Iran had Surprised Us

The Ayatollah’s stony gaze bored into us as we gathered nervously around our bikes. We hadn’t even entered Iran yet but already we knew we were being watched. On this remote frontier in eastern Turkey where the dust blows and the queue of lorries awaiting customs clearance trails off into the distance, everything is presided over by the majestic snow-clad Mount Ararat. We had completed nearly 2000 miles riding through Turkey, a country that had provided surprising contrasts in riding trails and sights. Now we had the formidable border crossing into the Islamic Republic of Iran ahead of us. A volatile situation in the Middle East also meant that we may not be granted entry at all – particularly the Americans amongst us. The week’s news coverage had shown violent riots and uprisings in many countries in the region as well as reprisals against American targets in response to the recent killing of Osama Bin Laden; so perhaps not a good time to be knocking on the door of the sworn enemy of the West.


In observance of Sharia law, the female riders had donned long skirts and headscarves over their riding gear as we waited at the final checkpoint out of Turkey. Ahead of us on the wall was a forty foot high mural depicting two Ayatollahs and it was their gaze we were suffering under.

In the event, we weren’t interrogated and the worst part of the border-crossing process was the tedious wait as the paperwork was processed; some snoozed on their bikes, others read or edited videos on laptops while the rest of us people-watched and snacked on pistachios and dried fruit. Names were called out of those who are nationals of countries considered the least desirable by the Iranian Government– in our case, all the Yanks and the Brits. They were led away to an office to be not just finger-printed but also palm-printed, a process that left both hands covered in an indelible blue ink. Iranian immigration obviously wanted to mark them permanently as enemies of the State for the duration of their stay. The members of the Blue Hand Gang were kept separate from the Aussies, Swede and Swiss for the next couple of hours, until finally we were reunited, taken outside, number plates checked on the bikes and we were on our way. We left the border post quickly in case they changed their minds, riding in convoy behind a white Peugeot with lights flashing.

The sombre entry into Iran was a one-off, the rest of the country was delightfully friendly and welcoming as we were feted at petrol stations, markets and town centres throughout our ride. Small motorbikes would ride alongside at every town, calling out to us and cheering us on whilst at the same time nearly causing multiple accidents. Cars would drive in tandem beside us as the passengers gazed with rapture at our bikes, there are no big bikes here and so ours caused a stir and drew crowds wherever we went. Even the police got in on the act and pursued us through one town, no siren just a voice yelling in Farsi through the speakers, he caught up with the lead rider just as we reached the town limits, we thought we were in trouble (for some it was getting to be a habit), but no, he just wanted to provide a police escort and so he parked beside the final roundabout with lights flashing and waving us past whilst beaming widely. We were on the receiving end of many gifts of food, meals and drinks when shopkeepers would refuse to accept our offerings of payment, even the cake shop man (and they’re good cakes in Iran) was adamant that he needed no money and was just happy to see us in his country.

Iran seems to be where the crazy drivers of the world unite. Riders in our group inquired about the rules for roundabouts to be told that there are no rules, sometimes people have the right of way upon entering the roundabout but usually it’s more of a free for all. With cars, trucks and bikes all pushing their way through, assertiveness is definitely an essential attribute for riding here.

At the bank, while changing money on the first morning, the bank manager upon realising he was dealing with Americans (passports have to be produced), asked them “Aren’t you afraid to be here?” Possibly not the best of starts for the Yanks, though they did manage to reply cheerfully about what a friendly country it was.

We took dusty trails winding through the mountains in the west, passing fields of vivid scarlet poppies and small Kurdish settlements where the women were more brightly clad than we had seen since Istanbul, though naturally still covered up. It started getting warmer as we turned eastwards though we had some relief from the heat, staying at altitude in a mountain town. The next morning heading down a fantastic twisting road, watching in disbelief as the GPS screens on our bikes registered a descent from 1500 metres to MINUS 15 metres in just 20 minutes of riding, at which point we had reached the shores of the Caspian Sea and were well below sea level beside the largest inland sea on the planet.

We looked round in disbelief, emerald green paddy fields stretched away into the distance on both sides of us, looking more reminiscent of South East Asia than what we expected in a country best known for its desert environment. Here the local people were dressed less conservatively, probably to make it easier as they work in the fields up to their knees in water all day. We stayed in a beach resort hotel where the staff were extremely alarmed to hear of our plans to swim in the Caspian Sea- “It’s practically winter” they spluttered and watched in disbelief as some hardy souls rode down to the beach. Covering up was still a necessity for women even when swimming but the blokes were able to swim in shorts. The water was pronounced warmer than the sea off England (though that’s not saying much).


Petrol is very cheap in Iran though it can be hard to track down, fuel stations being few and far between (there’s obviously no money to be made when it’s so cheap). When we did find a place selling benzine (Farsi for petrol), the queuing system was chaotic to say the least as cars and bikes jockeyed for position at the one or two pumps that were operational. Each pushing past the others to get to that nozzle- our riders quickly learnt- there’s no chivalry at the pump.

Despite having to pay a “foreigners’ premium” for our fuel which made it twice the price that the locals paid, we were able to fill our tanks for less than £8.00. The bikes were running well, though one had a spill on a dirt track and ended up with a broken windscreen and bruised dignity. The heat increased the further east we travelled, by this point, after more than a thousand miles in Iran we were getting close to the Afghan border. The higher temperatures made the chaotic cities in this area even more challenging to negotiate, and wherever possible we took smaller roads, though often this was a bit of a Russian roulette style of navigation as away from the main roads, the signs were all in Farsi, and completely unintelligible to us. Everyone was willing to help us along our way but English is not widely spoken, though occasionally we would strike lucky and find some languages in common, whether it was German, French or even Italian on one occasion when the Latin American explorers amongst us were able to use their rusty Spanish to make themselves understood.

Between them, our group has a wealth of international riding experience including those who have successfully crossed deserts ranging from the Simpson, the Sahara and the Atacama to the Gobi as well as mountain ranges too numerous to list. Previous extensive international riding experience is a necessity for this expedition as it’s the most challenging that GlobeBusters offers.

We ended our time in Iran staying in an area that owes more to the Alpine forests of Switzerland than the arid and parched landscapes we’d spent the previous days travelling through. Once more Iran had surprised us.

Turkish Delights Part Two

Cappadocia, the land of troglodytes, ancient underground cities and home to some of Turkey’s most spectacular scenery. We took a couple of days out to enjoy our surroundings including a very bleary-eyed group who met at 4.45am to try hot-air ballooning. Well, what can we say to do it justice, it was definitely worth getting up at such an unsociable time, the views were breath-taking and the sight of 40 hot air balloons drifting quietly across the fantastic landscape of incredible rock formations was amazing. Time was also spent exploring the minor dirt tracks that criss-cross the landscape and treks to experience the underground world of the troglodytes.

The snow-topped mountains were looking ominous in the distance as we left our Cappadocian Cave Hotel which had been not only surprisingly cosy but also luxurious. The cute puppy which we’d nicknamed Scrappy Doo after Scooby’s nephew was unhappy to see us go, we were tempted to adopt him as Silk Road mascot and smuggle him in our luggage, but were worried that where we are going some weeks down the road he might end up in the cooking pot!

We wound our way out of the village down narrow cobbled streets, so narrow in fact that some riders had thought they were merely footpaths; which had created some confusion with finding our particular cave hotel – did we mention that almost every other hotel is a cave one?

We found ourselves at a thermal spring resort with a difference, the water was teeming with flesh-eating fish, having assured us they’re not piranhas and that actually, they’re good for you, we tentatively lowered ourselves into the warm bubbling water. This experience was not for the squeamish or ticklish and we soon found out who had the highest tolerance to being nibbled as the fish ate away at the dead skin cells on our bodies.

Onward into the mountains and cosy log cabins at the end of the day as we rested our weary bones following a long haul over the high altitude passes in cold weather. We’d also had some new experiences today when Colin and Shirley, were pulled in for speeding – thus earning Colin the nickname Boy Racer Richardson and a speeding ticket which he’s brandishing as a badge of honour, as up to now he’d been one of our more sedate riders. Obviously the rest of us, observing what had happened to him rode past demurely. All except one, yep, Mr Lucky also got hauled in and managed to get a double fine.

One more day of mountain riding took us along a fantastic river valley where the narrow dirt track hugged the steep walls, the track varied from gravel to mud and small river crossings, an enjoyable challenge for most, including a dark tunnel full of mud and construction lorries. We’re beginning to resemble overland adventurers as we looked at each other’s mud splattered clothing. Tyre huggers were beginning to get lost and by the end of the day three had been removed either intentionally or otherwise. The fort at Ani near Kars gave us an opportunity to explore the ruins dating through several centuries and to look across at Armenia.

Our final stop in Turkey was at Dogubeazit or Doggy Biscuit as it’s more affectionately known. The last town in Turkey and the place to watch the sun set over Mount Ararat, for women to buy the all important chadors for covering up in Iran and for some, most importantly toast farewell to secular countries with our last alcoholic drinks for some time. Tomorrow, we cross over to…… Iran.

Turkish Delights Part One

We finally dragged ourselves away from the myriad of attractions that Istanbul has to offer. From the bustling, vibrant Grand Bazaar, fantastic restaurants and the hammams (Turkish Baths) complete with masseurs who are very complimentary, or so we were told by one British rider but who then wouldn’t go into detail.

We’d been staying in a great hotel, the Legacy Ottoman and the rather smart hotel staff probably breathed a sigh of relief as our crowd of rough and ready bikers roared out of their underground car park - we had been a complete contrast to the other guests with our stomping Robocop-style motocross boots, battered bike cases and travel-stained clothing.

Revving up, the group scattered into different directions upon leaving the city which was a bit odd as we were all supposed to be following the same road route. Some even managed to cross into Asia on a completely different bridge. Once more the challenge of the motorway toll system raised its head, pre-paid cards are required, however there’s a lack of information about how and where to purchase these cards, but we all got through in our own ways with some setting off alarms and sirens as they did so.





Having crossed the Bosphorous, we were now in Asia, the pace of life immediately felt slower and even the Sea of Marmaris on our right was flat and calm as we headed eastwards. We were soon off the motorway system and winding our way onto the hills, passing through small villages where traffic was sparse and whole families in their Sunday best were riding on their tractors to visit friends and relatives. The group is bonding well, the Americans are fine with being called Yanks, though when the Aussies informed them they’re known as Seppoes in Australia that was met with a more doubtful response. Lots of tea (chay in Turkish) and coffee breaks in small village tea shops, where the locals gather round to ask about our journey and react with disbelief when we tell them we’re going to Mount Everest. We now have Apo with us, our local tour guide and riding shotgun in the van with Al having to put up with Al’s constant stream of bad jokes. Every village has at least one mosque and the call from the minarets is following us across the country.

One of our riders seems to have had more than his fair share of incidents having seen his bike dropped by someone else, his steering dampener has died on him, he fell down the stairs at the hotel (luckily whilst wearing full bike gear) and then last night ended up 90 miles from the hotel and not sure how he got there. He’s still smiling. In fact every-one is.

Silk Road Departure

In what is becoming a firm favourite in the Top Ten of “Great Starts to an Expedition”, the Ace Café in London once more played host to GlobeBusters riders, this time for the commencement of the 2011 Silk Road and Everest trip. Hungry riders and supporters alike made the most of the Full English breakfasts, for some of us, they are to be the last proper fry ups for several months.

It was good to see previous Silk Roaders Ed and Lorraine, Resh a High Andes rider as well as Roddy from James Cargo amongst the group of well-wishers and curious but impressed passers-by who waved us off outside. We left behind a quiet London, which was a contrast to the previous day when the streets had been packed with spectators from around the world who’d descended on the city for the Royal Wedding.

We had a distinct lack of red, white and blue bunting as our 10 bikes and the van set off in brilliant sunshine. We were overtaken on the M25 by a closely packed and neat formation of police riders – they were eight members of the Special Escort Group demonstrating their immaculate riding skills, more often put to good use as VIP escorts. As one rider put it “They were poetry in motion” and an extremely impressive sight.
We continued onto what was for many their first time using the Channel Tunnel. A novel experience to be riding a bike onto a train and then 40 minutes later out into the French countryside. The first few days of the Silk Road Expedition involves a lot of main road riding to get us to Istanbul and Asia as quickly as possible.

Our first night on the continent in a sleepy Belgian town, another rider met up with us, one who’d travelled up from Switzerland to join our group. We were lucky with the weather for most of the time as we crossed Europe, steadily heading south east and at times crossing three or four countries in one day.

En route we had a new stopping point for Globebusters, the BMW Alpine Hotel at Reutte. Very modern, minimalistic and new, it’s nestled on the edge of the Alps in Austria. The following morning it was quite eerie as we left, passing forests and lakes wreathed in the morning mist. Again we had more motorway sections with some countryside riding including a short but sobering stop in Croatia where we saw war damaged houses from the 1991-1995 conflict. A contrast to the green fields and blossom filled trees around them. Though some of those green fields still have mines hidden in them.

There were some lovely twisting mountain roads throughout the ride across Europe, most of these roads little known to us living in the west of the continent, the hills of Serbia were one such location.
Meanwhile, some found the sights of Sofia in Bulgaria so appealing (that is appealing and not appalling) that they went round the ring road twice, no names, they know who they are. With a brief stay in the Greek town of Serres we woke to torrential rain, pulling on waterproofs before setting off for the last of the European roads and the fabled city of Istanbul. The sun shone as the Mediterranean Sea came into view, and we made the most of it, as we’ll be crossing the planet’s largest land mass and riding almost 12,000 miles until we see the sea again- the Pacific Ocean at the port near Beijing.

As we neared the end of our 360 mile ride for the day, we really felt as if the Silk Road was beginning, with the call of the muzzein echoing from the mosques around us. We had reached Istanbul, the city of minarets, spices and Turkish delight. We met with the final two participants to complete our truly international group of three Americans, two Australians, one Swiss, one Swede, one Jersey-manand four British riders. Introductions were made and stories exchanged whilst feasting on a fantastic Turkish meal which seemed to have a never ending stream of dishes issuing from the kitchen and yes, kebabs did appear at some point in the meal.

A couple of days to enjoy Istanbul and its many charms before departing on Sunday for rural Turkey and ballooning in Cappadochia.

That’s it we are off!

After months and years of planning our epic ride from the Ace Café in London to Beijing is underway. Ahead of us is 13 weeks of adventure and challenge. We will be taking a new route this year through Iran and onwards into Central Asia. We are of course still heading for Everest Base Camp en route, before we traverse eastern China to our final destination in Beijing. Follow the story here of the 13 riders (plus one pillion) as they undertake this amazing journey.