6 Aug 2011
After leaving Sagalassos I was thinking I would just camp by
the side of the road in the grass just above the town. This was a good plan.
But when I found the perfect spot, the ground was full of goat heads, sharp
rocks, and thorns. I had just bought my new tent, my really cool one person
lightweight spiffy neato tent (the MSR Hubba) and the thought of ripping the
bottom apart on thorns was too much for me. I convinced myself that I would
find a better spot a little farther down, which of course I did, in someone’s
yard.
This would have been a much less stressful night if I had
asked to spend the night in that person’s yard, but it was dusk, I felt like I
had heat stroke, and the thought of dealing with the language barrier right
then and there was just too much for me. So quietly and slowly I pushed my bike
down into a lush, grassy orchard. I could barely see a building through the
trees and I planned to be out early in the morning.
That night I moved in slow motion, I was silence itself. It took
me half an hour to blow up my sleeping pad but finally with camp set up, I
crawled into my tent and passed out… until I heard footsteps. With dread
stealing over me in waves of hot prickles, I waited for the angry voice. This
happened all night long. There were cats that gave me heart attacks, flying
night monsters that made my heart pound, and actually snakes that slithered
against the walls of my tent.
When the sky started to lighten, I gave up on sleep and
packed up. Riding the last mile into Aglasus I arrived just as a dolmus pulled
up, heading to Antalya. The Dolmus is a van where, like magic, amazing amounts
of people all fit into an exceedingly small space. I pointed to myself and my
bike, then to the dolmus. The driver nodded and I nearly threw my arms around
him with joy, until I looked inside.
If the Dolmus is a magic capacity machine, then the driver
is most assuredly the magician. In the blink of an eye, the wheels were taken
off my bike, the panniers were thrown somewhere, I was pushed into the lap of
very boney woman, and my dirty, greasy bike frame was pushed into mine. I have
never been happier to ride 120km in a non-air conditioned car. The road was
steep, dusty, and under construction; there was not an inch of shade or
shoulder on the road.
With temperatures over 100°, I was thrilled to pay the 10
lira for the ride, and despite my awkward and inconvenient baggage, not one
passenger gave me a dirty look. I was pretty sure they all though I was just
plain crazy. And truthfully, I had to agree. Perhaps a bit more research on
bike routes in Turkey would have been worthwhile. So far, this is not the route
I would suggest.
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