We arrive in the first town across the border before dark, and consider that a huge win for the day. The town we stay in is mostly deserted, but we are quickly corralled into a restaurant as we walk through it, and we fill up on kofta.

It’s freezing the next morning, but we have a hilly day’s ride to warm us up. We get called over by a man outside a cafe as we approach the final hill into town and are given tea. The Turkish we can speak quickly runs out, but Galatasaray have recently played Manchester United, so he and Richard are able to somewhat carry on a miming conversation. Halfway up the hill I’m flagged down and offered tea again, but Richard is too far ahead to hear me calling him back. We’ve not been in Turkey 24 hours and the hospitality is already in overdrive. Richard sets off to seek out a place to stay, while I’m surrounded by kids from the nearby school who have a lot of questions I can’t understand, but fortunately a kind lady who speaks both languages stops for a bit to interpret. After an early dinner where I re-discover my love for Beyti kebab, we visit a baklava shop. “One”, “two” and “this”, are the only useful words I know for the situation, but can cobble together a pretty decent box full of sweet, syrupy dessert from those. Richard’s worried there’s too much baklava for me to eat, and I’m worried how well he doesn’t know me after all this time. After a short nap we go out for a second dinner. There are benefits to cycling all day.

The next day is just hill after hill after hill and my legs are going to kill me. We stop for soup at a cafe, which warms me up and powers me (in the mildest possible sense of the word) through a day in which we are battered on all sides by near gale-force winds. The final stretch sees us turn towards the coast, with the wind now coming across and slightly in front of us. I can barely breathe it’s so strong.

The seaside place we stop in is a ghost town. Some of it is surely seasonal, but so much is closed and derelict that it must be deeper than that. There aren’t many eateries open, but there are so few people to go around that we are made a fuss of and have some great food. Looking ahead and the climbing the following day will be savage. It’s elevations and gradients we haven’t experienced in while, and I’m not sure my knees will survive.

The next morning the rain is coming down in sheets. We can’t ride in it, but we can’t be stuck here another day. We’ve seen the local dolmuses go past all the time and they’re all nearly empty. These are small minivan-sized buses which cover regular routes back and forth. Richard asks at the bus station about getting one to the next town with the bikes, just so we can move on, and is assured it will be fine. We drink tea in a cafe next to the dolmus stop and wait for the 11am shuttle, which doesn’t turn up. The cafe server tells us it must be at 11.30, but that doesn’t show up either. It’s freezing, but we have to sit outside in case it does turn up. The bus station guy sees us waiting and tells us it’s on its way, and then stands in the road to help flag it down. When it arrives it is the only dolmus we’ve seen that is nearly full. Bus station guy pleads about the bikes while we stand in the pouring rain, cold and anxious. The cafe owner comes out to intercede on our behalf as well, but the driver is adamant he won’t take us. We’re soaked through and shivering while we prepare to head back to where we stayed the night before. A woman from the cafe comes out and pulls me to the baking room in the back of the cafe, where she indicates that I warm myself up beside the huge brick oven. I’m flattered than I’m trusted to be alone with fresh bread. Richard gets left out in the cold.

The next day is cold but almost dry, and we make our escape. The big climb takes us hours. We made the right decision not to ride it in heavy rain, as the first half is totally exposed. It’s two degrees and starts to rain lightly as we near the top, but there’s pine forest all around us now, so we can take shelter if we need to. The only person we see that morning comes out of his house to offer us drinks.

To celebrate the end of the climb we look for a tea stop in the little village at the top. Nothing looks open, but as soon as we park the bikes and approach a door we’re ushered inside to a cosy room, where a man clears some space by the fire so we can sit next to it, while he piles more logs on and brews the tea. We have a long descent ahead in the cold wind, so stay for a couple of teas to dry off and get warm.

The ride down is incredible. The rocky mountains are dramatic and shrouded in mist, the road is brand new and empty, so we career down the hairpin bends with abandon. The road at the bottom is right on the sea’s edge, with a steep cliff face the other side and potholes in the road caused by rockfall.

There’s more painful climbing the next day, and it begins so immediately that I regret the amount I’ve eaten for breakfast. It’s a dull day, everywhere is mud and mist, the small rural villages are deserted, there are no chai stops and there are hoards of wild dogs everywhere. The dogs are a constant problem in Turkey. The strays are massive, as they all have in their blood some Anatolian Shepherd or Kangal, which is closer in size to a Shetland pony than a normal dog. Some are friendly, and trot alongside us for a time with their tails wagging as we talk to them, while they bark away other dogs that approach. Most strays bark and give chase, and when they do they set off all the other dogs for miles like a line of dominoes, and since there are hundreds of them it can be stressful. They usually chase out of instinct and not necessarily aggression, and they do it to cars, motorbikes and mobility scooters as well as us. But in the space of a couple of days we see news stories of a women mauled to death just over the border in Greece, and a child killed by a pack of strays in central Turkey. This day, out of the pack running towards me came one huge beast, snarling and growling, with mouth slavering and teeth showing. I passed just out of his reach as he went for me, but then felt the sudden jerk of the bike pulled backwards as he got a pannier in his jaws and yanked it from side to side. My stomach took a drop, but the thought of it being my leg instead of a pannier gave me so much adrenaline that I pulled away and felt him let go as I got to a downhill section, when I knew I was safe.

Around mid morning the tarred road suddenly ran out. At first it’s just covered in mud because of the works vehicles plying this route, but then it becomes deep sandy mud with no asphalt underneath. Luckily for us it didn’t rain overnight, but it has rained pretty consistently for a few days prior, and it’s hard going to ride through. We’re halted at a section of road that’s underwater for about 20 feet with wire fencing either side. I’ve sometimes felt a bit irked that there are dangers that were hugely overblown during childhood. Swans. Kites near power lines. The Bermuda Triangle. Quicksand. But I’m now wondering if the threat of quicksand wasn’t inflated after all. I don’t want to lose my bike like Artax, so I go off to find some large sticks to see how deep it goes. About half a foot in the shallow spots. Our tyres sink in, but we both stay upright and keep the wheels turning until we’re past the worst of it.

We’re approaching the south of the Gallipoli peninsula, something we’ve been looking forward to since we came back to Turkey. We rode the route many years ago and it was one of the most memorable rides I’ve ever done. The road wound right beside the pretty coastline with great views and gentle undulations. I think we were both looking forward to re-creating that day, but the world has moved on. Now the road south goes through a series of long tunnels, with no views of the sea or of anything else really.

We take a short ferry across the Dardanelles to the mainland, where we’re settling in Canakkale for a couple of day’s rest. It’s is a harmonious mix of traditional Turkey and tourists, but deep as we are in winter there’s very few of the latter. When they’re here, the tourists are mostly Australians and New Zealanders, here to pay their respects to the ANZAC troops who died here at the Battle of Gallipoli in 1915/6.

I suggest visiting Troy, which is nearby. We’ve been there before, and despite his advancing years Richard remembers this. His response is: “It’s a pile of rocks.” The old proverb that “There is now a cornfield where Troy once stood” is mostly true, but there are indeed also a lot of rocks, plus a tacky wooden horse. I can’t mount a persuasive enough argument to go there again, but there are other piles of rocks on my radar, ones as yet unseen, so I’ll just bide my time. 

When we leave, it is the first bright and sunny day for us in Turkey. On top of the hill south of town we can look back on the sparkling sea of the Dardanelles and the huge Martyrs’ Monument on Eskihisarlık Ridge at the south end of the peninsula.

On a less grand, but still tragic note, I have bought some long underwear to see if it is as comfortable as padded shorts. I don’t know why because I have plenty of padded shorts which are comfortable, but I don’t know how my brain works. I also decide not to use anti-chafing cream as I normally would. I don’t know why I do that either, but we have a long day on a bumpy rural road so I will be paying for that decision for a while.

Off the main road, and this part of Turkey is really lovely and although it’s still cold, we seem to be out of the damp, grey, miserable weather. The hills are gentler, the villages are less muddy and we are surrounded for a couple of days by olive groves and rolling hills.

We have a short day so that we can visit the ruins of Assos on our way, which leaves us plenty of time to stop for tea. We stop at a cafe which is tiny out front, but like a Grimm fairy tale in the back. It’s a large ramshackle wood & stone room, with a big fire, higgledy piggledy chairs and tables, and a lovely old woman enticing me to eat cakes.

We miss the turnoff for Assos (“accidentally”) and I don’t realise until I can’t be arsed to go back. Richard is now 2-0 versus visiting piles of rocks, but I still have more up my sleeve.

We hit the coast, and though the road is right along the shore and it’s a very pretty ride, it is in bad condition so it’s another sore and bumpy day. The route is lined with seaside businesses, all of which are closed, with weeds  growing everywhere and buildings going to ruin. A group of dogs launch a determined chase of Richard, and once he’s past they turn to start on me. A passing driver sees what is happening and beeps at the dogs, then crawls along at my side to shield me from them until I’m out of their territory.

Our next goal is the town of Bergama, and one impressive pile of rocks. We take the day off to visit Pergamon, once a powerful ancient Greek city. It is a spectacular setting, on a high, steep hill overlooking the Caicus plains and its volcanic rock formations. The amphitheatre here is thought to be the steepest in the ancient world. Although the city’s great wonder, the Altar of Zeus, now resides in Berlin instead of at Pergamon, there are lots of other well-preserved parts of the city. There is a cable car taking most people down to the bottom of the hill, but there is also an ancient road winding down, through other parts of the ancient city, and about halfway down is a building which houses a beautifully-preserved mosaic. The security guard has to follow us down and unlock it, as since the construction of the cable car this often gets bypassed.

The cycling from here gets busy and tedious, as upcoming is one of Turkey’s largest cities. I’d have preferred to avoid Izmir, but it turns out to have some great cycle lanes and efficient modern ferries across the gulf, which means we can avoid riding through most of it. We are in need of new chains and new rear cassettes, and with big cities usually come good bike shops and mechanics.

The boring stuff taken care of, we are in the final stages of riding in Turkey once again. When we arrived here last year, we stopped in a little town when I was under the weather, Richard got his haircut and a kind man gave us tea. We pass through this place again, but find that the tea house has now closed down and the kind-faced man has moved on

We’ve spent a few days over Christmas in a small, friendly, pretty town of cobbled streets and boutique cafes. Being in Turkey, I have won Whamaggedon against everyone I know, and also not heard The Power Of Love at all, for which I am eternally grateful.

When we rode through Turkey last year we went from Cesme along the coast to Antalya, inland to Kayseri, then west across to Istanbul. It was almost a complete loop, but with a section in the north west left undone. With the exception of a small gap to Istanbul, we’ve now done that bit too. Tomorrow we go back to Cesme and take a ferry returning to Greece. A cycle is complete in more ways than one.

A playlist for the ride: