The road was good and the headwind gone for the morning, traffic was moderate and the weather good for a first part down the mountains. Then I climbed to Khalkhal where I found a small restaurant for dinner. After I parked Wolter, it wasn't long before a small group of youngsters gathered and asked the usual questions. I then left them and went into then restaurant. While I was eating one of the guys, who later turned out to call himself Milad, invited himself to the table and started scribbling something quietly on a piece of paper. I just finished, pushed the plate away to find that piece of paper under my nose. It said, that he studied physical education, works as a bike mechanic and wants to travel by bicycle, therefore he was curious about how much money you need for this kind of trip. We started talking a bit and his buddies joined to inject questions and make this a big shouting match. Milad took me to his shop where I could get an air chamber. We took photos, I got then map out and everybody started to make suggestions. Milad invited me to stay at his place and since it was only afternoon, I refused again and opportunity to spend time with locals for the sake on closing up on Tehran. I had to stock up with food, but before I got a chance to got to a shop I had my water bottles refilled and some bread in my bags. Then they escorted me out of town. I started climbing the pass to Asalam, came just a couple of kilometres far and there he was again, Milad taking his bike out of a car and joining me for I wondered what distance it would be. On the pass I got my map and indicated to him where I intended to camp, but he said, that I have to come to Asalam and stay at his brothers place.
The views were amazing, everything green, the Caspian Sea at the horizont and here I also saw the first forest in Iran. The descent was fun, from 2300m all then way down to 0m on a nice serpentine road in good condition. The air was getting thicker and saturated with humidity, breathing suddenly felt like eating. On then handlebar I felt the condensed salty, slighy sticky moisture.
Shortly before Asalam Milad bought some bread. I was exhausted having cycled far more than a hundred kilometres and climbed about 2000m. Then we cycled towards the town but instead of entering it we took the ring road. It got dark and we were still cycling, I asked how much further, Milad replied 20 minutes. I asked Milad if he had any idea what he is putting me through... no reply. Besides he knew that I avoid cycling in the dark, since he asked me about the lights on my bike earlier. Heavy traffic roads like the one we were on are a no go for me under these conditions. After the silence I said that in half and hour I will just stop and pitch my tent. One hour later Milad stopped again to buy bread, probably his bottom was soaring and he needed a break and took this for an excuse. I took out the map and I realised that we past Aslam by 20 km and after Milad revealed the true destination (obviously not Aslam) it became clear that we had at least another 20 to go. At this point I lost my calm. He said it's not far anymore and I thought that I heard that a bit too often recently. We continued a bit but I, got completly worked up about this situation: He joined the ride without asking me, ended up completly taking me out of my rhythm I, struggled to maintain the last days in order to make it to Tehran in time. Yeah, riding a 100+ km starting in the later afternoon sounds like a brilliant idea, let's try that with this stranger with his 50kg bycicle! He had me running on the last reserves, the kind that you can't recuperate during one night and most of all; one lie is already too much. Answering 20 minutes to my questions about the remaining distance for the last one and a half hour might work with a kid or your girlfried, but since I am neither, this really pissed me off.
I can't stand if people wriggle the facts so you look like an idiot saying no, in other words if they try to make decisions for me. Some gifts are true ones, given unconditionally, and most of the gifts are "sold" to you. By accepting that kind of "gift" people expect you to fullfile that little contract of theirs you never got to read.
So at this point neither my body nor the mindset would let me continue, even if we would have been only five minutes from our destination, I was so mad at Milad, that staying at his place did not appeal to me in the foggiest anymore. I waved goodbye and turned towards the beach. Milad followed and there was a little drama before he let me go. I felt bad doing it, but I had no energy left to endure the consequences of his flawed plan. Even if there was no bad intention, his actions drove me to the edge.
Ten minutes later I parked Wolters behind the bushes and lay in the shadow of the street lights next/half-under a fisher boat on the beach. Stay alert I thought and dosed off. Around one a.m. I woke up from the steps of a man in in slippers strolling through the sand. He just past very close by without noticing me, but he saw Wolter and took a look. When he started fiddling with my bike I mande some hrrmhmm-noise. The man jumped, mumbled something, looked around and right in my direction but still did not see me. Then he rushed away. I just lay in the dark, but the dark-green sleeping bag seemed to melt with, the shadow. A minute later the previous visitor came back with two companions, one of them had a torch. Obviously it was time to explain myself. They were not upset at all with me, more concerned about me lying in this damp sand. They showed me a shed on the other side of the road where I could stash Wolter away and ly on a wooden bench. The shed was just plastic and wood, but it sheltered me from curious eyes and from the humidity. After a bit of talking they returned to their beds and I made my new, dry one.
The views were amazing, everything green, the Caspian Sea at the horizont and here I also saw the first forest in Iran. The descent was fun, from 2300m all then way down to 0m on a nice serpentine road in good condition. The air was getting thicker and saturated with humidity, breathing suddenly felt like eating. On then handlebar I felt the condensed salty, slighy sticky moisture.
Shortly before Asalam Milad bought some bread. I was exhausted having cycled far more than a hundred kilometres and climbed about 2000m. Then we cycled towards the town but instead of entering it we took the ring road. It got dark and we were still cycling, I asked how much further, Milad replied 20 minutes. I asked Milad if he had any idea what he is putting me through... no reply. Besides he knew that I avoid cycling in the dark, since he asked me about the lights on my bike earlier. Heavy traffic roads like the one we were on are a no go for me under these conditions. After the silence I said that in half and hour I will just stop and pitch my tent. One hour later Milad stopped again to buy bread, probably his bottom was soaring and he needed a break and took this for an excuse. I took out the map and I realised that we past Aslam by 20 km and after Milad revealed the true destination (obviously not Aslam) it became clear that we had at least another 20 to go. At this point I lost my calm. He said it's not far anymore and I thought that I heard that a bit too often recently. We continued a bit but I, got completly worked up about this situation: He joined the ride without asking me, ended up completly taking me out of my rhythm I, struggled to maintain the last days in order to make it to Tehran in time. Yeah, riding a 100+ km starting in the later afternoon sounds like a brilliant idea, let's try that with this stranger with his 50kg bycicle! He had me running on the last reserves, the kind that you can't recuperate during one night and most of all; one lie is already too much. Answering 20 minutes to my questions about the remaining distance for the last one and a half hour might work with a kid or your girlfried, but since I am neither, this really pissed me off.
I can't stand if people wriggle the facts so you look like an idiot saying no, in other words if they try to make decisions for me. Some gifts are true ones, given unconditionally, and most of the gifts are "sold" to you. By accepting that kind of "gift" people expect you to fullfile that little contract of theirs you never got to read.
So at this point neither my body nor the mindset would let me continue, even if we would have been only five minutes from our destination, I was so mad at Milad, that staying at his place did not appeal to me in the foggiest anymore. I waved goodbye and turned towards the beach. Milad followed and there was a little drama before he let me go. I felt bad doing it, but I had no energy left to endure the consequences of his flawed plan. Even if there was no bad intention, his actions drove me to the edge.
Ten minutes later I parked Wolters behind the bushes and lay in the shadow of the street lights next/half-under a fisher boat on the beach. Stay alert I thought and dosed off. Around one a.m. I woke up from the steps of a man in in slippers strolling through the sand. He just past very close by without noticing me, but he saw Wolter and took a look. When he started fiddling with my bike I mande some hrrmhmm-noise. The man jumped, mumbled something, looked around and right in my direction but still did not see me. Then he rushed away. I just lay in the dark, but the dark-green sleeping bag seemed to melt with, the shadow. A minute later the previous visitor came back with two companions, one of them had a torch. Obviously it was time to explain myself. They were not upset at all with me, more concerned about me lying in this damp sand. They showed me a shed on the other side of the road where I could stash Wolter away and ly on a wooden bench. The shed was just plastic and wood, but it sheltered me from curious eyes and from the humidity. After a bit of talking they returned to their beds and I made my new, dry one.
