The knee saga...

my unbroken patella
Originally uploaded by t wi an e

I mention this a little in my previous post but had no idea of how much it would impact on our trip. Whilst cruising down from the highest pass we have crossed to date on a chilly but beautifully bright morning towards Dogubeyazit with Mount Ararat tantalisingly in view, a group of young boys ran to the side of the road. They were calling 'money, money' at us, as is the customary greeting amongst groups of Kurdish children in eastern Turkey (actually more specifically boys, there are few girls kicking around). Because they were so close I had slowed down my riding speed as I imagine it would be a fairly unpleasant experience to run someone over, I've hit rabbits in a car before, dread to think of hitting a human on a bike.

One of the boys realising no money was forthcoming decided he would take the ribbon attached to my basket instead (tied on a few days previously by another boy at the side of another road, ying/yang). Sadly rather than detaching itself it pulled the front wheel sharply to the side causing me to fall, injuring both knees but one excrutiatingly so.

This led to James pouncing on the one who didn't run away fast enough and roughing him around in the dirt a bit whilst I lay curled in a ball in the road. I'm not condoning roughing up of children but these groups of boys you get out here (this can take in anyone from age 4 - 18) are a serious hazard and after a few months of being chased and hounded by them, them chucking rocks and sticks at you for fun as well as trying to pinch stuff off your bike, weeeeeell you start to think 'actually I am gonna kick your ass man!'.

Anyway to sum up the aftershock of the incident, after being bandaged by the local women with a scrap of material with ducks on, we made it to Dogubeyazit where my knee finally became so swollen it was completely immobile. A week of waiting for it to improve saw no change and we had to get moving so it was with a heavy heart that we got a van to take us and our bikes to Tabriz in Iran. Whilst there we met a couple of other cyclists, one a doctor, the other a physio (seriously, what are the chances of that happening). They then gave the sickening news that actually it was probably going to be 3-4 weeks before I could ride again and that was the best outcome providing xrays showed all was as should be. So we bundled the bikes onto a train to Tehran for xrays to take place and to pick up visas. Thankfully all was well, it was just a waiting game, so we did our tour of Iran as backpackers with bikes. Aside from the inconvenience of backpacking with bikes and panniers (and a stuffed up knee), there was the added expense of transport, hotel bills (I couldn't camp as I couldn't bend my leg to even get in the tent, though Iran is great for camping) and as for the difficulty in using the ubiquitous squat toilets... enough said i think.

More than anything though we really missed riding. On a bus you miss all the bits in between and, actually, I like seeing the bits in between, you see all there is to see along the way, it may not always be great but who ever spotted a gerbil from a bus window?! I also like the time between sights, cycling allows me to process my experiences before I get somewhere new so I can appreciate it with a fresh mind. I don't know how backpackers do it, I'd be suffering from sensory overload, burned out on architechtural wonders and culture shock (I would also probably be in Japan already).

The experience has taught us some lessons in cycle touring though, we have now installed the biggest, fattest, loudest horns we could find to try and deafen people into giving us room and I am on the hunt for a really big stick, so packs of small/teenage boys be warned...