decided to call it a day and find a cheap hotel. This was one of the worst riding days I’ve had and wasn’t the best intro to bicycle touring for Ahmad….

The next day was much nicer with quiet roads and nice mountain views. Ahmad and I headed to Karasu, a Black Sea town about 70 miles NE. The riding was pleasant and we even found out a small festival in one of the towns we passed through in the afternoon.

Just outside Karasu, we bumped into another cyclist who lived in the area. The three of us grabbed dinner in town and then scouted out a campsite on the beach. Our campsite ended up being pretty lousy as some locals were blasting music and partying right next door until very late. The next morning, we grabbed some breakfast at a local burek bakery before Ahmad headed back to Istanbul. Ahmad told the owners about our trip and they generously brought out fresh veggies and fruit from the garden to eat with our breakfast burek. Super nice folks.

Ahmad gone, I was now on my own for the first time since leaving Paris. I started to bike East along the Black Sea, but I was in a uncomfortable headspace being alone. I’d really gotten used to talking to someone throughout the day and was feeling blue with my newfound solitude. Luckily the views and weather were nice. Unluckily, my ipod ran out of juice, so it was pretty quiet. 

I stopped in a quaint beach town and chilled for the afternoon. I video chatted with Kat and family which helped my mood. I’m still excited to continue and expect my state-of-mind will improve as I figure out my solo routine. Tomorrow I’ll head inland for about a week before reconnecting with the Black Sea in Samsun.