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.

Cory Smetana
Crossing the border into Turkey reminded me of the first day of school.  I had a small sense of the curriculum and I was really anxious to get started on this large, daunting country.  But I thought to myself: Will it be difficult?  Will I enjoy it?  What will my teacher be like?  At first I could only answer the third question.  My teacher, Kellen, told me a couple months ago that we would be travelling through the middle of Turkey.  After some back and forth emails with other cyclists and more research we decided to follow the Black Sea coast (Karadeniz in Turkish) the entire length from Georgia to Istanbul.  We had 1400 kilometers and 13 days to get to Istanbul, where major changes and new surprises awaited all.  It would be a very difficult ride, but one we hoped well worth the effort.

We crossed into Turkey and found the road immediately pressed against the sea by 100 meter tall cliffs.  The smooth, flat freeway led us to our first night’s stay in the city of Hopa.  The impression I got of Hopa was that of a typical shady, uninviting border town – this could be due to the fact that we did not yet speak any Turkish or that it was also the scene of the first fisticuffs I’ve seen on the trip.  Either way we were ready to move further along and dive into the country.  The next evening we spent in a much more welcoming city, Trabzon.

It was a long and tiring day of riding, but after 170km we made it into Trabzon.  We were 50/50 on camping along the coast or biking into the city to find a hotel.  I’m glad we entered the city because we got some of the nice amenities you appreciate so much more on a trip like this including a hearty meal, shower, and a real bed.  The hotel was a block away from the main city square, swarming with people because it was recently remodeled to host the European Youth Olympic Games (lucky us).  We slept like rocks that night.  That was until 3:30am when Kellen and I were startled by the overpowering loudspeaker located (unbeknownst to us) right outside our window.  We looked at each other, very confused, and then went back to sleep when the noise was over.  We knew we had returned to a Muslim country and had heard the call to prayer before, but why on earth was it waking the city in the middle of the night?  We soon realized it was the middle of Ramadan and the call was to wake up any followers so that they could eat before sunrise.

As we moved through the country we began to notice that many restaurants and markets were closed during the day and the call to prayer seemed to be here, there, and everywhere.  The prayer calls provided a cool atmosphere and interesting addition to our riding, but the lack of daytime food did at times prove problematic.  We made sure to pack our lunch each day for fear that we would stumble upon closed markets or restaurants.  Lucky for us, the Black Sea coast of Turkey is particularly known for hazelnuts and I will tell you that hazelnut-butter and jam sandwiches take “PB&J” to a whole new level.  To hit our daily kilometerage we also found ourselves finishing riding around sunset, so we could partake in the same breaking of fast as everyone else.  I always wondered to myself, “Who is hungrier: Kellen and I who rode 150km with lunch and a couple snacks or the Turks who have not eaten since sunrise?”  Given the pace of everyone’s eating (including us), it remains an open question.

The first five days of riding in Turkey were fast and fantastic.  We knocked out on average 150km per day and felt great.  We sped through tunnels and dodged big city traffic while carrying along on our flat, smooth coastal freeway.

And so we arrived in our half-way destination city of Samsun.  I mentioned before that Kellen had emailed a few other cyclists to get a sense of our route through Turkey.  At the time he kept saying, “Oh man, Turkey is going to be beautiful!”   I think at some point prior to Samsun he reread the emails in more detail, because now all he kept saying was “Oh man, get ready… this is going to be TOUGH!”  At Samsun, our fast coastal freeway continued straight inland to the capital Ankara and Istanbul.  We, instead, turned directly north to follow the coast along smaller roads to the port city of Sinop and eventually west all the way to Istanbul.  This was the 800km section that Kellen knew would be difficult.  No more wide shoulders, tunnels, and artificially supported roads; it was all rugged, hilly coast traversed by a road that skirted bluffs, wound up, over, down, and around each cove, and was littered with grades almost 400% steeper than the maximum highway grade in the US.

The day before we hit Samsun we even ran into two women cyclists on the road who were also considering the same route.  “Oh, I heard it is tremendously beautiful,” they said.  “But you’re going to try to do that in 8 days?!  Did you know that if you summed up all the climbing you will be doing from Sinop to Istanbul, it is the equivalent of climbing Mt. Everest twice?”  Gulp!  Almost 60,000 feet of climbing!  That night Kellen and I looked at the Google Earth elevation profile to see what we had in front of us.  The diagram that looked similar to a seismograph during a massive earthquake.  We shared a quick nervous look and then thought better of it.  “It’ll be worth it,” we both said, “and plus, we can handle anything, we’re Kyzylkum Desert veterans.”

The next few days of riding were insane.  The best comparison in the US would be riding the rugged coast of the Pacific Northwest.  Strips of land would jut out into the sea and the road would rise 1000ft, peak, and head straight back down.  In between these peaks were beautiful towns and beaches in the coastal coves and valleys.  The physical exhaustion was beyond description, but it was even mentally draining as well.  We could see our road along the coast, complete with peaks and steep climbs.  The climbing was so continuous that we began to call it “the usual.”  Halfway up one of the climbs we passed a group of construction workers.  One of the men jumped out of his truck and made his way to the front of the group to encourage the passing Kellen.  He said, “You have a long way to go… just relax!”  Kellen laughed at the unexpected English phrase and responded that he would gladly take his advice.  We relaxed, joked, climbed on, and eventually ate up the coast one day at a time.

And lucky for us, “the usual” meant more than just the hardest climbing of the trip.  The scenery was absolutely breathtaking.  At every turn we could see for miles along the coast.  Each small town was quaint and friendly.  The road was often so tight along the cliffs that landslides had taken out whole lanes, but it didn’t matter because we barely shared the road with any cars.

And most nights we asked the locals where to camp and were directed towards the nearest beach.  How’s that for falling asleep to some sounds of nature.  It was incredible and in the end worth every meter of climbing.

We even got to stay in some beautiful coastal towns along the way.  Four days from Samsun we were making decent time and decided to take a half rest day in the pleasant city of Amasra.  This is a small city located on a peninsula originally fortified by the Byzantines.  We arrived at 3pm and immediately went to the beach to even our tans and rest our legs in the Black Sea.  After swimming, we returned to the hotel to shower.  Kellen went first and also needed to wash his clothes.  Typically a “Kellen shower” is nearly 15 minutes; add 10 more to this if he is washing his clothes.  Nearly 15 minutes into his shower, Kellen had not realized that the bathroom’s drain was plugged and water was instead draining out the centimeter-tall tile lip encompassing the bathroom.  Water began to flow under the door and into the entrance to our room, then into the hallway and down the stairs that descended into the street.  If you’ve ever seen the movie Home Alone, it was pretty much the exact equivalent of any scene with The Wet Bandits.

After watering the street for 5 minutes the hotel owner came running up the stairs and began banging on the door.  I was lying on the bed and told him to come in.  He stormed in the room and burst open the bathroom door.  Kellen was quick to grab his family jewels and gave the man a confused look.  He pointed to the hallway and both looked to see water rushing down the stairs.  Kellen assessed, “Hmm, yeah that’s not good.”  The owner pulled the plug and went back to smoking his cigarette while he stormed out of the room.  I sat on the bed laughing hysterically at the whole affair.  The next day they even had mops ready to attack our soggy room after we left.  Sometimes we cause quite a stir when we visit these cities.  After this we went out to visit the city of Amasra and old fortress and took loads of photos.  We followed this by a delicious seafood dinner along the water.  It felt like we were on a normal vacation for the first time.

After Amasra the hilly terrain slowly began to stretch out.  We were able to climb much easier and knew we would make it to Istanbul on time.  The only issue to slow us down now was my bike.  It took an absolute beating from Kazakhstan and never recovered.  I had now broken 17 spokes in Turkey including 7 broken spokes in one day alone.  We repaired it a few times in cities along the way, but the back wheel was not holding up.  One day was so bad that the tire even started rubbing on the frame and I feared needing to hitch another ride like I did in Kazakhstan.  We pulled my bike over and worked on the spokes until it was alright to ride until the next city, where we were lucky to find a bike shop.  I had my wheel fixed one final time and it somehow survived to Istanbul.

The final day it was dawning on me that my end was near and that Kellen had new beginnings ahead of him.  We entered the gargantuan metropolis that is Istanbul and crossed the Bosphorus into Europe through easily the most jam-packed traffic of my trip.  As we crossed I congratulated Kellen on cycling across the largest continent in the world and got excited about his prospects for the second.  It felt great to complete such a task and arrive in a humungous city where I would see my brother take off onto his next leg with two of his close friends who I had the pleasure of meeting.

So, all in all, was it difficult and did I enjoy it?  Absolutely (to both).  And it wasn’t just Turkey I enjoyed; it was the entire two months I spent abroad with Kellen, Theo, and the many others we met along the way.  I would definitely do it all again.  I depart for home jealous of those joining Kellen on the European leg.  Good luck you guys!  And to Kellen, it was amazing traveling with you.  You’re a character and I don’t think I would have had nearly as much fun with anyone else.  So while you head into Greece remember: you have a long way to go, just relax!  Oh, and have a little bit of fun along the way.