Behind the suddenly appearing asphalt turned out to be the small town of Bolayir.
By the way, on that dirt road from the previous part we were also going up the whole time – higher and higher, I started thinking we'd soon end up in heaven. So when we reached the town, we descended about a hundred meters in just a few minutes. Accordingly, if the road didn't wind, I could have beaten my previous beastly record of 67 km/h. I don't remember if I wrote this, but that's exactly how fast I went on one of the earlier descents a day ago. The feeling is unforgettable. It was probably reckless and extreme, but it was worth it. In the end – why even go anywhere if you're not going to have a blast to the fullest?
By the way, rumors have reached me that some of the participants have been speaking of the trip in somewhat negative-decadent tones. Well, I hasten to inform you: I don't share such sentiments. You always have to look for the good: at least the fact that you're pedaling, and not sitting in a concrete box in front of a devil-box.
From the town we drove out onto that same normal highway I mentioned. If anyone needs directions, here is googlemaps for you. The horrible mud road is on the right from Gelibolu, the normal highway is on the left. However, if there hasn't been rain for a few days prior, and you're not in a hurry – you can take the dirt road. For some reason, it seems to me that the views are better there. Probably because it's on the hills, while the highway is in the lowlands.
After riding along the highway for a bit, we pulled into a gas station at the insistence of Sergey, who kept looking for a hotel. The lack of water and two nights in the bushes had done their dark deed. Even though his desire to push harder than everyone else hadn't gone anywhere, a thirst for comfort had also appeared. We didn't find a hotel, but I did find out what a Kärcher is – that's what we call a pressurized air car cleaning device, after the brand name. Igor Schukin didn't bother cleaning his bike. His favorite saying anyway is "on a hike, every blade of grass is a vitamin". The man is close to nature, what can you say. About the dirt he said: "It'll fall off by itself". In principle, it really did fall off, though not immediately. I still cleaned my bike and boots. At the gas station, by the way, there was a special guy who washed customers' cars for free. Like I've said before, there are a lot of people in Turkey – you have to stick everyone somewhere, or else things will go south.
We set off further, but there was no way we could do without all sorts of spirit-hardening obstacles. First of all, it was getting close to sunset, and as usual, there was nowhere to spend the night. We still had time, overall, but here another gimmick lay in wait for us – look at the photo above and the following reasoning will immediately become clearer to you.
It must be said that we usually rode along that very separated shoulder you observe in the photo – in those places where it existed. Sometimes it's half a lane wide and you don't have to worry about cars at all. Here it was narrow, but it still would have been alright if it weren't for the strange indentations-potholes that turned the beautiful asphalt into something like a dirt road. We had a few theories.
1. That tanks or tractors drove through. Discarded quickly, because the indentations aren't along the entire length of the highway, but appear periodically. Flying tanks haven't been invented yet, as we know.
2. That it's specially made for better traction in the rain or for cases when a vehicle accidentally veers onto the shoulder. Not a bad theory, but the next one is more scientific and less mythological. However, speaking in favor of this one is the fact that the potholes are only on the crests and descents – there don't seem to be any on the level highway.
3. Maris, like a seasoned builder, concluded that it could have been a special cutter of the top asphalt layer. It's used to eliminate unevenness that arose for some reason during laying or afterwards. They use it back home, too. It's an all-around good theory, except that it's cut way too roughly - there shouldn't be such severe potholes, especially considering that the construction industry in Turkey is very developed – they're building stuff for half the world, including Russia.
Everything was getting dark all around, and our chances of a decent overnight stay were dwindling. And then a miracle happened – a huge sign reading "camping". Not to say it was the first one we'd come across. But it turned up just at the right moment, and moreover in a place where we didn't really expect to see it. Neither the map nor the inquiries of the Turks we met at the gas station pointed us to it.
The camping spot called Koru Motel ("koru" means "grove") cost us 10 euros per tent. Igor Schukin said that this is average, in Europe it's sometimes much more.
Running the show at the "Motel by the Grove" was a fierce, older matron with glasses and a cigarette. I hadn't seen many smoking Turks before that, much less women. The lady spoke with me and Igor in broken English, while sitting at a computer and frantically punching expenses and income into an Excel spreadsheet. Around her were two friendly dudes and a plain-looking young girl who didn't understand a word of English. A private room, instead of a tent, by the way, would have cost 25 euros. For our 10, we got the ability to use the bathroom and toilet in a special room opened for us solely for those purposes. At my request, they also dragged out an extension cord with divine energy for the iPhone. The extension cord was a regular one, not waterproof – risky on their part, considering that the clouds in the sky were getting thicker with every hour.
The tree, by the way, after some thought and scrutinizing, was identified by me as a fig tree. Igor Schukin prefers the word "inzhir".
We, like the rugged bicyclette tourists we are, hung our belongings slightly on the tree, although clotheslines were discovered 20 meters away in the morning. Fortunately, the tree didn't care, just like the camping owners, who didn't bother us with anything. Except they did inform us exactly when they would heat up the boiler for the shower.
Late in the evening, hiding from the cold, I went into the hosts' "restaurant" (the same exact room where they had been sitting at the computer), and asked for some tea. At the same time, I caught a glimpse of the Turkish "Star Factory". Luckily, the lyrics are incomprehensible, otherwise I wouldn't have survived it. After sitting around for a bit, I went to sleep – they didn't charge me any money for the tea, poured it as a gift.