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.