Day 143 – 147: Flat tires, warm showers and an island where time stands still
Istanbul – Bursa – Cepni – Balikesir – Cunda Island: 401 kilometers
Istanbul roars and smokes and growls in my back as I leave. I continue by ferry instead of bike. It saves me a lot of kilometers in heavy traffic and near-death experiences with passing trucks. Although I’ve come to appreciate the trucks a bit more lately, their passing brings with them a rush of air in my back that pushes me slightly forward. From Yalova I ride a boring 70 kilometers towards Bursa. I ride similar roads that I have when making my way to Istanbul. Wide two, or three lane highways that allow for cyclists on their broad shoulder. I get a flat tire half way there. I have one fresh tube left and change it at the nearby a gas station. Easy fix. The tire however, fits so tightly around the rim that I can’t get it on barehandedly. So I use my tire leavers. Bad idea. When I try to pump air into my newly set tube, I can hear the air escaping. I’ve flattened my only tube without a hole… I have to glue it shut. By this point the gas station boys are offering me help and cay tea, both I accept enthusiastically. Especially when getting the tire back on, this time without the leavers, but with their help. After that I reach Bursa without a problem. It’s not a particularly inspiring city, but my love for Turkey, its food and its people makes every single place here an adventure. I have dinner and sleep early.
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I’ve found a Warm-Showers-place to stay in Bandirma at a seed farm/factory. Exited with that prospect I start my day early. After about 10 kilometers I notice my front tire is flat again. It must be leaking slowly and I decide to pump it up every now and then until I reach the city of Karacabey, where I will buy a new one to put in. After four stops to re-air, I arrive annoyed and relieved. The bike shop doesn’t have a tube with a valve that either fits my rim, nor my pump. He gets out his drill to widen the valve hole. “No, no, no, thank you!”, I exclaim. We finally glue the tube shut once more, and find the tinies piece of glass in my tire that I missed the day before.
At the bike shop I WhatsApp the seed factory for their exact location. It turns out to not actually be in Bandirma city, but in a village 25 kilometers away. That adds about 25 kilometers to my ride. Fine. With all this I arrive at six ‘o clock. The communication with the factory has been great, but everybody has left. Only the guard is there. He shows me to my room with a made bed and leads me to the canteen where the kitchen staff have prepared dinner for me. I can feel their hospitality, even when they’re not around.
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The ride towards Balikesir is horrific. The headwind is so rough, that after 30 minutes I’m completely collapsing. I ride on but I’m constantly in the red, my legs filled with lactate the entire time. I do however get off those busy roads and enter smaller foresty ones. The trees have shed their leaves and their branches stick up like knuckled fingers towards the wintery sky. It hasn’t been as cold as before Istanbul, but I can feel winter’s grip nonetheless. 50 kilometers into the day, I’m so fed up with the wind I stick out my thumb to see if anybody will give a ride to Balikesir. The first, yes the first car that passes stops. Turkish hospitality. He drops me off 15 kilometers from the city centre and saves my day.
It’s pretty insane how two consecutive days can be that different. Yesterday I got a ride because I couldn’t take it. Today I left with the hope to reach Edermit, but I felt so strong that I continued and made my way towards where I actually wanted to go, Cunda Island, reaching a grand total of 132 kilometers (and 1200 meters of elevation). And it was worth it. Cunda, just off the coast of Ayvalik – a very cute place in it’s own right – is a hidden gem. A place where time seems to be slower than everywhere else. The sea breathes in salty waves of air, the fisherman trudge around the shoreline, the restaurants heat their two tables with firewood stoves. The paint peels of off every window sill and door, but in a way that seems welcoming rather than neglected somehow. Stones stick out crooked from the century old streets, some of them with a constant stream of rain water from the hills behind the village running down towards the sea. I stay two days, but I feel like I could stay here a lifetime.
