A Tale of 10 Kerabans
First Circumnavigation of the Black Sea by Motorcycle
1-11th May 2003
Ian Johnson © July 2003
Organized by Motoreast (www.motoreast.com) and supported by OMM, Aprilia, BMW and Honda, the first complete tour of the Black Sea coast by bike was completed on the 11 of May after 10 day of fun, pain and adventures. Ian, one of the OMM riders taking part in this event, wote for MBW UK magazine a full report on this adventure.
From Istanbul to Istanbul via Bulgaria, Romania, Moldavia, Ukraine, Russia, Georgia.
The confusion on the face of the petrol-pump attendant on the north-east coast of Turkey said it all. “Where are you coming from ?” he asked us. “ From Istanbul” was our response “But you have come from the wrong direction !”
....and he was right !
The idea of a circumnavigation of the Black Sea by motorcycle was fired by the Jules Vernes book “Keraban the Inflexible”. Outraged about the newly imposed tax on ferry crossings from Istanbul to Asia accross the Bosphorus, Keraban is determined to avoid the tax and get to the Asian side of the Bosphorus by walking around the Black Sea.
Inspired by the idea of such a journey and having previously completed a circumnavigation of the Mediterranean, the leader of our group (Paolo Volpara) had already had a couple of abortive attempts at the Black Sea circumnavigation but this time was determined to crack it. With his co-organiser and joint founder of the Motoreast touring company ( Kazim Uzunoğlü) they worked ceaselessly on the preparations required for such a journey. The obstacles were not insubstantial; concerns about road conditions, tales of lawlessness and bandits, lack of definitive information about whether border crossings were open or not, and the persistent presence of war in the Caucauses combined to mean that success could not be guaranteed. Indeed even with the aid of motorcycling groups in both Russia and the Ukraine it was clear that this was not going to be a normal trip at all.
Having gathered a group of 8 like-minded individuals from accross the globe ( 4 from the US, 1 from the UK, 3 from Turkey) our group of 10 represented a truly international team; 2 Turks, 2 Brits, 4 US citizens, 1 Italian and 1 German citizen. The stage was set for the off.
0630hrs Thursday 1st May saw the group assemble in the public area between the great Byzantine church of Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque, heart of both the Byzantine and Ottoman empires. Emboldend by a poem written the night before by Douglas we were soon crossing the cobblestones and tramlines in order to take the coastroad out past the Byzantine city walls to catch the Trans-European Motorway north-west and speed us on our way to Kirklarelli and the Bulgarian border. The first day was never planned to be a gentle ease-in to the trip; indeed it envisaged a total distance of 640 km and passing entirely through Bulgaria in order to spend the first night at the Romanian resort town of Constanţa. The bar was raised, however, when just as we were entering Kirklarelli the rear splines on the R1100GS failed. A quick re-shuffle of bikes took place to enable Paolo to recover the crippled GS back to Istanbul on a pick-up truck, leaving 9 of us to continue onto the Turkish/Bulgarian border (Paolo was to rejoin us later that night at Constanţa on a loan F650GS having ridden it to within an inch of its life !). Both sets of border post were passed with surprising ease; the reception in Bulgaria being particularly warm. The confused customs officials failing to grasp why we thought a ride around the entire Black Sea was a good idea ! Initially the road in Bulgaria was a narrow but tightly wound road winding its way through picturesque villages and woods; only the presence of loose sand washed off the surrounding fields slowing progress. As we approached the coast, however, the road widened considerably allowing fast progress through Burgas and on to our lunch-stop at the UNESCO site at Nesebar. After Nesebar the roads just got better and better. This was not what we had expected at all. Either side of Varna the road was simply beautiful with long sweeping bends and a super grippy surfaces that would not be out of place at the Donnington GP circuit. What an absolute blast. By the time we reached the Romanian border, however, the light was already starting to ebb away. With the exception of a $5 “fine” each for crossing the white line at the deserted Bulgarian side of the border we were soon painlessly on our way to our third country of the day. Formalities took longer crossing into Romania but at long last we were riding in the failing light towards Constanţa, dodging the crowds attending “May Day” fairs. Initial indications about the conditions of roads were favourable but by the time that we reached Constanţa itself it was pitch black; less than ideal circumstances to cross its pock-marked, cobbled streets with a multitude of shiny tram rails just waiting to catch out the weary. It was a tired yet relieved group that checked into our hotel. One of the things that we did not economise on on the trip was the hotels that we used; concern for the security for our bikes was a major fear thus the hotels were selected on the basis of their ability to provide secure parking !
Day 2 was always going to be more problematic. The plan was to cross the Danube delta at Tulcea/Galati, spend the least possible time crossing Moldova before entering the Ukraine and riding down to Odessa. The fly in this particular ointment was that we could not obtain any reliable data about what border gates were open with Moldova or even if we could get a Moldovan visa at the border. It was going to have to be a suck it and see exercise. In addition we had been informed that the roads in the trans-Dnister region (the region immediately to the West of Odessa through which we were planning on riding) were infested with bandits.
Initially all went well; a fantastic road took us from Constanţa to the capital of the Danube delta at Tulcea. We then followed the Danube upstream in order to take the ferryboat across the river at Galaţi. The aim was then to cross the border at Ciurgiuleşti, ride for less than 1km in Moldova before then exiting to the Ukraine at Reni.
The ride through the docklands and railway sidings of Galaţi took us over some of the more “interesting” roads of our trip: post Communist decay at it very worst. At the border it became clear that the only vehicles getting through were Moldovan registered vehicles and despite valiant negotiations by Paolo and Kazim it was made very clear to us that there was no way we could purchase a visa there and no way that we could cross the border. The good news, however, was that we were told that the next gate , some 100km further north at Oancea was open and that we should (!) be able to purchase visa there. As at this stage we had no other choice we thought it was worth a try. Just as things couldn’t get much worse they did ! Kazim’s loan Honda Transalp picked up a puncture in it’s rear tyre and it was only at that stage that we discovered that whilst we had a plethora of tubless repair kits no-one had a spare tube or a tubed-type repair kit. It was a long, slow ride back into Galaţi through the remnants of industrial decay on a flat tyre to find a repair shop. The service we received there, however ,was first class. Despite the fact that an exact match could not be found a close substitute was offered up and a re-machining of the valve to fit demonstrated the ingenuity of a nation used to dealing with shortages.
Repaired and fortified by lunch we then took the minor road north of Galaţi that followed immediately West of the Prut river. This was yet another beautiful road and the scenery and enthusiasim of the population matched it as we progressed through immaculate villages with their impressive churches. After living in Turkey for so long the cleanliness of the villages and the obvious pride of the population in their houses came as a big shock to one so used to the negative messages about former communist Eastern Europe regimes. The whole scene did, however, have a 19th Century feel to it with the primary form of transport being donkeys and or horse drawn traps of various sizes. As we passed through the villages the locals waved enthusiastically and exhorted to “go faster” !! Clearly the sight of 10 foreign (read “expensive”) motorcycles rather than Soviet style two-strokes was something of a novelty to them.
It was with heavy hearts and foreboding that we approached the border crossing. Having been fined on the exit of Bulgaria for crossing the white line we all dutifully sat and waited for the green light to show....despite the fact that we were the only people evident in the whole village ! The exit from Romania proved to be relatively painless ( although not without the need to pay some “unreceipted penalty payments”). This was it.....across the bridge over the River Prut and into Moldova.
Not so fast !! First there was our visa issue problem. Yes, they could issue transit visas at the border but no, the Consul was not on duty at the moment and we would have to wait for him to travel from the local city. Great. By this time the light was again starting to ebb away and on top of everything else it had started to rain. Whilst we twiddled our thumbs waiting, our plan for the day was clearly under signficant pressure. On making enqires from the car and lorry drivers exiting Moldova we asked what the road conditions were like: “Terrible...You will never make it on a motorcycle” came the responses. Our hearts sank ; it was clear that our objective of reaching Odessa was impossible. The thought or riding in the dark and wet, on dangerous bandit infested roads soon convinced us that we would have to change plan and find somwhere to stay overnight in Moldova itself.
The town of Cahul was something else. Situated on the Western edge of the poorest country in Europe Cahul conformed to all the stereotypes of a former Soviet city. No street lighting at all, residual tarmac, huge potholes and crumbling buildings did not bode well. Our uneasy feelings increased when on pulling up outside the only hotel with hot water we were immediately surrounded by an inquisitive yet disquietly threatening crowd. Before we had even arrived at the hotel one of our party had been pulled by the police on the charge of a fabricated road traffic violation. Things did not look good. Again the priority was to secure the bikes and the hotel offered a lock-up building in the adjacent “secure” car park and arranged for one of the staff to sleep with the bikes. Then as we milled around the local police chief appointed 2 of his men to accompany us at all times. It looked like it was going to be an interesting evening.
Amazingly the restuarant we were recommended was excellent; the same can’t be said for the return taxi trip in the Moskovitch ! Even the hotel was tolerable...although very, very Soviet (think lashings of hot water at set times only, carbolic soap and decor in an interesting combination of threadbare brown fabrics). Reminded me in ways of my old student digs. Breakfast next morning was taken in the market against scenes of absolute poverty and with the warning “Under no circumstances tell anyone which road and to where you are travelling next ” !. We quickly got the message.
In reality the Moldovan roads were not that bad. Whilst not exactly ideal for my K1200RS (ridden by my brother) or the Superblackbird (ridden by me), the coverage of the tarmac was on average greater than that of the potholes (unlike Georgia later in the trip where the real trick is deciding which of the lesser potholes to hit rather than avoiding them totally !). Whilst reasonablty tidy the absolute poverty of the country was obvious; even the multitude of Soviet style concrete monuments were crumbling. The contrast with Romania was stark.
The Moldovan/Ukraine border crossing should by this stage not have come as a surprise. There was the routine filling out of soviet-style customs forms (which inevitably are never looked at again) and bureacratic delay. Paolo and Kazim did a good job of negotiating a group process but even with this in place we managed to loose some 3 hours at the border. Thankfully we avoided the compulsory border vaccinations ( there was no way a Ukraine border “doctor” in a portakabin was going to stick a needle in us) and paid the lower “fee” of $5 each for our bikes to be disinfected. I recall paying the cash; I am still waiting for the disinfectant to arrive ! But at least we were in the Ukraine.
Whilst marginally wealthier than Moldova the signs of decay and lack of investment were still obvious. The roads, however, were in much better condition than in Moldova and on the main highways we were able to make, as they term it, positive progress across the trans Dneister.On the approaches to Odessa, however, we had to pass through more border crossings. North of the Dneistrovski Liman, Moldova has access to the Black Sea so we had again to pass through Moldovan territority. As this is a purely internal border, however, we took advantage of the fact that we were a group and declined to stop, just zig-zagging through the control checkpoints.
It was with some relief that we entered Odessa. Our hotel was at the foot of the infamous Potemkin Steps but both finding it and navigating through Odessa’s streets proved somwhat difficult. To describe the streets of Odessa as appalling does them too much justice. Cobblestones, potholes the size of the Ukraine itself, tram rails and an apparent total lack of any rule of law mean that Odessan streets are really only for the bravehearted. When in the Lonely Planet guide to the Ukraine you read:
“ ..driving in Ukraine is a unique and nerve racking experience that any sensible motorist should avoid, especially if your car is your most precious possession. Roads tend to have no markings, are unlit at night and riddled with potholes and other unforeseen obstacles which prompt fellow motorists to drive in zigzags” with respect to Odessa itself, believe it.
In Odessa we met up with a local motorcycle enthusiast “Vlad the Stranger” who gave us an impromtu tour of the major sights of the city. A fascinating city whose decaying grandeur hints at the potential it had, the years of Soviet neglect and the current critical nature of all economic activity in the Ukraine. For both the Turkish and British contingents there were poignant monuments to Russia’s victory over the Franco-Turko-British expedition to the Crimea and Odessa in 1853-5 ! That evening in Odessa we saw examples of Ukraine biking culture proudly on display on the pedestrian boulevards. Chopper style bikes displayed the height of Ukraine biker chic; a combination of skulls, neon lights and recycled Whermacht respirator cases providing a testament to bad taste.
Having lost our planned rest-day in Odessa, the following day saw us trying to recover our initial timetable with a hectic dash across the Ukraine and down to the Crimean towns of Simferopol, Sevastopol and Yalta. The roads were good (although the Ukraine praire proved to less than riveting). Km after high speed km passed by and it was with a real sense of relief that we dececended towards Sevastopol and saw some real contours again. Entering Sevastapol we were immediately stopped by the police with no other intent than to extract money from us. Having none of that, we left them speachless and bribeless in order to grab something to eat on Sevastopol’s quayside. Whilst we ate the locals took it in turn to have their photographs on the bikes; as usual the Superblackbird proving to be the most popular choice. The young people of Sevastapol being more impressed by the promise of a machine that can do 320 kmh rather than the practicality of the frankly odd looking GS’s or the promise of comfort on the K1200RS with its top speed of a mere 280kmh ! If only they knew how crippling the Blackird’s riding position can be.
The south of the Crimean peninsula came as a great surprise. The scenery is simply stunning; the sweeping, well surfaced and well radiused road was absolutely awesome. No red-blooded motorcyclist could fail to be moved by the combination. So much for all the doomsayers prior to our departure. This road even on its own was worth the entire trip. Forget UK roads; this was the utter business and took us all the way to Yalta almost in a trance. No wonder that the Crimea was “The” holiday location for both the Romanov’s and later the Soviet hierarchy.
Yalta continued the magic. Visits to both the site of the infamous “Yalta Conference” at the former Tsar’s palace at Lavinia and the site of the battle of Balacklava the following day only reinforced our love of the southern Crimea. Our enjoyment of the coastal road was somewhat curtailed , however, by the presence of significant numbers of security staff, police and army on our “rest” day whilst both president Putin of Russa and the president of the Ukraine had a joint conference in Yalta that morning. Shame !
The next day’s itinerary envisaged leaving Yalta, travelling north-east along the coast road to Kerch where we would cross the Cimmerian Bosphorous at the mouth of the Sea of Azov, before entering Russia and riding down to the Russian port and resort of Sochi. Our Russian motorcycling friends insisted that the coastal roads from Alustia to Theodesia was all but impassible. Dangerous and with no petrol stations along its length they insisted that we took the main road back to Simferopol before then turning east to Kerch. Always bowing to local knowledge (!) we decided that we had planned to ride the coastal road and come what may, that was the route we were going to stick to ...and what a delight it turned out to be.
Our Russian friends were right (but also oh so wrong) about the road. Yes, there were no petrol stations but that was because the road was utterly unspoilt. Almost unchanged from when the Genoese set up their trading colonies along this coast and Theodesia was the capital of the Black Sea slave trade, the views were almost perfect and the road tight but demanding. Absolute heaven. The bubble was burst, however, on rejoining the main road and on attempting to pass through the city of Kerch. Resembling all the worst preconceptions about decaying Soviet-style cities, as we were leaving the city we were apprehended at gunpoint by the police. Accused as a group of reckless driving, of having generated a road traffic accident on the entrance of the city and having already ridden through the police cordon established to detain us, we were threatened with confiscation of both motorcycles and licences pending a hearing in front of the local magistrates.
Fortunantely as the group remonstrated with the police a local rider riding an immaculate Honda Valkeriye (probably with a net worth equal to the entire city !) came to our help. Despite negotiations, the police would not budge from their demand for $300 as an alternative remedy. Knowing that we were heading for the ferry to Russia we were effectiveley trapped and reluctantly paid up feeling well ripped off. The news at the ferry terminal that 2 hours later one of our Russian friends riding alone on his Honda X11 was charged with exactly the same crime and had to pay $20 did not ease the sense of injustice...if only we had known what was in store.
Border controls and customs formalities prior to the border crossing were worse than could be expected and at one stage it looked like we would actually miss the ferry ( for some bizarre reason Passport Control and Customs clearance would only start to process our documents onece the ferry had actually docked ). Despite paying $20 to the ferry operators to both ensure the ferry waited for us and to ensure that we were first on- first off the RoRo ferry, we were dismayed to find that at Russian passport control we were effectively sidelined until the remainder of the “normal” passengers and traffic were processed.
The border entry to Russia was an absolute nightmare; searches of all our luggage were made and then we faced the “one fingered” customs typist who had to create a personal import record of each motorcycle complete with copies of licences, passports and such meaningful details as “Home address” and “How many kilometres your vehicles odometer has”. With still another 300km to go before Sochi our timetable was under serious strain so as soon as the first 5 were through we split up and set off. The customs officials opened the gate, we travelled 10 metres and were immediately stopped by the police ! We were lucky, our Russian colleague, nicknamed Vlad “the Russian” to differentiate him from Vlad “the Stranger” from the Ukraine, talked us past but the group following 1 hour later was subjected to another detailed search for drugs etc ! Welcome to Russia.
By now the light had gone but the road was good and we estimated a 0300hrs arrival at the Raddisson Hotel in Sochi. That estimate , however, failed to take into consideration the bureaucratic delays that we were to suffer as a consequence of constant harrassement from the police. As we rode we were stopped at every single checkpoint. A pattern quickly established itself. Ride for 20 minutes; spend 45 minutes at checkpoint (and repeat). By 0145hrs we were had only covered at most 150 kilometres when for the fifth time that night we were stopped yet again south of the port of Novorossijk, at Kabardinka. For the first time ever in my experience, we were asked for our International Driving Permits (IDP) and/or licences in Russian. In the past I have always thought these a waste of time as inevitably police ask to see your “real” licence rather than IDP. In Russa, however, we found that they were absolutely indispensible. No IDP; leave Russia or pay the inevitable non-receipted penalty payment. I could be generous and attribute the Russian police tactics to their concern about night-time traffic in areas adjacent to Chechnya, or belated revenge for the British contribution to the final evacuation of the White Russian forces out of Novorossijk in 1920, but the real motivation was money. Stern faced police would immediately become jovial after payment of the demanded amount and ask us to ride fast or pull wheelies on our exit from the checkpoints.
We had had enough. It was clear that we would not reach Sochi in good time and so we decided to call it a day. The police advised us to he location of a great 5 star hotel where we checked-in with relief. Our concern having been further raised by the presence of hundreds of troops spilling out of barracks ringing the coast and roaming the streets ! Our colleagues had a similar experience and had quit some 100 km further north. Their luck was not so great however. They had to settle for a Soviet style hotel where it was all but impossible to get a beer but the local pimp was more than pleased at the influx of potential new customers and paraded his wares to the guys as they tried to check-in (Soviet-style!).
Having blown our rest day in Sochi we took full advantage of our 5 star hotel’s breakfast facilities before setting off yet again on the road to Sochi. Having refused to comply with the Russian police order to have our licences translated by a public notary into Russian it was with some trepidation that we approached the checkpoint that the previous night had undermined our will to continue. Nothing ! No request to stop at all ! The pattern repeated itself all the way to Sochi. The message was clear: under no circumstances try to travel by night through Russia – the pain is just too great and simply not worth it.
In the daylight the road showed itself to be excellent. Properties were well maintained and the views of the Caucauses to our left were simply stunning. As the road approached Sochi it became more and more demanding. The last 100 km being switchback after switchback. In fact the type of road that in the UK you would die to ride.
We regrouped on the outskirts of Mamajka just to the north of Sochi. The locals clearly as bemused at such a gathering as we were at the sight of veterans of the Great Patriotic War (WWII) waiting for the bus wearing all of their wartime medals. The plan was then to blast down to the harbour, put the bikes on our privately chartered ship and by-pass the war stricken province of North Abkhazia by sailing to the Georgian port of Poti.
We should have known better. On seeing the hydrafoil that we were to use our first reaction was “Not a snowballs chance in hell”. Styled like a refugee from a Flash Gordon movie the Soviet designed and built Kometa 5 was no more than a foot passenger ferry. Not only were there no vehicle entry and exit points, in addition once on board the bikes would have to be tied between the rows of passenger seats. Oh, and just to make things even more entertaining there was half metre drop from the quayside to the ship. The thought of getting a 300kg K12 and the Blackbird down that drop and through the entrance was simply incredible.
The crew appeared to be undaunted so having little real alternative we thought we would give it a try. The first bike to try was the lightweight F650GS. Having perfected the technique (!) we then loaded the other “small” (read narrow) bikes: the Transalp, an Aprilla Caponord, the K1200RS and finally the Superblackbird. That left the 5 1150GS’s which were clearly too wide to pass through the doors. After much debate 2 were hoisted onto the top of the Kometa, one was hung out of the rear (emergency) exit and the final 2 were left dangling down each passenger entry/exit point. UK or US HSE officers would have condemned the arrangements immediately. Not only were vehicles sharing accommodation with people but all the emergency exits were effectively blocked. Having worked like stevedores to load the vehicles the crew then announced that high winds off the coast of Georgia meant we could not sail after all that night but would leave at 0830 prompt the next morning. As the Black Sea at Sochi was like a millpond we were skeptical to say the least but again had little option than spend the night in Sochi.
Yet another night in a Soviet style hotel. This was the hotel Moskova and was a time warp from the Brezhnev era. Built in 1974 and seemingly never redecorated since then, it offered a living history look at the former Soviet Union in its heyday. Bown paint, brown lino, brown threadbare carpets and the worlds most claustrophobic bathroom/shower facilities simply underlined some of the more negative aspects of travelling through this fascinating country.
We were right to be skeptical the night before. Even with a help of a customs agent it took us until 1300hrs the next day to clear the emmigration process. Stanger still, our “private charter” appeared to have been populated with routine, fee-paying foot passengers who gave scant notice to the fact that they had to squeeze past BMW GS motorcycles to get on board and then hunker down amongst even more motorcycles in the body of the ship.
The team took the opportunity of the 4 hour crossing to catch up on much needed sleep but even though disembarkation in the Georgian port of Poti was remarkably painless in comparison to the bureaucratic porridge of Russia it was obvious that there was no way we could make the Capital Tblisi. Again we switched to plan B and simply staid in Poti, being regally entertained by the manager of the port complex. Given the truly appalling state of even Georgia’s main roads and it’s reputation for lawlessness, this was the only sensible choice.
For those not familiar with Georgia roads the reality can be truly mind ( if not tyre) blowing. Two years earlier it had taken us 2 days to travel 150km across the mountains, the main road from Poti to Batumi and thence to the Turkish border was only marginally better. Georgia is truly a country where a dual-sport or GS type bike is needed. The Blackbird and the K12 bucked their way from pothole to pothole and eventually we had to remove the K12’s front mudguard to prevent it continually hitting the fairing. The countryside is absoluely beautiful but take your eyes off the road for a second and you find yourself hitting the mother of all potholes. Surprisingly the rims on the K12 survived the onslaught but on returning to Istanbul it was clear that the Blackbird had picked up a huge dent on the front wheelrim. As one of our colleagues cruelly said “I am not sure which is uglier: the women or the roads”.
The exit from Georgia was relatively painless. The entry to Turkey should have been easier but was not. In particular the Turkish agencies have overreacted to the SARs threat and require all immigrants to complete a medical questionnaire and heath check. You can imagine the response to the answer on the form ”List all [other]countries visited in the last 10 days”. But at last we were through the final border crossing of the trip and back into a country where you can pay for your petrol with plastic ! Free also to enjoy the coastal road to Rize and then onto Trabzon (former capital of the Byzantine Empire when after the 4th Crusade in 1204 the crusaders decided it would be more profitable to sack Constantinople than make the tiresome trip all the way to the Middle East just to fight the Moslems). The opportunity was also taken to visit the superbly newly restored orthodox monastry at Sumela; one of the “not to be missed” sights of Turkey.
We were now only 2 days from our final destination (Istanbul). After Georgia the roads were bliss but in parts heavy with traffic and on many stretches resembled nothing more than a construction site as the Turkish authorities grapple with completing the Black-Sea trunk road that effectively severs the communities from direct access to the Black Sea itself. Progress along here is a competition with grossly overloaded trucks and widely swaying dolmuşes (a type of shared taxi arrangement using minibuses and small otocars on fixed routes) packed with bodies, who belch great clouds of diesel fumes as you try to pass ( the trucks and dolmuşes that is not the bodies !).
Our final night together was spent at Sinop. Sinop being the northernmost point in Turkey and hence the point chosen by the US to place its early warning and listening station; ironically only 4 nights before we had been in the Crimea peninsula, the position of the former USSR’s listening station !. As the sun sank behind the horizon we drank warm champagne out of plastic cups to celebrate our success !
Final days can be something of an anti-climax but in choosing to use the coastal road from Sinop to Amasra, Paolo and Kazim were ensuring that no-one could relax too soon. A vicious, narrow road with the most stuuning views (and it has to be said the most nerve wracking sheer drops down to the sea) this road is an absolute belter. By this stage people were freely exchanging bikes so I was on the K12 rather than the Blackbird, its undercarriage grinding away nicely on the uneven surface. It is difficult to do this road justice. Certainly not for the novice, nor for the person unnerved by loose gravel or even a total lack of asphalt at times, this road demands utter concentration but returns it in spades. The loose surfaces did, however, mean that we had more than one accident on this stretch; but nothing so serious that bikes could not be ridden away from the scene. By the time we reached Amsra, however, it was obvious that if we were to meet our target of Istanbul by 2000hrs for a pre-arranged celebratory dinner we would have to forgoe the delights of the coastal road, strike inland and cover the final 200-300km on the Trans European Motorway.
We had done it. The first recorded circumnavigation of the Black Sea by motorcycle.
As we made our way down to the Asian shores of the Bosphorous for dinner I would wager that we all thought a little of Keraban the Inflexible. After all we too had managed to travel from the European side of the Bosphorus to the Asian without paying the equivalent of Keraban’s tax....the one-way toll on the first and second motorway bridges accross the straits. We had ridden in excess of 5,000km in 11 days, passed through 7 countries and had the time of our lives. What a journey
Participants:
Paolo Volpara (IT) - Aprilla Caponord
Kazim Uzunoğlu (TR) - Honda Transalp
Court Fisher (US) - BMW R1150GS
Douglas Raymond (US) - BMW R1100GS/ F650GS
Henry Black (US) - BMW R1150GS Adventure
Joe Colquitt (US) - BMW R1150GS
Ahmet Kabakçı (TR) - BMW R1150GS Adventure
Vedat Oygur (D) - BMW R1150 GS Adventure
Adrian Johnson (GB) - BMW K1200RS
Ian Johnson (GB) - Honda CBR1100XX Superblackbird
Top 10 learnings points from the trip:
1. When travelling through Eastern Europe (and particularly Russia) you do really need an IDP.
2. Do not attempt to travel by night.
3. Have plenty of small denomination USD notes for those unexpected “non receipted penalty payments”.
4. Bureau de Change will only accept clean, unmarked notes.
5. Carry sufficient cash. Whilst most petrol station indicate that they accept payment by credit card, the reality is very different.
6. Ensure that your vaccination record is up to date and carry it with you.
7. Whist difficult to obtain try to obtain your Moldovan visa before you travel.
8. Learn to recognise Russian Cyrillic script and placenames. Unlike Greece, roadsigns in eastern Europe are only found only in Cyrillic eg Odessa = Oдесa, Yalta = Ялта, Sochi = Сочи.
9. Whilst a Carnet de Passage may not be compulsory it makes border crossings in Eastern Europe much easier.
10. Exercise patience
Select bibliography:
Ascherson, Neal. Black Sea. Hill and Wang, New York, 1995.
Verne, Jules. Keraban the Inflexible. Fredonia Books, Amsterdam, 2001.
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