In case you’re wondering whether that’s actually fun — yes, it’s a ton of fun, for the first 15 minutes. The rest of the time, which for us has been like 12 hours in the saddle in total, is boring as wretched hell. Riding on a straight, perfectly paved road isn’t much of a ride, and the excruciating heat doesn’t make it any better. The boredom is occasionally pierced by the sighting of beautiful trains, but that doesn’t happen often enough to be anything more than just a blip.

El Paso looked great. Definitely need to go back and explore it thoroughly. Riding along the US-Mexican border and seeing all the colorful houses on the other side of the border within a thousand feet was great. I’m feeling more and more drawn towards the idea of riding across mainland Mexico.

Unfortunately neither Cesare nor I haven’t yet mounted the GoPros, so there aren’t any ride photos/videos in this post.

The real treat was Tim, whose camper we slept in for the night in Arizona, in preparation of crossing the Mexican border tomorrow.

Tim telling the story of how he hit a tractor with his Harley in 1975 and broke his arm.

So Lucy and I moved to America, and we were like — “We’re not gonna spend money on anything significant until we become filthy rich, so that we remain laser focused.” We lived that way for a few months, and then that slowly transformed into “We’re not gonna spend money on anything significant until we buy a house, so that we remain laser focused.” Then a few months after that, we were like “OK fuck, let’s get the best motorcycle money can buy.”

Which motorcycle is that? But of course. The one on my Facebook cover picture.

The problem with America is that everything is so accessible it’s ridiculous. So we went to the BMW Motorcycle dealership in Austin, test rode an F800GS and an F800GS Adventure, went like “naaah we’re not gonna buy a bike, gotta stay focused on buying a house, man”, and forgot about it. By saying “forgot” I of course mean started watching every-single-F800GS-video-on-youtube-every-free-hour-of-every-day. That’s a hell lot of videos.

A few short months later, my colleague Brian goes like “Hey dude I’ve saved up a ton of money, and I don’t have anything good to do with it, so I just wanna waste it on buying one of those Slingshot cars. They carry them at the BMW dealership, wanna come along for a test drive?” “Sure,” I say. Who would mind test driving a Slingshot?

So back to the dealership, Brian is checking out the Slingshot, but I’m just glued to the BMW motorcycles section. The salesman, Sean, is the same guy that gave me the bikes for test riding the previous time. He goes “Hey you seem to be really into this bike, why did you decide against buying it the last time?” and I go “Well dude, we’re trying to buy a house, so stop tempting me” and he goes “Guess what, if you buy it today, I’ll give you $3000 off.”

Holy fuck.

Fast forward 1 hour, Brian and I are going back home. Me having just bought a brand new BMW F800GS Adventure. Brian being like “the Slingshot was meh.”

This time, we’re riding Baja. All of it. And we’re bringing all the right gear, all the right bikes, and all the right people.

That’s ~5636 kilometers. And we’re leaving Austin in six five days.

After over a month of digesting all the things I have experienced during Oriental Express, now is a good time to reflect.

Turkey is a complex country. You feel it from the moment you cross the border, and this feeling does not abandon you for as long as you are in the country. It is very multi-layered and multi-faceted, and all of these layers are interweaved and connected in a thousand different ways. On one end, it is a powerful modern military state and NATO’s 2nd strongest army (or so I’ve been told), on the other end it is a myriad of different ethnicities and nationalities each with their own history, needs and agendas. On one end it is the liberal, artsy, European and intellectual Istanbul, yet on the other end it is towns like Malatya, and all the problems at the eastern borders, and then the Kurds, and Syria, and Iran, and then Islam and the religious debate, and sexual debate, and how I was advised not to make certain jokes. It is a very complex country. And as such, it is extremely interesting to explore. Not just exploring the layers, but the billions of interactions between them is really fascinating. As a whole country, I do not think any other place can offer so much depth for discovery and comprehension.

The Turkish society is extremely diverse — much more diverse than it is in Armenia, or any other place I’ve seen for that matter. Even in America I do not feel as much diversity. In fact when the Americans talk about diversity, I would say they need to check into Turkey. To have such a giant spectrum of different philosophies, religions, educations, social standings, agendas and wealth — wow! It makes your head spin!

As such, it is absolutely impossible to not find what you are looking for in Turkey.

I want to stress the last paragraph, because many ask — what are the Turks like? I can not answer that question! Depends on the Turk, I guess! But mostly, they are just like you. You know, they laugh when a clumsy child is having a hard time climbing on his tricycle, and they turn their heads after a hot chick wearing high heels or a handsome man driving a nice Porsche, and of course they run out of their cars to help when they see a motorcyclist in an accident.

Was it difficult to travel in Turkey as an Armenian? This question should really be split into two.

Was it difficult to travel in Turkey? Yes, in many ways. Traveling in Turkey is not at all like traveling in Germany. You need to bargain the prices. You need to talk and communicate, sometimes with feelings. There are sometimes not enough instructions. Most things that really matter are subtle and hidden. People mostly won’t smile at you if they don’t like you, or if they don’t know you. Driving is difficult. Gasoline is fucking expensive. People are tempered.

And this is a good moment to answer the second part of the question — as an Armenian, none of that was really difficult! In fact, every single traveler I met on my trip was having a much harder time than myself! What aren’t we used to, as Armenians — sincere facial expressions? Tempered people? Bargaining? Lack of instructions? So I would say, it is sort of difficult to travel in Turkey, but much easier for an Armenian than for a Canadian. That for damn sure!

Do not get me wrong. The last thing I would wanna do is to stand in downtown Malatya on a minaret and yell that I am an Armenian. In fact, I have lied quite a few times about being American… of Armenian heritage. Felt safer that way, especially towards the beginning of the trip. But it never made any difference. I spoke Armenian on a phone video call on the busiest streets, spent two full days with two Armenian ladies roaming outside in Istanbul, and never ever had a hint of a problem.

Again, it was not a problem for me to be an Armenian in Turkey. Not when I chatted other young guys and girls at the bars. Not when I dealed with the policemen. Not when crossing the border. Not when I asked for directions. Never. In fact sometimes in Istanbul I felt like it was a “cool” and “classy” thing to be an Armenian. Surprising, yeah? A good friend of mine told me that he feels safer when there is no special attitude towards him — positive or negative — and I agree. I am not saying it is not special to be an Armenian in Turkey (although these days it is perhaps less special than it used to be 20 years ago). I am just saying it seems relatively safe. All that I had to do was to respect the people I talked to, and smile.

I did occasionally come across some nationalist talk, but on these occasions I decided not to reveal my ethnicity.

Was my journey a brave thing to do? To some extent, I felt that way towards the beginning. But towards the end, I realized that it took me much more bravery to walk around Tenderloin in San Francisco after midnight, or, for God’s sake, to jump with a parachute. That shit is scary!

I cannot finish a post about Turkey without writing about the hospitality. I have lived in a Caucasian country all my life and we are all big on embracing the Caucasian hospitality, or the Armenian hospitality. I have always been skeptical and cynical about it. In fact I could never quite understand what this hospitality thing is, until I experienced Turkey. You just simply have no idea.

Hospitality is getting the Coke free at the gas station only because you said “I’m really thirsty” when paying for it. It is two people you never met spending an entire day with you in forsaken Erzurum just so that you don’t feel lonely or lost. It is the hundreds of cups of tea I drunk when asking for a direction at a store. Hospitality is when you go to a barber to style your hair, and he splits his kebab in half, wraps the other half with his own hands in the remaining bread, and instructs that his apprentice gets fresh tomatoes from the store around the corner so that your kebab does not feel too “naked”. The most amazing thing is, it is not a special attitude towards an Armenian guest who is visiting. It is an attitude towards everyone — a guest, a neighbor, and a friend just walking by. We don’t have that. And Georgians don’t have that. We are focused on something else.

Turks are wonderful people. Just like all the other people in the world. Yes, just like all of us.

Will I go back? Absolutely! I missed the Mediterranean part of my journey because of the accident, and I am definitely riding back. Hopefully with friends, and a bigger motorcycle!

“When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: ‘If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right.’ It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: ‘If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?’ And whenever the answer has been “No” for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.”

—Steve Jobs, 1955-2011

The difference is stunning — I don’t know whether it is the sea or something else, but after Erzincan and especially Malatya, Trabzon is so full of life and energy! It is so very beautiful, too!

The first thought that occurred after riding in was — “I am gonna stay here for a while.” And I did!

In fact, I stayed in Trabzon for three days — a day longer than I stayed in Ankara. That makes Trabzon city number two after Istanbul on my trip!

The streets carefully laid out of cobblestone, the revolting omnipresent smell of fish, the pubs and the noise make it such a pleasant place to be for any pirate… or adventurer!

Now, by saying bad driving I do not by any means imply reckless driving. Or fast driving. Or outlaw driving. I mean just that — bad driving! There is driving outlaw, when you break the laws but still know exactly what you’re doing. And then there is just simple bad driving — when you have no idea, do not check your mirrors, drive in the middle of the lane without being aware of the surrounding vehicles, break unexpectedly, and, perhaps most annoying of all, honk your horn twenty milliseconds after the traffic light turns green. Give it a second!!!!

Yielding? Forget about it! Turn signals? I think the total amount of times I’ve seen anyone use their turn signals on an intersection for a week in Istanbul did not exceed 10. No, I am not missing a zero there!

I always thought that the Armenian drivers are really bad. We definitely break the rules when we feel like we realize what we are doing, and we like driving fast. But driving in Turkey is like a race of survival — there is absolutely no way anyone anywhere can convince me that a bus driver who pulls his wagon straight on a motorcycle at his right possibly knows what he is doing. He just does not appear to give a damn even to check his mirrors. And the worst part is, the police does not seem to be doing anything about it. They just accept it as a fact of life.

If I were to be the head of traffic police in Turkey, I would declare all driving licenses void and start a new process of harsh driving exams. You know you are doing something wrong, when in a neighboring country where the vast majority just buys their driving licenses without any exam at all, people drive better by degrees.

However, speeding on a freeway is punished harshly. When a policeman gives you a ticket for exceeding the speed limit by 3 km/h, you just wanna scream your lungs out — “Dude, have you been to Istanbul?!” But he writes the ticket anyway, and I have noticed that a lot of Turks get the speeding tickets. Also, it goes without saying, there does not even remotely appear to be any corruption when it comes to driver–officer interactions.

The pedestrians are a different story. You think in Yerevan people cross the street wherever and whenever they feel like? Meet Istanbul. It is like an arcade game called “Dodge the Kamikaze”, and it gets pretty old and stressful after several minutes. If I had to live in Istanbul (which I would absolutely love to) and commute on a vehicle to work every day, after about a month I would probably become some sort of a disturbed psychotic maniac.

Now the good news: the roads, on the other hand, are mostly extremely nice. Their quality may vary inside towns, but the freeways are very good, and the signage/markings is great. Closer to Istanbul area they are nearly perfect. After driving for about 3,500kms, I did not encounter a single pothole. It just impresses you when you see the process of laying down the roads in Turkey. I know some Turks complain about the quality of their roads, but they should know that their roads are not worse, if not better, than those in California..

One thing to watch out for on the roads is the reason of my accident. This is, in fact, a good tip, that I would appreciate to have before starting my journey.

In cities where it does not rain very often, the exhaust gases from the cars’ pipes come out and accumulate on the tarmac. I do not understand why we don’t have that problem in Armenia, but in cities like Erzurum or Malatya at some point you feel like riding on ice, not asphalt. For cars it is perhaps not a big issue, but for a two-wheel vehicle it is very easy to skid or lock the wheels. Always watch out for that and drive slowly on slippery surfaces!

Also I am assuming that if rain started with the road being in that condition, it would just be wise to pull over and wait for about 15 minutes till the nasty layer of chemicals is washed off the surface.

And the final tip is, when driving in Turkey, stretch your imagination and expect everything from every member of the traffic. I mean it.

Driving in Turkey has definitely made me sweat. But it was also a good exercise of defensive driving and good reaction. If you are into that kind of stuff, you may actually come to enjoy it!

Chariots and horse carts are not allowed on the main street!

Somewhere along the road I came across cars that looked like lottery prizes. Turned out they were actually wedding cars.

See the boys in front of the car? Those are the “çocuklar”! They have nothing to do with the wedding, they are just there — street kids — to ruin the party.

How do you ruin a wedding party as a çocuk? Easy! You jump on the hood of the cars!

One of guests of the wedding finally lost his temper

The çocuk army was dispersed in a blink of an eye!

Just as the cars started moving, however, the çocuks resumed their attack, catching up after the cars in traffic and… jumping on their hoods on the fly, right there on the 3rd lane!

The way the surrounding people reacted to that made me realize that this was a standard çocuk procedure, or perhaps a scheduled squad training.

Time to eat something! Oh wait, not really… Time to eat something is at about 7:30pm.

The thing about relegious fasting is, in my understanding, that people should exercise humility and disregard hunger. They should behave and feel in a way that they don’t care about food, and take some pride in that. That is my understanding, and it might be subjective (as all religious affairs for that matter). But that is not the way things actually stand here!

Starting from about 6:30, almost all tables at all restaurants are occupied — not even reserved! Folks sit around tables and do nothing, anticipating food.

There is nothing on these guys’ table except for water, which they don’t touch. The time on my camera when I took the photo was 7:06pm. Guess what they are looking at — kebabs being rolled to be ready just in time to break the fast!

Erzincan is a pretty active and loud oriental town. But you should see, or rather hear it, the second people are allowed eat something. A noisy town a minute ago, suddenly not even the dogs bark! Everyone starts eating!

And so do I.

Yum!

Somewhere in the middle of my path, I noticed an automatic speed radar and dropped my speed to about 100 km/h. After the accident, my speedometer gauge did not work, so I had to figure the speed out purely based on perception and experience.

About a kilometer after the radar, the police pulled me over. Just like that — a cop pointed at me with a finger and said in a mike — “Sıfır dört üç dört APA”. That is “Zero four three four APA” — my license plate. I knew I had to stop. There were three policemen again.

“Hi, I speak English, what is the problem?” I greeted the policeman

“Merhaba” This time around none of them spoke any English.

“Hello! Is there a problem?”

No response, shows with fingers that he wants my driver’s license. I give it to him.

“Motosiklet?” he wants to understand whether or not I am allowed to ride a bike.

I point at the “A” letter under my photo, then turn the license around and show the legend for “A”: motorcycles, mopeds and other motorized vehicles on two wheels.

“Tamam!”

“So, what is the problem?”

(no response, talks something with his colleagues)

“Problem?”

“Speed.” he then makes a gesture suggesting that I get off the motorcycle, take off my helmet and follow him.

As we approach their car, he takes a piece of A4 paper and writes “99” on it, then draws a circle around it. “Limit!” he says.

“OK, I know, but what was my speed?” I point at myself

“102” he writes on the paper above 99.

What the fuck, seriously! Is he kidding me? I put a minus sign between “102” and “99” and write at the bottom — “= 3!”

He nods.

“Üç (3) kilometre!” I say, amazed and pissed

“Evet, üç kilometre” (Yes, 3 kilometers)

“??!”

“Üç kilometre — problem! Bir (1) kilometre — problem!”

“Amerika — problem yok (no problem), Almanya (Germany) — problem yok, Ermenistan — problem yok, ama Türkiye — problem?? Üç kilometre!!” (Yes, my Turkish is that good at this point.) I get really upset. Usually, +5–10% is always disregarded everywhere in the world!

“Evet, Türkiye — problem. Bir kilometre — problem.”

I ask him to follow me. I show the broken speedometer gauge. Then I take out my accident report filed by the Turkish traffic police. He reads it attentively, and nods.

“Speedometer yok!” (No speedometer) I say. “Ama üç kilometre — problem yok!”

He nods in empathy. Tells my story to his colleagues. But they don’t change their minds.

“So how much do I have to pay?” I make a gesture with my fingers of paying money

“Hayır!, Hayır!” (No!, No!) I think he gets me wrong. He shows me a document where it has instructions in Turkish and English. The 3rd point says that foreign drivers pay the fine at the customs when exiting the country. Then he writes on the paper — “TL 140”.

God damn it!

Some time later I arrive at Malatya. The roads are as slippery as they were in Erzurum, but I feel myself a seasoned rider now and there is no way I will have an accident. The city looks crappy starting from the moment you enter it. The streets are dirty, people look somewhat annoyed and the whole environment feels unwelcoming. I stop and open my Lonely Planet book to find a good hotel. Then put the address in my Android and navigate to it using Google Maps. The place where I arrive does not even remotely feel like there could be any hotel there.

I get off the motorcycle and approach some people to ask for a hotel. Nobody even answers my “Hello”, as if I don’t exist. Spooky!

I get on the internet, and find allegedly the best hotel in Malatya. Ride there through really chaotic traffic, and woah!

Malatya is what Yerevan’s Malatya market would be, if it was separated as a town on its own. It feels like a huge dirty market, that is so intense that even in front of the best hotel in the city some folks are selling sport shoes, and you actually have to twist around if you wanna enter the building.

This photo is not just a random view. Even the first floor of the mosque looks like it hosts a market of goods of some sort.

Downtown Malatya

Some unknown motorcycle — Kanuni Tiger!

I think this is Mustafa Kemal, although I am not sure.

The central square reminds of some Armenian town, but I can’t remember which one exactly.

Bicycle and motorcycle general mechanic

Chicks in Malatya

And of course, red apple! Target the right crowd for your outfit!

I was extremely hungry, so I stepped into some steakhouse, where they said that all tables were reserved although it felt like they were just giving me shit because my hair looked messy. I went to the restaurant next to it, where I had 2 crappy lahmacuns and was asked to pay 25 liras for that — most I ever payed for food for one person anywhere in Turkey, including Istanbul.

I walked back to the hotel and decided to never visit Malatya again. Simple as that.

The initial plan was to head from Ankara to Nevşehir. I rode out and arrived there after a couple of hours, but the city looked so faceless and boring, that I decided to ride on and see where the road takes me. After a little more than 10 kilometers and passing a small mountain range, suddenly an extraordinary sight opened in front of my eyes!

Seriously, unfortunately I cannot shoot photos in a professional way that will grasp how immensely beautiful this place was! It is something you should see for yourself!

I checked on the map, and it said “Göreme”. OK Göreme, I will stay here! I rode into the town (passing camels on my way!), rode by a number of small cave-carved hotels until I came across the one that had a 450cc KTM parked in front of it. The name of the hotel was “Nomad”. Sounds about right! I walked in. The receptionist’s name was Adem.

“Single room, double room, dorm?”

“Single room please”

“That will be 50 liras”

“Think you could go down for me on that?”

“40 is my final price”

“40 sounds like a deal!”

“OK!” he registered me hastily, and opened a small pocket map of Göreme. “Do you know what you’re gonna see here?”

“No idea!”

“Are you gonna see the cocks?” he looked very relaxed, so for a brief moment I figured he meant the birds. “I mean, the penises?” he added. There’s no way out now.

I swear to God, even though the hotel itself is crap, it is completely worth to get the experience of getting a man you met two minutes ago to ask you if you are gonna see the cocks, and then quickly clarify that he actually means the penises.

“Which penises?” I inquired

“The ones in the Love Valley!” he made a circle on a particular area of the map with pen and wrote “L. V.” — “Love Valley!”

“What are these… penises?”

“They are strange rock formations. Everyone loves to see them! Some of them here” — he marked another part of the map — “have three heads!”

To say that it was an awkward situation is to say nothing. “Are they far away?” I asked

“Not so, but it is better if you take a bicycle. Go to Silk Road Bike Rent. Tell them Adem sent you. They will give you a good deal!”

Silk Road Bike Rent was around the corner. Some boy who looked 15 managed the place.

“Hi, I’m Areg, I want a bicycle, Adem sent me!” I quickly threw sentence after sentence.

“Adem? Tamam. I can give you a good bicycle for only 15 liras for 6 hours. Normally this would cost over 20”

“Sounds like a deal!”

I took the bicycle and went out to find the “penises” in the “love valley” that “everyone loves to see.”

After some wandering around, I found some trail and started following it. Soon I have noticed a strange stone with markings that I recognized — “L. V.”, and an arrow.

Looked like I was getting there! I followed the arrow. After a while, another sign.

Then another!

And finally, it all opened for me! I found the cocks! A valley full of phallic symbols — all natural — all carved by nature itself!

Pretty neat, eh?

I looked around and realized that I was literally surrounded by all sorts of them!

Thin and thick!

Some surrounded with trees… and bushes!

And just as I zoomed in to get a close–up, I noticed a girl who was chilling under the shadow.

She was with her boyfriend, and unfortunately did not speak any English. They were a very friendly Italian couple traveling in an old Volkswagen minivan. Her boyfriend’s English, was, however pretty decent. After exchanging some words, he offered me to take me back to town in his van so that I wouldn’t have to ride it all the way, and I gladly agreed — I love chances to get to know new people! So the guy loaded my bike (and me) into the van and we took off.

After some chit–chat, jokes, conversations about the van and why the girl is not allowed to drive it because the gearbox is too gentle, we arrived back in Göreme and parted.

Aren’t they cute? I have a 10-minute video of our conversation in the van that I will upload once I have decent bandwidth — they are sweet!

So back in town, I went to look for a place to write the day’s impressions on my laptop, came across a coffee shop and asked the manager if they had a power outlet. The man looked somewhat aggressive, and instead of answering me asked the painful question — “Where are you from?”

Generally, in these situations I say that I am American. It makes me feel much safer. “I am American!” I exclaimed. “So, do you have a power outlet in this coffee shop?”

“But you are not American!” he answered.

“Why not?” I was confused.

“If you were American, you would first ask me how I’m doing!”

Suddenly he was interrupted by a nice female voice from behind me. The girl actually did sound American.

“But why not? He could be American! You probably just wanna ask about his origins!”

I looked back. A hot American babe was sitting by the window and having coffee.

“Where are you from?” I asked

“Ohio!”

I joined her table and we had the first conversation since my trip had started that actually made sense to me.  Traveling in Turkey for several months already, A. was a very attractive and straightforward person. I learned that she played scrabble and pool sometime and the way she said it was just drop-dead sweet. We talked for hours just about everything in life, from simple things to complex subjects, and then some gender discrimination, until the topic of sex emerged. She leaned towards me.

“You know, I wouldn’t say the Turkish men are very great at that stuff!” she whispered

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah! They talk their way through, use their charms and everything, and then at the end when it comes down to doing stuff, it is nothing impressive!”

“Hmm”

“Yeah! You lay there, and then you kinda wanna go like — is this all you’ve got? — Not knowing what to do with it!”

We tried to find some hidden relations between patriarchy and sex skills, and then somehow changed the subject. After it was really late, I walked her to her hotel but discovered on the way that I had left my phone at the cafe. We exchanged contacts and parted there, then I went and found my phone, and back in my hotel an email was waiting for me in my inbox. Here is the full text, names abbreviated, published with the permission of A.

From: A.

Subject: Turkish penises

Areg, before you start blogging about my romantic experiences (or lack thereof) here in Turkey, I want to clarify: penis size was not an issue! In fact, my liason in K. had a very nice cock (as big as these here in Cappadocia. lol) but was quite mechanical and lacking in passion. Chalk it up to the fact that he was a Virgo or, perhaps just a lack of chemistry. Nevertheless, that was what I meant by “not knowing what to do with it.” I would hate for you to put it out there in the blogosphere that Turkish men have small penises. Quite a dangerous proposition for an Armenian on a motorcyle tooling around the Turkish countryside!

Hope you retrieved your phone!

A.

And so ended the day that shall always remain a day of cocks to me. Amen!

Oh, and you did not read this if you are under 18, did you?

Ankara is Turkey’s capital and one of its largest cities. Some people I met in Istanbul referred to it as the “Workers’ City”.

It does look, in some ways, more solid than Istanbul.

People definitely drive better than they do in Istanbul. In fact the traffic here is more or less bearable, although you do occasionally stumble across drivers entering one-way streets from the wrong end, and jumping the red light is of course a usual sight. The streets here are the nicest of all the other places I’ve seen in Turkey.

There’s a handful of large business buildings and the business life looks really active.

Besides that, there seem to be a lot more young crowd in Ankara than in Istanbul. This might in fact be bullshit, but I did come across a lot more young people in Ankara. Another good thing is, I also met much more people who spoke God’s language — English. People were a lot more sociable and open than elsewhere in Turkey. I asked some lady in a bus to let me know where to get off for Kızılay, and she did. After I got off and we parted to different directions, several minutes down the road I suddenly saw her running towards me.

“Hey, hey, I am really sorry!” she caught her breath

“What happened?”

“I forgot to ask!! Do you need any more help?”

That was super sweet.

Although the city has a very strong Soviet feel about itself,

You do come across some nice architecture here

Finished with beautiful modern oriental touches

And some crowd with a good taste as well!

The policemen look and act professional as everywhere else in Turkey

Honda Ankara keeps getting new motorcycles for their huge salon

Yes, there is a motorcycle in that box!

Albeit the “Servis” is uncomparable to Alaattin’s Mototal

And there is a lot of junk around

I had to stay for two days, not because any problems delayed me, and not because I loved Ankara so much.

But because I wanted to understand — what was wrong with it? Why was it so incomparable to Istanbul?

And in two days I still failed to grasp it.

Perhaps it was just not as spicy, not as juicy and it did not smell so amazingly sweet and horrible on a range of one foot?

Or perhaps it lacked something much more important?

And because I really am, I really loved it!

Why?

Because it is a nice town with a lot of flowers, plants and trees.

It would give me a strong sense of belonging,

With weird statues with fountains that hint at female sexuality!

Sometimes a little too explicitly!

Also because it is a town with many motorcycles of completely unknown brands that look like they belong to cartoon superheroes.

Ever heard of a motorcycle named “Discovery”?

What about “Tiger”?

But most importantly, I would love it because it is a town where pilots are revered!

And where the fighter jets fly really low

…Every fifteen minutes.

]]> http://www.onehellofaride.com/2011/08/eskisehir/feed/ 7 http://www.onehellofaride.com/2011/08/honda-ankara-honda-istanb/ http://www.onehellofaride.com/2011/08/honda-ankara-honda-istanb/#respond Thu, 25 Aug 2011 11:57:46 +0000 http://www.onehellofaride.com/2011/08/honda-ankara-honda-istanb/ Honda Ankara < Honda Istanbul #orex

I am forever in love, and I need not pretend. I desperately, hopelessly and endlessly love Istanbul.

Pathetically sentimental and poetic? I am one of the more cynical people out there, but one has to be a shallow douchebag to not feel the immense sorcery that this city is filled with!

When the night comes, the stars gently swim down from the sky into the Bosphorus and become mermaids, whispering tales of the great unknown and stealing your heart as you stand there, seduced, speechless, like a statue, your spirit floating above the dreaming city, caressed by the seas.

Tomorrow, I am going to hop on my motorcycle and head to Eskişehir. A piece of my heart, however, is forever going to stay here in Istanbul, between Europe and Asia, Marmara and Black Sea, somewhere along these curvy streets and wrapped around the heels of the gorgeous Turkish ladies. I have to come back, or I shall always be heartbroken. Thank you, Istanbul, for enriching me so much that I feel like I need a bigger body to host myself comfortably. Thank you for changing me forever, for making me so endlessly self–sufficient, and yet thank you for reminding me that I still know how to love.

I needed you so much.

It is, without doubt, one the most impressive monuments erected by men. Inside, every square inch tells a story.

After being conquered by the Ottoman Turks sometime in the 15th century. the church was turned into a mosque. In fact it became the main mosque of the Ottomans’ new empire. They have, of course, immediately modified the interior.

Most of the artwork on the walls was covered. Some of it is irreversibly lost. I personally found Hagia Sophia to be simply defaced. I couldn’t help but ask myself a question — where are the people who built this? How did they fail to protect it? Why would you want to take something and change it into something else? In the oriental, Islamic setting it just does not look right!

But then I realize that the monument has been under the Turkish rule for over 600 years — only a little less than it actually existed as a Byzantium temple, and that the Muslim art in the interior is also centuries old, and it makes me even more confused, raising even more questions and making things more complicated.

I am truly grateful to Atatürk for turning Hagia Sophia from a mosque into a museum. I think it was the wisest decision for this place, for the century being.

And so it stands, a beautiful and sorrowful monument that was admired by kings and their slaves, by messengers from the lands far away, by knights and templars and sultans and their viziers, by archaeologists and by the retired American couples, and by me in my Converse chucks. It tells you — you, too, will pass.

Yet even more brazenly, it stands as a vivid reminder to all, about the painfully simple importance of the army before the culture, the soldier before the architect, and the sword before the pencil.

But then you can’t help feeling the presence of the Old Gods under the earth beneath the temple, and that’s when you get them goosebumps. The swords and the missiles and the numbers are useless before them. It makes you want to tread lightly. Who knows what great plans they weave for the millenniums ahead about the temple and the peoples who are involved? You walk out, carefully, not to disturb the cosmic forces under the floor and the dome and the arcs. The Old Gods — you don’t wanna fuck with them!

And when you are finally out, you take an eclair and some coffee. It is always good.

Istanbul has quite a few beautiful mosques. I mean, mosques are everywhere, and most of them are gorgeous — much better than they look in places like Erzurum or Ardahan!

I always thought that a mosque should have an Arabic feel about itself. But the mosques in Istanbul look surprisingly… Byzantine!! What? Byzantium was a christian civilization! Hell yeah, and I still have no idea how that works! Most mosques here look like they were built by Byzantium architects, although the interior decoration does look very traditionally Arabic.

My favorite part of the mosques is always the minaret. In my opinion, the slim and tall minarets pointed at the sky are perhaps the most stylish religious structures that have been designed by the human civilization. You look at the cityscape during day, dusk or dawn, and they stand there — proud, elegant, profound. They are not humble. They never appear weak. In their essence, they resemble weapons. Laces. Bullets. Rockets. If spirituality was something functional, the minarets would probably be the most practical structures for worshiping God — elegantly minimalistic, pointed right where the Creator metaphorically resides, perhaps even right at God Himself, as if saying — “You, there!” And saying it in a way that He cannot neglect. I love that.

After some sightseeing, towards the evening I wanted to go to Ortaköy to meet some Armenians from Armenia and Istanbul, and then go club at Reina. However, I didn’t think my hair looked “cool enough” for a club like Reina (I wasn’t sure I’d pass the face control), so I went out to look for some hair products to style myself. After a while of looking, I couldn’t see any store that would sell any gels or mousse, and so I asked some hotel’s receptionist where to find those. A woman sitting at a corner in the hotel overheard my question and stood up.

“What are you looking for?”

“Some hair products to style myself for clubbing!”

“All the stores that could sell something like that are already closed, including the supermarkets”

“OK ma’am, but I absolutely need to style my hair!”

“I think your hair look great!” she shrugged

“I wanna go to Reina!”

“Aaaaa… Reina! OK follow me!”

She led me out of the hotel through narrow streets. As we walked, I asked her some questions.

“Are you staying in that hotel?”

“No, I am the owner of that place”

“Cool, where are you from?”

“Australia, yourself?”

“I’m from Armenia”

“Aaaaa… Quite a few Armenians here in Istanbul! I know many Armenian people here!”

She brought me to some young barber whose shop was still open, greeted him very warmly and exclaimed:

“Make him look like Tarkan!”

After 10 minutes and 10 liras, I did look like Tarkan, and a pretty handsome one, too! In fact I couldn’t remember if I had ever been more satisfied with a barber. So I walked to Ortaköy.

Ortaköy is a beautiful place under the Bosphorus where people go to eat, club, see oriental bijoux, play backgammon and socialize. Everyone is out, late in the night, having fun together, and there is great atmosphere. Meeting new people is extremely easy.

In Ortaköy I met a cool (really cool!) Armenian woman who currently lives in Istanbul. I asked her how safe it is to be an Armenian in Istanbul.

“Is Istanbul safe for an Armenian?”

“Extremely!”

“What about the bozkurt?”

“They are fucking sons of bitches! But they have left Istanbul. They have surrendered Istanbul!”

“What shall I do if I have a problem with a bozkurt?”

“You will not!”

“But if I do, anyway?”

“Run to any police and say you are Armenian!”

“…eh?”

“You are Armenian, and it means everyone will do everything to make sure that nothing happens to you here! The Police will protect you with their own bodies if they have to!”

That was kinda reassuring to hear. The woman then took us to club around the corner. “It is too late for Reina!”

I was really disappointed about not being able to use my awesome haircut. But guess what!

It is way cooler to go to a local club with a Reina haircut than to go to Reina itself!

The music at the club was very good and so was the crowd — very easy going guys and a lively conversation always started whenever I just smiled and said “Hi!” So I clubbed until 4am, then took a cab back to the Asian side, exhausted.

The cab cost 55 liras. Of course, I shall go back to Reina someday.

Taksim is one of the shopping and entertainment districts of Istanbul, and a famous place to be. To give a general idea of how busy it is, there are 3 Starbucks coffee shops on one street alone. The main street is mainly used by pedestrians, however service and Police vehicles do patrol the street every now and then, causing major discontent among the walking public.

The Police in Taksim drive… Mini Coopers! Yes, they are that stylish!

The architecture as marvelous. You come across every single style you can think of, from Victorian to Byzantine to Brutalist to Arabic to Modern! The greatest thing is — none of it looks fake, and it all fits really well together!

Apparently Taksim hosts some opposition party headquarters or something that the government really dislikes. There was some protest going on, and there were more policemen than actual protesters.

The protesters were yelling some things and applauding. The police didn’t intervene, although they did stand really close to each other and formed kind of a tight circle around the protesters.

Of course they had full riot equipment ready!

The tourists and the random pedestrians, however, were not disturbed by the protest. Everything seemed OK. We shopped, had Starbucks, and really enjoyed the place. Even though the personnel are painfully slow, the stores are really nice, and you can find almost any brand you want. I got myself some pink Converse chucks and a Diesel wristband!

Starbucks in Turkey, by the way, is really pricey. Here’s to being a programmer!

Besides the stores, you can find several museums of different kinds. One of these even hosted some contemporary art sculptures dedicated to motorcycles.

Taksim is gorgeous during the night. It is well lit and not any less lively than it is during the day. It also hosts a number of quite cool clubs, some of which play electronic and dance music. I think Taksim’s idea somehow resembles our very own Northern Avenue in Yerevan, except its architecture does not suck balls and people actually live and party there.

Content with my day, I rode my motorcycle back to the Asian side to get a good night’s rest — Sultan Ahmed Mosque was waiting  for me tomorrow!

The next day I walked out of my hotel and walked to Alaattin’s Honda Service. We were both on the Asian side, and it was no more than a 15 minute walk. On my way I met a real motorcycle-only washing service, and 2 policemen on a Varadero who wanted to wash their bike.

See the couch and the armchairs on the background? That is a general sight here even for outdoor places of least significance (like a motorcycle wash service down in Kadiköy)! The guy resting on the armchair is the owner of the place.

In Honda, Alaattin was already waiting for me. “Your tires have arrived 5 minutes before you!”

While usta was changing my tires and balancing the wheels, me and Alaattin were talking about things. Apparently his grand grandparents had moved to Turkey from Adigey Republic long ago.

“We in Istanbul do not really understand the politics against Armenia”, he shrugged

“So, do you think I am safe here?”

“Of course, no problem at all!”

I wanted to finish early, because I wanted to ride to Silivri to meet some of my Armenian friends who also happened to be in Istanbul with their own affairs. There was also a Portuguese lady who I really wanted to meet. So I rushed Alaattin Bey.

“Women eh?” he smiled wide. I think he was really into women. “Women!~”

Alaattin was really proud of the job his usta did on my bike, and I was pretty happy as well.

“We are connected to Honda’s global motorcycle maintenance system. It is completely online. Every single thing that we did on your bike is recorded in the system. So next time you take your bike to any Honda in Turkey, Europe, USA or Armenia, they will have access to all that information!”

“We don’t have an official Honda in Armenia!”

“Really? How many motorcyclists are there in Yerevan?”

“Very few!”

“Very few? How few? Around 500?”

“Around 50!”

“50? Five and one zero? How many people live in Yerevan?”

“Over a million!”

“Aslan Bey!” he yelled to the chief usta, followed by something in Turkish, laughing.

“I just told him there are only about 50 motorcycles in Yerevan! That is crazy! Maybe I should open business there! Do you think there is good potential? In a million-man city with only 50 bikes there must be!”

I didn’t know what to answer. “Maybe if you promote motorcycles really well, people will start riding!”

“We’ll stay in touch about that” he concluded.

They took the motorcycle off the stand and washed it. Alaattin then rode his beautiful white motorcycle with me to the nearest petrol station where I could refuel.

Turkish 95 fuel looks much different from the Armenian 95 (“Premium” as we call it in Armenia). It is a lot greener and its smell is much more intensely chemical.

“Use  95! 97 fucks your motorcycle! Also be careful for the next 200 kilometers because of the new tires, and be easy on your brakes! Ride safe, call me if you need anything!”

“Thanks a lot!!”

I rode to Silivri. That is about 80 kilometers from the Asian side of Istanbul. After the carburetor tweaks and the new fuel, the motorcycle was flying! I felt like I had purchased a new motorcycle with at least 20 more horsepower!

The way people drive in Istanbul deserves a separate dedicated post, or perhaps a dedicated book. But anyway, the motorcycle ran perfect, the roads were awesome, and I arrived in Silivri to meet Masheé and Dina and spend some fun night at a beach with dozens of young foreign architecture students from all over Europe.

The bus was some huge fancy Mercedes and the comfort level was no less than in the Airbus A380 that flew me from San Francisco to Paris.

The personnel of the bus were extremely helpful in trying to make sure the motorcycle is fitted securely and arranging my actions after I arrive in Istanbul.

Some of the crowd, however, were not exactly the positive kind. A couple of guys on the back seats who were waiting for the same bus at the station were very obviously talking about me and making some jokes between each other.

One of them finally found the courage to speak.

“From?”

“Armenia”

(giggling) “Ermenistan?”

“Yeah”

“City? Erivan?”

“Yerevan”

“Yeh-reh-van! …What is?” he points at the Leatherman tool on my belt

“My Leatherman”

“Give!”

I handle him the Leatherman with a smile on my face. They play with it a little then give it back to me. How very typical.

“Photo!” they noticed the camera on my neck. They pose. I take a photograph. They make me show it to them. They don’t like the result. “Again!” — I take one again. “No, delete!” — I delete it.

“What is?” this time they point at my watch

“My watch” I shrug

“How much dollars?”

“Quite a few!”

“Give!”

“No way” I smile

“Gift to me?”

“Dude I am not giving you my Timex Expedition as a gift, sorry!” I know he doesn’t understand what I’m saying

“Change!” he points at his crappy $10 watch

“Sorry, I am not interested”

“Gift, gift!”

“No, sorry!” I smile wide again

I change my seat. They keep laughing about some things then get bored with me. Good.

After 18 hours of driving, 3 thirty-minute breaks and an annoyingly snoring man next to me, we arrive at Istanbul. The bus driver calls Honda, tells them where he “unloaded” me, tells me “wait here” and drives away. After about 40 minutes a white minivan with the Honda logo arrives. Two energetic young people ask me — “Motosiklet problem? Erzurum?” and as I nod they load my motorcycle into the van. I feel safe. It is a great feeling to know you can count on your brand!

As we drive in the van, the guys ask me questions. The one in red looks more shy than the driver who is in white. So the driver asks.

“…From?”

“Ermenistan”

“Ooo!”

After a while of driving we arrive at an official Honda “servis”. It looks very impressive. A mid-aged man approaches me with a welcoming smile and pretty decent English.

“Where are you my friend! I was calling you, but your phone was off!”

Meet Alaattin, the owner of the most awesome Honda motorcycle dealer and repair service you can imagine. After 5 minutes my motorcycle is already on the stand, and an “usta” is working on it.

The guy with glasses on the last picture is Usta’s apprentice. His job involves looking closely to what Usta does, handling him some tools if he asks for something, pumping air into the tires if needed and unscrewing the bolts Usta asks him to. Screwing them back is handled by Usta.

The folks have every single tool for the job. How do you find out the RPMs of an engine if the tachometer is broken? This is how!

Alaattin has about 10 motorcycle stands and all of them are busy. Judging by the amount of the motorcycles being serviced and the amount of those parked outside waiting to be serviced, the business is good.

The guys are doing a spectacular job at extraordinary pace. Alaattin talks to each customer personally.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asks

“Not lately I have not!”

He calls some guy who runs his affairs. After 15 minutes two kebabs and a can of coke are waiting for me at the personnel’s room.

Alaattin is aware of every little detail about his business. Oh and he loves to use the words “fuck” and “normally”. People say he is a “dinosaur” in motorcycle business in Istanbul. He’s been around since the 80ies of the past century. After repairing my bike Alaattin personally gives it a test ride to ensure everything is fine.

“It runs very good now!”

“Thanks, you guys got really awesome service here!”

“Thank you! Normally, we are the best Honda service in Turkey!”

“You look like you would be!”

“You need to change the tires as well, they won’t be good after less than a thousand kilometers!”

He is right. My tires are worn out. The worst part is, there are no motorcycle tires in Armenia.

“OK, how much would that cost me?”

“About 300 dollars for both!”

“What about the service cost?”

“It depends on whether or not you are taking the tires!”

“I will take the tires”

“Then the service will cost you $250!”

“Do you think you could drop that a little for me?” (long live Uğur!)

“What is your suggested price?”

“I don’t know… $200?”

“Deal!” — he dials Michelin and places an order for my tires. “The tires will be here tomorrow! You can leave your motorcycle in the store, and take it tomorrow after we change them — it is safe here! Do you have a hotel you will stay in?”

“Not yet!”

“Normally, I would offer you to stay in my home. But I have a 1 year old baby girl and she cries in the nights, so unfortunately I cannot do it now.”

He calls one of his employees.

“I will tell him to ride you on his bike to Deniz Hotel. We have a deal with them and they give our customers lower prices!”

“Perfect!”

The guy who rides me looks like a very typical Armenian kebab type of a person wearing an earring — an exceptional combination! I try to take some pictures as he rides me through Istanbul’s chaotic traffic.

Boy oh boy, my motorcycle is fixed, I got new tires, I only spent $550, and Istanbul looks amazing!!!!

“How do you like Turkey?”

“Nice country to ride a motorcycle, I am definitely coming back, maybe with friends!”

“With Allah’s will!”

“Don’t you wanna visit Armenia?”

He hesitated for a minute.

“If your motorcycle crashes in Erzurum, I help you. Mahmet helps you. All good people will help you. God created us all with love and to love. I do this not for you but for God. If I come to Armenia and crash, I don’t know what will happen to me.”

I wanted to say that it would not be a problem, but somehow remained silent. I knew I would help any motorcyclist in trouble. Biker’s code. He waited for an answer, then sighed and gave me his “tesbih”. “Hediye!” — gift!

Then we heard Mahmet’s motorcycle outside. I went out to speak with Mahmet, and Cenghiz disappeared with his affairs. Mahmet turned out to be an Enduro enthusiast. We talked about BMW R1200GS, BMW F800 and F650, KTM and Varadero, and agreed that sportbikes suck butt.

“Istanbul is big, there is no way you will not find your part there for the price that you want. Istanbul is great!”

“I hope you are right, Mahmet!.. And I am kinda hungry now”

“Aaa yes, in Erzurum very traditional! No yemek in Ramazan! But in Istanbul, you can eat, everyone can eat when they want!”

“Cool!”

“Police in Istanbul ride BMW R1200GSes,” he sighed. “Here in Erzurum only Honda CBF.”

“Why don’t you go to Istanbul, Mahmet?”

“4 more years here and then I can!” he sounded like he really craved that. “All Police wish to be in Istanbul. Only the best can…”

Another policeman joined our conversation.

“Where are you from?”

“Ermeni,” said Mahmet before I could

“Aaa… What motorcycles do the police ride in Ermenistan?”

“They don’t ride motorcycles…”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, they probably don’t know how to ride motorcycles or don’t really like motorcycles”

“Which police do you think is better?”

“I don’t know”

“But we ride motorcycles. We like motorcycles!” he laughed

I smiled. “That gives you the edge! But the drivers are much better in Armenia!”

“Oh yes, traffic in Turkey bad, very bad, huh!”

“Lets go now, so that we aren’t late again”

We went to the bus terminal with Cenghis and Mahmet, put the motorcycle in the bus’s luggage compartment, and I left to Istanbul.

At that point I felt like I knew exactly how to build a great Police service. Take charismatic decent-looking men and women with nice manners. Teach them English. Never forgive impoliteness. Make them work out. Demand that they consistently go out of their ways to help others. Ensure that they believe they are serving a good cause. Serving “the light”. Even if that means they are brainwashed. There is no way people will not trust them then. There is absolutely no way you will not trust a person who rides your motorcycle with a broken throttle grip to a terminal so fast, endangering his life, just so that you don’t miss your bus.

How do you find people like this?

I have no idea.

As I was talking on the phone with Honda Road Assist, some man in his 50ies was attentively listening me speak. After I hung up, he inquired what the problem was. I explained that I could not afford to pay 1600 dollars to repair my motorcycle in Istanbul, and that I had no idea what I was gonna do after getting there. “I have friends who operate a Honda-authorized repair store,” he said. “In the same quarter as my house in Istanbul. They will do it for cheap. Very cheap. Economic!”

He called his friends and asked them to call me to arrange our meeting once I arrive in Istanbul. I received a call after a minute. Luckily the guy spoke English.

“Hello, is this Areg bey?”

“Yes, I am the guy with the motorcycle problem”

“When will you be in Istanbul?”

“Tomorrow in the morning”

“Tamam! Please record my number. Call me when you arrive in the bus station. We are in Harem. In Istanbul there is an Asian part and a European part. We are in the Asian part. Do not cross the bridge to the European part, or it will be very expensive to bring you back.”

“Great, thanks a lot sir!”

“Not at all!”

That sounded hopeful. “Saying “not at all” to a “thank you” is so old-school”, crossed my mind, but overall I was certainly very happy. I had a number I could call in Istanbul! I thanked the man who arranged the contact for me and asked who he was.

“My name is Hakan.” He passed me his business card

“Pleasure to meet you, sir. Are you the manager here?”

“I am the owner.”

I looked at his business card. “KRAL Otel. Hakan Kral Yilmaz. Kral Turizm.”

“Call me if you have problems in Istanbul!”

I left the otel and figured I wanna do some sightseeing before leaving to Istanbul. This later turned to be the most stupid decision, and helped me adopt a new general rule when traveling on a motorcycle — if you have any problems with the motorcycle, do not do anything else before making sure everything is OK.

So I went to take pictures of the mosque in the center. In the outside it looked pretty Armenian. I am not an architecture whiz, so I took some photos to check later with more competent folks.

After the mosque I bought some cherry ice-cream from a store and started eating it right there in the street. I guess my behavior was very wrong for Ramazan, because I felt very much like a lady in Yerevan who smokes while walking in the street. My Armenian readers will know exactly what that means.

Then I took some more pictures to give a general idea of what life in Erzurum is like.

When I went back to the “otopark” to take my motorcycle to the bus-station, a surprise awaited me. Outside Cengiz’s booth there was a police motorcycle, a Honda CBF600!

Turned out Cengiz had seeked out some policeman who was riding a CBF and was eager to help a fellow motorcyclist in trouble. His name was Mehmet. An extraordinarily positive person who looked and acted much like a superhero from a cartoon, Mehmet was excited for the chance to help me. He checked the motorcycle’s damage and threw his hand. “You only need to repair the throttle grip, then you can continue your journey.”

He called someone in Istanbul. “Will cost you 90 liras. About 60 dollars. When you go to Istanbul, call this guy,” he passed me a business card. “Mototal. Aslan bey. He always repairs my Hondas. Good usta! Very economic!” Then he checked the damages again. “Maybe you can even repair your grip here in Erzurum! Come!”

We took Cenghiz’s Peugeot and they drove me to some places. The “usta”s said they could repair the motorcycle, but only if they had the part.

“No original Honda parts in Erzurum,” Mahmet said.

“How does the Police repair their CBFs then?”

“Ankara! We put them on a truck and send them to Ankara or Istanbul! It is best for you to go to Istanbul!”

“I have to be at the bus station at 4:00 then, I only have 10 minutes left!”

“Yavash!!”

Mahmet sat me in a car, started my motorcycle and rode it fast with the broken grip to the bus station. I came in the car. By the time I arrived, Mahmet was already there, looking disappointed. “Yarın, Yarın!” he yelled before I even managed to get out of the car. “Yarın! The bus left! And we can’t take the bike back to otopark because we had to empty the tank. You will leave tomorrow!”

He approached a police station near the bus terminal and exchanged some words with the policemen there. “Lets leave your bike here in this station,” he suggested. “You can do that. Then tomorrow you just come here, take your motorcycle and go to Istanbul.”

They drove me back to KRAL Otel and I checked in again. “Like yesterday?” I asked about the price. “Yes, 70 liras” nodded the receptionist. I wanted to say “OK”, but remembered Uğur.

“Mmhm!”, I said.

I woke up early again, to go to the police station as requested yesterday. Walked down to the hotel reception to let them know I wanted to check out. The receptionist told me I should be checking out before noon. I had some time before my 9:00 appointment with the police, so I went to the “otopark” again. The booth was locked. I called Cenghiz. He said some things in Turkish and hung up. After 5 minutes he arrived on his Peugeot and shown me that he was sleeping using gestures. I used Google Translate to tell him that I had managed to get a bus to Istanbul at 4 o’clock. He said he also found some friends who could help me. I then told him I needed to get to the police station by 9:00, and left.

Now, yesterday, when I was arranging my bus trip for 4:00, I was a little worried. I was not sure I would make it, because of the police appointment. My experience with the Armenian police had taught me a bitter lesson of how much time one can spend at police stations over really small things. Uğur told me it wouldn’t take more than an hour, but I was still worried. I arrived at the station a little early — at 8:45, walked in and approached the first policeman.

“Hello sir. English?”

“Yes?”

“I had an accident yesterday on a motorcycle, and the police asked me to be here today at 9:00?”

“Yes. Please wait for about 5 minutes”

“I was on a black Honda, if that helps you?”

“Yes, I know your accident. Sorry it happened in Erzurum.”

After a few minutes someone brought a copied A4 paper and gave it to me. It had the scheme of my accident and some notes in Turkish.

“It says here that you were going slightly above the speed limit and that you have lost control of the vehicle. This is what our experts believe. When you go to a repair shop anywhere in Turkey, show this to them. Don’t worry about anything else”

“Is that all? Am I done?”

“Yes”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes sir, you can go now. Thank you for coming”

I thanked him, walked out and checked my watch. It was 8:55. I had finished 5 minutes earlier than my actual appointment time.

So I walked back to the hotel, and on my way back came across another parked BMW R1200GS Adventure (so many R1200GS’s out there, eh?), with two riders trying to exchange money in the bank nearby. I walked in. The riders were a man and a woman, both mid-aged with attractively gray hair, dressed in really classy full motorcycle apparel, looking like a couple. They were busy having a loud argument with the bank representative in lousy English. “Che cazzo!” the man yelled. “Wat you meen I cennot exchange Euro coins in ATM?! Cazzo! Ma perche no? Why not! Big problem!”

Italians!

They obviously came to no solution, because there was no way the machine could exchange the coins for them. They came out of their booth, pissed, and I approached them.

“Buongiorno!”

“Ooo ciao amico! Sei Italiano?”

“No sir I am actually an Armenian traveling here on a motorcycle like you, except I am alone and my bike is not as great as yours”

“Thank you!” his anger disappeared and he gave a really wide smile. “It is a wonderful motorcycle, isn’t it? The best for traveling!”

“I wish I could have it someday. But currently I have a bigger problem — I had an accident yesterday, and my motorcycle is broken now. I am taking it to Istanbul in a few hours. Do you know any people there who could help me?”

The lady jumped in at that point with an “aww!”, being all lady-sweet. They asked about the details of my crash and of course whether or not I was OK.

“Oh yeah, the fucking roads here! Slippery! Two french motorcyclists lost control and jumped off the bridge yesterday, one of them died, the other went back to fucking France! Roads very slippery! Because there is so many bad cars, and it is the gas…”

“Exhaust?”

“E giusto! Correct word! Exhaust on strada! It is as if when the rain just starts!! On dry asphalt! Che Cazzo, and we also meet noone that speaks English here!”

“So then, do you know anyone who could help?”

“Hmm yes, we know someone in Ankara who helps all motorcyclists, he might have friends in Istanbul. Call Ersin! Tell him you are a friend of David and Marcella. He met us in Ankara, he will help you!”

I called Ersin right away.

“Hi, I am a traveling motorcyclist who had an accident. David and Marcella gave me your number and said that you speak English and could help me out”

“Aaaa, the italians, David, Marcella, say hi to them, let me call you back, you need your phone credits.” He hung up and called me. After listening to my story in details, he said.

“I will try to find someone in Istanbul. Please wait for 10 minutes. Someone will call you from there.”

“OK!”

The italians wished me a safe trip and left. After 10 minutes I got a phone call.

“Hello, this is Honda Road Assist in Istanbul. How may I help you?” the guy sounded extremely American

“Hi, thanks for calling me. I had an accident and I need to repair my bike.”

“What is your model?”

“2006 Honda CBF500”

“Are you on the road now? Do you require immediate assistance?”

“No, I crashed yesterday”

“Where are you now?”

“Will be in Istanbul tomorrow”

“Which parts need to be repaired?”

“Throttle grip and its cables, turn signal, tachometer gauge, clutch lever. I would also like to check my front brake.”

“Please hold on a second… Yes sir, we have all those parts except for the tachometer gauge. It could take some time to ship it to Istanbul. Everything else is fine.”

“How long would a repair take?”

“A repair without the gauge would take less than a day”

“And how much would it cost me, approximately?”

“Your estimate would be about 1000 euros, or 1600 dollars.”

“??!”

“We understand it is very expensive. Parts in Turkey are expensive because of very high import taxes. If you have full insurance, your insurance will cover everything”

“I only have the minimal one!”

“That is a problem. Perhaps you could contact Honda headquarters and explain your situation and they could give you a discount! Do you want their contacts?”

“Yes please!”

I called the number they gave. Nobody answered. Tried again. Then again. Then again, after 20 minutes. No answer.

I felt bitter. There was absolutely no way I could afford paying 1600 dollars for repairing my bike and be able to continue the trip.

The watcher of the “autopark” was a man in his 60ies named Cengiz. With barely 3 visible teeth in his mouth, he could not speak a single word in English and could not even comprehend simple words like “OK”. So I was sitting there, a lone “Ermeni” who had just crashed his motorbike, in this booth somewhere in Erzurum with this Turkish man who I could not speak a word with, my Mastercard being declined and my right knee hurting because of the impact. A pretty fucked up situation, or so I felt. I went to check my motorcycle for the damage. The throttle grip was broken, the left mirror smashed, the clutch lever and the headlight metal twisted, the front left turn signal broken. There was, however, good news — the engine started fine, and there was no leakage. I just could not ride it because of the broken throttle grip. We walked back to the booth. “Su?” asked Cengiz. Not knowing what that meant, I suddenly realized I was extremely thirsty. “Water”, I said. “I’m thirsty!”. “Su, su!” Cengiz opened the fridge and handed me two bottles of cold water. “Su” meant “water”. I will never forget.

He then turned on his old PC, fired up Internet Explorer with a bunch of stupid toolbars and yelled — “Internet!”

That sounded so right!

Google Translate took over from that point. Cengiz asked my name, asked me about my job in Armenia, gave me a thumbs up about being a programmer, then started calling to places and looking for Honda Repair shops in Ankara and Istanbul. After 2 hours of searching and calling, we could not find anything. I started getting hopeless again. “Yemek?”. Yemek means to eat. Cengiz suggested that I check into a hotel, eat something and call him tomorrow morning: “yarın!” He then walked me into a hotel called “Kral Hotel”, bargained a price for me at the counter from 100 dollars a night down to 50, carried my luggage all the way to the room, refilled my phone credits for 25TL, gave me his number and disappeared.

I took a shower, changed my clothes, and walked out to try and find something on my own. Now here is a useful traveling tip: nobody, I mean NOBODY speaks English in Erzurum. Although a pretty vibrant town, the society itself is very “traditional”. People do not speak anything but Turkish, and because of Ramazan all restaurants and eating places are either closed, or completely empty before 7:30. Nobody eats anything. So I tried my luck with “I’m sorry”ies and “Excuse me”ies and even “Hi”s, but nobody would even respond. And then, through trial and error, I met Uğur, fitting a carpet with a friend into a small red Opel. He had a backpack, and it somehow looked as though he could speak English.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes?”

“Do you speak English?”

“A little!”

Yay! 5 minutes later Uğur and his friend Ibrahim were driving me in Ibrahim’s car to the motorcycle repair places in Erzurum. Ibrahim couldn’t speak English but he could understand the word “OK” and nod. After seeing some shops I started worrying about troubling the fellows too much.

“Aren’t you busy? I don’t want to take your time!”

“No problem my friend, we help you and then we go!”

Uğur and Ibrahim were in the Turkish Air Force. Ibrahim was a pilot, Uğur was an air traffic controller.

“Are you Ermeni?”

“Yes, how did you guess?”

“You look like a turk, but you are not a turk!” he laughed. “That means you are Ermeni! Similar face like brothers! Kurds more different face!”

“…”

“If you no have problem with me, I no have problem with you. Like brothers.”

After talking to many different mechanics about my motorcycle’s broken parts, Uğur and Ibrahim decided that it was best for me to go to Istanbul.

“Take a bus, bus cheap!”

“But I need to take my motorcycle with me! How will I fit it into a bus?”

“Motorcycle yes, bus yes, OK!”

“Dude, my motorcycle weighs 200 kilos and is pretty wide, it is no bicycle!”

“Kawasaki 1200cc in bus OK? Your motorcycle bigger than Kawasaki??”

I shut up.

“We take you bus station now.”

The bus station was somewhere in the outskirts. The two friends walked to one of the company representatives, and started explaining my situation in Turkish. The driver didn’t even want to hear about taking a motorcycle on a bus. Uğur and Ibrahim were, however, persistent. Along the conversation I heard the word “Kawasaki”. The bullet argument. The bus driver gave up, opened the luggage compartment and asked me if the bike would fit.

“Evet!” I nodded.

“Tamam!”

“How much?” I made a money gesture to the driver

He took a paper out of his shirt pocket and wrote on it — “350 dolar”

“OK,” I told the driver and gave him a thumbs up. “Do we leave now?” I asked Uğur. He looked annoyed.

“You don’t go to a turk, ask for the price and say “OK.”! You go to a turk, ask for the price, and then you say — “But why??””

I shut up.

“We now bargain the price. Give us time my friend.”

After about 10 minutes of talking really loud, Uğur turned to me.

“200 liras, or 130 dollar. Is OK?”

I was stunned. “OK!”

“You never say OK to price!” he smiled. “No forget! We take you to otel now? What you wanna do?”

“I have taken so much of your time! I insist that I take you guys out on dinner! What do you say? You can’t say no!”

“Yes, OK”

“Only one condition — I pay!”

“OK! Can we take Ibrahim’s carpet to his home first?”

“Sure, where does he live?”

“It is near, military base!”

I shut the fuck up.

Something has to be said about the Turkish military. There is a huge lot of military bases all over the place — inside cities, towns, and along the highways. They are easy to recognize because the walls are painted a specific orange red. There is always an armed soldier guarding the entrance. Sometimes the soldier runs out and raises a flag, if the base is on a busy street. That stops all traffic and you can see tanks or Land Rover vehicles with NATO marking driving in and out. The military have a lot of respect in the public, and they look kinda different: always in good shape, hair done, the “charismatic alpha” kind. Uğur told me the military have more respect than the police. “First soldiers, then jandarms, then police.” I figured that with so many bases and so much respect in the society, whoever controlled the military would have an immense control over Turkey’s internal politics. I insist that it must be so, even if it is not.

Nobody stopped our car. Ibrahim and Uğur took the carpet up, and came back with Ibrahim’s mom.

“OK, we go, wait one hour, then 7:30 we eat. Ramazan!”

We went to a restaurant somewhere downtown, and talked about almost everything for an hour, from sex to PKK. Uğur was asking a lot of questions.

“You have a girlfriend?” he asked

“What do you mean by a girlfriend?” I wondered

“Someone you want to marry all your life but you have to wait because you can’t marry now!”

“No, I guess I never had a girlfriend on those terms!” I laughed

“Oh, Why no girlfriend? I have a girlfriend! We marry next week!”

“…”

“Do you know dolma?”

“Yeah I know Dolma!”

“Ibrahim’s mother makes great Dolma! You know what Dolma means in Turkish?”

“No idea?”

“Something inside!”

“Like, stuffed?”

“Yes, stuff! Something inside, stuff!”

At exactly 7:30 the food started coming. We had excellent meals: roast lamb meat, borek with cheese, cutlets and kebabs followed by dessert. I asked for the bill. The waiter got ridiculed.

“It is free!” laughed Uğur. “Ramazan!”

“But I insisted that I pay!”

“It is free. Food is free. It is Ramazan! Everything you eat free!”

We then walked around the town, they helped me exchange my dollars for liras and that is when I realized I had not spent a single dollar whole day except for the accommodation.

I took off from Ardahan early in the morning, hoping to arrive early in Erzurum. The weather was amazing, and the road was perfect. There was a road section on the way that was being renovated, and the workers were doing such a thorough job that I thought I should get off the bike and take a picture of the thickness of an asphalt layer that real roads are supposed to have.

After about 3 hours, I entered Erzurum. A pretty large city with visually decent economy. Once you enter the city, on a span of 300 meters you come across a car dealership office for every single brand that you can recall, from Dodge all the way to Mercedes. No motorcycles though. How come? Another thing you notice is that the tarmac is extremely slippery, just the way it usually is when rain just starts pouring and the car exhaust chemicals are not washed off the ground yet. What’s wrong? How can tarmac be so slippery when it’s dry?

I rode into some petrol station, refueled, and asked to pay with a Mastercard at the counter. My card was rejected. That gave me a sick feeling — I knew for a fact that my HSBC Mastercard was OK, and I didn’t have a lot of cash with me!

Riding out of the station, I dropped my speed to about 50 km/h, entered some tunnel that was curved inside, realized I was going too fast, pushed my brakes, locked the wheels, skid, hit the tunnel wall on the curve, fell down, the end.

Not really. I then hit the engine killer switch, got up, checked to make sure that I was alright and put my helmet in front of the tunnel so that the cars could know something was wrong inside. Some car stopped. The driver helped me lift the motorcycle, asked if I needed ambulance, called the police, told them a “motosiklet turist” has an accident, and left wondering how could I survive that crash — I hadn’t even scratched a finger. I was actually surprised myself. Surprised and grateful for every single dollar I had not saved when purchasing my protection gear. Kudos to AGV, Dainese and Spidi!

Two police cars arrived in less than two minutes. One of them blocked the tunnel entrance, the other one drove in and 3 policemen started asking me questions and registering my accident. Their behavior was, again, extremely professional. All of them were very polite, helpful and sorry for my problem. Only one of them spoke English.

“Ambulance?”

“No, I’m OK”

“Move your hands and touch your legs please?”

(I move my arms and touch my legs)

“Move hands in other direction?”

(done)

“No pain?”

“No”

“Can you stand straight?”

“Yes”

“Tamam. License plate? What country?”

“Armenia”

“Nationality?”

“Armenian”

“Tamam. Insurance papers?”

“Here.”

“Tamam. I will ask the central station where the closest authorized Honda Repair shop is, and we can take your motorcycle there.”

“Thanks!”

“What was your speed?”

“50km/h”

“The law requires that you do 30km/h inside tunnels. You were riding too fast.”

“50 is too fast? I didn’t see a speed sign before entering the tunnel! Was there one?”

“No sign, the speed limit in tunnels is a general law.”

“OK, well I didn’t know that”

“We need to do an alcohol test. Did you drink before driving?”

“No!”

“Can you please blow into the tube?”

I blew into the tube. He looked at the readings, dazzled. The sensor said “0.00”. He resetted it.

“Can you blow again?”

I blew again. “0.00”

“Like a good muslim eh? If you died here, you’d go to paradise my friend!” He laughed. Then pointed his finger up. “Ramazan!”

At that point the “central station” contacted him on the radio and told him that there is no Honda in Erzurum.

“The closest official Honda repair store is in Ankara. We will have to tow your motorcycle to the autopark, and you can decide what you wanna do later on. Towing service will cost you 30 dollars. Parking lot will cost you 3 dollars per night.”

“OK.”

“You sure you don’t need ambulance?”

“I’m sure”

“OK, please call 112 if you feel wrong later on”

The towing vehicle arrived in about 5 minutes, and took my motorcycle and myself to some open-air car parking area with a bunch of smashed cars and motorcycles. The police drove away, asking me to go see them at the central station tomorrow at 9am, to get a copy of my accident report. “You need that copy, because your insurance will have to pay for the damage you did to the tunnel wall.”

In the morning in Gyumri I did meet the BMW riders during breakfast. Despite the license plate being Italian, the riders themselves were Greek and their destination was Yerevan. Our talk was short but useful, as they gave me valuable information about road conditions in Georgia and Turkey as well as an excellent tip on the relationship between speeding foreign motorcyclists and Turkish policemen. As we were parting, they asked:

“Are you riding the trip on that Honda by yourself?”

“Yup!”

“You are brave!”

I grinned. “Your machine is such an overkill for the trip you’re taking” crossed my mind, but I kept it to myself. We checked out of the terrific hotel, purchased a USB cable and some medicine and headed out to the border.

Now if you are a motorcyclist who happened to arrive here doing a search on border crossing between Georgia, Turkey and Armenia then here’s a tip for you — border crossing is quick! You will hardly spend more that 20 minutes on the checkpoints. I rode into Georgia, refueled at Chevron (why don’t we have Chevron fuel in Armenia?), and rode to find someone on the road who could help me find directions to Akhalkalaki and Akhaltshkhe. Shortly I came across a police car that had pulled someone over. I stopped by their car and one of them approached me, realizing I wanna ask something.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes please, I need to find the border crossing with Turkey at Posof.”

“You’re going to Turkey? You’ll need to turn left at the next intersection then keep going straight all the way to Akhaltskhe. About 70 kilometers, then you will see the signs.”

“Great, thanks!”

“Are you from Armenia?”

“Yeah”

“And you’re going to Turkey?”

“Yes, to Istanbul!”

“You are brave! Good luck, brother!”

I grinned again and rode off. By the way, I would be an asshole if I didn’t mention that both policemen were extremely nice, polite, helpful, eager to help and charismatic. Our own policemen have a long way to go to get there.

After a some riding across Georgian towns with a lot of Armenian markings, captions and labels, I arrived at Posof border crossing. Huge Turkish flags, everyone acted extremely professional and there was this feeling after Georgia of somehow entering Europe. I approached the security official stamping the passports and used the only Turkish word that I know:

“Mehraba!” (Turkish: Hello!)

“…Hay es?” (Armenian: Are you Armenian?)

“Ayo!” (Armenian: Yes!)

“Bari galust Turqia, sireli yeghbayr!” (Armenian: Welcome to Turkey, dear brother!)

That kinda stunned me for a second. He then asked me if I have international insurance. Finding out that I do not, he called someone and asked me to sign some papers, printing out an insurance form for me. Cost me 15 liras and I was happy I didn’t get one back in Yerevan — would probably cost me an arm and a leg. And so I drove off — Turkey!

The roads are totally Europe. There is generally always a flag in a visible range. The cars obey the speed limits most of the time. Towns are really underdeveloped, however, strangely enough, mechanization level is fairly high.

Road signs and license plates are almost identical to those in Europe. Direction signs are everywhere and navigating is easy. A bewildering experience were the truck drivers — if they see a motorcyclist in the mirror, they give you a hand sign of when to hold behind them for an incoming car and when it is actually safe to pass. Very nice for any motorcyclist, as we know the pain passing over a truck can be on a curvy road.

After about 80 kilometers, I arrived in Ardahan.

A very oriental city, kinda underdeveloped. Does not really compare to any city in Armenia. Mugham in the streets, streets are kinda dirty, almost all women wear hijabs, town center looks like some 3rd rank square in Bangladesh, Yerevan. Obviously not big on tourism. All roads are strangely made of cobblestone.

I checked into some really crappy hotel for 50 liras per night (I think it was the best in town) and went to eat something. What do you eat in Turkey? That’s right, kebab!! All sorts of them!

The way these people prepare meat here is absolutely stunning. I have realized that this journey is gonna be journey about food.

Not only is meat delicious, they also serve you unlimited amount of wonderfully baked white bread. At 10 liras (about $6,00) you have absolutely no way of staying hungry.

Besides the food, Ardahan is pretty boring and underdeveloped. The hotel is junk: they have WiFi but they do not have hot water until after 9:30. Absolutely nobody speaks English, or anything other than Turkish for that matter. While buying my Turkcell SIM card and configuring my 3G, had to use Google Translate to communicate.

One of the ladies at Turkcell asked a lot of questions about the trip using Google Translate. Finding out that I was heading to Istanbul, she inputted something in Turkish that translated into: “Will you have me?” I presumed it was a Google algorithm error, smiled and walked out.

She’s the second from the left. The guy’s name was Murad, he helped configure my 3G while I was talking with the lady.

Make no mistake with the girls asking you to have them on Google Translate though. Ardahan is extremely boring, no couples and no fun going on. A very typical oriental town. You don’t wanna live there.

There is a some architecture and details that remind of Armenia.

Erzurum tomorrow, that is 239km. Hopefully Erzurum will be more exciting than Ardahan. For now, park yapılmaz!

Tomorrow early in the morning I will be heading out to the Armenia-Georgia border, which is about 60kms from Gyumri. I will then be taking the Akhalkalaki road to the Posof border crossing with Turkey. Ardahan then will be my final destination for the day, about 270 kilometers from where I am now.

The hotel we checked in here in Gyumri is called Berlin Art Hotel. Let me tell you — this is one of the best hotels in Armenia I have ever been to, on par with Tufenkian and leaving Multi Rest fucking House in Tsakhkadzor far behind. The initial price we were offered for a 2-person room was AMD 32,000. After 2 minutes of bargaining we managed to get the price down to AMD 25,000. How neat for a hotel that makes you constantly feel like you are in Germany. They have working ethernet interface (!!!) here for access to the internet, and I have just modified the map on the website to actually display my location live. I will be the glowing big dot at the center.

There was another traveling motorcycle in the hotel’s garage — the wonderful BMW R1200GS Adventure, fully equipped and packed, with an Italian license plate. Unfortunately my tomorrow’s schedule means I won’t be able to meet the riders, but my motorcycle looked like a baby next to the tall 1200cc enduro.

Oh, the new engine oil recommended by Dave works wonders. The engine sounds amazing. Thanks dude!

Crossing two borders in one day in a vehicle is generally considered stressful. Guess we’ll see. I am a little nervous about that.

Rubik, Mineh and Lucy are extraordinarily amazing coming to see me off all the way to the border crossing. No wonder our evening time in Gyumri is so cozy.

On Saturday, I’m going to ride my CBF across Turkey. See the interactive map on my website? The orange line marks my planned path. I’m calling it the Oriental Express.

Spanning more than 4,500 kilometers, the journey is going to be huge. I will state with no ego, this is something no other motorcycle rider in Armenia has ever done before.

For me, this is going to be my largest ride so far and my first experience of a cross–country trip. I will be averaging 300 kilometers per day and will have 17 overnight stays in different cities and towns. This will push my motorcycle and of course my own self to the very limits, both physically and psychologically.

I have already booked my vacation at my company and made the basic preparations and purchases. The map on the website is programmed to show my location real-time during the journey, so it will be easy to track me. I will blog, I will tweet, I will post pictures and impressions and I will live this experience online as much as I will ride it.

The fact that I am riding through Turkey definitely adds an extra layer of adventure to the trip. I am excited to find out what lays ahead. This is purely a personal motorcycling adventure, and for me there are no other aspects to my undertaking. In Turkey I am planning to be an Armenian from Armenia, traveling on my motorcycle and experiencing Turkey. The planned path is plotted out based solely on the input of many travelers who have experienced Turkey. It has no historic or personal significance to me and it is subject to spontaneously change depending on the circumstances I face during the ride.

I think this trip will be an outstanding adventure not only to ride but also to follow. Today’s technology enables it fully. So make sure to subscribe to it either using your email address or using your favorite feed reader (I stick with Google Reader). You can also follow me on Twitter, although the tweets will be streamed into this blog as well. If you feel like befriending me on Facebook or Google+, these are also great options to track the adventure!

In the next posts I will be covering all my preparations extensively, including the equipment and the devices I take, the maintenance of the motorcycle, the financial aspects, and everything else. So stay tuned. It’s crazy ahead. The hunt ride is on!

Get well soon, Avag.

Seto Aramyan, 1987. Jawa 350cc.

Avid adventurer and horse riding enthusiast.

Fell in 1994 under Leninavan, Martakert, shortly before the cease–fire between Nagorno–Karabakh and Azerbaijan was signed.

“Bikes are like women: they are best naked.”

—Arbi

The bold front wheel and the handlebar of this cruiser make it such a sexy eye–catcher. Now to find an equally stylish helmet, that could prove difficult!

It’s like being a cowboy in 1800s
Except instead of stinking like horse
You stink like oil and tarmac
And exhaust…

For a specific group of people, and that includes myself, motorcycling is about the adventure. It is about what comes after the next curve, what’s behind the next hill and what’s that spill on the tarmac ahead. We think rain, and we think unexplored roads, and we think places we’ve never been to before. And for us there is the BMW F800GS, the young brother of BMW’s flagship R1200GS Adventure. Sexy, aggressive and stylish as all hell.

To all of you, especially those to whom this doesn’t apply, goes this fantastic piece of video!

Me… I’ma conquer a dream.

I’m not stoppin’… till the road ends.

I’m going… where the wind takes me.

Me… I’m not making any more excuses.

Make this the year!

Hit the road! Ride safe!

As for me, this motorcycle looks like the grandfather of my CBF500. Look at how mindblowingly sexy it is!

Magnificent!

It was freezing cold late in the night, so I was pushing the motorcycle to get to the destination as quickly as possible. The entrance and the parking lot for the personnel are on the other side of the embassy. That means one has to ride all the way to the ramp across the road to make a complex U-turn and ride back. And here is Murphy’s law about rushing to awesome parties in action: just after the U-turn a traffic police car put on the siren and pulled me over. Speeding offenses in Armenia are usually fine and cheap, you can generally get away with just 5,000 drams, but then it struck me (Muphy’s law in action number two) — I left all my insurance papers in a friend’s car during the winter and never managed to take them back! Legally, this meant 50,000 drams. Realistically, this meant a little more than 5,000 drams (depending on luck and sympathy) after a long, tedious and largely humiliating chat with a person whose IQ, statistically, is below the city average. I can handle that most of the time; sometimes it’s even entertaining. But there was a party waiting for me ahead that had all the chances of being more entertaining than a conversation with an Armenian traffic police officer late in the night next to a stinking water reservoir! Now here goes all of the above paragraph and its continuation flashing through my brain on that very moment:

“Fucking cold!… Fucking pothole!… Faster’s always good when flying over potholes… Uh! (a traffic police car)… OK they won’t pull a motorcycle over… (the cops put on the siren) God fucking damn it!!!!… OK it’s only 5,000 drams (turning on the parking signal with my frozen left thumb)… I’ll explain them it was cold and the street was empty so I pushed… Shit, the insurance papers!!!!… (pressing the turn signal button to switch it off)… Only about 1km to the embassy… Honda CBF500 against Toyota Corolla… lets roll!”

“0434, driver of the motorcycle, STOP IMMEDIATELY!!!!”

Have you ever drag-raced with the police? It’s one hell of a fun! And guess what?

A 500cc Honda parallel twin engine carrying 195 kilos including its own weight plus 65 kilos of a fully–equipped Synopsys programmer smokes a Toyota Corolla carrying two tentatively chubby Armenian policemen on a distance of 1000 meters. Easily.

I threw myself towards the personnel parking entrance gate and stopped. After some seconds the cops pushed their brakes right behind me, so close I couldn’t get out if I wanted. Felt much like being in a sandwich. You know, one of those steel-gate—armenian-policemen sandwiches! Among the other ingredients, this one had some meat, a decent sausage, and a motorcycle inside. The Armenian security guards walked out of their booth amused, watching the sandwich.

“Get off the motorcycle!” Yelled the police car from behind me. I pretended I didn’t hear it and looked at the security guard that hadn’t yet said anything, and at that point was just looking at me inquisitively. Even though he had no idea what the story was about, I felt like deep inside his heart was on my side.

“I need to see Carlos!” I put out in English, trying to mimic some sort of an American accent.

“Carlos??” asked the guard

“Zero four three four, get off the motorcycle RIGHT NOW!!” Yelled the policemen again. I wondered if he realized he was being annoying. “Get a life”, crossed quickly through my mind. I repeated:

“Please sir, I really need to see Carlos right now!”

“He is a marine. This is very important!!” I cried, not even looking at the cops behind me.

The security guard looked at my visor, hesitated for a moment, then pressed to open the gate open. “He’s American. Drive off!” he threw his hand at the police car. Throwing the hand worked like a Jedi trick — the flashing siren that reflected on my visor through my mirrors during all this time immediately faded off.

“It’s always the same on this fucking road” mumbled one of the cops, annoyed. “Way to annoy me with the stupid mike!” I thought, as they drove away.

I smoothly rode into the parking lot and started waiting for Carlos, leaning on the bike. They hadn’t arrived yet.

Disclaimer: All characters and events in this post — even those based on real people — are entirely fictional. All celebrity voices are impersonated…..poorly. This post contains coarse language and due to its content it should not be viewed by anyone.

You suddenly began noticing and hearing every motorcycle in the street, and with time your plans started shaping up. But then so did your thought process. You started “getting real”!

What if you get married and make ~40 babies? Even now, you already have a family that needs to be driven somewhere every now and then. You couldn’t ride your mom to a hair saloon on a motorcycle now, could you? Of course not!

More than the need to drive them around is the need to convince them you are going to ride. Of course, you could do that! You have the authority, you are self–sufficient and your word matters! But you calm yourself down — it’s just too much hassle… you respect your elders, you don’t wanna make daddy a sad panda!

Afterall, you also need to haul around some luggage sometimes. Heavy suitcases, personal computers, pillows, blankets, construction materials, livestock and nuclear warheads.

What about the winter? You can’t ride a motorcycle in the winter! Argh!

And you want to be safe. You want to be able to make mistakes. Airbags and crash tests!

Comfort is important to you. Who doesn’t like the good familiar bass line streaming out of the subwoofer, along with the flow of hot or cool air? Climate control! You want to be able to control the climate around you!

The apparel. What, you’ll need to purchase and wear special equipment to ride? But you love wearing your slippers out!

You love vehicle maintenance! Greasy hands are sexy in the music videos! But seriously, changing your oil and the brake pads, cleaning your carburetor and configuring the clutch, that’s more effort than watching a video!

The motorcycle has no doors. I mean of course, you’ve seen it has no doors, but whew — really? No doors? What if someone steals it? These are hard times we’re living in!

Then of course the parts! No motorcycle is an Opel Vectra, where would you order the parts? UK? USA? You get online for that? Uh!

How much fuel per 100 kilometers? 7 liters? Hey that’s almost like a car! I mean, my friend’s Cherokee burns only like 14! Nah, not when he’s pushing it of course. Still!

Finally comes the neighbor who knows someone who knows someone else who has heard of someone’s relative telling about his wife’s colleague’s lover’s neighbor dying in a motorcycle accident in 1981 on an unknown motorcycle. “I mean, the brains were all over the place!” he adds. The other neighbor confirms his words with a thoughtful nod.

And so you buy a car. Something reasonably aged, but not too old. Something you can convince yourself and the others is the coolest car one could ever own. You’re certainly planning to travel with it just as you would travel on a motorcycle, so you make sure it has a 4WD differential lock and throw in a sleeping bag into the trunk. “2011 X6?? Are you fucking kidding me? I would never ever ever change my 2001 Toyota RAV4 for that shit! My car is truly offroad and totally stylish, while X6 is just a pile of junk for wussies! I mean you can’t even ride X6 on worn tarmac, let alone gravel! Who buys that shit?! It doesn’t even look that good!” Some around you argue. Some nod. What matters is your feeling of self–righteousness.

Of course, you will get a motorcycle. Someday. Now is a little tense, financially. The stock market is going down. It is just not the right time.

You pick a date that is reasonably far away not to require any actions today, but sounds close nevertheless. Sounds to who? To yourself of course! Two or three years. Then it’ll be yours. You pick a model out of the blue — say, a Triumph Rocket III. There’s a dude standing in the promo poster that totally looks like what you would want to look.

“This shit is my favorite motorcycle!”, you tell your friends. Of course you’ve never even seen one on TV, just the Internet. “2,300 cubic centimeters! That’s 2,3 liters in the car slang! But I can totally speak cc’s!” You learn all the specifications of this motorcycle by heart and set it as your wallpaper for a couple of weeks, before the next cool game comes out or the next awesome abstract wallpaper is published on DeviantArt.

It is pretty much sealed — you will probably never ride.

Speeding to quickly get to the destination and to avoid getting caught. The traffic police patrol car spots me at the beginning of Baghramyan and pulls me over. I don’t stop and keep riding along Baghramyan towards my home, with the hope that the policemen would give up on pursuing a motorcycle right away. The dudes seem tough; they put on the siren and start a pursuit. I cross the Baghramyan/Proshyan intersection under a red light, speeding somewhere around 130km/h, ride across the Barekamutyun bridge, and check my mirrors. The cops don’t appear to be there, and I no longer hear the siren or see the flashing lights. Looks like they’ve lost me. “Losers!”. I ride on. On the intersection of Komitas/Papazian, I turn left and — boom — smash my front wheel straight into the right door of the police car that was pursuing me! I barely hold the motorcycle. The policeman behind the door puts the window down, looking at me in awe, speechless.

“Hi!” I go on, looking straight into the guy’s eyes with a nervous smile on my face.

“Stop at the right side of the street!!” the other guy screams into the mike.

“Can I stop at the left side? I’m going to Papazian street, that’s where my home is.”

“STOP AT THE RIGHT SIDE!!” yells the policeman.

“Aye, officer”

I pull the motorcycle over to the right, get off. The guys are extremely pissed. The one with the higher rank runs towards me and goes on enumerating, hardly catching his breath:

“You refused to stop at a traffic police officer’s demand, you ran away from the traffic police, you crossed a red light, rode on the opposite lane, more than twice exceeded the speed limit for riding in a residential area, you smashed into our goddamn door, and I can already feel standing here that you are drunk! Do you even imagine what kind of a fine are you going to pay?!”

“I’m sorry officer, I didn’t see that you pulled me over!”

“Are you kidding me? You’re lying! You saw us stopping you and you rode away, jumping under the red light!”

“Did I? I thought it was yellow!”

“It was red, and you’re lying! Now tell me that you didn’t realize you were riding on the opposite lane!”

“I didn’t!”

“You’re lying!”

“OK officer, what now?”

“Now I’m taking away your driving license, and you’re gonna have to pay enormous fines! Look at our door!”

“Please sir, it was really late and I just wanted to get home quickly! How about we solve this otherwise?”

“What’s your occupation?” the officer looks inquisitive

“I’m a student!” (Rubik says that this always works with the police. They start pitying you because of your social standing and income. But the officer didn’t buy that.)

“You’re a student riding a brand new 2009 Honda CBF? You’re lying!!”

“Uh sir, how about I just give you all the contents of my wallet and we part?” I take out my wallet.

“How much have you got in there?”

“Well I only have 5,000 drams!”

The officer looks in my eyes suspiciously for a second, then goes on: “Deal, you’re gonna give us all the contents of your wallet. Except we’re gonna check your wallet ourselves!”

He grabs the wallet from my hands, opens it… and takes all ~70,000 drams that I have in it.

“Some twisted goddamn asshole you are!” he mumbles, walking back to his car.

Disclaimer: this story does not represent my personality in any way. Honest!

Safety disclaimer: this story is fictional. I mean, what’s with the filing a lawsuit shit?!

Fact: No traveler has a map as cool as the one on the new One Hell of a Ride. Seriously.

And oh I already took my bike out of the winter storage. Riding in Yerevan, on February 17th. The air was chilly but the overall experience wasn’t as bad as during my last riding day on December 3rd. Only 76 days of not riding a motorcycle during the entire year in Armenia. How cool is that?!

So one of these days I had to drive my girl over to the airport with the SUV where she could depart to Amsterdam for her Eurotrip. On the way back, somewhere on the Paraqar road, a traffic police car was standing right in the middle of the road, very obviously hunting for prey. I spotted the car very early, checked my lights, my safety belt, my driving position and of course my speed and nailed it at 60 km/h (no person in a sane state of mind ever drives less than 80 km/h on the Paraqar road).

Right after passing them, the cops turned on the siren and pulled me over. “God damn it,” I thought, “everything was perfect, what the fuck did I do wrong?”

So I pull at the nearest convenient section of the road, put the window down, my hands on the wheel. The officer approaches. He’s a tan and fit dude in his early thirties:

“Your documents please”

“What was the offense?”

“You’re driving 65 km/h in a residential area”

“Dude, I was doing specifically 60 and paying close attention to that, too!”

He looks at me for a moment, takes a look at my documents (they are perfectly fine), then goes on in a really interesting way:

“Speeding is a very serious offense. I’m gonna have to fine you for 20,000 drams and take away your driving license.”

“Seriously though, I did not exceed 60 km/h!”

“If you disagree, you can go to a court with this case. There is a standard procedure for that. If you win, all your fine will be refunded by the State.”

He knows exactly what he’s saying. I will never go through the court hassle in Armenia and even if I do I will never think (perhaps mistakenly) that it can possibly be won. So I sigh.

“Dude, I am no going to go through any lawsuit. I don’t have the time for that and I’m sure neither do you. But I am sure as hell not paying 20,000 for going 60 km/h, and giving up my driving license isn’t going to happen either.”

“How so?”

“I have no idea!”

“You look like a fine mate. How about I fine you just for 5,000?”

“Deal.”

“Step out of your car, come pay it over at ours.”

I get out of the car and approach theirs. Give the other cop the 5,000 and walk back to my car. They certainly give me no official piece of paper confirming the payment. Something crosses my angry mind and I think of a quick plan.

Before opening the door of my car, I make it obvious that I am checking their license plate number, then I sit in the car, take my cellphone and dial a friend. The cops look suspicious. They drive away. After a 2-minute chat with my pal about random shit, the cops take two U-turns and stop by my car again. Then the one cop that is not driving asks me to put my window down. I am still on the phone, so I ask my friend to wait. The cop looks very obviously terrified.

“Why aren’t you driving away?”

“I am making an important call. As far as I know, driving when talking on the mobile phone is against the law!” I am then making a move to go back to the phone. The cop immediately interrupts:

“Say,” he says, “I saw your driving license had an A-class permit stamped. Do you ride a motorcycle?”

I nod.

“So considering the road we’re on, you just had to take a car this time to drive a family or a friend over to the airport, right?” he looks excited.

“That’s right, I had to drive my girlfriend for a flight to Amsterdam.”

“So then you mainly ride a motorcycle, not a car!” he looks like he just made a discovery.

“That’s precise!”

“Should have mentioned that earlier, mate… Good luck!!”

The cop hands me back my 5,000 dram bill and they quickly drive away. I smile and take back my phone where my friend is waiting.

“What was going on?” he asks.

“All is well! I’ll call you back tomorrow, bro!”

On the other hand, now I have a bullet-proof argument as to why exactly I think my leather gloves are so sweet! Take that!

Here is an email I have received from one of our rider fellows a couple of minutes ago (in Armenian):

bike-festi start@ sksvum e Akhtalaic septemberi 15-in , cankali e bolor@ havakvats linen min4ev jam@ 15:00 (cerek@ ekexecu taratskum kazmakerpvelu e xorovatsi paraton taraznerov derasannerov ev ayln,isk jam@ 6-in stadionum sksvelu e rock paraton). Septemberi 16-in gnalu en Sevan, entex el pokrik mijocarum e linelu,ev 17-in gnalu en Jermuk` mianalu mec rock-festin. Bike festi shrjanaknerum kazmakerpvelu en khaxarkutyunner,mrcuytner,xaxer(Jermukum). Septemberi 21-in bolorov galis enk Yerevan nshelu ankakhutyan ton@. Menk mer vra enk vercnum Hayastanum mnalu voxj @ntackum vareliki tsaxser@. Artasahmanic bikerner@ petk e mtnen Bagratasheni koxmic, ancaketum klini mer koxmic nerkayacuci4,vor@ jamanac bikerin kpoxanci kartez,vareliki ktronner ev ayln. Amboxj @ntackum bikerner@ klinen GAI-i hskoxutyan tak t4anaparhnerin xndirneric azatelu npatakov.

Translation to English:

Bike-fest will kick off from Akhtala on September 15th. It’s desirable that everyone is there before 3:00PM (there’s gonna be a BBQ party in the church during the afternoon with national dresses, actors and shit. Then there’s gonna be a rock festival at 6PM in the stadium). On September 16th there’s gonna be another small event in Sevan, and on September 17th they [the bikers] are going to ride to Jermuk to join the rock fest. During the motorcycle fest lotteries, games and competitions are going to be organized in Jermuk. On September 21 we’re all gonna ride back to Yerevan to celebrate the Independence Day.

We [I assume the organizers?] will cover all expenses of motorcyclists’ fuel during the entire stay in Armenia. Foreign bikers/motorcyclists should enter Armenia from Bagratashen [a border town near Georgia]. We are going to have a representative at the border who will give the bikers a map, fuel purchase checks and other stuff. At all times the traffic police will be escorting the motorcyclists to avoid any issues on the road.

Then I randomly found out that PanARMENIAN.Net has more information available on the subject:

PanARMENIAN.Net – Travel without Borders project initiated by National Geographic Traveler Armenia through the assistance of RA government kicked off on August 24 with sailing of an international regatta.

The project consisting of 5 stages will finish nearby Tatev monastery on October 16, the day of opening of the longest ropeway in the world.

After Nairi and Ani boats complete their voyage, an equestrian tour will launch towards the Selim pass.

Between September 10 and 20, Armenia will host a bike fest, which is expected to bring together 150 bikers from different countries. The bikers will ride Bagratashen-Akhtala-Dilijan-Sevan-Selim pass-Jermuk route.

Besides, Music without Borders festival will take place in Jermuk.

The final stage will feature an international rally to follow Russia-Kazakhstan-Iran-Turkey-Georgia-Armenia route.

Conclusion: if you’re a motorcyclist and you want to visit Armenia (which happens to be a paradise for motorcycling), now is the perfect time!! Whether you’re riding a sportbike, a grand tourer, a cruiser, a streetfighter, a chopper or an enduro (especially an enduro!), hit the road and head over here! Even if you are a sociopath who does not care about the fantastic people he’s going to meet in Armenia, there’s still guaranteed free rides, free fuel and free police escort, where or when else would you ever have all of that together? I’d also add free drinks and free girls (maybe even guys and camels), but that wouldn’t be guaranteed. Take your shot!

For your extra information, Google Maps works great in Armenia (as long as you navigate your way through Georgia).

Have a safe trip!

* I’m gonna be on the other side of the planet from September 10, and that’s a bummer.

—Ducati

Despite the differences, these motorcycles are essentially aimed at the same crowd: young urban dudes who want style, performance and daily commute (at our age it’s always a matter of a choice between a car and a motorcycle; both together are very rarely an option). For all these young dudes who want something more stylish (yes, more stylish!) and more fun (that’s right!) than a plastic sportbike, all major motorcycle manufacturers have something to offer. All these offers are generally within the 500cc and 800cc range naked streetfighters with upright riding position, have a good performance engine and stylish design.

Honda has two ideas of that for 2011. First is Honda Hornet, which is pretty cool looking but is not very practical due to its very low ground clearance (might as well get a CBR600) and limited accessories options. It’s awesome if you want to ride around cafes, but what if you encounter a little gravel?

Second is Honda CBF600, a 600cc 4-cylinder naked motorcycle that is fantastic in every way.

Until you see what Ducati is offering.

Oh my God! Now take a look at numbers!

OK, you say, the numbers are good, the looks are definitely awesome but it’s a Ducati against Honda, and this means thousands of dollars of price difference! Ducati is the “elite” motorcycle for the posh guys (who have both a motorcycle and a car), and Honda has always been there as an affordable alternative to the European motorcycles! How much more would the italian beauty cost than its cheap japanese counterpart? And that’s where the whole point of this post comes in:

2011 Ducati Monster 796: ~$9,950
2011 Honda CBF600: ~$9,000

Question: would you pay 10% extra to ride a motorcycle that is sexier, faster, lighter, more powerful, taller, has a better build quality, is hand-made in Italy and has “Ducati” written over it?

[pe2-gallery class=”gallery aligncenter” ] [/pe2-gallery]

Note: Gallery pictures are extremely sexy and high-res, check the spectacular stock paint job of each one of these Monsters!

Moreover, if you just love doing it in dirt and gravel, the need to wash it will rise a lot more often than if you’re one of those cafe racer dudes with a Fireblade.

And by often I mean pretty damn often.

So what do you do when the time comes? You know, when the rear suspension doesn’t work anymore because of all the dirt, the leather saddle and the handlebar grips conveniently stick to your pants and gloves like a candy, the turn signal button no longer works because of all the sand around, the mirrors show a blurred vision of a drunk person distantly resembling the reality behind you and she suddenly comes up with all these different reasons why she does not want to ride today? From that point (as well as from any ride that is more than 300km in Armenia) you have two options.

Option number one

Wash your motorcycle. Get some water running (better warm than cold), some dishwashing liquid detergent, a sponge and a bucket.

• Make sure the engine is not very hot
• Start with splashing buckets of water to essentially get the motorcycle very wet
• Spray the running water and try to get off as much dust and dirt by spraying as possible
• Get more water in the bucket and soap it using the detergent
• Starting with the top (the mirrors), go down sponging and soaping all the parts, taking care of the dead bugs and paying attention to every detail. Avoid rubbing the sponge against big pieces of dirt or sand, as this will scratch the paint.
• Clean the motorcycle chain using a commercial chain cleaner available in many stores including Honda’s Yerevan Dealership
• Rinse the bike using running water
• Let the motorcycle rest for a couple of minutes
• Dry it using a damp cloth
• Lubricate the chain!
• Go on a ride to dry off the remaining parts (enjoy)!

One thing to keep in mind is, do not direct high-pressure water on the carburetor, the front fork suspension rings or the engine radiator. These parts can easily be damaged by that.

Option number two

Have someone else wash your motorcycle. Many riders are feeling very strongly against someone else washing the motorcycle. Moreover, there is a shared belief that washing the motorcycle at a commercial no-contact car wash (aka “Karcher”) will damage some parts because of the extremely high-pressure water and air. However, in reality things are not so grim, if you take necessary precautions and warn the washer about some specifics.

Commercial no-contact car washes have two big advantages:

1. They do not accumulate any scratches to the paint, simply because pressurized air is used instead of a sponge
2. They are quick

Warn the fellow to not direct the stream of water at the radiator, the carburetor and the front fork UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES and always stay to supervise what’s he doing. Then pay your 2000 drams and get done with it.

I am personally going to this typical Yerevan car wash in a yard at Grigor Lusavorich street where a guy named Galoust (he’s in the photo above) has become my own personal bike washing expert. Here is where the place is located:

View Bike Wash in a larger map

Tell Galoust I said hi!

This little episode occurred in 301 AD: 12 years before Christianity was even legal in Rome. This change of religion was catalyzed by St. Gregory the Illuminator, now the patron saint of Armenia, curing then-pagan king Tiridates III of insanity, into which he had lapsed after torturing and killing a group of virgin Christian nuns. However, prior to this St. Gregory was imprisoned for 13 years in a deep pit (khor virap) by the same Tiridates III for being the son of his father’s enemy.

So every child educated in Armenia gets this history lesson, but not all of them get to see the actual pit. I had not until very recently. The virap has had a small chapel built over it since the days of St. Gregory, which is now a part of a monastery complex, situated in the Ararat plain, amid vineyards and orchards.

It was a rather short ride from the city, 30 minutes or so, on a boring straight road that didn’t give you much to look at, other than an occasional shanty roughly put together out of metal scraps in the middle of a fruit garden, where a family was laboring together hunched over the earth. The more boring and straighter the road, the more likely you are to speed though, so the highlight of the ride was the roar of the engine, the warm wind in my face, and the meditative state into which I lapse at high speeds. On the other hand, the last short section of the drive up to the Khor Virap monastery was extraordinarily picturesque, one so familiar and dear to the hearts of all Armenians: a church perched on the top of a steep hill with the snow-white Ararat hovering majestically in the back.

The first thing that struck me about the church was I guess the usual sight at most churches in Armenia on a weekend: the wedding conveyer.  One somber couple followed the other into the church where the no less somber priest performed the rites and pronounced them united in the eyes of God, after which the couple was free to go and pose for pictures in the yard. And so there was always one couple getting nervous, stepping from one foot to the other in the church doorway, another couple at the altar, and the third looking at the cameras soberly, gravely, as if trying to understand the philosophical repercussions of “in sickness and in health”.

The brides’ mothers looked fussy as they arranged their daughters’ veils clumsily and gave them advices as to how to look their best in these pictures that immortalized the most important day of their lives. Maids of honor tried to present themselves to their best advantage in front of the grooms’ friends. Little girls in white dresses spun around and twirled their taffeta skirts in the church yard, looking dreamily at the brides, hoping that one day they will be marrying their own solemn-looking prince charming. But for now, at least they got the dress all ready…

The main church, St. Astvatsatsin, built in the 17th century, was rather typical, as far as Armenian churches are concerned, built out of smooth orange tufa stone. It sat in the middle of the courtyard contrasted by the rough-hewn stone walls around the whole complex. The back wall of the church was covered in inscriptions: mostly names and dates, some going as far back as 1920’s, making the sense of permanence and continuity real, touchable.

The St. Gregory chapel was smaller, simpler, rougher, the inside walls covered with soot, housing the pit that served as St. Gregory’s home and prison for 13 years. We parked the motorcycle helmets by the altar, hoping that no one would steal from a church, and descended into the pit. The vertical ladder just kept going and going and I started to wonder just where I would find myself when my feet hit solid ground again, somewhat like Alice. The pit was dark, full of tourists, and claustrophobic. I guess those pagan kings back in the day were not to be messed with. Couldn’t imagine someone being trapped there for years and years, without the sad-looking but efficient light bulb hanging lonely from the ceiling.

Inside St. Astvatsatsin numerous candles flickered in the breeze, as people whispered their secret wishes and most coveted dreams to the quivering flames, hoping that God will grant an answer to their prayers.

Outside the church there was a tribute to the Armenian pagan past: a cock was trotting around proudly, as a true Armenian cock would, still ignorant of the the highest purpose he was going to serve.

On the way back to the city we were bombing down the highway, going over 150 km/hr, probably the fastest that I have ridden on a bike (although I used to squeeze more out of my old Corolla), and the boyfriend’s medium-sized helmet was sliding back off my small-sized head, while trying to crack my neck in the process. The chin strap was digging in painfully, totally ruining this amazing experience of the world rushing past me at a (quite literally) breakneck speed. With all this sliding around that the helmet was doing , I realized that it was on my head just for placebo effect: I may have felt better about having my head protected, but it would probably not do much good during the meeting between my head and the pavement.

So the few lessons to be learned from this ride:

• Armenia was the first country to adopt Christianity in 301 AD;
• Armenians have a lot to be proud of (in addition to the point above);
• When you are very low, there is nowhere else to go but up (from the depths of Khor Virap to a patron saint);
• And lastly, children, not only is it important to wear a helmet when riding a bike, it is also crucial to wear one your size.

“Java-ով գրողը C#-ով էլ կգրի”

—ՀԿՀ Ավագ Տեսուչ Ս. Խ. Բաբայան

After meeting the Azeris at Yeraskh things got even more chilly and so did the weather. We enjoyed our candy bars and started climbing the mountains to finally get to Noravank.

At the final intersection we turned right across the small bridge to the narrow road that is perhaps my most favorite road section to ride in the south. It is a worn tarmac secondary road through a narrow gorge the color of the sun, and while the colors of the scenery resemble those of the Barrens in World of Warcraft (especially around summertime), the blooming trees, the wide expanse of the sky and the light tarmac all add fantastic bright shades, making the road a lot more like fantasy than any zone in World of Warcraft can be.

In Noravank it was already unpleasantly cold and windy. We parked in the small parking lot, locked the handlebar and headed to the churches.

Architect Momik’s masterpieces were magnificent and beautiful as ever!

I insist that the crosses on the following photo signify the number of people who have died falling down the narrow stairs with no handrail. The crosses on each level signify the number of people who fell down the particular stair on that level for the given day. After the day is over, the priest registers the deaths in his statistics journal and carefully wipes the crosses using his Holy Armenian Apostolic Sandpaper. As we can see, higher stairs cause more deaths. I understand that this was Momik’s Evil Plan of Taking Over the World by slow and systematic kills over the centuries. Resistance is Futile!!

Sometimes the sandpaper does not wipe the crosses very well, and the priest has to swap the stones with cleaner ones from the other side of the church!

This is a very awesome illustration of Mary, Jesus Christ and two Angels (I think the one at the left is St. Gabriel) posing together.

After observing the churches and taking photos, we took a rest at the nearby cafe and warmed ourselves up with some tea. There was a heated discussion at the next table where two priests were explaining to some fellows that there is no such a thing as an Azerbaijani nation. Despite the scientific arguments, it sounded pretty odd after our recent encounter.

After a few minutes of walking, we realized that every minute spent at Noravank meant the way back was going to be colder. We headed back to Yerevan. The section from Noravank to Yeraskh was immensely cold, but after Yeraskh the air got warmer. Riding over 140km/h along the Most Boring Highway of Armenia (MBHA, aka M2), I was thinking about launching an awareness campaign for saving the innocent lives taken away by the absent railing of the narrow stairs.

First part can be found here, or you can read both together.

Sunday was the first ride of the Season and it was decided that we were going to Noravank. Comprised of two XIII century churches St. Astvatsatsin and St. Karapet, I consider the whole monument on top of the gorge one of the most beautiful and St. Astvatsatsin perhaps the most beautiful church on the territory of the present Armenia.

Weather.com predicted a high of 16°C for the day and we figured it would be tolerable for a ride of ~260km wearing sweatshirts. There were some morning showers reported, so we decided to head out of Yerevan past noon. The air itself was so chilly in the wind that at some point we contemplated turning right to Khor Virap, which would slash our trip, leaving less than a quarter of the planned mileage. However, at the crossroads to Khor Virap we decided to stick to the plan.

Something that I just discovered near Khor Virap is that along the M2 road there are many stork nests built on top of the lightposts. The nests are huge and they look like hats for the wooden posts, and there is a stork standing in almost every one of them—looks awesome! The storks gave me a pleasant flashback to my childhood when they were somehow directly associated with Armenia in my perception, albeit being a child in Yerevan I had never even experienced a real encounter with a stork!

So we rode all the way to Yeraskh, which is of course the standard rest point where we took a Snickers & Bounty candybar break. I was eager to find an ‘extra large’ Snickers instead of the regular size, so we started traversing through all the local stores (which are really just old cargo containers turned into shops by cutting windows and doors into them).

And here we witnessed something extraordinary! There were other tourists taking a break in the area besides us, who I presumed were from Iran and were returning back after celebrating Novruz in Yerevan. Among these were two tan guys in mid twenties in one of the stores where we were looking for the large Snickers, and as all Iranians do in Armenia they were shopping for alcohol. These two in particular were going for some scotch and a bottle of Armenian brandy. While choosing and checking their goods out, they were chatting to the store owner, an old woman in her 70ies. A foreign speech catches anyone’s ear, especially if you are standing within half a meter of the speech source in a long–lost rural area in Armenia, and so I was trying to figure out how could that old woman speak Farsi so fluently, when it suddenly struck me—the speech sounded a lot more like Turkish than Persian! The guys paid for the goods and left, leaving an atmosphere of excitement in the dirty cabin and a sincere melancholic smile on the old woman’s face who obviously didn’t smile that often. I was already pretty shocked, and so I followed:

“Would you give me a large bar of Snickers?” I asked suspiciously.

After a short pause, the old woman replied with a mildly nostalgic voice, “I don’t have the large ones… You can have these, which are smaller…” At this point I realized the woman had a thick Baku accent. She seemed super nice, too.

“So, what’s up with those guys?” I tried to sound casual and careless.

“Ah, young Azerbaijanis… Came to visit from Iran. I used to live in Baku, before coming here… [pause] Still remember the language… not so well.” The woman too sounded suspicious but casual. “Had to check the amount by writing it down on a paper to avoid a mistake…” At this point she kept smiling like a kid who knows he’s done something wrong and yet enjoyed the experience.

“Thanks!” I replied.

I was feeling pretty confused. We walked out of the container and I told Nariné, although she was standing by me all the way:

“Those guys were Azeris…”

Second part can be found here, or you can read both together.

Somehow with all the cliche comparisons I can make between motorcycling and lovemaking, this one is the most honest and the most true for me: submitting to it is scary, but what you get in return makes it all worthwhile in the end.

And so we ride.

In the pitch black of the night we are flying together occasionally passing half drunk young men driving their SUV’s home unsteadily, from whatever questionable deeds filled their Saturday night.  They look like they want to race, but there is no catching us.  We are flying.

The sound of the engine fills the sleepy streets of the city.  I wonder what goes on behind the very few brightly lit windows that watch over the slumbering city like sentinels. I want a glimpse into the secrets that are hiding behind the curtains.  But we are flying so fast that the windows are way behind us now.

The rain is lashing us sideways, as if punishing us for missing our bedtime yet again.  The city feels so close and so familiar, the way it can only feel late at night.  And while we are flying It belongs to us.  I wonder if freedom tastes like dust in your mouth.

I feel like I’m meditating, concentrating on all and nothing: on the road that I can barely make out, on the twinkling lights far away in the distance, on the wind in my ears, on how comforting it is to hold on to you tight as the beast is revving and charging into battle under me.  I am reaching a Zen, Buddhist monks spend decades trying to achieve.  The only feeling I have is this sensation of flight and immeasurable freedom.

I now proclaim the 2010 motorcycle season open.

I have fabulous plans for the 2010 riding season, enough to say that among the plans is a journey of unprecedented mileage for any motorcyclist from Armenia!

On the subject of positivity, hat tip to Kornelij for the dinner ad!

Happy 2010 everyone, again!

I have added a Season 2010 Countdown widget to the blog on the right sidepane, above the About text. While half of the winter is gone by now, still more than two months remain. And hell, World of Warcraft just doesn’t fill the gap.

First is BMW R7, a 1934 concept motorcycle.

Second is the beautiful Sunbeam S7 designed by Erling Poppe based on BMW R75 of the late 40s.

Retro curves and round headlights are sexy. No, sportbike riders, you probably don’t get it.

Season 2009 was truly an amazing motorcycling experience. Yerevan started really getting on two wheels. A lot of riding events took place. New dealerships, motorcycling clubs and pubs opened!

As 2009 goes into history, it leaves only wonderful positive motorcycling memories. This was my most intense riding season, I put about 9000 kilometers on my odometer and I’m planning to do nothing less in 2010! During the rides there were of course wonderful friends and ridemates to share the joy and the most wonderful places and roads to discover and explore! And of course I blogged a lot!

On this I want to wish us all a very happy, a very exciting and a very passionate 2010. Let’s ride through it on two wheels and be safe, healthy and excited in doing so! Vroom!

Some of my memories from 2009 are in these pictures, and they are clickable too! Muah!

The pictures are also available on my Picasa account for your viewing pleasure!

Doing all of this with the help of a friend in a well organized manner should not take more than half a Saturday, usually turning into a fun and unique experience, but most importantly your motorcycle is certainly going to appreciate the effort!

Step 1: Go ride

Take your motorcycle out on a short ride, preferably to the nearest petrol station. Ride for at least 15 minutes to make sure the engine gets warm and good, ready to change some oil. Use the chance to enjoy the last moments of riding to the fullest!

Step 2: Full tank

Fill the tank with petrol fully. Make sure the petrol station is credible for high-quality fuel, as the petrol is going to stay in the tank during the winter and if there is water in it then it is going to separate over the long period. Note that while most of the online storage guides suggest emptying the tank and using a tank spray to prevent its rusting, since you presumably have no access to luxuries like the spray the tank is better off being full than empty.

Some guides also suggest emptying the carbs before storage. I believe the carb is better off staying full and being emptied just before taking the bike out from the storage.

Step 3: Tire pressures

On the way back, check the tire pressures at any tire maintenance spot. Inflate both tires to the maximum pressure levels recommended for the motorcycle. Flat tires rot or get permanent dark patch spots that nobody wants to get.

Step 4: Clean and tidy

Dirt, mud, oil and dead bugs deteriorate the surface of the motorcycle over time by eating into the paint. Wash the motorcycle thoroughly making sure that it is completely clean before proceeding. Do not forget the tires and the leathers as well as the chrome parts. All of these need special care and attention.

Step 5: Lubricate

Lubricate the chain and everything else that needs to be lubricated, to avoid corrosion and rusting.

Step 6: Oil

Oil and the oil filter do need to be changed. These need to be changed even if you rode only a couple of kilometers since the last change. If you are storing the motorcycle for more than 4 months, you will have to change the oil again before you start riding it again. Otherwise, you are just going to ride with your winter oil on the next season (before another change of oil is needed) and it is perfectly fine.

I am assuming here that you do know how to change the oil and the filter, and I will write a separate guide someday for those who don’t.

Step 6a: Pistons

This step applies only to the cases when the motorcycle is going to be idle for more than 4 months.

Remove the spark plugs and fill a tablespoon of oil into each cylinder. Crank the engine with the starter to spread the oil evenly on the cylinder walls. This is a common and nice method to avoid rusting in the cylinders. Shut the plug holes with clean rags and take the spark plugs home.

Step 7: Battery

You generally do not have nor can you find a trickle charger in your country, so your battery is going to die and there is nothing you can do about it. But to make it less painful, you definitely want to take it off the motorcycle, take it home with you and slowly deplete it by plugging a 12V bulb or something else to the contacts.

If you have a chance to charge it with a charger once it’s depleted, and then go depleting it again, that is just wonderful (that is essentially what the trickle charger does). Otherwise, you will have to start the motorcycle with the help of another battery, charging your own from there.

Step 8: Removables

Besides removing the battery, you also want to remove the air filter and some of the leather parts, taking it all home with you. I personally remove all I can contain safer at home, including the mirrors, the leather sits of both the rider and the pillion and any accessories I have added. Some maniacs take home the entire carb and disassemble it.

Step 9: Ventilation

Close the exhaust pipe hermetically so no air gets into it causing rusting. This is an important step. Do not just stick some rugs into the hole, as clothes breathe pretty well and you do not need that. Similarly shut the air filter hole to avoid ventilation where it shouldn’t occur.

Step 10: Placement

Placement is important. Keep the motorcycle in a dark and dry place with minimal temperature variations between the day and the night. It is also very much preferred that the temperature does not get below zero.

Since you presumably do not have a motorcycle lift and CBF500 does not have a center stand by default, simply lean the motorcycle on its sidestand and make sure that the tires do not touch concrete. It is best to put sheets of thick paper under the tires to be crystal sure that no tire rotting can happen. Moving the motorcycle every 2–3 weeks a little forward and backward so the wheels don’t change their round shape under the weight is much desired.

Finally, cover the motorcycle with a blanket or a specialized motorcycle cover. Do not cover it with a plastic cover, or anything else that does not breathe and locks the moisture.

I am stuffed with a lot of exciting professional work (and personal life) lately + the season is gone, so One Hell of a Ride has gotten somewhat passive, but I have a lot of exciting posts coming!

Next in the queue is a Developing Country Resident’s Guide to Storing a CBF500 for the Winter, and while we are all holding our breaths for Season’10, we will get a little less tripey and a little more thinkey with writing!

Motorcycle Accident Cause Factors and Identification of Countermeasures Findings

Throughout the accident and exposure data there are special observations which relate to accident and injury causation and characteristics of the motorcycle accidents studied. These findings are summarized as follows:

1. Approximately three-fourths of these motorcycle accidents involved collision with another vehicle, which was most often a passenger automobile.
2. Approximately one-fourth of these motorcycle accidents were single vehicle accidents involving the motorcycle colliding with the roadway or some fixed object in the environment.
3. Vehicle failure accounted for less than 3% of these motorcycle accidents, and most of those were single vehicle accidents where control was lost due to a puncture flat.
4. In single vehicle accidents, motorcycle rider error was present as the accident precipitating factor in about two-thirds of the cases, with the typical error being a slideout and fall due to overbraking or running wide on a curve due to excess speed or under-cornering.
5. Roadway defects (pavement ridges, potholes, etc.) were the accident cause in 2% of the accidents; animal involvement was 1% of the accidents.
6. In multiple vehicle accidents, the driver of the other vehicle violated the motorcycle right-of-way and caused the accident in two-thirds of those accidents.
7. The failure of motorists to detect and recognize motorcycles in traffic is the predominating cause of motorcycle accidents. The driver of the other vehicle involved in collision with the motorcycle did not see the motorcycle before the collision, or did not see the motorcycle until too late to avoid the collision.
8. Deliberate hostile action by a motorist against a motorcycle rider is a rare accident cause.
9. The most frequent accident configuration is the motorcycle proceeding straight then the automobile makes a left turn in front of the oncoming motorcycle.
10. Intersections are the most likely place for the motorcycle accident, with the other vehicle violating the motorcycle right-of-way, and often violating traffic controls.
11. Weather is not a factor in 98% of motorcycle accidents.
12. Most motorcycle accidents involve a short trip associated with shopping, errands, friends, entertainment or recreation, and the accident is likely to happen in a very short time close to the trip origin.
13. The view of the motorcycle or the other vehicle involved in the accident is limited by glare or obstructed by other vehicles in almost half of the multiple vehicle accidents.
14. Conspicuity of the motorcycle is a critical factor in the multiple vehicle accidents, and accident involvement is significantly reduced by the use of motorcycle headlamps (on in daylight) and the wearing of high visibility yellow, orange or bright red jackets.
15. Fuel system leaks and spills were present in 62% of the motorcycle accidents in the post-crash phase. This represents an undue hazard for fire.
16. The median pre-crash speed was 29.8 mph, and the median crash speed was 21.5 mph, and the one-in-a-thousand crash speed is approximately 86 mph.
17. The typical motorcycle pre-crash lines-of-sight to the traffic hazard portray no contribution of the limits of peripheral vision; more than three-fourths of all accident hazards are within 45deg of either side of straight ahead.
18. Conspicuity of the motorcycle is most critical for the frontal surfaces of the motorcycle and rider.
19. Vehicle defects related to accident causation are rare and likely to be due to deficient or defective maintenance.
20. Motorcycle riders between the ages of 16 and 24 are significantly overrepresented in accidents; motorcycle riders between the ages of 30 and 50 are significantly underrepresented.
21. Although the majority of the accident-involved motorcycle riders are male (96%), the female motorcycles riders are significantly overrepresented in the accident data.
22. Craftsmen, laborers, and students comprise most of the accident-involved motorcycle riders. Professionals, sales workers, and craftsmen are underrepresented and laborers, students and unemployed are overrepresented in the accidents.
23. Motorcycle riders with previous recent traffic citations and accidents are overrepresented in the accident data.
24. The motorcycle riders involved in accidents are essentially without training; 92% were self-taught or learned from family or friends. Motorcycle rider training experience reduces accident involvement and is related to reduced injuries in the event of accidents.
25. More than half of the accident-involved motorcycle riders had less than 5 months experience on the accident motorcycle, although the total street riding experience was almost 3 years. Motorcycle riders with dirt bike experience are significantly underrepresented in the accident data.
26. Lack of attention to the driving task is a common factor for the motorcyclist in an accident.
27. Almost half of the fatal accidents show alcohol involvement.
28. Motorcycle riders in these accidents showed significant collision avoidance problems. Most riders would overbrake and skid the rear wheel, and underbrake the front wheel greatly reducing collision avoidance deceleration. The ability to countersteer and swerve was essentially absent.
29. The typical motorcycle accident allows the motorcyclist just less than 2 seconds to complete all collision avoidance action.
30. Passenger-carrying motorcycles are not overrepresented in the accident area.
31. The driver of the other vehicles involved in collision with the motorcycle are not distinguished from other accident populations except that the ages of 20 to 29, and beyond 65 are overrepresented. Also, these drivers are generally unfamiliar with motorcycles.
32. Large displacement motorcycles are underrepresented in accidents but they are associated with higher injury severity when involved in accidents.
33. Any effect of motorcycle color on accident involvement is not determinable from these data, but is expected to be insignificant because the frontal surfaces are most often presented to the other vehicle involved in the collision.
34. Motorcycles equipped with fairings and windshields are underrepresented in accidents, most likely because of the contribution to conspicuity and the association with more experienced and trained riders.
35. Motorcycle riders in these accidents were significantly without motorcycle license, without any license, or with license revoked.
36. Motorcycle modifications such as those associated with the semi-chopper or cafe racer are definitely overrepresented in accidents.
37. The likelihood of injury is extremely high in these motorcycle accidents-98% of the multiple vehicle collisions and 96% of the single vehicle accidents resulted in some kind of injury to the motorcycle rider; 45% resulted in more than a minor injury.
38. Half of the injuries to the somatic regions were to the ankle-foot, lower leg, knee, and thigh-upper leg.
39. Crash bars are not an effective injury countermeasure; the reduction of injury to the ankle-foot is balanced by increase of injury to the thigh-upper leg, knee, and lower leg.
40. The use of heavy boots, jacket, gloves, etc., is effective in preventing or reducing abrasions and lacerations, which are frequent but rarely severe injuries.
41. Groin injuries were sustained by the motorcyclist in at least 13% of the accidents, which typified by multiple vehicle collision in frontal impact at higher than average speed.
42. Injury severity increases with speed, alcohol involvement and motorcycle size.
43. Seventy-three percent of the accident-involved motorcycle riders used no eye protection, and it is likely that the wind on the unprotected eyes contributed in impairment of vision which delayed hazard detection.
44. Approximately 50% of the motorcycle riders in traffic were using safety helmets but only 40% of the accident-involved motorcycle riders were wearing helmets at the time of the accident.
45. Voluntary safety helmet use by those accident-involved motorcycle riders was lowest for untrained, uneducated, young motorcycle riders on hot days and short trips.
46. The most deadly injuries to the accident victims were injuries to the chest and head.
47. The use of the safety helmet is the single critical factor in the prevention of reduction of head injury; the safety helmet which complies with FMVSS 218 is a significantly effective injury countermeasure.
48. Safety helmet use caused no attenuation of critical traffic sounds, no limitation of precrash visual field, and no fatigue or loss of attention; no element of accident causation was related to helmet use.
49. FMVSS 218 provides a high level of protection in traffic accidents, and needs modification only to increase coverage at the back of the head and demonstrate impact protection of the front of full facial coverage helmets, and insure all adult sizes for traffic use are covered by the standard.
50. Helmeted riders and passengers showed significantly lower head and neck injury for all types of injury, at all levels of injury severity.
51. The increased coverage of the full facial coverage helmet increases protection, and significantly reduces face injuries.
52. There is no liability for neck injury by wearing a safety helmet; helmeted riders had less neck injuries than unhelmeted riders. Only four minor injuries were attributable to helmet use, and in each case the helmet prevented possible critical or fatal head injury.
53. Sixty percent of the motorcyclists were not wearing safety helmets at the time of the accident. Of this group, 26% said they did not wear helmets because they were uncomfortable and inconvenient, and 53% simply had no expectation of accident involvement.
54. Valid motorcycle exposure data can be obtained only from collection at the traffic site. Motor vehicle or driver license data presents information which is completely unrelated to actual use.
55. Less than 10% of the motorcycle riders involved in these accidents had insurance of any kind to provide medical care or replace property.

The actual report is several hundred pages, so head over to the Motorcycle Misadventures to find out information on how to order it.

There are many interesting points in the list, and I am planning to discuss some of these in a followup post, so stay tuned!

So you take your motorcycle on a ride every day, and on the weekends you trip the countryside. You quickly accelerate on the intersections and smile at the girls who look at you from the cars. You enjoy the sun glaring on your chrome while you’re chilling at a cafe and you bet with every 5-series BMW in the town that you will beat them to the next intersection. You do it for a year. Two years. Three years. But with every kilometer rolling on the odometer, the motorcycle whispers to those who listen: motorcycling is not about speed or looks… well, not primarily.

Being a fresh rider, I used to hate rides with no destinations. I remember the old riders looking at me with indulgence when I rushed to get there, and how I thought they were old cripples to not push their motorcycles to the limits. But when you hold on to the grips for too long, the motorcycle does whisper to you.

It is not about where you go. Not at all about where you go. It is not about how fast you get there.

It is about the road you take to get there. It is about how you ride that road. Not about how fast. Just about how. And then this realization strikes you and you stop for a moment. You breathe, you look around. You realize you don’t want more destinations. You want more roads. And what you once hated very sincerely becomes the most beautiful vehicle to your eyes that could ever be designed.

I used to hate offroad motorcycles. I knew, I was certain that an offroad motorcycle was going to be the last one I ever own. Turned out so, but absolutely not in the negative way I meant it to be!

So after my current CBF500 I know exactly what am I going to own next. I cannot wait. And who could? I am finally going to ride a vehicle that is really essentially designed to be a ground vehicle, from its core. I am going to experience freedom of movement unimaginable with any other vehicle. It is going to be fast. Not too fast. It is going to be sexy. Not too sexy to the ones non-transcended. It is going to be a Honda.

Remember, kids. If you think Enduros are not cool, you are wrong. If you think motorcycling is about speed, it might be — but only for the select few like Valentino Rossi and on very specially designed tracks and events. If you think motorcycling is about style, and you’re ready to spend that much on style, way to go — give me a call to have some beer together! And especially, if you are just starting to get into riding and you’re wondering about what you want to stick to, give the offroad a second thought after you initially disregard it. Keep in mind, it is very probably that offroad is where you will get anyway, with time. Just in case, watch the Long Way Round starring Obi Wan Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman.

The Enduros opened my eyes in a way no other motorcycle ever could. They opened whole millions of roads to ride in my small beloved country. They turned Armenia into a paradise for motorcycling.

Motorcycling stopped being about the speed, so I stopped noticing the next-year ultra-cool Sportbike JAP-09900XXX year 2050 riding along Baghramyan. It stopped being about the style, so I stopped noticing the 10o-years-old style shiny and loud Darley Havidson sinking in its own chrome.

It started being about the adventure.

Other parts of the series can be found here.

“Լավ աղջիկը էն չի, որ մոտոյով հետը տեղ ես գնում ու ամեն ինչ լավ ա…”

— Hett

I really loved the Honda Shadow. I kinda hated the one in Honda’s European model lineup, but the American model was my dream bike. I was riding my Rebel and dreaming a Shadow, so much that at times I got real close at purchasing one!

At times I considered purchasing other cruisers…

But in the end it was really Honda’s Shadow that had my heart.

So I rode my little cruiser getting annoyed with its low CCs, thinking of switching it with a big cruiser instead. I remember a friend telling me that my age is not yet that of a cruiser and that I should enjoy other types of motorcycles before I’m 40, but I didn’t pay attention to that until my business trip to Germany. In Bielefeld I had an opportunity to rent a motorcycle (thanks to my colleague Mr. Klein), and when they said they didn’t have a Shadow, I immediately recalled my friend’s sayings, thinking that I should give the naked bikes a shot. The guy on the phone said I could rent a Suzuki Bandit 600, and I went with it.

I remember the first feelings of the high-rev sporty engine in my hands and that was the moment I figured out that the naked streetbikes were way sexier than the cruisers. They were created for urban riding and urban riding was what I was mostly doing. Agile in the traffic among the cars, fast to accelerate and to brake, and finally — sexy almost like the sportbikes! I rode my Bandit a lot. I rode it on the german Autobahns and for commuting locally as well as cross-town tripping and just riding around. The class had proven to be very comfortable for tarmac and I loved the little slice of performance that it offered.

Naked was sexy because the engine was out for anyone to see and it made the motorcycle look very straightforward, rational and somewhat aggressively beautiful. The plastic fenders, covers and fairings of the sportbikes made them look like plastic toys in my eyes and so inside my brain the streetfighters actually beat the sportbikes in terms of the style. And man was that retro headlight hot!

Aside from the style, streetbikes seemed cool because they were created for being ridden in the city. Adding this to the naked engine style, their intent was put out so daringly that an engineer type of a person like myself was in love at once!

I rode the motorcycle for two weeks in North-Rhine Westfalia and flew back to Yerevan determined that my next bike is going to be something like the Bandit, except it had to carry Honda’s logo on the fuel tank. After coming to terms with my finances for a while, I paid a visit to the local Honda dealership and saw this:

Other parts of the series can be found here.

I paid a visit there today while it was still under heavy construction and the place looked very promising at first sight!

The owners were very nice and promised to keep the prices ‘somewhere between the Rock Bar and Square One’, so let’s see how this one goes.

Ah yeah, the bar is located near the Sakharov statue around Vega’s corner, facing the Tumanyan street — so it also has a nice small parking lot, good for motorcycles.

I think it’s great that there is a biker bar opening in Yerevan, as this will also implicitly develop motorcycling in the area. The bar had a nice spirit about its interior, so I’m sure it’ll do the job well!

Good luck to the guys with the business!

I am expecting to have it shipped within two weeks. Let’s see how that rolls!

This is the First Annual Garbage Ride, and every single person with a motorized vehicle is WELCOME TO JOIN!

About 400km, the ride is a very unique experience of a roadtrip across central Armenia and quite challenging for a single-day effort.

View First Annual Garbage Ride in a larger map

The First leg of the trip follows Armenia’s western border very closely, rides along the Arpacay Reservoir (a wonderful scenery, I’ve heard) and comes all the way to Gyumri.

The Second leg is not your regular Dilijan – Yerevan trip, it goes from Gyumri to Vardaghbyur and to Tashir (!!!), then rides down to Fioletovo through Stepanavan and Vanadzor, then through secondary roads to Hrazdan, Bjni, Yeghvard and finally Yerevan!

Yes, unless you’re a hardcore Armenia traveller, this might be the best journey across Armenia you ever had, so BE SURE TO NOT MISS IT!!

Are you riding a motorcycle? A car? A truck? A bus? A minivan? A ropeway?? Whatever your shot, we take it~!

Got a Facebook account? Go here to RSVP!

It was a real wheelie… Almost 90 degrees vertical, it was fantastic! After the wheelie my hands were shaking for many minutes, my heart was jumping out of my throat and I could hardly speak through my excitement!

I think I am entering another level of mastering my machine!

“We didn’t buy these bikes to look cool.”

— Esther Buergi, about Kawasaki KLR650

I think these series will contain some interesting aspects for people who are not yet into motorcycling as well as those who already ride, as you will probably find similarities.

So when I did not have a motorcycle yet (and did not make any sense in the types of motorbikes), my vision of a motorcycle was that of a sportbike. Of course I knew the cruisers (I ignorantly called them ‘Harleys’) and I knew the classic bikes and I had a very small knowledge of the offroad motorcycles which I hated, but if I would be shown different types of bikes and had to point my finger at the one I thought was coolest, it would definitely be the alienish designed sexy sportbike. And no wonder, because I knew they were fast and when you don’t actually ride, motorcycling feels all about speed.

However, back then I could not just simply buy the bike I wanted (not even the class of the bike I wanted!), and the circumstances brought me a small Honda cruiser — the excellent Honda Rebel CA125. I learned to ride on it and travelled a lot, falling in love with my small cute chopper that felt so big on the first day it was brought to my garage from Vedi.

At first I was pretty unhappy with riding a cruiser, but it has slowly revealed a whole new dimension of motorcycling to me that I could never discover otherwise. I started to feel that motorcycling was not really as much about speeding as it was about the philosophy of riding, the philosophy of control, some danger, adventuring, freedom, freedom and freedom. I think this was very good for my motorcycling experience as a whole, because I figured that the pleasure of motorcycling was much richer and bigger than that of speeding in the open air, becoming forever ‘whacked by the motorcycling bug’. However low in its CCs, the Rebel was great at injecting these concepts into my body and soul (changing it permanently) and after a couple of seasons I realized I’m a cruiser type of a guy. You know when you’re a teenager you wanna choose and stick with one thing, easily labeling yourself and the others! Having ‘found’ myself, I did not expect this would change, but it was a juvenile thing to think!

One significant future-changing permanent impact that the Rebel had left on me though was my huge and long-lasting love affair with Honda. I was amazed by the engineering talent put behind my small machine and the quality of production was just astounding! I knew since that all my future motorcycles were going to be a Honda, and this determination is alive to this day.

It still touches my heart when someone talks positively about Honda, and I am ready to engage in an endless debate with the ‘R1 is better than Fireblade‘ type of fellows having Honda’s bulletproof ‘gearbox’ argument in my arsenal.

So the first major battle inside my head after starting riding was won by the cruisers, and I already knew I was not going to own a sportbike in a very long period of time. The cruisers felt way cooler, very attractive and stylish with an enormous spirit about themselves, and the rumbling of the engine was so addictive that I didn’t understand anyone who wanted to ride anything else. So my dream motorcycle at the time became Honda Shadow — Honda’s flagship cruiser.

Other parts of the series can be found here.

And I am going to kick it with a new helmet — I desperately need to change my current Lazer helmet.

Most importantly, it is already around 5 years old (and helms do need to be replaced every 3 years as they lose their protective capabilities); it’s a cruiser helmet (I want something more streetfigher-fitting with my CBF500) and it’s a Lazer (I want a better brand).

I contacted my dear local dealer and here are the options they offered:

My heart currently goes with the first option, as it looks very stylish to me (besides having a great pilot look!).. However I am not sure how would it actually look on my wonderful head, so at times the more conservative options number 3 and 4 look ‘safer’ to order.

Oh, and agv is awesome!

The trip is not limited to motorbikes only and everyone is free to join with cars, trucks, bicycles, rollerblades or even helicopters! Oh yeah, bringing your own sweet things to the trip is encouraged!

I will post more as the day approaches. Note that the route is subject to change at this point, so this is just a general idea.

In the meantime, mail me if you think you’d want to ride/drive/fly/swim/teleport through the journey!!

“I tried to find a good comparison but it is difficult to say. It is impossible to compare the two (Formula One and MotoGP), as they have nothing to do with each other. It helps you to find the line because when you drive you understand what you have to do, in principle, but not in detail. But to compare these two things is two different worlds — it is like being on earth and going to the moon.”

— Michael Schumacher

Naturally, after a dinner you start with a visit to the Burnt Ministry (Varvac Ministrutyun, Վառված Մինիստրություն). You meet with the fellow motorized fun colleagues, discuss some motorbike–related topics and kick a sweet small ride across Yerevan and the suburbs, enjoying the dusk, the rumbling of the cruiser’s engine behind and the whizzing of the sportbike’s engine ahead.

You then schedule a ride to Ijevan for Saturday and go clubbing till 5 in the morning.

In the morning you pack and head out to start the Ijevan ride.

You move out at around 11, ride on the M4 across a freezing wind, and take a short lahmajo / tea break in Dilijan.

Then you warm up and start riding to Ijevan, around 40 kilometers.

In Ijevan you meet a friend who invites you to his house in Gandzakar, where you meet some very nice people.

And enjoy a freshly slain (sorry nature activists) lamb BBQ

With some home–produced vodka

And awesome stories.

You then receive a call from another friend who invites you to join him in Dilijan and ride a section to Sevan. So you ride back to Dilijan, join him with his car and his company, then on the Shorzha intersection you turn to stack up with more friends at Sevan.

You spend the night playing a guitar, watching the stars and the fire, and in the morning you swallow some wonderful omelet after watching a new boat being put into the lake.

Afterwards you receive a call inviting you to a racing event in Arzni, you pack again and head out to meet more friends

..and watch some outstanding fun action!!

You watch some very fast cars

Meet some very fast motorcycles

And of course meet me who has incidentally been also doing exactly everything that was described above!

Then you ride with me to Yerevan for a coctail at a favorite cafe, go home for a shower and just when you want to go back to more clubbing, you drop dead sleeping.

Great weekend: [ SUCCESS ]

We believe in going our own way, no matter which way the rest of the world is going.

We believe in bucking the system that’s built to smash individuals as bugs on a windshield.

Some of us believe in the man upstairs. All of us believe in sticking it to the man down here.

We believe in the sky, and we don’t believe in the sunroof.

We believe in freedom.

We believe in dust, tumbleweeds, buffalo, mountain ranges and riding off into the sunset.

We believe in saddle bags and we believe that cowboys had it right.

We believe in refusing to knuckle under to anyone.

We believe in wearing black, because it doesn’t show any dirt or weakness.

We believe the world is going soft, and we’re not going along with it.

We believe in motorcycle rallies that last a week.

We believe in road side attractions, gas station hot dogs, and finding out what’s over the next hill.

We believe in rumbling engines, pistons the size of garbage cans, fuel tanks designed in 1936, freight-train size headlights, chrome and custom paint.

We believe in flames and skulls.

We believe life is what you make it, and we make it one hell of a ride.

We believe the machine you sit on can tell the world exactly where you stand.

We don’t care what everyone else believes…

Amen……

For you guys, the need to subscribe is certain.

Whether you’re using Google Reader, Bloglines, Mozilla Firefox, Microsoft Outlook, any other feed reader or none at all — subscription is an easy and convenient way of getting the updates as they appear instead of refreshing till your reload button goes numb. I found this important to mention, as I get a lot of direct hits.

Most of the time simply adding http://www.onehellofaride.com/ to your reader’s subscription list should be enough. For particularly dumb feed readers http://www.onehellofaride.com/feed/ would be a more precise URL. Over there you will also see more options of subscribing to the blog updates — you can even get the new posts in an email.

There are at least three feed readers already mentioned in the post, so if you don’t have a choice at the moment — they are listed in order of exponentially dropping coolness.

Seriously, content and convenience are more important than form and style. Go ahead and subscribe. Catch up with the Web 2.0 train before Web 3.0 hits you from the back!

And do not worry, big brother I will still track you.

You won’t regret it.

Get well soon, Vigen.

Only a Biker knows why a dog sticks his head out of a car window.

Tough decision!

Season ’09 has started to prove my old claims that Armenians in their essence are people of two wheels, not willing to give up any freedom for any security. I can spot and hear more and more motorbikes in the streets of Yerevan and that makes me excited! I remember how different everything was back in the day, how riding a motorbike was considered outlandish and how criticized the very idea of riding a motorcycle was.

An SUV has stopped me 10 minutes ago as I was approaching the restaurant where I’m posting this from and a charismatic guy in his early thirties asked me how to get into motorcycling. Earlier in the day I was discussing the same with a colleague from my company during a coffee break… And everywhere seems to be this cool atmosphere of people who are tired of watching more TV in their car cages.

This gives me a profound feeling of responsibility. I’m going to do my best, making sure that their starting experience with getting on two wheels is most pleasant and smooth. It freaks me out to think that maybe I had my unbelievably small contribution in making these people want to ride. That perhaps it was my motorcycle they saw in the street that got them thinking. That perhaps it was me entering a curve that thrilled them. These very thoughts get me into this groovy mood! Every time I pass by a child in a car who looks at me with these specific burning eyes and dropped chin, I smile and think that perhaps —  just perhaps — I will remain a vivid memory in his small neural network and as years pass — one day, after an intense conversation night with parents, he will open the local dealer’s door with that distinct determined look. I hope his chin drops again, with that same childish amusement he used to have over the motorcycle he gets!

Thank you everyone who has been riding. Thank you all who will be riding. Thank you. Everything will be fucking awesome.

Just hit the fucking road.

The first nasty thing happened just as I was riding out of the grain field — my bike slip off the edge and I hit a rock with the bottom of my oil tank, breaking two protectors. Fortunately no oil seemed to be leaking so we continued the way, though the incident really pissed me off.

We wanted to visit Haghpat on our way and take the Dilijan-Sevan road to Yerevan. So we headed for Haghpat and it was another amazing experience after yesterday – Alaverdi was such an amazing city with this heavy and addictive spirit of industrialism! Afterwards came Haghpat and the one word that came to my mind was — magnificent!

On the road from Vanadzor to Dilijan the rain started and it was pretty intense. This Vanadzor-Dilijan road, by the way, is great for some speedy riding: it is not straight and boring like the major highways in Armenia but with its minor curves it allows some nice pace. In Dilijan I was already pretty wet and had to take a cozy tea break with friends. But the rain was intensifying and the worst things lay ahead!

I changed my socks and got on the bike to ride the omnifamiliar Dilijan-Sevan-Yerevan sector. After thirty seconds I became as wet and uncomfortable as I was before my tea break. Then the rain got worse with more cars on the road and the trip became the wettest one in my life. I rode the Dilijan curves, up to the tunnel, then to the lake and just stopped as I physically could not ride no longer! My 50% waterproof leather coat completely gave up on the heavy rain and my shirt and pants felt like heavy cold water sponge all over my body. I was planning to just sit by the road and wait till the rain is over.

It was in this moment, when all hope had faded, that Jaguar, son of Alexander, took up his friend’s motorbike.

On the toughest part of the ride, with reported terrible storm and sheer cutting wind. Jaguar rode through it with no single piece of motorcycling gear except a helmet, leave alone any rain gear. The one thought that lingered in my mind at that time was that the bar of the capabilities of the human being are absolutely not where we foolishly think they are.

Through the insane conditions on the road and in the sky we finally made it to Yerevan for some shower and tea. The Odzun trip turned out to be an amazing experience and into amazing memories.

There was a lot of rain those days, but my rides on the perfect tarmac of the german roads as well as the A2 Autobahn, travels through Gütersloh, Bielefeld,  Melle and Dortmund were unforgettable! I miss Germany a lot these days.

Here’s a Honda Rebel CA125 (my first motorcycle) in Gütersloh:

A  retro BMW:

A nice custom Honda in Bielefeld that belonged to the owner of the Polo motorcycle apparel store, an old woman of non-traditional sexual orientation who has generously shown me around the city:

And finally, an ubercool custom Harley in Dortmund:

Riding in Germany was a shit load of fun and I miss it badly. If you happen to visit it, don’t forget to rent a motorbike — it’s only about 200 euros a week!

I always thought that I rarely travel north of Armenia. I somehow always perceived “north” to be cold and unfriendly, preferring the dusty Artashat highway that is so plain it makes you yawn and sing to yourself, pondering about the eternity. Oh well.

So we hit the road last weekend on Saturday, riding a nice and tidy Yerevan-Vanadzor-Alaverdi-Odzun-Dilijan-Sevan-Yerevan trip with camping.

Now, anyone who has read Tumanyan probably has this perception of Lori as some sort of a fantasy place. And I was so surprised to find out that Lori is in fact a much bigger fantasy than I expected it to be! Now I don’t know if it was the lucky weather or the adrenaline from the exciting curves of the narrow road, but the whole experience was so beautiful and rich in colors that I couldn’t help my jaw being dropped!

Looking at the wonderful curves of the road, then at the forests on the mountains, then at the cute wooden bridges over my head, then at the rocks at my left, then at the eagles soaring around, the tunnels, the sky, the houses and their rooftops, amazing!

The next pleasant surprise was to find out that people in these places are about as great as the place itself! Calm, adequate and understanding — you don’t meet these in an average Armenian too often!

So the initial idea was to ride through Stepanavan to Odzun and then back to Yerevan through Dilijan, however just before hitting the road we decided to skip Stepanavan this time and visit Haghpat instead. We left Yerevan on M3 and headed for Vanadzor.

Now most of my friends know that I love speeding. I love speeding on my bike, I love speeding on any car I drive and I love speeding in any situation — offroad or urban. And if you’ve been driving cross-country a lot, you know it’s hard to switch to the lower speed scale once you enter a town through a highway (in fact some recommend taking a 5-minute rest when entering a town after high speed driving). So the first small thing happened in Aparan where the traffic police stopped me for speeding. I certainly instantly considered that they were located on the opposite lane and it would take them forever to chase me, so I never stopped, squeezing my throttle further in. They did, however, stop my buddy in his car and ripped the damn 5000 drams for speeding.

On the way from Vanadzor to Odzun I met the rare traffic road sign called ‘other dangers’:

Then I rode through some very spooky tunnels. Imagine entering a tunnel that has zero lights inside and no visible light at the end after riding in a lot of sunlight with sunglasses. You instantly face black darkness with an uncomfortable feeling like there is a solid wall just in front of you. Seeing nothing at all and smelling the humidity, all I could do was to hope that there were no potholes or stones on the road section ahead.

Afterwards came Odzun at the top of the mountain and it looked fantastic! We drove through meter-high grass towards the gorge (a must-have experience!), settled with our tent by the flowers and made some really great pork barbeque, after visiting some local stores and of course the Odzun Church. Shortly after we arrived some light rain started to pour so we had to enjoy our meal inside the tent. Then there was Poker, Aerosmith and the usual chit-chat of the tent, with hawks and eagles flying under our feet, so close we could hear the wings flap!

We had a great night’s sleep and planned for Haghpat and Dilijan-Sevan-Yerevan for the upcoming day. Little did we know!

I never had a more special ride in my life (maybe except the first ride ever) and I will happily post about this challenge in a great detail with following posts.

Stay tuned!

Last Friday we took the road to Tsakhkadzor. The weather was good all along, and there were certain things to discuss, so we thought – why the hell not do this in a changed environment and some fresh air?

The planned trip was overall a little longer than 150km, thus also being a nice starting ride to see how my bike feels ‘out in the close wild’. I was eager to take a ride to Geghard first, however Tsakhkadzor seemed to make more sense on that particular day.

We took the standard ‘Sevan highway’ to Hrazdan upon departing Yerevan and since the official run-in period was passed, I have done some minor ‘performance tests’. The results were encouraging — about 160km/h stable with revs and space still  left for some extra speed. But speed was not really what I was interested in.

In Tsakhkadzor we visited Kecharis and went to eat some Ishkhan (the trout did not have that magical melting taste my mom objectively delivers). The weather was fantastic; while there were some ‘I’ll rain if I want to’ clouds up above it was actually pretty warm and no rain ever came down.

Most of the fun came on the way back, as Anna suggested we take an alternate route through Bjni. This was a worse road with gravel, dirt and mud instead of tarmac and huge potholes on certain sections. Hett is always happy to drive his Pajero through this kind of terrain and I was more than excited to try my bike out, especially since I’ve heard a lot of criticism lately about the ‘offroad capabilities’ of my new motorcycle. And guess what!

• I have not once had a problem with the bike’s ground clearance. Not once.
• It was agile enough at slow speeds to handle through every single stone.
• I did not ever lack rapid acceleration to maintain speed through the gravel or dirt.

And everyone who doubts my bike’s suitability for the wonderful Armenian terrain conditions can, well, suck it.

After this we arrived to Abovyan where I saw an absolutely genius invention of the local municipality — ‘laying policemen’ (speed bumps) in front of every single pedestrian crossing in the town. Cars never yield to the pedestrians in Armenia, so this was a bullet-proof way to make them do that, unless they wanted to damage the cars. The pedestrians in Abovyan were crossing the street like in Europe, and I thought it was absolutely necessary to build the same speed bumps in Yerevan as well.

Then there was Yerevan as it always is at the end of the trips and I was very happy to have the motorcycle that I had.

The pictures are available here.

The short trip to Tsakhkadzor on the free Friday was amazing, and an extensive post will follow, but here is something for those who can’t wait to see stuff.

So most importantly, overrevving is strictly forbidden. I tried to always shift my gears between 3,500 and 5,000 and have never went above 5,500. Note that max revs for CBF500 is 14,000.

Secondly, the engine should never be overloaded. This means rapid acceleration, heavy weight load (including a heavy pillion), and early gear switching should not be practiced.

Finally, the engine should always be properly warmed up and responsive before riding, especially after a garage night. 30 seconds of choke when starting the engine are enough to do the job if the air temperature is above 10° C.

Easy rules to follow and you have a solid machine that will serve for long.

The one difference that I notice between 3km mileage and now is that the engine sounds much smoother. This is a sound I like much better.

After the 1000th km the oil and its filter should be changed. In the meantime, I can allow myself a little bit more revs.

If you’re a geek and blogging, you should definitely drop by to meet at least two amazing, extraordinary and just plain cool (did I forget to mention humble?) people – Jaguar over at Starlight Galaxy and your humble servant.

Most importantly, Jaguar is throwing off a mega presentation at 12:00 in the afternoon on Saturday, and I do know it’s gonna be nothing anyone expects (oh yeah, and missing it is lame).

So, be sure to register and see you at Barcamp.

Yerevan has been flooded with rain this whole week, and even as I’m typing this there are gloomy clouds  up above.

But here’s the cool thing:

I love riding in the rain!

Last two days I have experienced the most pleasant ride on my current motorbike ever (yes, it’s been whole two weeks now I think), partially because it no longer feels like ‘who’s motorcycle is this?‘ (it’s mine, baby, and I’m everything but dead!) but mostly because riding in the rain feels so damn good!

The imposed carefulness and smoothness of the ride, the imposed extra attention, the feeling of survival, the mystery of the water-filled potholes, the raindrops vortex on the helmet visor, the smell of the rain on the coat and the gloves afterwards is just so addictive — you keep wanting to ride more and more and more.

What, the bike washing thing? Meh, screw it!

After a whole night’s preparation and a lot of excitement, the morning was grave: 1° C, frost-covered trees, freezing wind and, well, the promised precipitation.. snow!

The trip is postponed till the next weekend: although there is the damn 60% precipitation chance on both upcoming Saturday and Sunday, the expected temperature is much higher, which allows one to expect a safer type of stuff that falls from the sky (for those of us on two wheels): rain.

On the other hand, it might even be that I change my trip to a fully-blown ride with an overnight stay. Let’s see how the things roll.

Precipitation chance for tomorrow’s Geghard ride is 60%. I can haz it wet!

Guess what, I washed the bike today. Perhaps I’ll never learn…

Thanks to the government of RA for making it a free day!

…Riding on a motorcycle can make you feel joyous, powerful, peaceful, frightened, vulnerable, and back out to happy again, perhaps in the same ten miles. It is life compressed, its own answer to the question “Why?”
Why? they ask, those who don’t ride. Those tho do ride are incapable of understanding the question. Riding feels good, they say – it feels damn good. But I think there is more, just as there is always more underneath the obvious, and a little more underneath that. The great layered mysteries of human motivation are oddly both variegated and amazingly uniform. And they are revealed in the many reasons, as well as the one simple one, why people ride.
Motorcycles are what they feel like (profoundly sensual – vroom, vroom – and perhaps a bit primordial) and also what they look like (fearsome with a strange deep beauty). Look at that engine, out for anyone to see, and those two simple wheels: what else announces its intent so brazenly?…
What bikes feel like is an extension of the self – a better you, a perfectible, fixable you, an ominously powerful you.

Made a new purchase:

Just as I was sitting at the office and crawling about credit card processing problems, the rain rushed in — I do believe there’s an Armenian Murphy’s law about a relation between washing vehicles and precipitation! On the positive side, enjoyed some nice rain ride and figured that I miss tripping in the wild.

On Saturday I’m planning to hit Geghard as the first trip on this bike.

Let’s see how that goes.

And yeah, guess I’ll need to wash the bike again.

Oh yeah, and my new plate reads: 0434 APA. Bummers.

1. Get the CBF500 Accessories Catalog.
2. Locate part number of the accessory you need.
   (for example, part number of Black Interstellar 45l Top Box is 08L55 MCW 8V0)
3. Make sure to locate any requirements the accessory may have.
   (the 45l Top Box requires a Top box bracket 08Z51 MCW 800A and a Rear carrier 08L42 MER 801)
4. Google for the part numbers: 08L55 MCW 8V0 germany – and enjoy the results!
5. The only remaining thing now is to pick the one store that ships where you are. This might require some negotiations.

This is all. Wanted to write this down for myself, and then thought – what the hell, let it be public.

It’s in the header, too, so it’s worth hitting refresh on your browser.

(If it doesn’t appeal to you, go uninstall your stupid Internet Explorer 6 and use a browser for people with dignity)

Now I have ridden a bike and two, but nothing compares to riding a brand new, fresh motorcycle.

So the first thing one should know about riding zero mileage brand new motorbikes is that they behave rather strangely at times!

My own personal experience was — the engine sounded and responded harsh at the beginning, the clutch and gear shifting would sometimes fail. But this disappeared gradually, and after the 200th kilometer I come across these issues only very rarely (running-in period for CBF500 according to my manual is 500km).

Other than that, the bike has been an absolute joy to ride. I don’t push the revs further 5000 till I hit the 500km mark on my odometer, and even so it’s very quick to accelerate and feels confident at the 6th gear. There was a problem with steering or shifting gears on turns at the beginning, but now the thing feels more agile than most of the things I’ve ridden.

I’m currently planning my first trip outside Yerevan on the absolutely wonderful Google Mapmaker. Will probably be on the upcoming weekend, and hopefully the weather will be fair. From there we’ll have the first live trip post with the first pictures on this blog.

Let us drink and cheer today to all the people in the world who choose to ride this journey on two wheels.

Grats Jaguar!

Pleasant riding, and thank you for choosing a Honda!

–Honda CBF500/A Owner’s Manual

In the meantime, I need somebody to put me into a deep 15-hour hibernation.

Tomorrow is a decisive day as I am going to fetch some crucial loan-related documents from the bank. Since my loan is approved, it will only be a matter of days to possess the shiny machine, and it couldn’t come at a better time: the season is barely up!

So this blog will be my motorcycling home on the web, as I am planning to ride and blog a hell lot this season. There’ll be a lot of stuff, so subscribing now is a grand idea. Let’s make this season one hell of a ride!