Bloomin' Bikin'

    I have been composing this post mentally for months. Each time I sit down to write about riding through the hills, farms and villages surrounding my Urban Village... I feel I am not worthy of the job. But I will try to write more than a few posts that do at least semi-justice to what has become my favorite ritual since last October. 
     My Turkish colleagues told me they "used to bike" when they were children-- and I saw a few amused glances when I queried for recommendations on bike shops when I was fresh off the plane from "America" (nobody here says "the U.S."). After weeks of scouting around my new Urban Village for a suitable used bike, in October I found and purchased a used hybrid from a small shop run by a bunch of very kind-hearted older gentlemen. Including a new seat and a yet-to-be-needed lock-- the whole thing cost 100 Turkish Lira. A bargain.  One of the shopkeepers professed to be an MIT graduate with a daughter living in Boston. Later, I ran into one of my students at the store, who helped me to translate something.. and he told me he didn't think that was true. But I still believe him.

     My bike is very utilitarian, and all about sturdiness. I haven't tried to look stylish at all on these rides. In fact, the opposite. I knew from the beginning that  a woman on a bicycle is an uncommon sight here, especially in the villages. In the beginning, many people would ask me why I bothered doing this at all. Concerned villagers would stop their cars or trucks and offer me a lift. I'm not really sure why I do this, but I know I love it for the doing of it.  It is all about seeing what's on the other side of the next hill, around the bend from the next village, and in the fields of the next farm.  A sleek racing bike and outfit would be all wrong for the bumpy, often gravelly or muddy roads-- and the rural village sensibilities.  

      So, wearing my helmet, an orange mesh safety vest, a lightweight Indian smock to cover my hips, black leggings, and socks-- I cross the boulevard and make a beeline out of town. Within minutes I am riding past tractors on the outer offshoots of the boulevard... sports cars careen from the highway to the country lanes, donkeys pull carts, tractors motor into town from the village. Once I'm far enough out, I keep my eyes open for farm dogs guarding their turf, roosters pecking just inches away-- and completely unconcerned by my tires speeding past. Goats and sheep often amble across the village roads in the early weekend mornings.  Sometimes the shepherds are older gentlemen in caps, blazers, pantaloons and boots. Other times, small boys or teenagers manage the whole process themselves.
     This is a truly independent set of people.  Just last week, a little girl who was maybe 9 years old was trying to fix the rusty bicycle chain that kept falling off of her younger brother's bike. I stopped and helped.  After fixing the chain, I touched the black grease on my chain, and then pointed to her brother's bike. She smiled and nodded with confidence. I have a feeling some kind of grease has been added to that chain since our mime-chat. Her mother was clearly proud of both of her children, and asked me the usual "Where you from?" questions in Turkish... After walking with them for a while, I rode off, remembering that this was the very first village I'd found on my very first ride back in October.  

     I thought about how much had changed in that time.. and how comfortable and welcome I feel now. They have grown to expect this funny looking cyclist-- but in the beginning I elicited a lot of giggles from the village kids. The next group of kids on the lane invited me in for chai with their family, and took me on a walking tour of their farm-- past a horse tied up behind their house, and a couple of sleeping farm dogs... we walked through waist-high uncut weeds and brush, to the open fields... where I had ridden past since October. They'd grown used to seeing me come through, and gradually, over time, the village has been welcoming me more and more.  On my first ride through that village, my own chain fell off because it had too much grease, and a kind pregnant lady walking with three kids managed to describe to me (despite our lack of a common language) where I could go wash it off of my hands. Then, on my way back an hour later, she was standing on her roof, motioning for me to come into her house. I did... and that was the beginning. Her kids brought out their English books. She served me bread and a hazelnut spread... mmm.
      I think I'd like to tell you more about these rides.. and all of the warm, generous souls I've met along the way... But for now, I'll end with one final note... in October, the colors were all golden, brown and grey, with small patches of green. In November, the green was mostly gone, and more grey had replaced the brown. By Christmas Day, the colors were of mud and dirt and gravel... this continued until March... when more buds of green started to appear again.. and in April, I saw many flowers. I thought to myself, on each ride in April "I'm so glad I caught these flowers before spring is over!"... and then, each week since-- there have been still more flowers, vines and trees awakening my senses, and providing a lush recital hall for flocks of singing birds... Often, the fragrance of honeysuckle and some kind of pink flower induces me to stop riding, and actually stop. Yes, I actually stop and smell the flowers!  Everywhere I look, peddling sometimes all day-- as far as the eye can see purple, white, yellow, pink and red wildflowers grow on all sides...  and I say thanks for all of them as I ride past. Now, as May turns into June, I see blue skies. Rich, red, irrigated soil, green cypress and olive trees, roses, wildflowers and poppies. After months of exploring one village after another... and getting to know many of its warm, hardworking, residents-- I feel like I have finally found the beauty I have been searching for all of these months. The making of this flower blossom ride was right there all along-- just waiting to bloom.