Ride Twenty - The Dark side of the mountains

'Twas the day after Saturday and that meant only one thing. It was Sunday.

Sunday started for me at 7am. I debated jumping out of bed and onto the bike for nearly an hour before I finally made it out from under the duvet. Breakfast was light, a Banana and two pints of water. Looking over at the Mountains I could see grey clouds massing on the other side, I wondered if it would rain, then I decided that if it did that wouldn't matter. I was riding anyway and all would be good. It was.

Not one to be beaten I decided to ride the loop Cyclops had made me cut short the other day with his cruel spoke shattering joke. This time I would catch him unaware, I left before he woke up. Lazy git.

Riding along past Bogaz and up over the shallow end of the Mountains I found the bike much more responsive since the spoke job yesterday. The climb here is relatively painless compared to say Kantara or Mount Olympus. There is a mean looking stretch but, like most hills, they look worse as you approach them than they really are. Except the climb from Kaplica which is a totally wonderful pig!

The descent to the 'dark side' of the Mountains was fun, freewheeling because I ran out of high gears and reaching speeds over 35mph without even pedalling. Although the ground here is very dry and in real need of some rain, the roadsides are covered in lovely wild flowers, heather and what I think is wild Rosemary. I heard a strange droning tone as I took a picture.

 I looked down at the Heather bush to see it alive with huge aggressive looking 'Mega wasps'. Yikes, time to step back slowly and carefully. There's not much worse for a road cyclist than a dose of Mega Wasps down the old Lycra Y fronts! 

The views as I rode along the Northern side of the island are lovely. You have the rocky coastline with it's small coves to your right and the Mountains you have just crossed (and must cross back again) to your left.

The road rolls gently with a series of gentle gradients and pleasant downhills. The surface is excellent, there is almost zero traffic and there is a wide safe shoulder along this stretch for most of the way. Any traffic I did see, saw me first, tooted from behind to let me know they were there, and passed wide and slow with a friendly wave. I was waiting for Wally Wombat from Worthing to pass at speed within inches of sending me to heaven, but thankfully he went to Benidorm this year.

As I am on a Road bike I choose to ride on the faster coastal road here. There are however two coastal roads. The older coastal road hugs the coastline closer running in between the main coastal road and the sea. This older road would be more suited to riders on Mountain bikes or Hybrids fitted with thicker tyres. It has some rough surfaces in places and loose 'chippings'. The inclines are shorter and steeper in places. It does pass much closer to the delightful little coves and rocky outcrops in places. 

I'm happier on a road bike however and stuck to the better surfaced roads. Besides I'd had a chat with Cyclops and he mentioned that there were no Mermaids sunning themselves in the little coves today. The bloke really knows how to spoil a cyclists day sometimes!

As I rode over the brow of one of the many rolling hills here I saw what looked suspiciously like a cycle event. I raced down the hill to investigate and find out what was going on. As I approached people on the side of the road started clapping me and taking my photograph. I had just joined the Half Iron Man Triathlon race. Yikes!Clearly this was another one of Cyclops' warped jokes.  

 I pulled up and spoke to a Mermaid taking a break from her rocky cove and asked what was going on. Luckily the Mermaid was English and hadn't gone to Benidorm this year.This was a race of about 80km along the coastal road to the East of Girne. High end triathlon and road bikes everywhere. I haven't seen as much lycra since I got drafted into the Virgina Triathlon as I approached Yorktown on the final day of my Trans American ride! I was offered energy bars, bananas and water while I stopped to admire the Mermaid bikes flashing past at the speed of light. 

It was important at this point not to look like a pillock. Clearly I was up against stiff competition on the Mermaid front and the hill I needed to climb as I joined the race proper looked ok except for the six lycra clad Olympians cruising effortlessly up it. I clipped in, bade the fair Mer maiden farewell and shot up that hill like a rocket keeping pace with several carbon bling machines clearly powered by all manner of performance enhancing drugs. Ha! She couldn't help but be impressed, the benefit of added Maturity of years, more chunk than hunk, yet still easily capable of  keeping up with the big boys. Oh and did I mention that Celeste weighs twice as much as most of these younger model bikes yet? I feel able to mention that minor, yet crucial point, as fortunately she cannot read.

Onwards I raced. Clearly I had left them all in a swirl of dust behind me, either that or I was going the wrong way. I was down on the aero bars, peeling a banana with my teeth as I belted along at 25 mph convinced I was in the medals. The inevitable sound of a chain set switching behind me and  a cheery 'Helloooo' in a Russian accent relegated me to last place in an instant. Now, I've been blitzed by Old Grannies with flowers and bread in their handlebar baskets before, so I didn't feel to bad about being 'slowly overtaken' by Russias' Olympic Triathlon Champion, for I had no doubt this was he. It wasn't, it was a She. Ouch.

The race Marshall waved me to turn right. I waved back and turned left. While these 'wannabe' cyclists headed back for lap two, I chose a real mans route and headed up into the Mountains for the second time on this ride. Olympic Triathlon champions are apparently exempted from riding across the mountains here. Celeste and I laughed, pointed ourselves skywards and dug in for climb back over to the light side of the Moon. The southern side of the island and the Mesaoria plain.

The climb here was new territory for me. I had ridden it from the other side but not yet climbed it from this side preferring to take the pain and immense gain of the climb back over from Kaplica up to Kantara on several previous rides.I was pleasantly surprised and how easy this mountain pass was by comparison. Perfect road surface all the way up, good shoulder and no more than four cars. Not even any goat herds to negotiate in the middle of the road.

The climb here is steady and long, but the gradient is more forgiving than those elsewhere here. The downside is that it doesn't offer the stunning views of the other passes across these (now) 'mere hills'!

 That said these views would be considered stunning on many another rides elsewhere in the world. Perhaps Cyclops has been spoiling me recently on the scenery front.

Celeste and I were up and over the top before we knew it. Not a single complaint from her wheels either. The descent to the immense plain below was a simple free wheel down, no need for brakes here, and ended at the Petrol station below. Here there be cold coca cola, and it was time for a five minute rest. The wind here was strong and I knew it would get stronger as we neared the coast. Cyclops, the mean git, had saved his worst until last.

The wind on the plain was excessive in places today. One gust hit me broadside and it was all I could do to stop from falling. Riding on aero bars is all well and good in a headwind, but it can be a bit 'unsettling' in a strong cross wind. I grabbed Celestes lurve handles and took it slow and steady.

Onwards to the outskirts of Famagusta, Salamis and back to Iskele. The wind was getting silly in places, but my legs felt strong and Celeste was responding well. The dust from the plain was being whipped up by the wind, and the traffic increased as we passed around Famagusta. I was out of water but nearly back, I decided to ride on empty rather than carry two full water bottles the remaining few miles. Water out here on rides is easy to find. Unlike in America on the Trans American ride where in places it was tough to get  a drink  for many miles. Here you will never go for more than ten miles without seeing a market store. That said, riders are best advised to pre hydrate and carry two water bottles minimum in my opinion on some of these rides, especially in the mid day heat, which I guess it's best to avoid where possible. Mad dogs and Englishmen on a Bianchi is a phrase that comes to mind.

With a lot more miles in my legs still I was back at base camp Iskele. Great ride as always out here in Northern Cyprus.

63 miles

Max speed 41 mph

Total ascent 1002 m

Ride nineteen Celestes operation goes well

There comes a time in every mans life when he has to dig deep into his inner self and his wallet, and fix his bloody bike. Yep, today was the official 'sort celeste out once and for all' day, so it was back to Guloglu Bisiklet in Famagusta once again to see what the damage was.

I sprinted into town on the aero bars overtaking parked cars with ease. The terminal headache I had when I woke up disappeared as soon as I got on the bike, distraction is a powerful medicine.

As always I was greeted like an old friend by Kutret at the bike shop with a warm smile and "welcome welcome sir!" What a difference to the usual stony looks and 'can't do' attitude prevalent in bike shops across the UK I thought.

I took my customary white plastic oils stained seat and instantly felt that Celeste was in good hands. Looking at the wheels we both smiled a knowing smile, its a special smile reserved for use between bike rider and bike mechanic. It's a smile that needs no words to say, " sorry mate but your wheels are f*cked!"

We both knew this was crunch day for Celeste. She had to have the op.

With very little shaking of heads or rolling of eyes, or even the traditional English bike mechanics tutting, we agreed a price of just 120TL (about £34)  to re build both wheels! Not only that but he could do it right there and then while I waited for a couple of hours even though the shop was buzzing with clients, broken bikes and the air resonated to the dulcet tones of dance music mobile phone ring tons every minute. This is a busy workshop.

I settled into my chair and waited. What I got was a master class in how to build a wheel, and re true it right in front of me. I also learnt that to do the job properly it is important to be able to fixed two other bikes, answer the phone and deal with customers in the shop all at the same time with a smile on your face and a can do attitude. British bike shops could do worse that to watch and learn what customer service is actually about.

I will still buy new wheels when I get back to the UK. However I now have a good set of winter and training wheels as a back up to my new wheels set when I get it.

I am confident that I will win the lottery soon and be able to buy a brand new Merida, or Cube full carbon frame dura ace fitted bike. I will also buy a new top of the range Bianchi while I am at it. These are things a man needs. But for now Celeste is rolling again.

Two young boys came into the bike shop. One dressed in a full new green local football team strip, accompanied by his Dad. The other a bit younger with his young parents. The footballer was more interested in bikes than football, much to the obvious inconvenience of his Dad it seemed. The younger lad's eyes lit up with the sight of the new red Cembio Scala bike his parents were keen to splash out on for him. I was sure I had seen Northern Cyprus' first TDF winners starting their new careers today. The football Dad told his son to put down the pump, the water bottles, the tyres, the bell, the saddles, the energy gels, the protein drinks and dragged him outside. The smaller lad took his first ever ride, around the car park in the mid day sun while his parents and the the mechanic who fitted the stabilisers clapped and cheered him on. Cycling history was being made made.

As parents our job should be to make our kids dreams reality, not make our kids achieve the dreams we ourselves never lived.



The spokes were shooting across the room like arrows as they were cut away from the hubs and rims. This was cause for much amusement for those in the firing line, including me. One missed my lower leg by a few millimetres and buried itself deep into a cardboard bike box nearby. I was reminded of a documentary I saw once where 'expert archery nerds' were testing medieval long bows by shooting them at pig carcasses. I wondered if William the Conquerers longbow men had invented the bicycle spoke during their lunch break at the battle of Hastings.

All of this took place to the musical accompaniment of the local church choir located somewhere behind the bike shop. To my ears it sounded similar to the gospel choirs I had heard in the hills surrounding the harbour on the island of St. Thomas USVI. Given this is a Muslim country I suspect this was nothing of the sort, but it sounded like their God would appreciate it. I know Cyclops did.

Leaving the shop floor covered in spoke cuttings, much like at blokes R' us barbers, I said farewell to Kutret and sped off at speed out of Famagusta. The ride was faster, the wheels stiffer and more responsive. Sure, they are not top class Tour quality wheels, but they do the job and for the price I was happy.
            
So, for any cyclists visiting Northern Cyprus be sure to visit guloglu Bisiklet in Famagusta. It's not as pretty as UK hi tech shops, but the service is much better and it's a lot cheaper. Parts for high end bikes are very thin on the ground because of import restrictions I guess from the Eurozone, but if you accept what is, and run with it, your bike will be happy here.

The sprint back was fun. I had a tailwind and several toots from motorists waving good luck, as if I was on the last stage of Le Tour instead of a quick sprint back from the bike hospital!

The sky has clouded over here as the humidity increases. It's perfect for riding. I hope tomorrow will be similar so I can crack on with the last ride I had to cut short to go on this latest little adventure. Everything happens for good reasons and had my spoke not broke at the bottom of the mountain the day before yesterday I would not now have two newly built wheels for £34!

'Ride' eighteen to the Market

Today is a lot hotter than it has been recently. A little overcast at times and humid. I like humid. With Celeste laid up in sick bay with Woman flu I had a choice to make. Ride to Famagusta once again to get the spoke fixed or go to the local market. I decided a womans place is in the home  she deserved a rest and went to the market.

I jumped on the Marin Hybrid and rode the mile or so up the road to the open air market in Iskele. Instantly I missed Celeste. Riding a hybrid with straight bars, and alien switching was odd. The schwalbe marathon 32's (tyres) may be almost bullet proof on the rough tracks here but compared to Celestes skinny tyres it felt slow and cumbersome. But this wasnt a proper ride, just a means of transport really.





In the square the usual day to day stuff of life in Iskele was going on with the added influx of some of the local ex pat community, in search of larger marrows.


The market is nice enough, nothing special, but it does have a lot of fresh fruit and vegetables, and as with markets all over the world it has it's own local charm about it.

There were fruit sellers, potato sellers, sweet coated nut sellers, young girls selling flowers, and a bloke who insisted that his Octupus was a Cod, which it may well have been for all I know!

I noticed that drivers gave me a lot less space and respect dressed in a T shirt on a Hybrid than they did dressed in Lycra on a Road bike. One bloke in a red car cut me up at the roundabout almost as if he were an Englisman. Probably from Worthing I guessed.

As an important side note I have discovered that eggs here have two yolks, but I haven't seen any twin chickens yet. This I deemed important enough to include in today's highlights.

After th eexcitement of the market it was siesta time. I had earn't this on the epic ride back totally no more than a mile!

I was invited to dinner by my nieghbours and spent a wonderful evening chatting and eating local food cooked perfectly. Then it was rock n' roll time! We jammed along tosome songs I sort of 10% knew and had a laugh!

Ride Sixteen around the back of the mountains

Battle commenced early. At Dawn I was up and ready to attack the mountains again. I call them  ''hills' now since my thighs have reverted back to Olympic Cycle God  status! Kitted up in full Bianchi battle dress I advanced steadily along the coastal road and headed left inland towards the lower end of the Mountain range here, and the pass up and over to the dark side, the Northern coast.

The usually empty coastal road was busier than I had seen it before. This was rush hour Cyprus style. The six cars rushed around at speeds of up to 40 mph , the three builders vans drove around like English White Van Man, as they rushed to build more houses they would never finish.

 The wind was freshening from the East as ever here and I was instantly down on the aero bars again. I was pleased I had decided to bring them and lie to easy jet about my weight!

As I rode along my mind reverted to it's default mode on a bike, that of total emptiness and peace. All the rubbish that gets stored in the mind, mostly due to the actions of others, my own indecision and general life crap, left my head as I sunk myself into the ride. The wind, the trees, wild flowers, the people, even the bloody goats, were all perfect to my mind as I rode along in my own 'present'.

The climb started gradually for a change and as it did the wind changed to defend the Mountains entrenched position against my full frontal attack. I shouted at the wind and reassured Celeste that there was no doubt whatsoever that we would win this battle. We had conquered the biggest Mountain on this wonderful island and won, so this would be a piece of cake. It was. we cruised up the mountain pass on a perfect road surface, even with a headwind. I suspected this was a result of my ever improving relationship with Cyclops.

The downhill the other side was a wonderful roller coaster ride with some wonderful views down to the Northern coastline. It was cooler on this side of the island as I could see the clouds being blown by a strong onshore wind from the North East. I shot down that hill as a rate of knots totally convinced this was the start of another 104+ mile ride. The plan was to ride the same loop I had to Girne the other day the other way around. Best laid plans and all that.

Cyclops had other plans for me. Just as the descent levelled off  I heard the gut wrenching and by now, all to familiar, sound of a rear drive side spoke breaking. I gently offered up a few wel chosen words of  profanity  and told myself this was the start of a better direction in my life. Even broken spokes happen for a reason, although at that moment I had absolutely no idea what that might be. Had it happened on top of the Pass I could have ridden back down safely. As it was I had no choice but to continue the ride. Riding with a broken rear spoke inevitably meant a wonky wheel, This meant I had to loosen off my rear brakes to allow the wheel to turn. This meant I was effectively riding with no rear brakes on the flat, and having to tighten them back up a little on the downhills to avoid a potentially embarrassing near death experience.

I was presented with a decision. I had no phone signal so calling international rescue wasn't an option. Besides Scott Tracey was out. I ride alone and without any support vehicle (unlike those 'light weights in the Tour de France eh!). Between me and a roof over my head tonight was climb of about 650m up a mountain. The alternative climbs were of a slightly lower height but further along the original ride route. I took the decision instantly, I would chance my rear wheel on the steep climb out of Kaplica again. It was the most direct route back, I had ridden the climb several times this trip already and I knew a cold can of coca cola awaited me at the top.

I taped up the spoke to stop it clanging all the way up and launched myself and Celeste up the short sharp incline that is downtown Kaplica. Celeste groaned in agony as the weakened rear wheel took the strain. I ignored her pitiful whining, gave her a slap and told her to Woman the F%ck up. Luckily for her she did as she was told.

There be cows in Kaplica, and where there be cows there be cow shit. Where there be cow shit there be cow shit flies, thousands of them launched a full on assault on my head as I ground my way up and out of the village.

The switchbacks I now know so well had us both suffering at about 9/10 on the agony scale. Celeste continued her whining like only a woman can, something about me eating too much Pizza last night. I continued telling her she could do it, because she was better than any other bike. Between us we got to the top slowly but surely. The rear wheel was now showing real danger signs as it was a lot more out of true than it had been way down there in Kaplica.

At the top I stopped for my guaranteed ice cold can of coke. The cafe was shut (yes Ladies I know it served me right). I had another word with Cyclops and took a little look around the square there. Cyclops was in his deviant mood today for sure. He had  arranged for a white van proudly displaying the tell tale signs of a bicycle mechanic strategically parked for me to see. He had also arranged for it's owner to have disappeared in a cloud of green smoke for eternity. The place was deserted. The Gods can be cruel at times.

With the sound of Cyclops' laughter ringing in my ears I pointed Celeste along the top of the Mountain road, checked her rear brakes and we set off along the top. Celeste was full of herself now, just like a woman who couldn't do it but did it, she was riding with confidence again. We took a break near the edge of a sheer drop and I had Celeste pose for a photo shoot right next to the edge. There she stood in her full beauty, right on the edge of the world while I took a few pictures.

She was still posing away when Stephan arrived.

Stephan was riding up the climb from the other side on a Felt Carbon bling machine. This was the first true roadie I had seen in Northern Cyprus. He kindly stopped for a chat and we took photographs of our epic meeting on top of the mountain. Cyclops wasn't such a pain in the arse after all.

Stephan is part of a  German bike outfit on the Southern side of the island and we had a good chat. Good things were happening. This was why my spoke broke. This was why I took the decision to cut the ride short and climb up through Kaplica.

I'd forgotten about Celeste and her complaining. I heard her final whine as she fell off the cliff and fell down a very steep embankment and came to rest in a thorny bush. I took a deep breath, prepared myself for the full fury of a woman scorned and went to her rescue. Taking my life in my hands to save her I dragged her back up, all the time telling her to stop looking down and for Christs sake stop blaming me. This was of course Cyclops' fault, not mine.

Miracles do occur, there were no more broken spokes. Had there been I would have been walking home, no doubt with a serious ear bashing from a broken Bianchi, who if I am honest deserved better.

The ride down was fun as ever, but this time I had only front brakes to prevent me from ending up in a pile of goat dung somewhere. I wondered  if goat shit flies tasted as bad a cow shit flies.

Taking extra care for at least a minute I commenced the descent. Sixty seconds in I decided life was too short for caution and let go of the front brake having decided nothing bad was going to happen. It didn't. I shot down the 'hill' missing two cars coming up, both driving inexplicably on the wrong side of the solid white line. Let me correct that, I can explain why. Both drivers were selfish moronic idiots with no respect for life.

Once back down on the plain I picked up a tail wind.

I had the red tractor in my sights now, nothing could stop me from catching him up and blitzing him. I was doing 36 mph when I over took him, and at that same moment a white car over took me with it's passenger yelling out the window. One second later it would have been safe to pass. I guess then I wouldn't have been able to hear her, no doubt, considered and educated comment eh!

I was down on the aero bars with a good tailwind and a flat road, the tractor had no chance. I then overtook the idiot white car driver and gave her a huge smile, smiles can say many things!

Back in Iskele life was ticking by,  the local builders were still hard at it as they had been at 7am, some tourists had even made it out of bed to the sunbeds. I rode up to the apartment, and made my breakfast.

41 miles (ride cut short by Cyclops)
Max speed 41.8mph
Total ascent 1054m

P.s.
No Video today as my Hedcam drowned in the sea yesterday. However the very nice peeps at www.hedcams.com have said they will take a look and fix it when I get back to the UK.


Tonight I'm looking at this after a Sauna,jacuzzi and a Swim. What more could a cyclist need?

'Ride' Fifteen - beachbumming

Right so today was never going to be about the bike. I overslept until 9am and that is too late really to do a really long ride and avoid the mid day sun. Well that was my excuse anyway. I felt like a swim in the sea so it was time for Celeste to cover her eyes and take a day off.

I took the Marin Hybrid out for a change and headed down to the beach about half a mile away. Here you can still clearly see the old fortifications I guess to prevent invasion during the 1975 conflicts. I found a nice spot and set about the continuation of my cyclist tan line removal policy.

Just along the beach was a lady and her dog Bomber. Bomber was digging the first tunnel between Cyprus and Lebanon and doing a first class job too! Every now and then he would break off tunnelling duties to retrieve a rock from the sea thrown by his Blonde beach comber owner.

I was reminded of my Dog from many years ago, who used to retrieve rocks in a similar way.

The beach here is empty. But it needs a good clean up if I am honest. The usual trademarks of human peasantry abound along the dunes here, plastic bottles, cigarette butts, pink flip flops (why are they always pink?) and of course the obligatory remnants of campfires with beer tins thrown in them. I looked at this otherwise lovely beach and decided humans were less important to me than Bomber and his tunneling activities. It's a pleasant walk along the mile long beach and the water here is clearer than on the beach directly opposite where I am staying. Some of the sand here is black, a little like Tenerife beaches, but I'm unsure if Cyprus is volcanic to the same extent.

Bomber and his owner disappeared back to Lebanon through his tunnel and the beach became mine. I already have one beach where I live back in the UK, so this was a nice addition to my collection, and it didn't cost me a penny.

The sea here is lovely and warm, 'ish'. It's not anywhere near the best beach I have ever swam off of but it is quiet, as good as private, and it has sea and sand, what more do you want? I went in three times and decided to take my hedcam and test out it's 'waterproofness' claim. Sadly I have to report that until it dries out I won't know.

The midday sun was starting to heat the sand up to feet melting point and I was burning. The first time I felt at risk from the sun this trip. So it was time to re robe, and cycle back along the beach road to get some shade and lunch.

In evitably all this exertion and the ride of at least half a mile on the flat took it's toll and I fell into an uncontrollable siesta sleep until the second leg of the Iskele football game kicked off outside my window this evening.

I feel more exhausted on these 'tourist' days than I do after a 50-100 mile ride! Have made a mental note to get my finger out tomorrow.