Cycling North East Turkey: Sights, Stings and the Sea

I haven’t woken up at 5:00 a.m. once this whole trip, but this morning was worth it. From where we were staying, we had a panoramic view back across the valley where the hot air balloons take off, and right on the dot, they started appearing—one, then another, then dozens—until the sky was full of them. By about 7:00 there were no more taking off, just the remaining few drifting toward their landings. We headed back to bed for a couple more hours of sleep before starting the day.

I’d arranged a place to stay in Kayseri through my contact Ali in Antalya, and when I messaged ahead to check if Mike could join, the host—Adem—was happy for us both to come. The ride to Kayseri began with a steep climb, then rewarded us with a long, gentle downhill into the city. After a bit of weaving through traffic, we found the apartment—a bicycle club refuge—which we had entirely to ourselves, complete with a kitchen, living room, and bedrooms.

Having a kitchen meant we could cook something more adventurous than usual, so we went to the market. We somehow ended up with an absurd amount of spinach—more than we could eat in a week—but we did our best to fit it all into the dahl we decided to make. We also tried our hand at making Turkish tea using the proper kettle, and I’d say we did a respectable job.

We had a slow start in the apartment, with no set departure time, and helped ourselves to more dahl and tea for breakfast. On the way out of town we stopped at Decathlon—no luck finding the bag straps I wanted, but I did get an eye mask to replace the one I’d been missing since leaving home.

The ride itself was gentle, and we clocked around 50 km, passing through endless fields—wheat, sunflowers, and more wheat—before calling it a day.

I slept brilliantly with the new eye mask, even if at one point we were surrounded by goats in the early morning. Feeling refreshed, we set out into the mountains. It was a day of steady climbing through valleys and ridges, and we found ourselves falling into a good rhythm together. We both had similar targets—about 100 km a day—and cycled at a similar pace, which made things easy.

It was another mountain day, more climbing, but on smooth, quiet roads—until the end, when we hit a section of freshly laid loose chippings. Riding on that surface is horrible, and it was close to the point where we’d stop for the night. I spotted a tiny mosque in a tiny village, perfect for camping behind as it had running water and a toilet.

Not long after we settled in, a farmer turned up and invited us to sleep inside instead—an unexpected but welcome upgrade. We cooked dinner, spread out our things, and I finally got to use my playing cards, which hadn’t been touched since I started the trip.

We slept well, apart from two men turning up very early and being slightly startled to find two cyclists asleep in their prayer space. The moment passed quickly and we were soon on the road again.

The day began with more rough gravel, but then opened up into beautiful smooth tarmac. We stopped in a small rural town hoping for breakfast, but there wasn’t a shop in sight. Instead, a local man—İbrahim Abdullah Eltsin—invited us to his balcony and served a full Turkish breakfast.

After changing our route to aim for a bigger town to restock, we slogged through headwinds and more roadworks toward Zara. A post-ride beer felt very well earned. From there, we had a surprisingly nice stretch along a gravel track where a passing driver gifted us a pizza to share.

We refilled water in Nasir, chatted with locals, then pushed on over a hill to find a perfect wild camping spot among some ruined buildings and green clearing. Dinner was followed by a campfire under a dark, starry sky—complete with shooting stars (I counted five, more than Mike).

The route looked questionable—steep dirt track ahead—but I convinced Mike to at least see what was at the top. We squeezed past a herd of cows being moved, then started down the other side—where disaster struck. I broke a spoke. Thankfully, I had the tools and replaced it quickly, but it meant taking the highway.

We reached Imranlı for tea, but while my bike was parked outside, there was a pop and hiss—my rear tyre deflated without even being ridden. A big gash in the sidewall explained it. Luckily, Mike had a tyre boot which saved the day.

After lunch in a grassy valley, we enjoyed one of the best descents of the trip. Toward evening, locals suggested we stay in a roadside prayer room. It seemed perfect—until Mike felt a sharp sting on his foot. A scorpion was creeping away.

After some quick translating, locals called an ambulance, and by midnight we were in hospital. Mike was kept in overnight for observation, and I was offered the bed next to him.

Mike was discharged in the morning and we took a taxi back to the prayer room to release the scorpion, which he’d trapped in his water bottle. His foot was still numb but he felt okay to ride.

We had a huge day ahead, after finishing yesterday's descent we had a 15 km climb gaining 800 m, then two more peaks before finally rolling into Kemah. There had been almost no villages all day, so we were both drained from lack of food.

Our campsite the night before had been plagued with mosquitoes, so we retreated into our tents early.

The morning’s ride made up for it—a beautiful 50 km canyon road carved by the river, covered in just three hours.

By midday we reached Erzincan, grabbed a beer, found a hotel, and I replaced my tyre and bought a chain tool—handy for when I’d be riding solo again. The rest of the day was for resting and eating.

We had a slow morning getting bike bits sorted—new tyre, fork adjustments—before deciding not to take a full rest day. A big climb took us to the top of a ridge, and just over the hill we found a potential campsite with benches and water.

The nearby family—a mix of French, German, and Turkish—checked with the landowner, but he said no. Instead, they arranged for us to camp in a village a short ride away, where we cooked dinner and were given bread, watermelon, ayran, and tea.

After a good night’s sleep, we set off to finish the climb from the previous day. The road was partly under construction, making for a rough ride over two peaks before a long descent to a junction—Mike going right, me left. We’d talked the night before about how good it had been to travel together, so we simply wished each other luck and went our separate ways.

My day was a mix of undulating hills, a long gentle downhill, and a headwind through a mountain valley before finding a quiet field to camp in for the night.

With no one to talk to, I’d gone to bed early and woke at first light. A puncture in my front tyre forced a roadside repair, and I replaced it with my spare. The rear, still patched with Mike’s tyre boot, held firm.

I tried to hitch a ride through a 4 km tunnel but ended up cycling it, rewarded with a long descent on the other side. After breakfast at a roadside steakhouse (bread and salad), I set off again—only for my chain to snap.

I almost called it a day, but decided to fit the quick link Mike had given me. It worked, so I took a different road—a long descent from 1,500 m to sea level—finally seeing the Black Sea for the first time.

From there I hitched a coach toward Hopa, rode to the Georgian border, crossed easily, and reached Batumi. By chance, I met Sergen—the Turkish hitchhiker I’d seen earlier—and we ended the night sharing beers with two other travellers from the hostel.