Day 158 – 163: Broken cables, lost keys and cold swims
Akyaka – Dalyan – Fethiye: 127 km
Drone shots by Jamie Chan
Dalyan is famous for its day trips and activities the area around it provides for visitors. There’s a turtle beach, kayaking river, centuries old tombs etched out of mountains, you name it. When I arrive however, the town has shut down. About one in five shops and restaurants are open, even the streets are under construction in preparation for summer season. I like places with not too many tourists, but this takes it to another level, not even the infrastructure is in working condition. Luckily the ride there was spectacular. Rain had fallen and the clouds were still hanging low. They seemed to sprout from the thick forests that cover these mountains. Lakes and rivers accompanied me today. Every climb a stunning view. Every village is surrounded by orange trees, their fruit almost florescent on the dark wet backdrop of leaves and rocks. I felt like I was cycling through Jurassic Park, and wouldn’t have been surprised if at any moment a dinosaur jumped out from behind a bend.
Just before I arrive my rear derailleur stops working. No gearing anymore. I stop to see what the problem is, but I can’t figure it out straight away. Once I peel the rubber off my break leaver I realize the cable has snapped. Shit. Luckily Dalyan is close and the road is relatively flat. I find two bike mechanics in town. The first one is closed. Without gearing I won’t make it through the day tomorrow… The second one is open but it doesn’t really look like a bike shop. It’s an obscure pile of rubble consisting of anything that makes anything move, not per se bicycle related. Wheels stick out of the pile, unidentifiable rubber, parts of scooter bodies, iron rods, big and small springs, sprockets galore, tools of any kind, parts of machines I’ve never seen, bolts, cables, empty bottles all in one big messy pile, and all seemingly the same grey-black colour of old grease. A man sits in front of it. Reluctantly I show him my problem. He walks back to the pile and pulls out a cable. He fixes my bike in no time at all. A true, albeit messy craftsman.
More below ↓
The next day I push my bike to Fethiye. I plan to stay there a couple of days. God it’s cold today. I’m starting to get fed up by winter. The first real cold after Athens was enchanting. A different element to reckon with, another challenge, the snow on the mountains in the distance. Now, over a month later the cold is the same but my experience subject to erosion, it has worn off and starts to work on my nerves. “60 days until spring”, I keep telling myself as the icy winds freeze my fingers on the downhill. I don’t think I’ve felt my toes in 30 kilometres.
Fethiye is a great town. Just big enough to be a city even. Situated at a bay, the view presents all colours of blue in the water and the mountains behind it. The boats in the harbour bobbing on the frail current, stuck between city and rock. I believe you can measure a place’s niceness by the amount of bike infrastructure it has. Fethiye has a surprising amount, especially compared to the towns I’ve visited in the previous weeks. A bike path feels like a warm welcome at the moment. They lead into the old town, full of wooden passages and markets. Baklava glazes from the windows of the bakeries, pointy mounts of coloured spices from woven baskets line the streets, fish mongers spray their catch, the endless amount of dogs and cats look for food and attention in-between it all.
More below ↓
In the hostel I meet Jamie, Stef and Mike, all Brits. Together we visit the Butterfly Valley. A boat takes us from secret beach to secret beach between the grooves of the marble mountains and islands that surround us. The water is a pure turquoise, clear enough it creates an optical illusion in which the boat seems to be hovering above the water. It’s still cold but today the sun shines, we count our blessings, chuck our winter coats aside and jump in the water. It’s been a while since I swam, it feels incredible.
The day before I leave I pack my bags, pick up my laundry, just generally getting ready for a couple of days of on the road again. I can’t find the key to my bike. I have locked it here some days ago. It must be here. Frantically I search the whole room. I’m a madman looking through all my bags, all the places I’ve been, even the places I haven’t. Can’t find it anywhere. After what must’ve been two hours I take my red race machine on my shoulder and carry it completely annoyed to a locksmith. I wait for an hour before he’s back at his shop which doesn’t help my mental state. After half an hour trying to open in with his lock-picking tools he tells me it can’t be done. The key has to be there in the hostel somewhere, that’s where I locked it! But I’ve already searched for the better part of two hours. Fuck it, cut it open, I want to leave tomorrow. And I do, without a lock this time.
