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!
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!
They must not have Traffic on the 2's
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.
Feel the burn
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.
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.
This was before everyone got high
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.
Thanks Melon Man!
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.
I'll have what he's having
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.
Farmer's Tans 4 Life!
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.
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.
Paradise?
Maybe not...
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.
Great reward for braving the storm
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.
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.
Note the light stubble in chin region
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