Long after Cory and Theo have departed, I have finally finished photo pages posted for Azerbaijan, Georgia, and Turkey's Black Sea Coast.  Check them out, they are well worth the wait.

BIll Conry
Fresh off the Wolverine’s exciting victory, we pedaled out of Dubrovnik with our own conquest in mind: biking the entire length of the Croatian coastline.  Despite Croatia’s narrow shape, the south to north journey presented us with two route options.  We could stick to one major road that hugs the coast for the duration of the country, or we could venture out on peninsulas and islands that protrude northwest into the Adriatic and ride ferries back to the mainland.  Considering the reports we had heard from other bicycle tourist and enthralled by the idea of “island hopping” we unanimously chose the latter option.

The marginally longer distance and more challenging terrain proved to be worth it from a beauty standpoint, but it didn’t come without a price.  The first peninsula we rode, Peljesac, turned out to be the Sonoma of Croatia, with vineyards nestled amongst rolling hills everywhere you turned.  I find it appropriate at this time to mention our weather stats for this point in the trip:  with one exception every riding day since Istanbul had been hot (80-90 F) and sunny.  Of course I appreciate that weather, but when you’re biking for 10 hours a day it begins to take a toll on your body.  Heed my words, if you’re ever in Vegas and are able to place a bet on the hot Adriatic sun versus pale Irish skin, take the sun ten times out of ten.  The longer cycling days, lack of shade, and intense heat beginning in wine country caused me to fall victim to dehydration.   My perspiration outweighed my water intake despite my efforts to drink as much as I could.  With support from Megan and Kellen, some upbeat Lady Gaga songs on my iPod, and enough water to fill a swimming pool, I was able to make it Split alive despite my severe doubts.

We took a half rest day in Split to nurse me back to health and then continued up the coast to Zadar.  Much like Split and Dubrovnik, Zadar was a charming, historic city on the water with a walled pedestrian only “old city.”  We had a lovely night full of the  typical Zadarian pastimes of strolling the port, people watching by the cathedral, and dining at In-N-Out.  Yes you heard right.  The west coast burger chain with the cult following, notoriously known for refusing to expand eastward despite market demand, apparently has a store along the Adriatic.  Upon further investigation it was revealed that it’s an unaffiliated “bootleg” shop, using an ampersand in place of the “N.”  The burger was not bad, however, according to two LA natives we met there it was “not even close” to as good as the real deal.

The next day we set out for our second leg off the mainland, the island of Pag.  What this landmass lacked in civilization it made up for in its aesthetics with its endless open sheep fields and unique geologic formations.  The plan was to ride the length of the island in one day, take the short ferry back to the mainland, grab some food, and camp.  The circuitous path to the ferry port brought us up close and personal with grazing sheep, and I was fortunate enough to encounter a few rare black forms of the species.  As we waited for an hour at the remote port for the 8pm ferry, Kellen quipped “what if the other port is just like this?”  The area from which we departed consisted of a ticket booth and a dock.  That was it.  With plenty of lights on the other side of the water we were confident we’d at least find a place to grab a bite to eat before retiring for the day. 

As the ferry approached the new port we realized that most of the lights we saw were street lights and that it was nearly a mirror image of where we came from.  We entered a bar type establishment praying they could provide us with sustenance but quickly discovered that not only did they not sell any type of food, but  almost exclusively carried alcohol (no juice or anything)… and the next town was in 20km.  I’m not above drinking my dinner, after all beer does contain calories, but after a bout with dehydration and biking 120km that day, a Heineken meal did not present itself as a smart choice.

So here we were at 9pm starving and tired with nowhere to go but up the face of a mountain.  We had no other option but to strap on our headlamps and began to ascend the lengthy switchbacks.  Even though we had been chowing down on our supply of Clif Bars like a bunch of Clif junkies, we thankfully had a few remaining that we could eat for dinner.  Finding a campsite for our gourmet Clif meal would prove an arduous task given the steep topography and lack of vegetation.  

Out of nowhere we stumbled upon two other cyclists who set up camp in what seemed to be the one viable spot on the whole mountain face, a paved ramp connecting two legs of a switchback.   Jan and Andrew, a pair of ~50 year old men from Poland who were biking the Croation coastline in the reverse direction, welcomed us to their campsite.  They were certainly the odd couple; Andrew was quiet and austere while Jan was loquacious and jubilant with a sanity level in the realm of Gary Busey.  The longer we conversed with Jan the more of a character he proved to be.  We didn’t bother setting up tents, and just when we got into our sleeping bags Jan yelled over “You ready for storm at 4am?  I see on TV this morning.  Will be good time to wash, you know…”  I was quite upset to hear of this incoming weather until Jan giggled like a school girl to reveal he was joking.  We told them we planned to get up at sunrise, around 6am, and Jan said that was their plan too.  For some reason he thought that loose verbal pact was grounds to violently shake me and scream “WAKE UP!” when sunrise came and I was still asleep.  We bid our farewells when out of nowhere Andrew, who up until this point had literally only said “hello”, screamed “Good luck!” at the top of his lungs as we pedaled off.   Something told me that good luck just had to be heading our way now.

You could say luck did come our way in meeting another bicycle tourist 20km down the road.  Enter Phillip, a professor of hydrology at the University of Zurich who also began his ride in Istanbul but had taken half the time to arrive at that point in northern Croatia as we had.  This was a Saturday and Phillip had to be back in Switzerland for his first day of classes on Monday, so he planned to bike as far as he could for two days then take a train from either Ljubljana, Slovenia or Verona, Italy for the remainder.   Phillip is an experienced cyclist having toured all around the world so naturally we learned a lot from him in our half-day riding together, everything from cycling tips, to European history, to food recommendations for Italy.   He also stressed the importance of a mid-day dip to cool down and encouraged us to partake, which we did.  Alas, we had to part ways just after lunch as Phillip was looking to cover more ground than us (read: we were too slow).

After a short and sweet downhill ride through gorgeous Slovenia, which would have been shorter and sweeter had I not gotten a flat in the three hour window, we arrived in Italy.  Once there Kellen and Megan turned to me to be their language guide since I had studied in Florence five years ago.  They were out of luck.  Saying my Italian is bad is akin to saying Nicholas Cage’s acting is bad: it’s comically atrocious.  I knew that I’d need to ramp up my lexicon beyond “Ciao Bella,” “Vino Rosso,” and “Gelato” in order to sustain a conversation or ask for directions.  Just after Trieste it began to pour, so we decided to deploy our familiar tactic of waiting it out with a bottle of wine that brought us fantastic results in Greece.  We set up shop in a tiny café where Anastasia served us wine and sandwiches and helped bring us up to speed on conversational Italian. 

Once the rain let up we continued onward to find a camping space for the night.  We finally found a decent area, however there was one catch:  it was directly across from a graveyard – a haunted graveyard no less (I could just tell).  To make matters worse Megan insisted on telling firsthand ghost stories from the historic town of Frederick, MD.  Megan and Kellen had been sleeping in Kellen’s two person tent while I’ve been in my single abode, and my request to switch up the sleeping arrangements for the night was met with a resounding “no.”  Soon after, I found a way to fall asleep but was awoken by an eardrum shattering clap of thunder and the ensuing intense lightning storm.  I was convinced that my tent was going to blow away at several points, but to Big Agnes’ credit, I was able to survive the storm, pun intended.

As soon as we hopped on our bikes the next morning towards Venice the rain started right back up where it left off.  Because of Megan’s upcoming flight home, we had to arrive that day so we threw on our raingear and continued to ride.  We were relieved that the first sign read 105km to Venice, as we estimated more.  But then we were confused when we read 110km on the following sign and thought we were going crazy when the third read 120km.  This trend of seemingly arbitrary signs continued all the way to the canal city.  Kellen hypothesized that the sign makers got lazy and just asked the local townspeople how far Venice was instead of measuring it.  I guess Google Maps hadn’t yet hit northeast Italy.  We followed all the signs down to zero and were relieved to finally arrive in Venice.  Here we would take a much needed rest day and prepare to bid farewell to Megan for her journey home.

BEARD WATCH – BREAKING NEWS!

Hints of amber have been detected in the lower chin region.  It is unknown at this time whether these hairs are foreshadowing what is to come or a mere fluke.   A fire beard has not been ruled out.  Stay tuned for updates.

Kellen Smetana
Camel herders aside, passing time in the endless Central Asian deserts for any normal person will add even the slightest bit more appreciation for the cool, charming sensation of rolling down a coastal road.  After crossing the Caspian, bathing, battling, and beholding the Black, and grazing the Aegean, I was again ready to bask in the azure atmosphere of the sea and take on the mighty Adriatic.  As Megan noted in the last entry, I “love hills”; and I have been working on bringing Bill and Megan over to my school of thought.  Most of these coastal roads follow natural seaside cliffs, crest above finger-like rock outcroppings, wind around the occasional promontory, and bound down into a quaint beach town before rising precipitously to start the whole process over again.  The Adriatic coast of Montenegro and Croatia has provided much of these same hilly roads and I think it’s slowly starting to win over Bill and Megan on this hills business.

Following our eventful and laughter-filled sejour in Albania, we crossed into Montenegro to reach the Adriatic Sea.  For those of you who have never heard of Montenegro, here is one valid excuse: it is, in fact, the third newest country in the world (only losing to Kosovo - 2008 and South Sudan - 2011).  Montenegro, a former member of Yugoslavia like most of the rest of the Balkans, broke away from Serbia in 2006 and is now an attractive Adriatic destination free of the Serbia’s negative association to the Bosnian and Kosovo conflicts.  It is, of course, yet another stunning country.

We entered Montenegro on tiny rural roads deep amongst naked gray rocky peaks, vineyards, and olive orchards bordered by loose stone walls.  It was fun riding and we even stole away samples of the local produce straight from the vine/tree.  All the grapes were delicious (Megan and I claim this trip is the first time we’ve tasted “grape flavor” in actual grapes), though olives picked from the tree are some of the bitterest things I’ve ever eaten – there must be some elaborate pickling process before they make it to the neighborhood supermarket…

Our destination was the medieval walled city of Kotor.  When we were deciding where to take our rest days between Istanbul and Venice I remembered a Bing image I had seen two years prior of the Kotor Bay in Montenegro.  The simple photo sparked more research and eventually we had worked out our cycling route to give us time to explore Kotor and the bay… a very good decision.

Kotor is a small town of white-stone and red-roofed buildings set at the foot of some of the deepest fjords in Europe outside of Norway.  After checking the box on all of our standard, unexciting rest day tasks, we took the evening to explore the city.  Old churches, cobblestone streets, and back-alley cafes all contributed to its incredible charm.

At sunset, we even decided to take the “rest” out of “rest day” and climb around on the medieval fort walls that tower high above the city for incredible views on the bay.  It was well worth the effort.

Kotor was a refreshing stop, but it was time to exit Montenegro as quickly as we had entered it.  The next day we rode around the bay and on towards Dubrovnik, Croatia.  Dubrovnik is another city set at the heart of old Adriatic trading routes; its marble streets and fashionable buildings are evidence of its heyday wealth.  It was Kotor on a grander scale, and we were excited to visit the city, but at the time we had other things on our mind.

As it was a Saturday in September, that meant Michigan football.  As it was a Saturday in early September, that meant Michigan-Notre Dame.  As it was September 10, 2011, that meant the first night game in the history of the Big House.  We had been looking forward to this game for years and now we found ourselves in southern Croatia, about as far from Ann Arbor as you can get.  Many of you witnessed this first-hand as you were recipients of emails, Skype chats, and other messages searching for a way to watch the game.  The good news is that we eventually solved the puzzle through the amazing power of the internet.

We arrived in Dubrovnik and started the evening with an excellent Croatian dinner and wine inside the city walls (a little classier than our old tailgates).  Our post-dinner bar crawl for ESPN proved unsuccessful, but it was at least successful for making us some new Croatian friends.  By 2am, our friends wanted us to continue out on the town with them, but we had to return for kick-off.  Back at our guesthouse, we were glued to my tiny computer screen for the next four hours as we streamed the game online.  I guess it’s proof that in this modern age you’re never really all that far away from home.  When the game ended at 6am, our cheers were greeted by our guesthouse owner Slobe, who had risen with the sun for breakfast.  Now that’s what I call a night game!

We spent much of the next day touring Dubrovnik and catching up on sleep.  Our slumber was only disturbed every once in a while by Slobe’s crazy and energetic young daughter who decided that Sunday was “act-like-a-cat-day”: she climbed into our room to hiss and jump around on our beds.  We eventually got wild child out of there and rested up for our final push to Venice.  Now refreshed from our two Adriatic rest days, we have many more kilometers of rugged coastal road to cover, walled medieval trading ports to visit, and Croatian adventures to be had before we can roll into the European Union and on to Venice.

It took us less time to get through the desert than it did for me to post these photos.  But finally they are up!  Enjoy following Cory, Theo, and me as we rolled our way across Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan to the Caspian Sea.  With three cameras in tow, the pictures are brilliant.

Megan Melcher
Six days from Istanbul, we took our first rest day in Thessaloniki to catch up on sleep, email, and socialize with fellow travellers.  The next day, we were back on our bikes heading towards Macedonia.  With freshly rested legs and two nights sleep in a bed, we were ready to tackle what Kellen referred to as a "pretty difficult couple of days."  We had a lot of climbing ahead and I tried not to let the daunting elevation map get in my head.  I'm not sure whether it was my rejuvenated quads, the gorgeous scenery, or my attempts at having an 80s dance party on my bike, but the hills seemed much more manageable this time around.  Dare I say, I actually enjoyed them. 

While traveling in Macedonia, we created some new riding games to spice things up on the road.  International “caution” signs are labeled simply with an exclamation point, and we decided that a scream or exclamation was required for each of these signs we passed.  The punishment for missing was a shirtless kilometer with as many waves, thumbs-up, and laughs you can get from passing cars (don’t worry, I was still allowed to wear a sports-bra).  Despite many "Woohoos!!", "Go Blues!!", "Scotty Doesn't Know!!", and Albanian exclamations, we each found ourselves with a couple kilometers to work on our tans and generate laughter from the others.

The language barrier has continued in full force through Macedonia and Albania and it has caused us to think a little more creatively.  It is fairly easy to identify the most unsuccessful ways of communicating: repeating the same word over and over, raising our voice, and watching the locals spell out words in the air. In contrast, we have become experts at charades and have learned that squawking like a chicken and flapping your arms is in fact an effective way to order lunch.

After our brief 27-hour crossing of Macedonia, we rolled into Albania.  In the first town, we were scoping out a spot to eat and asked a couple standing outside a restaurant if we could look at menu.  In a matter of seconds, Bill was speaking with somebody on the restaurant owner's cell phone.  Over the course of a few phone calls with several of their English speaking friends and relatives, not only had we ordered a traditional Albanian dinner, but we had also secured a camping spot in their back yard for the evening.

The “lost in translation” fun continued into the next morning when the old woman running the restaurant was looking through my bag trying to make sense of my foreign products.  Through another game of charades I tried to explain to her the benefits of sunscreen, but by this time she had found our tub of anti-chafing cycling gel (or as we know it, “butt cream”) and was already applying it to her feet.  As she began to feel the tingling sensation on her heels, she gave me a friendly smack to the face and walked inside.  The three of us were on the ground in laughter.

Following a delicious breakfast with “butt cream lady” and her husband, we made our way towards our biggest mountain yet.  On the way, we stopped for a quick lunch in a city called Elbasan and received a rather thorough Albanian lesson from the proprietor Lule and his family.  I have been very impressed with Kellen's ability to pick up certain local words and phrases after spending only a few hours in the country.  He had mentioned to me the importance of learning a few simple phrases such as "hello", "how are you?", and "thank you!" to warm up to the people we meet.  It has already become apparent how some people really do appreciate the effort we make to learn the local language, including Lule, who was happy to be our Albanian-English dictionary for the hour.  Before leaving, we took a quick snapshot outside the shop.  Lule promptly told Kellen to "Facebook him," and we assured him that the photo would be posted and tagged appropriately.

Our second rain storm came at a rather opportune time.  As we began climbing the mountain pass standing between us and the capital Tirane, we were hit with steady rainfall. It was actually a nice change from the beating sun and it gave our farmer’s tans an afternoon off.  Looking up from the base of the mountain I thought, "Oh, there is no way this road actually goes alllll the way to the top.  I'm sure it just curves around to the other side at some point."  I was wrong.  It went all the way to the top.  About 3 hours later and after several generous fruit donations from the roadside vendors, we reached the top of the pass and were treated to the most breathtaking scenery of the trip.

I now understand why Kellen “loves riding up mountains.”  We rode 30km along a ridge with beautiful deep valleys on both sides before descending into Tirane.  It was gorgeous.

Our last night in Albania we stopped in a small town called Shkoder to pick up groceries for dinner.  When we stopped to ask for directions to a market we were passed over to an 8 year old boy who would walk us to the store.   This boy was eating what looked to me like a delicious popsicle and so I asked him where he got it. Before I knew it was buying popsicles for what seemed like Shkoder’s entire under-10 boys soccer team that had come out of nowhere.  It was these boys turn to play charades, pointing out the “local drunk” and trying every trick they knew to get me to laugh.  (It worked).  I was only saved by Kellen and Bill exiting the market and getting us moving again to find a campsite.

Albania has been my favorite country so far because of the fun interactions with the people.  At one point I passed a group of kids on the side of the road and was proud to earn four high-fives in a row.  Then I realized I had only sparked everyone’s excitement, and Kellen and Bill were able to pass with seven and eight high-fives, respectively.  These type of interactions are a wonderful experience and I hope they continue in Montenegro and Croatia.

Bill Conry
In preparing for this trip I was met with a constant stream of questions from my friends and family:  Where are you going to be sleeping?  Are you in good enough shape?  What types of roads are you taking?  As I attempted to respond to these inquiries confidently to provide them with the sense that I was well aware of the challenges ahead and had all of the logistics ironed out, in reality I had no idea what I was getting into.  I eventually accepted that despite how many e-mails I pestered Kellen with or how much internet research I conducted, the only way to produce accurate responses would be to hop a plane, assemble my bike, and begin pedaling westward.

As we departed Istanbul, I could barely hold in my excitement of experiencing the picturesque landscapes and bucolic scenery that define European cycle touring.  Instead a different visual dominated my sight:  Traffic.  Lots of traffic.  For some reason it never occurred to me that the world's fourth largest city, accessible by only a handful of major roads would generate the bumper to bumper phenomenon we know too well in the States.  As we tried our best to avoid the path of motorists on a shoulder-less road while still taking advantage of the size and agility advantage of the bikes, we were hit with more honks than I have ever received in my life.  Could you imagine driving down I-95 and having to swerve to avoid someone on a fully loading touring bike?  Mom, if you're reading this don't worry, we were wearing our helmets!

The gridlock eventually thinned out miles from the city as we entered a less populated portion of Turkey, but then we were introduced to another cyclist foe: hills.  As I crawled up my first climb it hit me:  biking across a continent will not be a cakewalk.  I trained religiously for this trip, I biked, I ran, I lifted, I jumped rope, hell I even ran up and down the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum made famous by Rocky Balboa.  Despite those efforts I immediately recognized two fatal flaws to my regime:  1) I did not practice on enough hills.  Chicago is flatter than week old keg beer, so I did not have much of an opportunity to train on inclines.  2)  I foolishly seldom biked while fully loaded with gear.  The bikes we have are touring bikes that are designed for trips like this, favoring durability over speed, hence their steel frames.  Throw on 60-70 lbs of weight in the panniers (bike luggage) and you are not whipping around Europe at the rate or ease of a Tour de France cyclist.

After the first few days of cycling it felt like someone beat my quads with a baseball bat for 30 minutes, took a five minute water break, then beat them with a hammer for another 30.  I was that sore.  It wasn't just my quads either, it was my entire body: neck, back, feet, and every leg muscle you can think of.  Amongst my sorest muscles were a few I wasn't even aware I had until this trip.  While in pain I kept reminding myself that my trek will be reminiscent of high school soccer preseason practice: despite my preparations the first couple days are brutal and it's downhill from there.  If I was wrong I this was going to be the longest two months of my life.

The riding did indeed become easier after the first few days as we headed towards Greece.  The language barrier grew thicker the farther from Istanbul we pedaled, creating loads of interesting/awkward/hilarious interactions.  One night Kellen suggested we pick up fuel for his stove from a gas station and prepare a meal at our campsite.  When we arrived at the gas station Kellen explained what he needed, and the attendant decided to go the extra mile for us to be EXTRA sure he was matching the gasoline type with what was already in the can.  He began taking full out whiffs of the fuel to classify it and enlisting other workers and unsuspecting motorists to do the same.  When all was said and done at least seven locals had each taken at least one large inhalation of the gas before they concluded that it was regular unleaded, as Kellen had indicated from the get go. Now I'm no doctor, but I'm fairly confident gasoline appeared on a list of bad things to stick up your nose during one of my D.A.R.E. classes.  Props to Kellen for refusing to give into the peer pressure, even though all of the sniffers were clearly members of the "in" crowd of rural Turkey.

We did not find a market that night to buy pasta for our fresh can of fuel, although we were able to taste the local fruit, literally.  A produce stand operator waived us down and motioned for us to try some fresh melon to which we obliged.  We figured we could each grab a slice and then find a campsite as sunset was approaching, but Melon Man had other plans.  He fed us melon as if we were famine victims. He insisted that we each consume about 15 pieces.   We ate as much as we could and had to pedal off as he was slicing up the watermelon for round two.

After the first week of cycling did I begin to realize how unique and exciting it is to tour by bike.  Cycling pace is perfect: it's fast enough so that there's never a dull moment yet slow enough so you can soak everything in.   I'm at a loss of words for the feeling that comes over me when we roll into a tiny village for lunch that can count on one hand how many Americans it's hosted this year, rely on pointing to order our food, and then explain to an incredulous audience that we're from American and are biking to Portugal.  If the first week of the trip did anything it served as a reminder that people are people no matter where you are.  It's amazing how far a smile and a wave can get you.

After three days passing through the rolling hills and sprawling farms of western Turkey, we entered the Greek city of Alexandroupoli where Kellen and I promptly jumped into the Aegean Sea and engaged in an impromptu farmer's tan-off.  Kellen's four-and-a-half month head start proved to be the competitive edge he needed to claim victory.

I was able to brush off my loss and get stoked for my first authentic Greek dinner.  As we fumbled over the menu a friendly local named Ares offered to help with our order.  Ares was Greek, yet by far the best English speaker we had encountered since Istanbul.  He credits his fluency to watching American movies growing up, covering up the Greek subtitles and forcing himself to understand what's going on.  Ares welcomed us to his country and provided us with plenty of insight surrounding Greek culture.  We were all floored to learn that "feta" means "slice" and the ubiquitous cheese coined its name from villagers asking for a "feta" of the substance at local stores.  Who knew?

En route to Thessaloniki, Greece Megan let her desire to swim and camp on the Aegean be heard loud and clear.  Kellen, our fearless navigator, assured us that it would not be a problem since the road we were on that day meandered along the coast.  We eventually found our way to a small, hidden beach town miles from the highway called Ofriani that had everything we were looking for.  We sat down for dinner on beach to celebrate our great find and forthcoming celebratory dip when the sky began to look a bit ominous.  Then we saw a raindrop, followed by steady precipitation, followed by one of the most intense deluges I have ever witnessed.  Irene must have a feisty sister in the Mediterranean.  We were still outside at this point, and quickly discovered that the umbrellas were no match for the sideways rain, leaving us with no other option but to run across the street to the restaurant.  We all ate our last chunks of feta and made a sprint for it.  Kellen's dramatic leap over a massive puddle wine bottle in hand garnered applause from the other patrons.

As we finished our meals and the rain continued I assessed the situation and presented Kellen and Megan with three options: 1) brave the storm and set up our tents on the beach   2) find a guesthouse   3) order another bottle of wine.  "Wine," Kellen and Megan responded in unison.  After another couple bottles of the house white the storm  calmed and the restaurant owner kindly informed us that there would be clear skies from here on out and that there was a perfect camping spot right down the street.  Done.  Let this be a lesson that contrary to popular belief alcohol and procrastination can solve problems.

We woke up the next morning to the sounds of crashing waves and set out for Thessaloniki, the second largest city in Greece behind Athens, where we were planned to take a much needed rest day.

BEARD WATCH

Most of you who know me are aware I have never grown a full beard or mustache for a number of personal and social reasons.  I figured this trip would be the perfect opportunity to roll the dice the see what happens when I let my facial hair grow out!  The day I left I buzzed my head (also a first) and shaved.  I will not touch a razor or scissor until I arrive in Lisbon.  I will keep you all updated on my progress throughout the trip.

Kellen Smetana
Now it’s Istanbul, not Constantinople…  Why did Constantinople get the works?  That’s nobody’s business but the Turks…

Clearly – when I get around to updating the Stats page – this song will take the cake for most hummed throughout Turkey.  And it’s fitting too, seeing as there were bigger and more important changes awaiting us in that city than the grand name change of 1453.

After putting in almost 5,000km over some of the most grueling, treacherous, beautiful, hottest, dynamic, and peaceful roads on the planet, Cory is returning home to continue his studies at Michigan State.  Leaving Tashkent two months ago, Theo and I put him through the “sink or swim” bicycle touring learning plan to get him ready for the desert; not only did he “swim,” but he did so gallantly on a bike that I thought at times may not complete another pedal stroke.  We had quite the adventure together – mid-night subtle shoving matches vying for space in the tent, sudden hailstorms that left our backs and shoulders in ruins, panoramic views along the Black Sea that rivaled any Bing image – and I can only hope that he will have a couple more stories to share back at school than the next kid.  I think we may have to wait, though, before our parents can handle a few more gray hairs before we invite our sister to join along as well.  Either way, Thanksgiving dinner will be a boisterous one this year.

Cory was leaving from Istanbul, but I would not be trudging on alone.  As many of you already know and as many of the new readers have questioned, there was a new Team at the hostel awaiting our arrival.  The fresh cavalry of Bill Conry and Megan Melcher was pumped up, energized, and ready for a European blitzkrieg.  Bill and Megan are both good friends from the University of Michigan who are just crazy enough to join me on this grand adventure.  I first proposed the idea to Bill at a Michigan football game last year and through conversations over the course of the last year I slowly watched his percentage chance joining grow from 10% to 20% to 33% before it finally made that critical leap from 50% to 100%.  (That last one was an exciting phone call).  And for Megan, the question of, “Should I do this bike trip?” quickly turned into, “Umm yes, and I will be joining you.”  Good news and good news.  They were both waiting in Istanbul and anxious to get riding.

And the best part is that they did not come empty-handed.  Bill has been quite the wiz behind the scenes the last few months.  First, he has posted many of the blog entries for me to allow my updates to keep a regular cadence (if you thought I had internet that frequently, you’re crazy… but don’t worry, I have a new wizard of Oz to pull the electronic strings…) and has helped with the website.  And second, he has secured Revolutions for Relief sponsorships from Clif Bar, 5-Hour Energy, Buck Knife, and Giro Products!  Bill arrived with 96 Clif Bars, 96 Clif Shots, 25 Clif Shot Blocks, and 48 bottles of 5-Hour Energy – I haven’t done the math yet, but it must be enough hours to get us to Portugal.  It was quite the welcome gift and Clif Bar and 5-Hour Energy get special thanks for their generous support.  The website as well will be reflecting this soon.  Now all we have to do is eat all this food before we have to carry it over mountains in Macedonia…

With the four of us together, we had quite the riot in Istanbul.  We explored the beautiful, soaring Hagia Sophia and haphazard Grand Bazaar.

We visited the Blue Mosque by night, wandered through the harems of past sultans at Topkapi Palace, and cooled off in the watery depths of the Basilica Cistern.  The kebab count continued to skyrocket and we even found ourselves joining the young locals in the new city underground nightlife.  Istanbul is an amazing place and even a week’s vacation would not do it justice.  But we had less than that and we had plenty more to do.

As there was no space in the hostel, we found ourselves cleaning, fixing, and building bikes just off a popular road, which seemed to attract a lot of attention.  The local residents came out to give us fresh cucumbers, warm bread, and their best advice on the quick-release spring for the front tire.  It made for fun times and we got everything ready to go quickly.

Early Saturday morning Cory departed for the airport and the three of us remaining got ourselves up and ready to go.  Not long after we had our wheels facing west and rolling into Europe.  I am very excited to start this leg with my two new companions – Megan to Venice and Bill all the way to Portugal.  Bill will provide new humor and has endless college stories to share.  And Megan has already caught me up on the latest Lady Gaga songs and will toss out plenty of “would you rather…” questions to pass the days.

And of course, with football season starting today, who better to ride with than two fellow Wolverines.  It’s time to take on Europe.