Fear...the easy weight loss option

4am crept by just like 12 midnight and 2am. I kept trying to put myself back to sleep - it’s ok, you need your sleep for tomorrow and being awake now is only going to pull the knot in your stomach tighter. With the self imposed word “fake” circling in my head, I drift off to a shallow sleep…..

Leaving Thassos felt like being evicted from a cocoon. Istanbul had been a whirlwind with each hour bringing something new. Thassos had been the eye of the storm. Relaxed, laid back, beautiful scenery thrown in with some good riding on a bike that was comfortably easy to manoeuvre. Giorgos drove me to the ferry. I wanted to say thank you for letting me into your life…taking the time to introduce me to a little piece of you., but ended up talking about nothing - thinking that perhaps this was just all part of the job for him and anything I might say would probably sound contrived. In the end all I could muster was - “you have a good heart” - simply because he did.

As the ferry left the dock, storms clouds swallowed what was left of the blue sky. It mirrored my pensive heart. Then three inch high stilettos walked past. Even half asleep on a bus five days ago, I could tell I was in Greece the minute I crossed the border as the first woman I saw was wearing a tight mini skirt with a thick black belt wrapping her waist accompanied by four inch pencil thin stilettos. Greek women (mostly) took pride in their appearance and I felt old and haggard in their company. I was sunburnt on the way over to Thassos and spent the rest of my time on the island with a face the was red and peeling - it resembled a case of very bad dandruff decorating my forehead. This stiletto women caught my eye as she was in motorcycle gear. With jeans and a leather jacket that left no room to breath, she was Greek class on wheels (even if she was just a passenger- her husband the driver). I had to chuckle as I stomped past in my motocross boots and marshmellow jacket imagining myself already panicking about keeping the bike upright without worrying about walking as stilettos and I aren’t friends.

I booked back into the Oceanis Hotel as they were keeping my riding and camping gear while I was on Thassos and George (the manager who was a rider) and I had coffee over breakfast the next morning. He wanted to do the same trip, he was obviously a skilled rider and thought that I was brave. My tummy was turning circles - yeah…real brave. It took two goes to move all the luggage to the bus stop - the rapidly deteriorating bag weighed 30 kg’s alone then there was the smaller bag, backpack and boots. Henry had called to say Ginger (my bike) needed an oil change 10 minutes before the bus was due to part so I madly ran back to a service station to get the right stuff, almost knocking over a beggar in my haste and hoping the bus station didn’t have a ‘don’t leave your baggage or we will assume it's a bomb and blow it up’ policy.

The plan was to meet Henry, Paul and Ginger in Feres, a small town six kilometres from the Turkish border. The journey there would take three hours so as soon as the bus started to move I immediately feel asleep. Maybe all the activity was finally starting to catch-up with me. At home, I need my eight hours sleep every night. I always feel the cold and arc up the heater whenever I can in winter. But since leaving home I have thrived on little sleep and I would be wearing less that the people around me. Maybe it was just the feeling of being alive to new things that was driving me and keeping me warm.. A bump jolted me awake to John Farnham‘s - “You’re the voice“. I cant believe it -in the middle of Greece an Australian singer waking me to the strains of “we're not going to sit in silence, we're not going to live in fear”. Live in fear? This was definitely where I was sitting...perched firmly in self doubt.

The bus deposited me on a highway section in Feres. The wind was biting but the marshellow jacket was defecting it well so I plonked myself down against a bakery wall. To ensure I wouldn’t be evicted too quickly, I brought a couple of items to munch on. It was 1pm and Henry was 3-4 hours away. There was a small but feisty dog nearby so to ensure I had an ally I bent over to feed him some of my treats however just as my hand was offering the bakery bribe, the bakery owner opened the door. Crap - “oh….is it ok to feed the dog?” Too late he was munching already, so I just gave an apologetic smile…”you speak Englae?“ she said. Yes! …“what is your name?” Helen. “Ellen, you Englae, German, Frans?” That order seems to be the usual run through of nationalities. I‘m from, Australian…“Ostrian?” No Australian to show what I mean I did my best kangaroo hopping while saying Kangaroo. “OH AUSTRALEAH!!!” she invites me into the bakery backroom to stay warm, but I’m ok in my jacket, I don’t want to impose and Henry is a long time coming. It’s ok, I’m waiting here for someone I gesture and when she finally understands she says “tuma” (ok) .

The baggage and my bakery ally

I perch on my suitcase and pull out my book. Every hour the bakery lady pops her head out the door, shaking it when she sees I’m still there and says “Ellen, are you ok?”. Again, she invites me in, but I received a message from Henry…. he’s 1 minute from the border and will be in Feres asap - so I say no and start watching the traffic so I can wave him down. I had been psyching myself up as I might have to cross the border tonight. Paul (the person riding with Henry) had bike troubles and had loaded the bike on the back of a tow truck. Henry was going to try to see if they could divert through Feres on the way back to England but that meant I might need to make a border crossing that night. It was 5pm - it didn’t get dark until 8pm and I had phoned Zeki as I remembered he had a friend in a town just over the border. I can do this…I can do this…ran through my head until I actually believed myself.

It was time for the bakers to go home I had been getting increasingly worried as surely it didn’t take 45 minutes to come from the border. As she leaves, she gives me the number for a hotel and passes me a doggy bag containing two buns and some orange juice. “Good bye Ellen” they all wave as they get back into the car. I have been here for 5 hours and it’s starting to rain. I get another text from Henry - just stopping for coffee. Just a minute, why would they stop for coffee when they are so close? Then it hit me, the border he was talking about was the Bulgarian border…my heat sank, they wouldn’t be here for another 2 hours and there was no way I was heading across the border in the rain and dark.

I put my motocross boots on and all the marshmellow jacket liners and my other jacket. It was very cold now and the locals who had seen me sitting here for five hours, seem to keep driving past. My dog friend came and sat with me (bakery bribery does work) and I kept warm by walked up and down the small patch of paving that was protected from the rain. It was now dark but I searched the horizon eyeing any van that looked like it could hold a motorbike.

Eight hours after I arrived, there were two bikes on the horizon. I first assume they are the local lads who have been hooning up and down the street but as they get closer I recognise a dominator and jump up waving my hands my heart doing a little jump as well. It turned out that Paul’s bike was able to be fixed so no truck and no reason to go over the border tonight. Yipee! We find a hotel where the old lady in charge is a twin of Mrs Slocom in ‘Are you being served’ although she also smelt of alcohol. Dinner is a kebab and beers for the guys. Henry lets me know that they don’t need to come to the border with me as no one will ask for insurance papers (I couldn’t get insurance in the EU cheaply) but he gives me his papers just to be on the safe side “you can always say you are married to me’. Hmmm just call me a Cougar!

Henry and Paul...delivery of Ginger complete

We turn in for the night but sleep does not come easily…midnight, 2am, 4am come and go and my stomach is turning circles…what am I doing????? Why do I think I can do this when experienced riders think it’s brave. What a fake I am, I’m so inexperienced, I’m no overland motorcyclist - the knot just gets tighter until I get up at 6am and start to pack my bags. Packing, repacking and loading take almost two hours so I knock on Henry’s door to get the bike keys waking him in the process. I want to get going but we fiddle about until 11am, I’ve had no breakfast, I’m not hungry, I can’t eat....fear is the best diet.

Ginger being packed

Finally we get on the road and at the bakery where I had spent most of the day before, they turn left and I turn right. The bike is very heavy and it feels difficult to turn when going slow, but I feel more comfortable when I hit the open road. The border arrives decorated with large Turkish and Greek flags and men with semi automatic machine guns. I’m through the Greek side easily and after hunting down insurance paperwork I’m in line with ten other men waiting with passport, bike documents and insurance at the Turkish customs window. I notice two other motorbike travellers arrive and let them know where to get the insurance “just look for a building that doesn’t say insurance with a grumpy woman serving - should be easy enough to find”. After a wait, it's my turn and when I pass my documents through the window, I hear laughing from inside…great….just what my confidence needed. I get called to another cubical …no-one else had been called to that area…double great. I am asked where I am going (I list the major Turkish towns), why do I have Syrian and Iranian visas (because I‘m visiting those countries as well), how long will I be going for (two months) and will I be coming back through this border (er..yes) and then I’m asked for my phone number…..‘pardon???’..what is your phone number and email address…when you come back I would like to have a chai with you. ‘Oh..ok‘ - what else do you say to a border guard??!!!..so I give him my email address and he sends me on my way. Just as I was about to leave I run into the other biker, his brush with the cranky lady was not required as his insurance covers him in Turkey. He turns out to be the Italian Ambassador in Iran and we swap details and he tells me to look him up if I’m in Tehran or if I need help…thank-you!

The bike is in urgent need of a new chain and sprockets, an oil change, a test of the carburettor and a general going over. The speedo doesn’t work (unfixable) which isn‘t so bad but I can‘t tell how many kilometres I‘ve done which means I don‘t know how my petrol is going. Zeki had said his friend in Uzunkopru could help organise some mechanical work and a place to stay. But this was in the opposite direction from where I’m supposed to be heading and Zeki had not replied to my texts and phone messages. I get to Kesan and have to make a decision…..left  to Uzunkopru or right to Galipolli?? It’s starting to drizzle again so I ask for a little bit of divine guidance and get a warm feeling on my left cheek…so left it is. I work out that it’s best to stop for petrol and pull into a shiny new station - fingers freezing and getting off the bike in a completely ungraceful manner (with all the luggage, I need to feed my leg through the small gap). I’m offered my first chai…Turkish Tea…and warm up with fingers wrapped around the glass while trying to decipher how many kids we both have and their ages with sign language.

I make it to Uzunkopru and stop at the top of a hill. It slopes away to the right so I can’t see where it leads. I had not heard from Zeki and try to contact him again, but when I finally get through the connection is bad, cutting out before I can convey where I am. He doesn’t know which way I decided to go, so I send a text in the hope that he might receive it - “I’m in Uzunkopru near a fountain on the way into town“. I mean surely it’s a landmark - how many fountains can there be on a road into town? A group of High School kids walk past and stop to talk to me. What is your name? How do you do? Where are you from?…all the things they have been taught in English classes. They’re keen to have their photo taken and after I think I answered all of their questions, they leave.

I stand on the side of the road and realise that I am going to have to find a place for the night and a motor mechanic myself. It’s 3:30pm but I wait for another 1/2hr just in case any of the messages get through. While being on the open road had been good, the fear knot was growing again. In Istanbul the streets were very steep, often made of cobblestones and super slippery in the wet. The thought of driving on that with a monster heavy bike made me sick.

As a young child I remember going to Luna Park (amusement / fun park) with my sisters and being in the slippery slide section. The hall danced with the light shining off the aluminium slides and we grabbed large sacks to sit on so that you didn’t give yourself a friction burn on the way down. We started on the easy slides, gentle curves that made you feel like you were flying. Then they graduated to the hard one. To me it seemed like suicide, a huge vertical drop needed to be passed before the slide continued its wavy run. I stood at the top mortified, watching every other child push themselves off with no fear. Every now and then I would peek over the edge and look at the fall which was growing in proportion to the knot in my stomach, my palms were so sweaty you could drink from them.

I started to get stares from the other children that said 'what are you doing? you have been standing here for ages…why are you scared of this?' Finally I got the nerve to sit at the top, my legs dangling over the side…gently edging myself further and further out until I dropped, down, down, my breath whisked away, my eyes wide and my heart beating through my chest. Down until I could feel the slide cushion my fall and smoothly move me to the flying waves. When I reached the bottom, I couldn’t do anything but smile. My fear had been in my heart.

As I looked at the road leading away and feel the knot in my stomach I scolded myself, had I not learnt anything from my childhood?…Is this fear real danger or is it in my heart? I feel a fake again…any other person who had ever got on a bike would have looked at me like those children - what is wrong with you??? are you afraid of this?????? I looked at the road….. I couldn’t see where it was going, I didn’t know how to find accommodation or a mechanic, I didn’t know if the road lead to steep wet cobblestone streets ….this was me at the top of the slippery slide and I knew I had to push off. I got back on the bike, put it into gear and to the stares of the people who had been watching me, I moved out into the traffic……

Kilometres travelled: 127
Gift chai tea to warm cold hands: 1
Random email givings: 2
Nervous moments: 12
Aussie songs on bus that were telling me to not live in fear: 1