Russian Adventure - Chapter 12 - Georgia

By Nigel Cooper

4168 miles so far

I'm riding down a busy street in Tbilisi having waved farewell to the Hanger Pub and the Hotel City (yes, that really was its name). It's warm and sunny and the roads ahead look interesting. I'm initially headed towards Tsalke and have picked my route to include some nice looking curves. They don't disappoint and the surface is good enough for some spirited cornering, a nice pickme-up after my rest day to get me back in the groove. Although I'm still not far from Russia there's a different feel to this place. You can sense its western drift and I find myself split between longings for home and a sadness that my two big goals of the Caspian Sea and the Caucasus mountains have now come and gone. However, before the day is done I have some challenging roads ahead so I need to stay focused. Meanwhile, the weather has got decidedly chilly and mist has appeared that fogs up my visor, so I have to stop and give it a wipe. The headlight is also drenched in the mist and so it's a great opportunity to give it a clean. The twisties and the mist come to an end and I reach Tsalke and find its small high street. I spy what looks like a small grocery shop and pull over to see if I can get something to drink. An elderly gentleman appears and I end up buying a Coke off him. It turns out he is a Greek Cypriot but I can't quite understand what brought him across to Georgia and this little town. After our brief chat I sit on a bench outside his shop and watch the world go by for a few relaxing minutes; I know the next section will be more demanding.

I continue on to Ninotsminda and then Akhalkalaki, where I take the road to Bakuriani. At some point the tarmac runs out. I'm not sure what happened as there is a very good rock foundation in place, just no tarmac on top of it! However, there is a moderate amount of traffic plying along each way, so I join in. After some miles the rock foundation also peters out and I'm on hard packed dirt and much less traffic around. A little further and I turn up in what appears to be someone's farmyard! A bunch of guys are sitting around a table chatting and give me a strange look but I point in the direction I think the route goes and they give me some nods and waves – not sure whether they are just being friendly or are genuinely confirming my direction – I guess we'll find out in due course. As I leave the farmyard the track continues into a field and then disappears. Hmmm. I can see tracks through the mud and grass and thankfully, very thankfully, it is all dry and firm. I bounce along until there is a heart-stopping moment when something hits the ground. The oil filter on the F800 couldn't be more exposed, pointing forwards right at the front of the engine; great for oil changes, not so good for riding off-road. I stall and come to a stop and jump off to take a look, half expecting to see oil spewing forth. However, all looks to be in place and I can't even see any obvious marks – God is watching over me! A prayer of thanks and we're off again, bouncing across the tyre marks until we reach the "proper" track on the far side of the field. The track is rising and I pass open fields and then a group of horse riders, definitely a better proposition than an F800ST off road. The views are superb and I stop here and there to take snaps. I reach the high point and then before me see what I was not expecting around here – a police check point! Is it a mirage? Am I hallucinating? Apparently not, as his AK47 appears to be all too real. He waves me down and I pull over in some hard standing by their hut. He speaks a little English and I get my passport out, all ready. It turns out there is an underground oil pipeline nearby and they are concerned about terrorist activity. Anyone in the area has to show identification. Unfortunately, it will take some time to check a foreign passport and so I'm in for a bit of a wait. However, the views are stunning so I take some snaps, well away from the checkpoint, and bide my time. The guard eventually wanders out and returns my passport with a friendly smile. I remount, wave goodbye and continue on the trail, which is now headed down into a valley via some alpine switchbacks. As you might imagine, these are taken at a very steady pace. At last the tarmac returns as I reach Bakuriani and another milestone in my adventure riding has been passed.

The road to my overnight stop at Akhaltsike via Borjomi is excellent and I end the day as I started it, bend swinging in style. I feel I've touched both ends of the F800's riding envelope. The Conti TK70's have been excellent, despite a disconcerting squaring off relatively early, although there has been no further visible wear for the last thousand miles or so. I now need to find some accommodation as I have nothing booked. After parking up in the main street I have a wonder around and come across a very swanky looking hotel, but the prices match and can't be justified. Bizarrely, I then bump in to another guy, also wandering around. He speaks English but is in fact from Germany and has been touring around for three months. He has recently retired and is taking 6 months on his BMW X-Challenge to explore far and wide, having just returned from Iran! He speaks of the warm welcome he received and found it an excellent place to visit – I'm not sure a Brit would be as well received. He indicates the rough area where he is staying and I go back to the bike and take a look. However, the combination of a long day and my poor sense of direction conspire against me and I'm unable to find it. I return to the road by which I'd entered Akhaltsike and spy the rather new looking Hotel Tiflisi (the old name for the capital apparently) that I must have missed earlier. It is excellent, including a private yard around the back where I can park the bike securely and that gives me easy access to bring in my luggage. I appear to be the only resident but they are more than happy to cater for my wishes, which include a cold beer out on their front patio area, bliss.

I return to the high street for some food and find a small café still open and serving. I order Georgian Dumplings, smaller versions of the ones I had in Voronezh and another cold beer. I hadn't expected such good food and hospitality right here in the middle of Georgia – I'm impressed. I stroll back to the hotel and retire to the excellent bedroom, all en-suite and very modern.

The next day starts with a huge breakfast, not dissimilar to the one I had in Chechnya. This sets me up well for the day ahead as I will be attempting to ride the Khulo pass. I have read a variety of web articles on this route, trying to decide whether I was biting off more than I could chew on the F800 but I've decided it is do-able, and at the end of the day if worst comes to worst, I can always turn around, retrace my route and take the tarmac alternative.

I say farewell to excellent Hotel Tiflisi and head off for the road to Batumi. It shows as bold yellow on the map, which I'm sure is several grades above the track I took yesterday to Bojormi. I'm encouraged therefore that it can't be any worse – or can it? In similar vein it starts off very well with nice twisties that I take at pace but then the tarmac suddenly veers right whilst straight on is solid gravel track. I follow the tarmac, which quickly expires and realise that, no, in fact, actually, that gravel track was the right way! Retrace back and off we go. Meet workmen after a mile or two but the track continues and no sign of tarmac. I realise that this is it now for the next 20-30 miles, as we are still a long way even from the Khulo pass. In between the gravel and the dirt, occasional pieces of tarmac show through, like ancient artefacts at an archaeological dig, giving me some confidence that eventually the surface may improve. I check the Satnav from time to time, which simply confirms that, yes, this is the main road to Batumi. I pass a large Toyota people carrier, and also several old shape Vauxhall Cavaliers come in the other direction, which makes me ashamed of making such a fuss. I ford a small stream and at last reach a sign saying Khulo, which is Kudos if nothing else. After miles of first and second gear we start the decent and then comes my first mechanical! The oil light starts to flash, along with the general warning light! Eeeek! I immediately switch off and pull over by a large pile of aggregate that may one day find its way under some tarmac. I'm in shade and leave the engine to cool; not that it had shown any sign of overheating, although the temperature gauge's emotionless face of always showing 5 bars and nothing else is making me suspicious. There is no sign of any oil leak and after managing to manoeuvre the bike across the decline and onto it's centre stand, the oil level is perfect, so no suggestion it's been burning oil either, which it certainly never has in the past. Spend some time in praise and read a Psalm. Whatever happens next I won't be facing it alone.

After half an hour I switch on, dash looks normal, and press the starter. She fires up and no warnings, everything seems normal. I continue on with no further warning lights and assume the oil must have overheated regardless of the water temperature. Slowly, bit by bit, sporadic patches of tarmac start to become more frequent and I decide the suspension will have to take on more of the burden so I speed up and engage 3rd gear to try and keep the oil cooler. Regular glances at the dash show no warnings and I press on but now the air temperature suddenly decides to climb. As we go lower into the valley, it goes above 30 for the first time, then 32, then on towards 35! I could definitely do without this! It finally tops out at just under 38 and from then on the air slowly cools. Thankfully there have been no more warning lights and I'm hoping that if there really were a problem then those temps would have revealed it...?

Within a few more miles tarmac is truly resumed and I reach Shuakevi and stop for a welcome cold drink, about an hour after the oil incident, in a lovely bar overlooking the valley and river out the back. This also gives the bike another chance to cool again, just to be on the safe side.

Another hour or so and we are in Batumi and reach the Black Sea coast. After a short pause sitting behind the beach and in front of an impressive row of modern tower apartment blocks, I decide that instead of wasting the rest of the afternoon in Batumi, I will press on for the Turkish border and slim-down the miles to Istanbul.

The border point buildings are under reconstruction and it all looks a bit shabby, but that's pretty much the norm I've learnt. Border frustration rears its head in two ways; the guards want to search one of my panniers, and I need insurance to get through customs, which has not been the norm elsewhere. This could have been bought while waiting in the customs queue, so instead my bike sits partially blocking everyone while I am directed to a small booth after the customs window where I can buy motosiklet insurance for 110 Turkish Lira. These I already have so the deal is done, customs are satisfied and I'm on my way. The road quickly becomes an excellent dual carriageway, spoiled only by the regular and incessant nuisance of pedestrian crossings, some with just a slowdown warning and others with lights. Other attractions are pedestrians walking alongside and sometimes in the carriageway and slip lanes in the central reservation, not to mention the occasional parked car in the inside lane, which makes this an unreliable place to be. However, the compensation is to my right, a superb view along Turkey's Black Sea north coast.

I turn off one exit too soon for Rize and ride up a winding road to what turns out to lead to a research hospital – not the sort of bed I had in mind for the night! At least on this occasion I can turn around and ride away under my own steam! I accost a pedestrian and ask about hotels using the universal sleep sign of head on hands held together, and am greeted with a shrug and a point onwards. I continue and realise that I wasn't actually at Rize and eventually take another exit. This throws me into a cacophony of grid locked and horn hooting traffic but through the chaos spy a hotel sign. After 10 or 15 minutes of circling I park up in the lee of an interpolation, when the inputs fall between two abandoned car near where I believe the hotel is located and wander off. The hotel is found and a room purchased for 70 lira. I ride the bike onto the pavement in front of the entrance and deploy disk locks. My first night in Turkey!