Lots of off-roading and exploring on mountain roads, first free camping, thoughts on philosophy and another drop of the bike. Same old, same old.After stocking up on supplies in Malatya, I covered the yawn-inspiring stretch of road to Elazig and then headed north to take the Elazig-Pertek ferry. I wanted to reach the Munzur Vadisi national park, both because my map said it was of excellent natural beauty (two blue stars - can't beat that) and because the LonelyPlanet didn't even mention it. Intriguing.

At the ferryboat I was finally properly recognised as a celebrity and wasn't allowed to pay the fare. Thank you people, it was about time!

(seriously though, the list of places I haven't been allowed to pay is getting longer - it started with the Ankara airport parking lot and is going on... very touching)

On the ferry I met multiple people, all of which took an interest in my map. I defended it with my life otherwise they would all have liked to pull it slightly more to their side - and thus shredded it to pieces. But, a dolmus (mini-van used as public trasport) driver told me he was going to Hozat and I should follow him because that's the prettiest road to reach the national park. Obviously all this in sign language, which means that this was my interpretation. He might be just having a bad case of indigestion and thus gesturing wildly for all I know. But anyway he pointed to his van, smiled at me warmly and beckoned me to follow.

After inhaling the dust & diesel fumes of the minibus for 5 minutes I politely overtook, squeezing the Vstrom's engine for all it had, as the maniac in the minibus was doing 110km/h in a narrow mountain road, with a van full of people. I then rode to Hozat following the signs, always making sure the van was at a safe distance behind me. When we got to the village, I waved and then pulled into a petrol station to fill up, and the van pulled in as well! They waited there for me to fill it up, pay, smile smugly to the question "are you a capitalist?" etc. Imagine that, a van full of people, patiently waiting there, just because the driver had taken a fancy in me. What can I say. I waved again and this time rode off quickly enough to shake the van.

And then the fun started. From Hozat the map showed a road to Gyiksuyu which would take me straight to the heart of Munzur Vadisi. So off I went:

The road cut through a mountain range and then eventually descended to Gyiksuyu. It was lovely unsurfaced gravel road, which I'm getting quite used to by now:

Of course I did some exploring (read: I got lost again) and at one point reached a village where the road dead-ended and there asked for directions. While trying to comprehend the giggles of the guy I was discussing with, I was watching with the corner of my eye another guy racing from the other side of the village (we're talking about 15 houses here) to our direction. The racer introduced himself as the proud owner of a fine piece of Turkish two-wheeled engineering and then proceeded to show me his bike, but complained that its sound was "pat-pat-pat" and not my Strom's nice "vrooom", hence that the bike was crap. Anyway, it was a connection point, which immediately led to a chai invitation.

How could I say no? He took me (and the giggling dude who was really beginning to annoy me by that point) to his house, introduced his wife and vanished for a bit, only to return with a steaming jug of chai, lots of sugar, two huge pieces of bread (pita-like, but not quite pita), a bowl of butter and a bown of butter dipped in honey. Need I describe the massacre that followed? Needless to say, I did not think of any national pride or self-image or anything like that - I just went for it. T'was all delicious.

So anyway I found the national park (set around a beautiful gorge), rode through it, had a nice picnic by the river that runs through it, refilled my water supplies, got a bit drenched by a quick 10-minute rain. At this point it's worth pointing out the steps in the rain-on-a-motorcycle process:

1. It starts to rain.
2. I ignore it, thinking "nah, it'll stop soon"
3. My high-tech jacket sucks in the first drops of rain and throws them on my skin.
4. I think "bollocks", but endure.
5. Rain gets heavier.
6. Cursing gods and daemons, I stop the bike right at the spot under the cloud where the rain is thickest and begin the lengthy process of putting on the rainproofs, covering the tank bag, the camelbak etc.
7. After 10 minutes fighting to put on all that crap, I am wet from sweat in addition to rain, and ride off to cool myself a little bit.
8. After 150m the rain stops.

By the time I got to Ovacik I was semi-tired and thinking what to do next, but some hills captured my attention and I thought "hmmm I wouldn't mind camping there".

I miraculously found the right dirt road and soon enough found myself riding through this lovely valley:

I explored a bit further (always a sucker for more view, privacy and exposure to the elements) but got thwarted in my efforts to return to nature by the deteriorating road conditions.

The message was basically "look, you may get away with it, but don't push your luck too hard", so I returned to the lovely valley and pitched my tent there.

Lovely, ain't it? In lovely valleys it is customary to oil one's chain, and to do that I had to put the bike on the double stand. I did, and once more, off it went to the right side. Interestingly, it all happened very slowly (so slowly that I had the time to jump on it and try to save it, only to realise I wasn't strong enough to keep it upright with the earth underneath us collapsing). Damn valleys. But I did have the time to control how it went over, so I strategically positioned a stone for the handlebar to rest on, which made picking up the bike much easier after it was done dropping and I was done taking pictures.
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No real damage, as usual one of the panniers got a wee bit deformed, I managed to pull it back into shape (getting the hang of this by now...) and all was good. Exhausted, but with the bike upright and its chain adjusted, cleaned AND oiled, I prepared dinner (pasta, olives, tuna, plastic cheese, tomatos), wrote my diary, took some more pictures and around 8 went to bed. It was completely dark at 6, so going to bed this early felt completely natural.
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My first free camp experience. Quite lovely indeed.
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This is the "preparing dinner" bit - probably filling the petrol stove from the bike's tank, making a mess and then cleaning it up:
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So with a *very* full stomach I went to bed. I read another chapter of "Freedom from the Known" by J.Krishnamurti before shutting my eyes and the final words of the chapter (on fear) were really gripping. He talked about the nature of fear, understanding what it is, where it comes from, whether it's a conscious thing or not, and ended with this: "When you see that you are a part of fear, not separate from it -that you are fear- then you cannot do anything about it; then fear comes totally to an end."

I was shaken by these words, and went to bed feeling more relaxed and less afraid than ever. It was a very big coincidence (if we accept there is such a thing) that I very soon had a chance to test myself...

After midnight, I was woken up by the sound of boots on the ground, the characteristic metallic noise of guns being carried and the heavy breathing of dogs. Initially I thought a bunch of hunters would be going up the mountain to hunt, but at that hour? Then I heard someone talking to me, certainly it was directed at me, but of course it was in Turkish and I didn't know what it was. It was a question, asked in a gentle voice. I responded with a "mmwwwwfffhh?" (the international "I'm sleeping now - go away" sound), but the question was repeated. Alright, I found my torch, unzipped the tent and opened the fly-sheet. All I saw was a hand extended to me, and I heard the question "hello, where are you from?" in English. I reached out and shook the hand, still being half inside my sleeping bag, said "Yunanistan" ("Greece" in Turkish), the voice wished me good night and walked away. I re-zipped the tent and went back in the sleeping bag, now listening to the thumping of boots for minutes - this was most probably a regiment of the local army camp going out for night training or something.

I checked myself for the usual signs of fear: Quick breath? Nope. Shaky hands? Nope. Shaky feet? Nope. Thoughts about self-defence, horrible attack scenarios played out on my mind? Nope. I went back to sleep after a couple of minutes, very puzzled by my reaction. There was no fear. Freak incident? Perhaps.

The next day (today), I woke up quite early (remember I had been to bed very early as well) and, well, it was a bit chilly:
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I had breakfast (hot tea... mmmm)
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and enjoyed the lovely view once more:
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After packing up, I visited Ovacik proper (the village), used the post office and asked around about the road over the mountains that my map showed. Sure enough there was a road over the mountain straight to Erzincan, right?

Wrong. The villagers were unanimous in that there was no road. Only mountain paths. I had to take a 50km detour to get to Erzincan. But... my map still showed that road, so thinking "bah, what do these guys know - they've only lived here all their lives" I went off to find the road.

These are the mountains I wanted to cross:

Several roads seemed to approach, but invariably they ended up in someone's back yard

or anyway in places you didn't want to be:

After deciding to quit multiple times but always not quite letting go and accepting defeat, I found this much promising road that didn't head straight north for the mountain, but nevertheless seemed quite well used and gave me hope:

This road reminded me of the lyrics of "Hotel California" and, inevitably,the Dude's appraisal of the Eagles Sure, this is no desert, and it's not dark, but the mind plays tricks...

After 25km and a lot of exploring of forks, alternatives, ending up in people's back yards, talking with people who brushed their teeth, being offered chai by portly women cooking their milk in wood fires...

I was still right next to the mountain, but wasn't going over it...

I was told repeatedly that the connection I was looking for did not exist. The last guy also offered me these tiny (and with a wonderful strong scent) pears, which convinced me to quit.

There was no bloody connection to where I wanted to go, and I would have to ride back through the valley. So be it.

After re-inflating my tyres to road pressure (here with the wonderful Topeak pump and gauge in hand)

...I took the main roads back to Elazig and from there rode to Diyarbakir, getting there half an hour after dark, at 17:30!

Good night world.