The “Wrong” Road
Beautiful story from a bike tourist talking about taking the “wrong” road every now and then: “Kristina’s brother, Jeff French, with whom we often ride, burned that lesson into our memories a second time. It was 20 years later in 1994 and we had just got off a train we had been on all night to get to an ancient region in east-central Turkey known as Cappadoccia. It was daybreak, and the call to prayer had just started from a nearby mosque when the train dropped us off at the outskirts of a Turkish village. I imagined it looked almost the same as it did a thousand or more years ago. The three of us loaded our bikes under a brightening aqua sky streaked with orange and pink clouds and we soon were riding the highway east toward our destination, some miles away. Jeff stopped suddenly, as is often his way, and said, ‘I wonder what’s up that street?’ It was more of an alleyway, really, that went up a hill between long rows of mud houses, so we followed the narrow street until we exited upon a large town square. If ever three persons could stand transfixed by a scene it was we three. Nothing had changed. There were no cars. There was no pavement, only packed dirt. School children were in modern dress, uniforms, for school, but most others wore traditional clothing. Soon a curious crowd began to gather that grew and before long a young woman stepped forward. Using sign language she told us to wait, that she would be right back. A few minutes later, she returned carrying a large bundle. It was a beautiful hand-woven maroon carpet, about four feet by six, that she unrolled on the dirt. Then she put out a basket of fruit, cheese, a pot of tea and three plates and cups and motioned for us to sit and eat. We sat and we ate as most of the village, it seemed, looked on.” http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/page/?o=1&page_id=19603&v=oM
