One of Guy Martin’s many adventures in his new book, ‘All The Medals Have Been Handed Out’, sees him attempt to ride from Istanbul, Turkey to Baku, Azerbaijan on the second leg of his planned ‘big ride’ to Magadan in the east of Russia.
In this extract from chapter 21: This Is Going To Kill Me, he sets off from Cumayeri and encounters Turkey’s road-tunnel system…
The next point I was aiming for was the town of Samsun on the Black Sea coast, over 300 miles away. And the only route there that made sense to me was on main roads.
On these kinds of trips, I don’t follow the cycling routes that are popular because they’re quiet and scenic.
Sometimes I do end up in beautiful places, but the main point is getting from A to B. I just want to get where I’m going and, for this stretch, I took the busy main road through loads of long tunnels.
The alternative was miles out of the way, but riding a pushbike through those tunnels was bloody horrible.
It was still early in the day, and the third or fourth tunnel I had to ride through was two miles – the longest by far. I was halfway through it thinking: I can’t do this. This is going to kill me.
I choose to do dangerous stuff, whether that’s riding my turbo Hayabusa at 270mph or my time racing on the roads. I’m comfortable with the knowledge these things might kill me, because they’re situations I can control.
Doing what I want to do might come with a big price, but if something goes wrong, it will probably be down to me, and shit happens. But riding through those Turkish tunnels was a different kettle of fish. I felt as if the only thing letting me get away with it was a bit of luck.
When trucks passed me, I could feel the straps, that ratchet down the side sheeting, flicking on my arm. It was an unnecessary risk. I was having a word with myself. I don’t mind dying, but not like this. What a horrible way to die. I couldn’t shake the thought: This is only going to end one way.
Once I was out of the tunnel, it started raining and I pulled over to put on my rain jacket and have a look at the route. If I kept going through these tunnels, I felt I was likely to end up dead, but the map didn’t offer any real alternatives. I had to stay on this main road, at least for now.
When I reached the next tunnel, I climbed up on the concrete walkway that acts as an access path for maintenance workers. It was half a metre above the road, with a surface of concrete panels over a concrete trench that had cabling runs through it. The panels had rebar handles and, every now and
then, there were steps down to the road, that I had to carry my bike over.
I also had to dodge fire extinguishers bolted to the wall. Still, I pushed my bike through that tunnel.
By the time I reached Samsun, I was half-thinking of getting a flight back to Istanbul and home, because I’d had enough of the tunnels and my own negativity, but I couldn’t have lived with myself if I did that, so I kept going.
