The wheel arch of the coach is to far back so its the rear and so its heading in the opposite direction … just an observation !!!
good try though !!!
Stuff the (zb)ing bus!! 
Im still waiting for chapter 9! 
Come on Petecud, …you left us in the Taurus mountains in TK heading home empty.
The bus is travelling in reverse gear, to overcome the incredibly steep gradient (reverse having a lower ratio than first), overtaking the lorries on a blind bend. No wonder they were called kamikazes.
9
Descending the mountain on the other side was a pleasure after the tension of the climb, the hairpin bends had gone, you were almost freewheeling, driving on a proper tarmac road. In fact, part of the descent was on a brand new motorway type carriageway, the first part of a new road being built to take you across the peaks.
As you reach the foot of the mountain, the road runs alongside a river, and that brings life to the area, more people, more villages and settlements to drive through.
The river not only provides drinking water for animals and humans alike, it also serves as a truck and car wash, tonkas are driven axle deep into the river and the drivers wade in it with long brushes, and wash their trucks in the fast and endless supply of clean flowing water.
Didn’t seem as though over 5 hours had passed since I left Oryx’s, before I knew it I went sailing past the tank farm at Aksaray, wasn’t too bothered, felt quite good so I pressed on for Ankara, the thought of a few ‘Efes’ in the company of some fellow Brits encouraged me to go on.
10 hours of driving later, I pulled into the Telex Motel parking area, I looked around, and not a single British truck was to be seen, now that wasn’t normal, usually, you could guarantee to meet a few Brits here!
I walked in through the door, and the reception desk was right in front of me, next to the stairs, the Telex machine was clicking away as I searched the pile of telex messages to see if there was one for me, and there was…’go to Londra…Stop…await reload instructions…Stop’…and that was it!
I ordered a steak and salad, the salads were superb in Turkey, tomatoes full of taste, red hot green chillies, and onions that would bring a tear to your eye…not like the stuff you get in the supermarkets back home, all washed down with a bottle of ice cold Coke. After my meal, I sat back with another Coke, looked around, and thought ‘Sod it, ‘ I‘ll get on up to the Bulgy parking place near Bolu, that way I’ll have an easy day tomorrow’. I paid my bill and soon I was on my way again.
I was beginning to feel tired when I pulled into the Bulgy park, which was also a control post where you had to get your transit paper stamped, I parked outside the police hut , jumped out with my tacho disc and transit paper with a 1000 lira note folded neatly in it, passed it to the policeman who duly stamped it without even looking at my tacho disc…”Go Inglisi” he said with a big grin on his face. As I was parking up for the night the parking attendant came running up to me for the parking fee, don’t remember how much it cost to park here on the way down, but I do know that they were demanding almost double the previous price, I called him a “bandit” and said “no way am I paying that” and revved up and pulled out of the place and immediately thought ‘What have I done? The next authorised parking is the Mocamp, a good 5 hour drive!’ The best of it was that the cost of parking there on the way down was the equivalent of about £1.50, and they’d raised it by a £1…so for the sake of a £1 I’d committed myself to another 5 hours of driving, not my best decision!
Climbing Bolu I got pulled by the traffic police into a largish parking area where they were doing all sorts of checks, lights horn etc., as soon as I stopped a copper jumped on to my drivers side step, reached in through my open window and unlocked the tacho and pulled my bit of foam rubber out from the top of the needle track (I’d put this foam rubber in there to stop the speed trace reading above 50, the trace on the disc was like a snow peaked mountain range, but it seemed to do the trick at checkpoints…till now!)
“Guma!” he shouted with glee, “Problem Inglis!”. This is where serious negotiation started…2 packets of Marlboro was my opening offer, refused with a derogatory wave of his hand…4 packets…a slightly less derogatory refusal, sod it, I thought as I passed him 6 packets, at this he gave a grin, and believe it or not, he passed me my bit of foam back!
Foam back in the tacho head and on my way again, I slipped a ‘Rock n’ Roll’ cassette into the player, needed something lively to keep myself awake, window down, singing at the top of my voice, occasionally having to shake my head as I felt myself drifting! ‘How the hell does Andrew Wilson Young do this every trip?” I asked myself.
Eventually, about 20 hours after leaving Adana, I pulled into the Londra, the familiar sign ‘Welcome to our Camping’ greeted me as I drove in, the top area to the right was full, drove left and down behind the shower block and noticed one space, too tired to reverse in, just nosed it into the space and crashed out, when I awoke it was 8o’clock at night, must have slept all that day.
Now for some serious Efes Control!
Re: Kamikaze bus I can clear up any miss understanding, this photo was taken by me travelling East in Greece heading for Ipsala, the Kamikaze bus was on a jollie boys outing from Istanbul and was probably driving on the correct side of the road , in the opposite direction to the three of us…just to show off to his passengers, yes he would normally overtake on such a bend without fear or reservation, as Allah would keep an eye out for him… 
Can we have another instalment…Pete ?
Oh, forgot to mention, the Scania 141 in front W*** SEV was driven by Dave “the fonz” Telford, closely followed by Terry Dines in the black F12, and bringing up the rear (I don’t remember eating that) …Mick B.
10
On the move again
After 2 days of serious Efes control, and a good night’s sleep, I wandered into the foyer of the Londra to look for my telex, telling me where I‘d be loading back for the UK, and, sure enough, there it was, I had 3 collections to do in West Germany all around the Nurnburg area. A quick shower and freshen up and I was off, ‘Westward Bound’.
Didn’t seem like an hour and half had passed when I reached Silivri and was getting out to get my transit paper stamped, the policeman in the hut was as surly as ever, but thankfully, the tacho disc must have satisfied him as he stamped the paper, grunted, and slid it across the desk to me. I cheerfully said “ Gule Gule” to him but he just grunted again ‘What a pleasant chap’ I thought.
Soon I was driving through Edirne, a city that always impressed me as once having been of some major importance, judging by the great architecture, and it was one of the most western looking places in Turkey, I mean by the type of dress worn by the locals, there was no mistaking that we were still in an Islamic country, but somehow it seemed to be merging into a western society. The statues of wrestling men were quite impressive, I could just imagine a couple of greased up Turks grappling with each other, but I hasten to add, not in a turn on way!!
Leaving Turkey with an empty truck was quite a simple affair, none of the hassle that you had coming in loaded.
Getting into Bulgaria was something else, first you had to drive through a disinfectant pit, not sure if it was to get rid of any germs or to pick them up, then you are directed to park in a covered area with other trucks at about 8 abreast, you do your paperwork, buy some obligatory local currency then undo the back of your tilt and sit in your cab till the guard tells you to move forward, all the trucks in your row have to move forward together, eventually, when we are all again lined up in a neat row you have to accompany the guards as they check inside your trailer and then a search of your cab. All done you are waved forward and pass under a gantry with a guard on top checking the roof of your trailer. Always puzzled me as to why anybody would want to smuggle themselves into this place, smuggle out, yes, but smuggle in??
A couple of hours getting through this border was a good result, and the contrast between Turkey and Bulgy was almost like the contrast between West Germany and Czechoslovakia. The road from Dimitrovgrad towards Sofia is a sort of tree line avenue, the commie version of a highway, it is what we call a ‘clearway’, no parking, there are regular layby’s, at around every kilometre or so, and they all have a sign in English which always made me smile, they read:
‘FORBIDDEN, THE STOPPING OF THE FLAWLESS”
Which, of course, I soon realised it meant that these layby’s were for emergency or breakdown only.
After around a 13-14 hour day I decided to park for the night on a motorway style service area near Plovdiv, and of course to sample the local hostelry, I was partial to a Pivo or two, especially at around 7p a bottle, it would be rude to not to!
This service area had a western type bar, and as the evening progressed, more and more of the local population were coming in and enjoying these services as we at home, would a good pub, or restaurant, with all the atmosphere of one.
Sipping on the last drops of my second bottle of Pivo, a local middle aged man sidles up to me and through the corner of his mouth he utters “ Ingis?” and raises his eyebrows in anticipation of my answer. I respond sort of wryly “Bulgaris??”, and raise my eyebrows at him. “Da, Da” he answers. Feeling pleased with my wit, I ask him “You need Pivo?” again he utters “Da Da”.
We both clink bottles and say “Nazdrovie!” to each other. After a couple of sips the Bulgarian says to me in a hushed tone “My name is Igor, you need diesel? I get for you, You need change money? I get for you good! You need woman? I get for you good woman!, what you call me in England??” Without hesitation, quick as a flash, I repied “Pimp!”, “Ah, Pimp, Good, I am Igor the pimp!” I politely refused his offers.
Thanks for that Pete, a really good read.
Fantastic… I hope there’s not going to such a big gap before the next one…
Jeff…
Jeff, I was thinking the same
The long wait wasn’t intentional…you think to yourself " I’ll write another episode", and before you know it 8 or 9 months have passed.
Still find it hard to believe that this trip was almost 35 years ago!
Pete