StokeLab Missions: Mountain Bike Mecca Cappadocia, Turkey's ancient trails by bike

MOUNTAIN BIKE

MECCA Cappadocia, Turkey’s ancient trails by bike

words + photos by

TYLER COHEN

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IN THE 1970S, GÖREME, TURKEY WAS A HARBOR FOR HIPPIES TREKKING THROUGH THE MIDDLE EAST. They found solitude in the Cappadocia region’s remote, lunar-like sandstone caves and dozens of ancient churches where Christians hid during the Ottoman Empire’s reign centuries earlier. Now a UNESCO World Heritage Site and national park, Cappadocia attracts a different kind of traveler—the two-wheeled kind.

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The morning call to prayer wails across the minaret-lined skyline of Beyoglu, a hilly neighborhood in Istanbul, Turkey, waking me before 5:30 a.m. My girlfriend Rachel and I hurriedly dress as the Arabic tones bellow between brick buildings, tossing clothes into our carry-on luggage before dashing outside to catch the first in a series of shuttles, airplanes and taxis to Cappadocia. There, we plan to mountain bike for three days on some of the best trails that no one’s ever heard of.

Walking down Istiklal Street, Beyoglu’s main plaza and pedestrian thoroughfare, my roller duffle slaps cobbles like a rattling snare drum. Water flows down street gutters as municipal workers wash away whatever mess was made the night before. A few dozen Euro-chic-dressed club goers wander from still-bumping terrace bars, and at every turn, cab drivers shout to offer rides. Rachel and I, blonde, fair skinned and burdened by luggage, are starkly out of place.

At the end of Istiklal is a sprawling concrete square adorned with red and white Turkish flags, a fountain and a small, wooded park. It’s quiet, except for a dozen people sitting cross-legged in a circle at park center. Police lounge around the perimeter under caution-taped tents, and there’s an armored truck topped with a water cannon— not altogether comforting. But then, this is the site of recent protests that sparked riots across Turkey.

Two weeks prior, Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan announced plans to bulldoze the park and build a mall. Protesters responded with parades, graffiti and sit-ins. The police responded with tear gas and water cannons, which escalated the situation to a countrywide Occupy Wall Street-esque demonstration against Erdogan. Yesterday, he declared victory.

I squat on my duffel to wait for the bus, and snack on a postage-stamp-sized nugget of pistachio baklava. “I can see why they want to keep it,” Rachel says, nodding toward the greenery of Gezi, now soaked red in morning light. To my left, white graffiti on concrete offers a simple message from protesters to the Prime Minister to chill out: “Smoke Weed Erdogan.”

OUR GUIDE

In Cappadocia, we meet Sina Solouksaran, our mountain bike guide from Middle Earth Travel, one of more than 20 travel companies that operate in Göreme. Sina has worked with Middle Earth for about a year and a half after moving to Turkey from Tehran, Iran. But his story isn’t as bright as the smile that overwhelms his face as we begin to talk.

In 2011, he was the best rider on the Iranian National cross-country team after 10 years of training. Then, he was kicked off the team. “The Iranian government banned me from racing because of religion,” he says. “I’m not Muslim.” He’s Baha’i, a modern religion that emphasizes equality and unity. And as a non-Muslim living in Iran, the 26-year-old couldn’t go to college, get health insurance, or even hold a credit card.

Now, a social refugee living in Turkey for the past 18 months, he’s competed in six races, podiumed in three, and is ranked among the top 180 XC riders worldwide.

“For Turkey?” Rachel asks.

“For me,” Sina replies. “I still wear my Iranian national jersey to show them that it doesn’t matter. I go to other countries because I love cycling and want to continue my career. I tried to get into Turkish clubs, but I can’t because of sports policy. Now I’m a social refugee in Turkey.” And as a social refugee, he has to get fingerprinted twice per week, and needs permission from the police to travel. He now has applied to move to the U.S. “I want to go to the U.S. and get a scholarship and continue my education,” he says. And race, too.

Sina drives us to our hotel—a multi-tiered guesthouse backed up against sandstone-like tuff cliffs—before leaving us for the afternoon. He needs to go get fingerprinted in Nevdehir, 12 kilometers away. He’ll get there by bike, of course.

The trail pinches to a foot-wide ribbon of tuff and winds among four-story-tall towers before plunging back to the valley bottom and along a damp streambed.

Whooshing of propane-fueled fire wakes me in the morning. Out the window, a half dozen hot air balloons rise like balls of mercury floating in water. Cappadocia’s signature hot air balloon rides start at daybreak when the first tourists arrive, but we won’t be biking for another few hours.

When we finally head out, Sina brings Rachel and I up a paved climb that turns into cobbles and then dirt. From the high point, we can see the clustered village of Göreme with its handful of streets and dozens of cave hotels against a tuff-walled backdrop. It looks like a desert version of the lost city of Atlantis. In the distance, cliffs drop from a high plateau like in the Zion setting of Red Bull Rampage. “I am very lucky to be here,” Sina says. “They choose where you go as a refugee and in 18 months, I never get bored of it.” We’re about to find out why.

A volcano called Erciyes (3,916 meters) is among the tallest peaks in Turkey. About nine million years ago, Erciyes spewed rock skyward, dropping volcanic ash up to a few hundred kilometers away. The giant falling rocks compacted underlying tuff, and after a few-million years of rain and wind and erosion, a mountain bike paradise has emerged. Castle-like towers called Fairy Chimneys are the signature of Cappadocia’s landscape—finely eroded pillars capped by volcanic rubble. And through the complex maze of desert canyons and arroyos are trails, lots of them.

Sina leads the way down a double-track descent into a wooded valley marked by a sign to prohibit ATV travel. We pass a wooden shack with couches where a vendor sells fresh-pressed fruit juice before the surrounding greenery opens into an amphitheater of white rock—the White Valley, also called the Love Valley for its phallic rock chimneys.

The trail pinches to a foot-wide ribbon of tuff and winds among four-story-tall towers before plunging back to the valley bottom and along a damp streambed. We stop under a sagging tree, and Sina picks a half dozen orange, ping-pong-ball-sized fruits. He dusts them off on his Iranian National Team jersey and offers the apricots to Rachel and me.

“I’m surprised by how green it is,” I say. I expected a hot, arid desert, but the bottom of the Love Valley is verdant, and the temperature is comfortable.

“The farmers used to use the valleys and plant trees,” Sina says, spitting out an apricot pit. “But because of the tourists, most farmers have left the valleys.” We mount our bikes and rise again from the streambed, winding up the Love Valley that becomes whiter and hotter as we climb. After an hour and a half, we top out on the valley rim, then ride toward Uçhisar, the highest point in the area topped by a hulking castle carved into limestone.

At the entrance to the castle, a banquet-length table is filled with baskets of dried fruits and nuts, but a sign is advertising something completely different—Turkish Viagra. The man behind the table beckons Rachel and I forward as he peels apart two apricots. He stuffs them with dried apricot seeds, mulberries, peanuts and sesame seeds then passes them to us. The miniature sandwich explodes with sweet flavors and smooth texture in my mouth, and Rachel’s eyes light up wide. “Now you know why they call it Viagra,” Sina says with an ear-to-ear smile.

Turns out, Turks believe that dried fruits have aphrodisiac qualities. “And this one would be like doping,” Sina says, pointing to a mixture of fruits and nuts. Rachel buys a bag of before we roll down Uçhisar’s cobbles for the Pigeon Valley, another limestone canyon, this one with hundreds of mailbox-sized pigeon houses carved into the white walls.

We descend fast through a cracked, dusty streambed before climbing a small plateau from which the white flanks of Erciyes are visible through the haze. Then the trail drops again and my front wheel rattles down an ancient, stone staircase carved into the canyon wall above a small farm plot of grape vines. Sina, the seasoned pro, rolls down the staircase effortlessly before the trail winds farther down the valley, weaving in and out of wide tunnels with roofs that nearly scrape my helmet at each exit. The trail becomes double track then graded road then, suddenly, we’re back in Göreme beside the Middle Earth office. And it’s only noon.

The next day, we climb for an hour on cobblestones toward the forested Zemi Valley in the morning, eat a two-hour lunch at a covered café tucked into the rock folds of the Red Valley, and skitter down an hour-plus descent benched into the side of Table Mountain, the prominent plateau above Göreme. In the late afternoon, Sina leads us up the singletrack climb in one of two Rose Valleys to a café that’s run by Emin, a friend of his.

Under a thatched, cabana-style roof beside two stout Fairy Chimneys, Emin serves up fresh-pressed juice from oranges and grapefruits he carts up the singletrack each morning on his moped. “Turbo energy,” Emin says as he places three glasses on the wooden table. “Very fast. Vroom. Strong.”

“This is the best juice I’ve ever had,” Rachel says, eyes wide as she gulps the grapefruit tonic.

“My friend came up here the other night to camp out,” Sina says. The Chimneys next to Emin’s café have caves that you can sleep in. “All you need is big pad and sleeping bag, and Emin will make you breakfast and lunch.”

“Bar-be-que,” Emin adds.

“And at 4:30,” Sina says, “the sun comes in, and the balloons come up the valley.” But the sun is now setting across the flat plain below, painting the folded contours of the Rose Valley in shades of orange and red. Behind us, a massive, summer solstice moon has just crested the horizon. I pay Emin for the juice (just 5 lira, about $2.50, apiece), and we mount our bikes for the descent into Göreme. Sina leads the way across a grassy field then waits behind as Rachel drops into a trail that’s slotted narrowly between two 10-foot walls. I follow, rolling freely down the bermed path like a marble down a smooth, curving slide.

I follow, rolling freely down the bermed path like a marble down a smooth, curving slide.

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The tube opens, and I glance up toward the setting sun and I tap my brakes. But the gesture locks my front wheel and rockets my rear end forward. I somersault through space, and Sina yells from behind as his bike collides with mine. My right knee and elbow grind into gritty sandstone.

I cautiously rise to my feet, looking at Sina, panicked that I’ve broken a bone or a bike. But as I brush dust from my shoulder we erupt in laughter, an American and an Iranian, howling under a setting sun and rising full moon deep in the Middle East.

The brakes on my rented Specialized are flipped—right is front, left is rear.

The brakes on my rented Specialized are flipped—right is front, left is rear.

Through the complex maze of desert canyons and arroyos are trails, lots of them.

HOW TO MOUNTAIN BIKE TURKEY Middle Earth Travel, through their sister company Biking in Turkey, offers eight-day, all-inclusive Cappadocia mountain bike tours in late May, early September and October. You can also hire a guide, set up private tours, rent bikes or arrange a self-guided tour through Middle Earth.

Note: Other companies offer “mountain biking” in Cappadocia, but Middle Earth’s guides and bikes are significantly superior.

Visit: middleearthtravel.com or bikinginturkey.com

When to go: We went in late June, and temperatures in Cappadocia where hot, but comfortable.

Istanbul was hot! Tourism peaks in late spring and early fall, and it snows in Cappadocia in the winter.

Stay: Simple, super affordable lodging at Gerdis Evi Guesthouse (starting at 35 EU per night, gerdisevi.com). Middle Earth Travel can book accommodations for you here, or at one of Cappadocia’s many cave hotels.

Eat: Fat Boys Café in downtown Göreme for relaxed, outdoor dining with everything from traditional clay-pot kebap to hamburgers and fries. Try some pide (Turkish pizza) at Ficin.

Getting There: Most flights arrive to Turkey though Istanbul’s Ataturk International Airport, 45 minutes or so outside the main city on the European side. Book a domestic flight ($50100 roundtrip) through Pegasus Airlines between Istanbul’s Sabiha Gökçen Airport (one hour, Istanbul’s Asian side) and Kayseri. Middle Earth can arrange airport transfer between Kayseri and Göreme (one hour).

Public Transportation: Traveling by bus between Istanbul and its major airports is easy and cheap ($5), but can be delayed by traffic (havatas.com).

Istanbul: Spend a few days in Turkey’s largest city. Shop the Grand Bazaar and Spice Bazaar, visit some mosques (the Sultan Ahmed and New Mosques were my favorite), and get a massage at a hamam (Turkish bath).

Travel Insurance: An international travel insurance package through World Nomads costs roughly $45 per week, and covers everything from lost baggage to medical emergencies (worldnomads.com). Aside from the usual pickpockets and swindlers at the Bazaars, Turkey felt very safe. Everybody in Turkey drinks bottled water, but we were told tap water was safe to drink...

IMAGES + WORDS BY TYLER COHEN Tyler Cohen is a writer and adventurer.

When he’s not searching for fresh snow and buffed singletrack with his girlfriend, Rachel, and border collie, Niva, Tyler lives in Jericho, Vt. and is Editor of Backcountry Magazine.

Afterword: Protests in Taksim Square, Gezi Park and on Istiklal street (and throughout Turkey) against Prime Minister Erdogan have continued off and on for the past year. Gezi Park, however remains green. Sina Solouksaran, our guide, is now living and racing bikes in Denver, Colorado.

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