Pictorial Highlights

This is Heaven!

This portion of my travels came out of a few moments of whimsical contemplation, of entertaining one of those "what if I try this..." ideas and taking it one leap further. It has become a great lesson in trusting my instincts and an adventure of a lifetime. At 29 I still love personal challenges the way I did when I was a kid climbing trees of increasing height as a self administered antidote to an unsatisfactory fear of heights- an impulse I sincerely hope doesn't fade. This last leg of a two month bike journey has been a string of exhilarating challenges and true day to day adventure building. At the end of each day I have this feeling in my gut that reminds me a little of rock-skipping. I am reminded of the whole ritual of hunting and finding what could be the perfect rock; a smooth, flat, rounded stone that cradles just-so between the thumb and index finger- the one you just know is going to sail across and skip to perfection. In the end, piecing together this ride is like finding that stone. Each choice is an oxymoronic, cant-go-wrong-but-could-go-wrong surefire-Hail Mary blend, but at the end of the day, whether the bundle of tosses trend minimally impressive or end up on the side of pitch perfect, failing and succeeding on my own terms leads to a kind of pure and frivolous happiness. 

My route has thus become very ad-hoc. As I roll in and out of valleys, earning every bit of progress with my overburdened bike, I let the landscape and the relative zip left in my legs determine my next destination. I have a small ocean of time to meander through this paradise before I meet with friends and I have been taking full advantage of the freedom. The only down side to the solo riding is the lack of conversation. It is a little strange not to hear your own voice for days at a time. I pass through this country mostly unnoticed in a sea of other bike travelers, which is novel compared to every other place I have toured. The silence has felt good too. It feels freeing and a little bit powerful to be comfortably alone.  

The weather has turned cold for the moment, so high passes are out until temperatures thaw. This is a fickle season that bounces, a few days at a time, from sizzling to freezing and back again. I am near Zurich now after a hypothermic attempt at riding through a driving rain. I remain paused until things clear up. Here is a revised bike route so far.

The Alps!

My next adventure is through the Alps! I fly home through Frankfurt and decided to look into creating an adventure around getting there. I looked up the cheapest destination on one side of the mass of mountains and came up with the following rough itinerary. I am looking forward to my first attempt at solo bike touring, and of course the full alpine immersion. I am extremely excited meet with Eva and Steph in the Zurich area for some side adventure bike exploration near the end. I will be camping, with a few opportunities to couch surf along the way. It is near the end of the season for traversing these mountains, so I am hoping for good weather and the friendly company of fellow straggling bike tourists. I fly into Torino tomorrow, train to Aosta, and if all goes as planned I'll be sleeping at the base of the Matterhorn tomorrow night!

Here's a rough estimate of the day to day:

Aosta to Matterhorn 55k ( it's too close to miss!)

Matterhorn to Aosta 55k 

Aosta to Martigney 77k

Mart. - Visp 73k 

Visp- Oberwald 50.5k 

Oberwald- Gadmen 45k

Gadmen- Altdorf 63k

Altdorf- Luchsingen 54k

Luchsingen- Wattwil 47k

Wattwil- Winterthur 48.5k 

Train to Frankfurt, or bike as far as I can into Germany and then train the remainder. 

Wish me luck!

Frozen Time

The concept of frozen time applies to so many aspects of this trip. We've just returned from the Kakheti region where castles abound and 8,000 year old wine making traditions live on. The surrounding mountains are multi-colored, folded masses of extruded earth- massive, frozen geologic revolt. And then there is the general feeling that time pauses when you exit the stream of constant contact with technology and information.

There is so much more to say about Georgia, but I'll limit it to a few entertaining nuggets and hopefully get one last thoughtful note about this leg of the trip after I have had some time to let it all sink in. For now, just these last thoughts: 

Food, Cont.

I neglected to add much about our dinner prep in the last post that was a shoddy attempt at sifting out our dailiness. We cook in the backcountry most days. We split the weight of carrying rice, pasta and lentils (soaking rice and lentils in a Nalgene during the day), as well as a fairly standard combo of tomatoes, bell peppers, hot peppers, onions, garlic, oil and spices. We have pushed our limits of enjoying this mix, but it has   fueled many a mile. The market experience is, as ever, the best part of meal prep. We tend to plan further ahead than needed, but just about every route has taken us through a town with enough commerce to gain us  the delight of searching out new treats and the assurance of securing what we need. Georgia doesn't have the restaurant culture that Turkey seemed to (they were closed for Ramzan, but they existed even in the tiniest of towns). The go-to fast meal here is a danish called khachapuri that is filled with strong cheese, or beans (lobiani), or a spiced meet and either folded or encased in a personal pizza sized pastry. Dumplings called khinkali are also cheap and popularly filled with meat, potatoes or mushrooms. My favorite meal is lobio (stewed beans in a clay pot) and chvistari (a dense cornmeal lump with cheese). Georgian yogurt made from cow, goat or sheep milk is called "matsoni" and is the go-to for breakfast. Fresh fruit and veggies fill in the snack gaps nicely too and give us a satisfactory taste of summer outside the Willamette Valley. 

Transportation

Jumping off the bike and exploring the tangle of public transportation is its very own treat. We've been introduced to the Georgian road scene from the fringe, but our perspective from inside a moving vehicle has been limited. Other passengers make the habit of crossing themselves more than once after getting on the bus (granted it's a pious country), and this automatically gives the sense that your continuing existence might be in a state of tenuous fragility. Riding in the marshruktas, as the mini buses are called, is a lot like engaging in a high speed chase- the hunted end. These things catapult, pass with extreme confidence while sustaining high speeds, and seem to delight in playing "chicken" with much larger trucks. It's a giant prick joust to be honest and, well, candid. There are lane dividers on most all of the roads, but those are cosmetic and merely suggestive of traffic division. At the end of the day it's a free-for-all and the fastest, biggest guy wins. Traveling by bus through Georgia has got to be one of the world's few passive adrenaline sports. 

We have had some luck hitching rides on remote roads. Our three day trek through the Borjomi National Forest ended at a set of tracks on the fringe, miles from anything. We arrived three hours early with empty food bags, so we decided to flag down a ride to a larger town on the rail line. Success! A sand-filled dump truck driven by two grinning Georgians pulled over. The boys jumped in the back, while I bounced around to operatic Russian techno in the cab. These guys were the brand of dude you compare tattoos with, who chain smoke and drink vodka to round out a complete breakfast. Though appearing slightly surly with nicotine -stained mustaches, toothless grins and generous amounts of gut and chest hair escaping half-zipped track jackets, they were as gentle and kind as could be. We exchanged the standard limited questions about nationality, marital status, thoughts on Georgia (thumbs up!), before exchanging side cheek smooches (oh yes) and an extended over-waved goodbye. 

A Day in the Life of a Caucasian Adventure

My watch alarm has been set to 6:30am since arriving in Georgia. It seems to be our sweet spot for decent rest, cool morning riding and long days on the bike. Our goal every evening is to camp near water so we can clean the road off at the end of one day, and fill our coffee pot at the beginning of the next. With little exception we rise with the sun and soak up lazy cups of silty Turkish jo and oatmeal with the assistance of Chris's handy Primus camp stove. Our campsites are mostly in the middle of nowhere, but we ask permission when we end near private property and have yet to be turned down. This has landed us lakeside, tucked on the lee side of 12 foot hay mounds, at the base of glaciers in the middle of forested paradise, and smack in the middle of cow pasture. Our tent is a single poled, floor-less shelter that most closely resembles a circus tent. It fits three people and gear, or four in a pinch.

After breaking down our florescent tee-pee, we load the bikes, consult one of our numerous maps (paper and electronic) to get a sense of distance and elevation, and hit the road. We have made a point of staying off the main roads- it generally makes for  less monotonous riding, we end up steeping ourselves in the unexpected (dead ends, massively rutted roads, etc.), and it's just plain fun to make it up as we go. We do well enough by asking locals about route advice, particularly when none of our maps agree. Communication boils down to a game of charades. We use "sign language" and very limited Georgian and Russian to get everything from directions and simple information about food and water, to highly advanced requests for super glue, bolts and flashlights. The gesticulation that comes along with this does not fail to entertain. Our biggest challenge is convincing people we want to ride the "bad" road rather than asphalt. This is also entertaining because 95% of the country's roads fall into that "bad" category and we have enjoyed a small majority of them.

Our afternoons are never the same. We snack, we rest in the shade when needed, we suffer through rough road a lot, but we have also adopted a "yes" policy that makes each day unique. By never saying no to anything that is offered to us, we have spent a lot of our time sharing drinks, food, and swimming holes; we have enjoyed tours of aquaculture plots and hotels, accepted overnight stays at cement factories and glitzy wedding halls, and entertained lots and lots of awkward chats. We are definitely not just moving from A to B, but rather bouncing along with the unintended and unanticipated.

Over the past 23 days we have managed to cover the Svaneti region, Kasbegi and the Military Highway, and the Borjomi-Samtskhe region. We're in the geyser-laden land of Borjomi proper now, and headed into the national park for a three day trek. Our last days will be spent in the Kakheti region, where Georgians claim wine was born. Cheney is our wine guru in motion and on his way to intern in Burgundy in just a week or so. Chris and I will have the benefit of enjoying the area through his expertise. So we'll wrap up with wine and castles and then move in three very different directions. More on those plans and pictures very soon...

Line in the Pebbles

Crossing borders is a funny funny thing. There is something particularly interesting about crossing borders over land. We passed through a stack of waiting vehicles, shuffled through a line of passport holders, then visa holders (in a mercifully air conditioned building) and seemingly passed through a portal with Turkey on one side and Georgia on the other. All there is to separate these worlds is a line in the Black Sea pebbles. There are no insurmountable mountains or bodies of water, none of the barriers that keep culture and histories separated. Even more, this particular border has changed many times- having been both Georgia and Armenia centuries ago. The point...the point is that once we crossed that last air conditioned threshold- despite proximity, despite crisscrossing history- we were in a very different place. The attitudes (mostly), which translated to traffic conditions changed instantly. There is a clear bravado or machismo. Road maintenance and fuel standards (already alluded to) took a dive- signs of economic differences to be sure. Georgia is more or less indifferent to us, she has given us a colder than expected shoulder in the human kindness department. I have speculated about this quite a bit and guessing around it is just fruitless. Positive note: Georgia is stunning!

We have just spent the last week or so biking a loop through the Svaneti region. It is known as the only "kingdom" to thwart all attempts of past conquerors. The mountains are intimidating indeed! We started just north of Zugdidi, zagged off course to camp and bike in the Dolra valley at the base of Mt. Ushba, and made our way to Mestia. After a half day of replenishing our food stores and soaking in a little bit of  traditional Svan food and architecture in the regional capital, we made our way over the pass toward Ushguli. The pavement ended and the mud (helped by a healthy amount of rain) started after Mestia. Traffic all but stopped as the roads are rough and people are sparse. Carcasses of Svan towers and stone houses dot hillsides and valleys along the way, but the landscape is mostly dominated by green foothills and glacier flanked peaks. The descent from the last pass was a dooooozy- 80k of semi-controlled, bone rattling, blissful riding that dropped us through head-high patches of (mostly) purple wildflowers and into a new rain soaked river valley.

We are in Tbilisi for a few short hours to set up bike boxes for the trip home, stock up on food, and clean ourselves. By tonight we'll be on our way up the Military Highway to ogle the Greater Caucus range for anther week of quad busting, heart exploding riding and hiking. 

Going Roadless

We made our way from Yusufeli to Yaylarlar at the base of Mt. Kackar (the summit is at about 13,000 ft). The ride was rough on Chris who was still nursing some serious stomach woes, but was otherwise some of the most picturesque and peaceful riding we've done. The narrow dirt road stayed close to the river, keeping the grade mellow and the air cool. We shared our campsite and some dinner conversation with two other travelers- the first tourists we've manage to meet.
Thunder and lightening storms are daily occurrences at this elevation (about 9,000 ft). The landscape is wet and green with vibrant patches of pink, yellow and purple wild flowers. We took the hiking mildly without any real hopes of summiting the peak. Chris is flying half-mast after days of eating little to nothing and our legs are still very much earning the elevation. With a day of extreme climbing ahead and thick clouds obscuring the view from the top, we are all willing to stand down temptation. The hike meandered through a "u" shaped valley lined by folds of water carved slopes and topped with a spine of jagged rock spires. We topped out at a snow fed lake and managed to scramble up a side slope for some more than satisfactory boulder trundling.

The following few days took us back down the valley 25k to the junction to Olingar. Our hope was to find the road over the pass and make our way back down to the Black Sea at Arhavi. We asked several people about the road (resulting in one thoughtfully hand drawn map) with many different suggestions returned. In the end we found it wise to consult the locals as we neared the various junctions. Despite the fact that we are carrying several maps, there are no clear routes for this leg of the journey. Some roads exist on one map and not the other. The Google road and relief maps we have saved on the Ipod don't have any information on this region- the roads are new and mostly unused and we found out why. Let's just say that the going was slow and the views were well earned. We biked through several showers on pass day and made our way over the top in time to catch the onset of a heavy rainstorm. The following morning was dedicated to drying out gear and maintaining the bikes- including cleaning the drivetrains and tightening break cables for the steep and bumpy ride down. We made it 10k down the road before running into a very jolly group of guys building cliff side stone chalets. They invited us to take a look around, which progressed to tea, then lunch and an eventual offer for a ride down to Arhavi. After flatting during the first 10k and losing most of the feeling in my fingers from squeezing the breaks, I was more than happy to accept. Man o man was this a good decision on all of our parts. The road was extremely rough with deep rocky ruts and enough sharp rocks and steep drops to guarantee more time consuming punctures. The 50k took us 3.5 hours in the truck and would have likely taken us an extra day to descend. None of us shy away from a good adventure, but this one would have been more painful than necessary. The views...the views were mostly obscured by the thick layer of cloud we meandered through for the majority of the ride. Every once and a while though the clouds would part just enough to see the extreme vertical drop. These hills very literally dive into the sea. It is impossible to see the top from the bottom, or the bottom from the top. Stands of trees intermittently appeared through the clouds, but looked be floating as it was, from our angle, completely impossible to see where they were rooted. We rode, three abreast, in the back bed of a massive red truck with our bikes tightly bungied to the side rails. We arrived in Arhavi just before sunset and just in time to inhale a communal trough of ice cream before spinning (sea-legged) on to Hopa.

We crossed the border to Georgia yesterday and are spending the day in Batumi before busing through the hot plains and on to the foothills of the Greater Caucus mountains. Georgia is a whole new animal with narrower roads, faster drivers, dirtier tailpipes and a whole new set of communication challenges. Wish us luck!

Quick and Dirty

It appears that the last post dıdn't work, so this one will just be broad description of what we have been up to so far. From our ımpromptu home stay near Ordu we clımbed through the ragged fılbert covered hills wıth a general northeasterly trajectory. The major four lane hıghway that runs along the Black Sea has a generous shoulder but is only moderately scenic and we are craving more variety in terms of elevation. We are equıpped wıth a four-person shelter and camp stove, so covert roadside camping has been our MO. These spots have varıed from hazelnut orchards to pocked cowpasture, but all have had access to fresh water. The mıd and end of day full body dunks have been lıfe savers so far. We are up by 5am and on the road by 6 to enjoy the cooler hours of the day. By 11 the heat turns up and we fınd nappıng shade and dunkıng pools for a few hours to avoid overheatıng. We are all from the PNW and tend to wılt lıke delıcate flowers under the Turkish sun.

We are travelıng rıght smack ın the mıddle of Ramazan, whıch means that most of the country ıs fastıng from 8am to 8pm. We are eatıng lots of fresh fruıt and vegetables from markets, but have had lımıted opportunıty to enjoy a proper cooked meal (we are ın bed and out of town before the fast-breakıng partıes get goıng). The stove allows us flexıbılty and full meal makıng abılıty, whıch ıs a lıfe saver gıven our relatıve appetıtes.

More detaıl and descrıptıon to come, for now we are ın Yusufelı ın NE Anatolıa for a day. Chrıs has been struck down by the bad gut gods and needs recovery tıme. In truth we are all ın need of a solıd leg rest day. Over the last two days the major hıghlıghts have been the town of Bayburt, whıch sıts as a fıefdom below a massıve rock-top castle. There have been a few ımpressıve ruıns along the road- all perched at ımpossıble heıghts atop rocky crags that really take the whole "just try and come and get me" taunt to an extreme.We haven't met many Englısh speakers yet, so speakıng French wıth a few people ın Bayburt was fun and a lıttle bıt of a surprıse. We bıked out of town through some lıght thunder and lıghtenıng. The storm cooled thıngs down and cast a gorgeous lıght on the tree-lınded, traffıcless road that took us out of down and through calm pastoral vıllages. We follwed the seam of green poplars through a dry, rocky valley wıth surroundıng hılls that look the texture of wooley felt. To call the road a road ıs perhaps too concrete a term. It ıs sort of ın progress ın a passıve way. Tar has been slapped down and gravel dumped on top, but ıt ıs really up to those who use the surface to mash the gravel ın and really solıdıfy ıt. Large pıles of loose gravel have made sharp turns uphıll a challenge and certaınly take some fun out of hıgh speed descents. We hıred a truck to shlep us through a short stretch of road from Ispır to Yusufelı that wıll soon be underwater. There are 13 planned hydro-electrıc dams that wıll drown out the route and dısplace what I have termed "mountaın goat vıllages"...houses that sıt on sheer clıffs or on top of rock spıres that just baffle. For now the road has been chopped up and re-routed for massıve constructıon, so we took the opportunıty to rest and to see a 10th century Georgıan monestary (Dorte) along the way.

The plan for now ıs to hang tıght one more nıght before headıng up a steep unpaved route toward Mt. Kackar (pronounced kash-car ) for a day and a half of trekkıng off-bıke. Then we cruıse down hıll to the border of Georgıa and head to Batumı to meet up wıth Dave. 

My Toenails are Sweating

That is a dırect quote from one Chrıs Gabrıellı and ıt very aptly conveys the condıtıons here so far. Despıte the heat we are makıng great progress and have adopted a "yes" polıcy- we are sayıng yes to everythıng. As ıt turns out the legendary hospıtalıty ın thıs corner of the world ıs for real. Our fırst attempt to camp was thwarted by an invitration to stay ın a local home just outsıde of Ordu. We stayed wıth an older couple Alamna and Emet, who fed us and worked through our sıgnlanguage to exchange detaıls about our travels and backgrounds. Along wıth the ınvıtatıons comes constant honkıng and wavıng. It ıs a lot lıke beıng a mınor celebrıty on a parade float. People are trıppıng over themselves to be helpful and it has already won us over 100%. The route along the Black Sea coast ıs sqeezed along a strech of land constraıned by a wall of steep hılls. At the end of day one we decıded to make our way through the hılls and head for hıgher elevatıons and more rural settıngs. The foothılls are covered ın a raggety tangle of fılbert trees and ıntermıttant gardens that dangle from ımpressıve angles. The small vıllages dottıng the area sell the nuts to Russıa and make a decent livıng- as evıdenced by Alamna and Emets 10 room, three story home.We have moved through the foothılls and are now on the dry sıde of the range makıng our way through the hot hıgh plaıns. We are currently ın Beburt and makıng our way East to Ispır by tomorrow. Photos and more colorful detaıls to come...thıs cafe feels lıke a sauna!

Darts and a Blindfold

Gone are the days of determining destinations with a close-eyed, finger-dragging spin of a globe. Thanks to handy tools like Google Earth, the interweb is a portal that lends access to almost every nook and cranny. A few months back a good friend of mine went hunting for tantalizing mountain ranges and invited me to help design an adventure. We found a gnarly band of peaks spanning the distance between two inland seas, then proceeded to mop up our drool and set our sights on a two month bike trip. After a year and nine month break, it's time to scratch the bike mode travel itch in Caucasia.

I take off this Monday, the 23rd in excellent company. Chris Gabrielli and Cheney Vidrine are well-travelled, adventure-hungry souls who love mountains and a good challenge as much as I do. Our trip starts in Samsun Turkey, continues along the Black Sea coast, and weaves NE through the Kackar mountain range to Georgia. We have six weeks to explore the region together. I get two weeks on my own at the end, and good old Dave Trench will meet up for a two week stint in the middle. We are all particularly excited about Georgia, but details of our route have yet to be determined. This map offers a rough approximation of our first week and a half.

Turkish roads are plentiful and well mapped. We are determined to avoid the highways and instead stick to backroads (our map refers to these as "cart paths"), which leads me to admit that have I no sense of how often we will have access to the internet. I plan to share all the details here with family and friends as often as I can. Please post questions if I leave out important details. I'll do my best to post routes and pictures.

As Chris so often says....GIDDY UP!

I'm Home

My world travels have come to a temporary halt. I returned to Oregon, my heart and my home, in early October. It took a night in Ethiopia, two glorious days basking in the sunny, canal woven streets of Amsterdam, a giddy-with-exhaustion reunion in NYC; altogether five solid days of travel, and I finally landed softly back where I started.
I could wax nostalgic all over this post about how the trip has impacted me. I'll leave it at two things that struck me: first, is that people thrive under the unlikeliest of conditions; and as a corollary, what seems to make it possible are the bonds of community and good will - local and global. I am, very simply, humbled by what common focus makes possible. I have great hope that the shape of survival in so many of the places I visited "off roads" from a patently Western trajectory and finds comfort in unique equilibrium.
There and here (caught in the job search decision tangle) the frenzy of choice and possibility set starkly against the simplicity of needs creates a paradox and existential brain tease that, all at once, is excruciating, intoxicating and completely cliche.

Sharing stories, mishaps, opinion, plans, and enthusiasm through this blog has added an unexpected layer of gratitude for it all. I am thankful for this mode of communication- to be able to write to you from some far off place, to capture a piece of the experience and share it, then move on, build on the adventure, and do it again.
I wrote the last several posts during a two week "wrap up" period in Kigali and save the latest to post well after I safely exited the country. Just in case.

Two Faces

Rwanda is a very ordered country, largely thanks to the influence of the uber popular President Kigame who was recently re-elected for another 7 year term with overwhelming support. The elections occurred shortly before I arrived and were marked by a barrage of propaganda campaigns, rallies, and a few random grenade attacks on bus stations in the city center. The rest of the world didn't likely hear much about the violence, thanks mostly to the heavy censorship of bad publicity, including dissent of any kind. Rumor has it that the beloved PK (code name used by expats when speaking frankly in public…that alone should say enough) has full control over the media and silences opposition through discreditation, intimidation, or house arrest. His actions have been openly criticized by human rights groups and the US government, with only curt response. He argues that there is no room for dissent in Rwanda as the country attempts to move forward after the devastation of the 1994 genocide, and that no distractions should be permitted that might interrupt the healing process or development goals. It's an interesting argument and one that is harder to challenge when Rwanda is considered a success story (again by the US government) for progress made since '94. The country experiences little corruption, has low levels of crime and is relatively prosperous compared to its neighbors. The dominant top-down, systematic control approach has interesting consequences, some that might be considered positive while others less so. The strong vigilance of the State manifests in many different ways. For instance, there are little things like getting stopped and fined by the police for putting one foot in a grass median, or slightly more concerning things like learning that there are "files" that exist for every ex-pat residing in the country. Although I can't speak to the file content, the overall message is that your life, your purpose here, and your actions aren't a secret. Citizens are encouraged to report (via "call ins") all kinds of activity to local government. The information is then passed on to higher levels if deemed necessary. On the up-side, this system is largely responsible for a general lack of corruption. Tight fisted influence has instituted a monthly community service day called "umuganda," modeled after traditional practice. On the last Saturday of every month everyone over the age of 18 years is obliged to come together and collectively participate in a community service activity. After the work is done meetings are held to allow time for community members to voice general concerns and to propose future umuganda projects. The projects themselves range from building and repairing infrastructure, to helping vulnerable families within the community. So the control and order has two faces. From a Western point of view, the price paid is privacy and autonomy. I should mention that umuganda is not voluntary, it's expected, police enforced (unless you hide in your home), and incentivized by taking names, shutting down roads and transportation systems, and halting all local business between 8am and noon (roughly). It's organized at the village level, so absences don't go unnoticed. For me, the feeling of being watched is disconcerting, to a nation still rattled by devastating violence, it can reasonably be conceived of as comforting.