Rasht – Tabriz

28th August 2014      28-37℃      549km
Rasht – Tabriz

With a long day ahead, I started early, following the GPS north west towards Tabriz, things seemed on track against the map for the first hour, until I realised the GPS was acting up and was sending me in the wrong direction entirely. Via Azerbaijan!

I stopped to ask directions from two young guys I saw walking on the street in a small village, and they pointed me in the general direction, but didn’t seem too confident themselves.
I still had the visor up to get some air in the helmet, when a bumblebee hit me squarely in the left eye at about 60km/h.
I don’t know if I closed my eye before impact, but the pain was unbelievable. I pulled over with my right eye open.
My entire eyeball and socket was throbbing with pain, but there didn’t seem to be anything in my eye, it was just as thought someone had flicked my eyeball. I sat there for five minutes while tears followed out of one eye, until the throbbing subsided and I could see again. It appears no permanent damage.

I rode on over the 2600M mountains, treeless, grassless hills, and the occasional village. I stopped in one small village for a drink and made a friend with an old guy who spoke a few words of English. He wanted me to stay for lunch, but with 450km ahead of me, I had to press on.

When I got tired, I stopped at a roadside bbq place and napped under their shaded canopy for 20 minutes. When I bought a drink, the guy in the store asked me “which country are you from?” To which I answered “Australia”. The look I received was one that read “you don’t have long to live!” And he asked again, incredulous “Israel!!?”
I said “No! kangaroo! Australia!”. Hopping around like a crazy roo.
This was the third time in Iran that my pronunciation of Australia had been mistaken for Israel, and on each occasion the look has been exactly the same. “Are you crazy!?”
I’m not sure if it is my pronunciation, or if Israel is just top of mind here. There are plenty of posters, street advertising, showing cartoon images of Netanyahu holding a gun to Iranians.

Back on the bike, I came over a crest to an absolute scene of carnage. A bus and a car had collided. The car was pretty much disintergrated. The police had arrived and were trying to clean up. Two bodies laid on the side of the road, their shoes removed.
While I didn’t know anything of these people, it upset me to see this, as they were lifted into body bags by the police.
Such a waste, just for trying to overtake. Driving standards are so dangerous in Iran.

I continued more cautiously than usual.

About 100km further on, I passed a sign that said fuel ahead in 63km. I knew I was running low, a result of getting lost this morning, but a check of the gauge indicated I had only 50km of fuel to empty. This was going to be a problem.
I rode until the bike was empty, coasting down hills. When 0km appeared, I switched off the ignition and rolled to a stop by the side of the road. I had 600ml of petrol in my camp stove bottle, and poured that into the tank, knowing it would take me less than 15km. I spilt at least 80ml fumbling with the bottle as I poured.
Starting the engine again, I rode gingerly, hoped the petrol station was down hill, and the walk to get fuel wasn’t going to be too distant. It was 37℃ and windy.
As I came over another crest, the station came into view. I would make it today, but only by the skin of my teeth.
I refilled the tank, thanked the guys at the station, and rode on.

I was flying along, in the inside lane of the three lane freeway, doing 118kmh (the limit is 120kmh) when I saw a cop step out onto the road. He was pointing and waving his baton at me, it was clear. But at that speed, by the time I’d seen him I was almost next to him. I hit the brakes and looked across the lanes to see if it was safe to pull over. I got across 2 lanes, and looked back, he was hundreds of metres behind me now. I figured, well he couldn’t read the filthy mud covered number plate anyway, and decided to open the throttle and powered away from the police…. For the third time on this trip and first time running from the police in Iran. I questioned my wisdom in doing this, as only a few kilometers later, I reached a toll booth. In Iran, there are police stationed at each toll station, and I thought they might come to find me.

A car pulled up next to me at the toll gates, they had been driving in the lane next to me when the cop waved me down. The whole family were laughing and smiling at me, presumably for running from the cop!

I arrived in the city of Tabriz, after riding 450km, at 6pm. Completely tired, and stopped at the first hotel I saw. They had a room for the right price, but no parking. Although they quickly agreed to let me park my bike in the lobby after 10pm. Happy days!

Tabriz is a great city, it’s got a good vibe about it. Modern, great shops and cafes, pedestrian streets filled with people. It appears somewhat more liberal here, I spotted couples holding hands discreetly in the street, even two guys very carefully hiding that they were holding hands.
Probably somewhat risky here, but they obviously felt cautiously comfortable to do so.

Tonight is my second last night in Iran, and I’ll be sorry to have to leave, as I feel I’ve only scratched the surface on a fascinating and beautiful country with marvellous, hospitable people.