I was being soaked all through my two-day ride over the Balkans. I even drove through the first snow in Slovenia. It was raining all the way through the Slavonic countries and Serbia, where I almost ran out of petrol. (Shortage of euro diesel all through Serbia).I eventually managed to fill her up at a pretty low price.
The Macedonians were nice as always. I chose to avoid Bulgaria, seeing that the circumstances there aren’t exactly favourable to a beautiful metallic silver van with a trailer, loaded with irresistibly attractive horses, and only poor little old me to protect them. They gave me a map of the country on the border, even though you cross it nearly as fast as Slovenia – with the low fuel light already flashing, as the Croatian like to tease us (they’re just jealous because their petrol prices are much higher) – not ever turning off the main road.
After I disembarked in the Asian side of the Dardanelles I hit the roads of Turkey. I had to readjust to the “slightly different way of driving”. That was also the beginning of roads with no road signs, vehicles with no signs of lightsetc. I relied on the Microsoft AutoRoute that only needed a couple of modifications to stop annoying me with the “long cut” over Istanbul and Ankara. I soon discovered that it was going to take me through every Smallville on the map. It would have been a pleasant tourist ride, but I had ambitions to cover 1.400 km of Turkish roads to the Syrian border using up as little time and petrol possible and get to the University of Damascus by 18th November, in time to register for the course of Arabic. Besides, it turned out I couldn’t be driving over hills, crossing backyards and hen houses anyway.
So I just trusted the road signs (where there were any). The result: two hours and a half of journey to cover about 100 km of road, up and down slopes, with endless curves, and when I stopped in the middle of the night, in darkness you could cut with a knife, I could only hear hoof steps and the sound of cowbells. After a couple of hours of agony, I finally spotted some lights along the road, in the middle of nowhere, at two o’clock in the night. The sign on the building read “Jandarma”. I was tempted touse the hand break and throw the composition against the wall surrounding the barracks. I checked the engine temperature and turned the GPS and the engine off. A smiling face under a green beret stepped up to me and asked if I intended to spend the night there. The barrel of the gun under his armpit was poking through the car door, pointing somewhere to my kidneys. The soldier Kazan suggested I come for tee. Right, I’ll be there in 5 minutes! Frankly, though, I was longing for a bed more than anything.
Tee was actually preceded by dinner, they wouldn’t hear of me sleeping in the car, so – after a much welcome shower – I had the pleasure of being woken up every two hours, when the head of guard in the barracks’ bedroom came to get the new guard and the previous one joined us on the bunk beds. The “big boss” invited me for breakfast in the morning, so we pecked on the bread, marmalade and yoghurt together. It was a beautiful, sunny day so I decided to stretch the front shock absorbers of the - up until then idle - KTM. I keep telling myself: never drive without boots! But no, I’m only going to take it for a short ride, to give the MTs a taste of the Turkish dust. Well, I came across a small puddle – just big enough to make my jeans unpresentable. Idiot!
The road flattened (in all the three dimensions) and the HDi of the Partner purredalong the road. The fuel indicator was nearing the empty markslowly but surely. Before the sundown (it was going to get cold after that) I drove into a petrol station, unloaded the bike, cleaned and greased the chain and filled up the tank of the car. Moving the bike I realized that the strap holding the forks of the bike was slightly torn. Great, that’s all I need; for my bike to be thrown into an approaching car on a curve and for us all to be swept off the road here, in the Asian part of Turkey, where none of my overpaid full insurances are valid. I was wondering if maybe I should buy a spare one for the road just in case. Idiot!
That’s when a hopeless search for the transport strap started. The sun was setting, the last day of Ramadan, the month of fast, was turning into night. That also means the beginning of what the Turks call Bayram, the end of the fasting period, a big celebration and a couple of days of holidays. On top of that, my exhaust is making a strange sound. Forget about that now, I need the strap. Straps are nowhere to be found, the attendant at the fifth or sixth station that hasn’t rushed off to the long-awaited meal yet helps me mobilize the bike with a cow rope, while the rear of my car is still whistling. Okay, my bike has temporarily been salvaged, let’s go on.
So I drive on, when something explodes in front, the engine dies and I turn to the side of the road, my hands trembling. I’m in the middle of Turkey, in the dark, it’s Saturday, the night before a three-day holiday. WHY DIDN’T I CHANGE THE TIMING BELT BEFORE I LEFT???!!! I hesitated, but I wasn’t going to make more than 13.000 km, which was when it was due to be replaced anyway. I try my luck nonetheless, I turn the key and the machine starts! However, the light on the panel stays on. Petrol it is. Like last year. Only last year the engine wasn’t turning off, the electronics just didn’t let it go over 2.500 revolutions per minute. I was still 450 km away from the service in Adana, where they know me already. I continue towards Konya when the engine dies again. This time I was trying to start it in dark for at least 5 minutes, with kids crowded around me, cackling over my misfortune. Really funny, I’d like to see the son of a bitch somewhere in the middle of our Ptuj Plain how he’s staring helplessly at the engine of his curtained packed-full van in the light of his torch with his wife sitting in the car and a bunch of brats gathering in the street on Christmas Eve. Plus a local laughing at him. The MF!
I somehow managed to crawl to Konya, where there was a white and blue Peugeot partner assistance car waiting for me. We opened a service, they worked on the timing belt just in case (I took the warning seriously), changed the petrol filter etc. They worked from 7 pm to 2 in the night on a holiday that could only be compared to our Christmas Eve. The service manager turned up in the evening because of spare parts, the spare parts manager and a bunch of other guys came so in the end there were about ten people jumping around the car.
I hit the road at 2 am, but after 40 km the engine of the car turned off again while I was passing a buss and a van was coming towards me from the opposite direction.
To be continued the next time I log on.
Translation from Slovenian: Maja Simeonov
Originally posted in Slovene on the leading Slovenian bikers' page Motosvet
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MY NEW HOME: DAMASCUS
21.08.2015
The southeast wind is cutting in my face, creeping through my jeans and my motorcycle jacket. The faint yellow light, shining on the front ramp, reveals the rough sea in front of the ferry. I’m standing under the bridge, a dim red light of the port side is glowing above me, as I watch the lights of the coast that seem to be moving too fast. How fast are we travelling, anyway? I left the GPS in the car and I don’t really feel like going to the car deck and climbing over all the cars, vans, and trucks, only to get a meaningless piece of information. I’d much rather savour the moment and watch the lights of the port we’re steadily getting closer to, feeling a combination of anxiety and excitement. I’m only moments away from unloading all my cargo – my car, the trailer, and a KTM – and starting out to Asia, the continent that will be my home for the next couple of months.
