As Ryan Wilson continues his tour from Greece to Georgia, he makes his way across some rarely visited mountain ranges on Türkiye’s Central Anatolian plateau.  Follow along as he connects remote mountain tracks and meets some of the most hospitable people in the world.

Türkiye is a place that has held a special place in my heart ever since my first visit back in 2020.  From the incredibly warm hospitality to the countless hidden gems of nature scattered across the land, and of course the amazing food.  I could (and do) stare at the map of the Anatolian plateau for days just drawing up routes through this rugged, mountainous country.  No doubt, it has become one of my favorite places to ride.

While many tourists come here to visit the sprawling metropolis of Istanbul and maybe take a trip to the Instagram-saturated area of Cappadocia, that doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface.

I managed to dodge the hordes of tourists once again by opting to skirt around Cappadocia and instead aimed straight for Mount Erciyes, the sixth tallest mountain in the country, which sits at 12,851ft (3,917m).  In the shadow of Erciyes sits the city of Kayseri, a place that was a major hub along the old Silk Road, and is still bustling with activity today.

After a few days off to explore the bazaar and sample their finest kebabs, I weaved through the streets of Kayseri early in the afternoon, with my sights set on camping up as close to Erciyes as I could get.

That familiar steep Turkish gradient kicked up, and the traffic disappeared as soon as I said goodbye to the urban sprawl.   The main road heading south goes along the other side of the mountain, so only a few scattered shepherds make their way up this road with any regularity.

Kangal Country

1400m of climbing later, I reached a small plateau next to Erciyes with a couple of hours of daylight to spare.  It appeared to be a perfect spot to set up my tent for the night until I saw a large shepherd dog come prowling in my direction that did not look too pleased.

These mountainous regions of Türkiye are filled with these (in)famous Kangal dogs, and they can be especially intimidating for cyclists.  If it’s not the sheer size of them, it’s the gnarly-looking metal collar with giant spikes sticking out to protect their necks in a fight with a wolf or a brown bear, which also roam these hills.  The cropped ears complete the Turkish Kangal look, as the full-sized ears are seen as a weak point that a wolf can grab onto in a fight.

I froze for a moment as the Kangal approached me in the middle of pitching my tent, but breathed a sigh of relief when it flopped down next to me and started wagging its tail.

My new friend stuck around for a solid 20 minutes just calmly watching me set up camp and not making a peep until a few of his Kangal mates came over the hill and started barking up a storm.  I don’t know if they were barking at me or my new friend for being asleep on the job, because as soon as they started yapping, he jumped up and started barking at me like he wasn’t asking for belly rubs 5 minutes ago.  Gotta keep up the facade, I guess!

Eventually, a local shepherd came and got them to calm down, but also gave me some pointers on avoiding being torn to bits by a pack of angry Kangals if they decided to gang up on me when he wasn’t around overnight.  I was a bit skeptical though, as this advice essentially equated to crouching down to eye level, a tactic I have yet to find the courage to employ to this day.

Heading East

Morning came and the dogs scattered into the hills with their flocks, and I set off along a rapidly deteriorating road to the south.  At some point, it wasn’t much of a road at all, but rather a pile of loose rocks.  What I thought would be a quick morning descent ended up taking a few hours before I finally reached civilization again in the small village of Çayırözü.

Fitting the name, I stopped for çay (Turkish tea), and the village kids took turns riding my bike up and down the street.

From here I would head east toward the Tahtalı Mountain Range, once again aiming for a promising track I found while scouring maps of the area years ago.  I had some pavement miles to churn out before I’d get to the real good stuff though.

Luckily, with more civilized roads comes bonuses like fresh pide shops to stop at for lunch.

Soon after, I left the main road and found myself right where I wanted to be.  On an empty dirt road in a Tahtalı mountain valley, with the golden hills glowing in the evening light all around me.  With the heat of the day dipping toward a more comfortable range, I soaked up every moment and rode until the sun dropped well behind Erciyes in the distance.

I set my tent up on a hill after it got dark and only got a full view of my stunning surroundings when the sun came up the next morning.  Having the ability to wake up to views like these is what keeps me on the road after all these years.  There is something special about blindly plotting out a route on the map, making your way there with your whole life strapped to your bike, and having it beat all of your expectations.

Through the Binboğa

I continued through the quiet valley, detouring toward the town of Tufanbeyli to restock my supplies, and aimed for the adjacent Binboğa mountain range, where I’d once again look to make my life unnecessarily difficult by going straight up and over some mega steep jeep roads to get to the other side rather than take the perfectly fine secondary road that stays down in the valley.  What can I say… Sometimes I just can’t help myself.

Along the way, I passed several small villages, including one where I was invited in for tea and baklava with some locals.  We chatted (via my very limited Turkish and a translation app) about my trip and my route for a bit, but when they found out where I was heading, they warned me of particularly high bear activity in that zone recently, with one man showing me a video on his phone from a couple of days prior of a frequently spotted brown bear roaming the hills and digging through trash bins.

Instead of going with my original plan of heading up a little way to camp somewhere, I was invited to spend the night at a local village community center nearby and head over the mountain the next day, which I happily accepted.

In the morning, I inched my way up the gruelingly steep road, a bit paranoid about anything that moved in the bushes after spotting fresh bear scat on the side of the road.  I didn’t think this particular zone would be a hotbed for bear activity, but apparently, the locals knew better than I did!

No bears were spotted on this day, but when I got to the top of the climb I met a very friendly Kurdish shepherd who was quite familiar with them as his dogs chase them away on a regular basis.

Overwhelmed by Hospitality

I made my way down the rocky mountain road toward the village of Arıtaş.  Upon arriving in the center of town, the usual crowd of dudes that hang out outside the tea shop took a particular interest in me as this town is not on a main road, meaning they almost never see foreigners.  They called me over and ordered me a tea.  Then, before you know it, they put in a delivery order to bring me a huge meal after hearing which road I took to get there.  Actually, I should say they ordered two meals.  One to eat now and another to take for the road, with a handful of cold drinks to go along with it.

I hung out for over an hour chatting with about half of the town as they came by to say hello and see who this stranger was with the big bike.

Eventually, I hit the road as folks started to make their way back to their daily lives and I rode the last 15km to the next city where I planned to stay for the night.  It wasn’t long before another group of locals invited me over for tea and asked if I wanted to join them on an evening trip to a local historical site outside of town.  Now, I know you aren’t supposed to take rides with strangers, but the vibes were good so I went for it.  The locals here take a real interest in the people that visit their town, and they had a genuine excitement to show me a very interesting Silk Road-era hotel/mosque that I would have otherwise completely missed.

In the morning they invited me to meet up for breakfast before I would continue on my way East across the plateau toward the next big mountain range on the map for my most ambitious crossing yet on this trip, over the Nurhak range.

A Sudden Change of Plans

By the time I made my way to the edge of the Nurhak mountains, it was already evening, and I was struggling to find an out-of-the-way place to camp where the ground wasn’t comprised entirely of large jagged rocks or wasn’t some sort of cultivated land.  My options were getting slim as it became nearly too dark to see without a light.

Just as I thought I’d found an area that looked promising to camp down in a valley below, I spotted a large bear jogging down the opposite side of the valley toward the very area that I was eyeing from a distance.  I was immediately reminded of my close encounter with a bear while camping in the Taurus mountains in 2020, and I suddenly felt less enthusiastic setting up camp nearby, so I doubled back to the last village I passed through around 5km prior.

Descending from the mountain in total darkness was a little spooky having just spotted a bear roaming around, but it turned out to be a great decision as I met an amazingly friendly Kurdish family when I got back to the village.  Hasan and Özdemir invited me to stay at their mother’s home and have dinner with their family as they sang traditional Kurdish folk songs.  It was one of those moments where the stars aligned and resulted in a very memorable evening, meeting some of the most welcoming people I’ve come across in almost 9 years on the road.

The Nurhak Mountains

It was difficult to leave in the morning, but I managed to pack up and set off after breakfast and some obligatory bike test rides through the neighborhood.  It was already August, and if you are familiar with the weather in the region, you know it was already cooking by late morning under the relentless Anatolian sun.  I needed to get to higher ground, pronto.

Soon after I made it past the point where I turned back the day before, the road abruptly deteriorated and I found myself on an overgrown double track that looked like it saw more goat traffic than vehicles.  I didn’t see a soul for a few hours as I climbed and descended through a series of blisteringly hot rocky valleys, until meeting a few locals who were building a small shed for their animals in the middle of the mountains.  They invited me into their small trailer and pulled out a chilled watermelon and ice water from a solar-powered refrigerator.  We devoured the melon and they topped up my bottles with cold water to get me over the next hill.  Just the boost I needed after a long afternoon in the sun.

The terrain grew more and more wild the further I got into the Nurhak range, as the sun slowly dipped below the horizon.

Looking for another spot to camp on my map, I made my way down toward an area that looked like I might find a water source and a big flat area.  Another tent/shelter was set up there, so I asked the nearby shepherd if I could set up my tent in the area.  He said what I roughly translated as “No! Dangerous!” but didn’t explain why before offering up one of the beds inside of his shelter.  He already started boiling up some tea before I could even respond, and it was nearly dark out, so I couldn’t refuse.

The Road to Malatya

One last push over the final pass in the Nurhak mountains awaited me the next day, and it gave me even more stunning views of this land before twisting and turning down switchbacks toward civilization, where I’d spend the next couple of days pedaling toward the city of Malatya.  This region was hit particularly hard by the earthquakes in February 2023, and it was hard to fathom the devastation before I arrived, with a large amount of the downtown area destroyed.

I found myself navigating toward hotels I found online, only to arrive and find that most were completely flattened. A year and a half later, many businesses were still running out of small portable shipping containers, and some people were still living in tent camps on the outskirts of the city, having gone through two harsh winters already.  Yet, somehow through all of this, the local people seemed even more enthusiastic to welcome me as if I were family.  I may be drawn in by the beautiful landscapes, but I will keep returning for the incredible warmth of the people.

Stay tuned for the next installment, where I continue my trip to the farthest reaches of Eastern Anatolia and make my way toward the Republic of Georgia.  Special thanks to Tumbleweed Bicycles for sponsoring my trip and this reportage.

See the Prospector frame he’s touring on and more at Tumbleweed Bikes.