We can feel summer coming now that the days are getting longer. By 5am the birds were chirping outside our tent and we were out of our sleeping bags a few minutes later. Before midday we’d already put 50km on the clock through the flat landscape. We don’t need to push so hard just yet though. The dates are fixed on our Turkmenistan visa so we have plenty of time to cover the remaining distance the border. Instead of pedalling on, we rolled off the road and had a lazy lunch break under our tarp. It didn’t take long for a shepherd to come along and check us out although once he discovered we don’t speak Farsi he soon wandered back to his flock and we returned to napping. A fierce headwind came up in the afternoon and we probably wouldn’t have gone far at all except that we needed water so we struggled through the remaining distance to Mazdavand. We thought the path to the border was going to be mostly flat so it was a surprise to see a large mountain road with switchbacks looming in front of us. With the wind growing in strength, we didn’t have to think too long to put that off until tomorrow.

*Hello friends. Below is our journal for the first day from Mashhad to the Iranian border. We are now, on March 31st, in Sarakhs and ready to cross into Turkmenistan. Unfortunately internet access here is terribly slow (is there a hamster running this network??). We have managed, however, to update our journal on CrazyGuyOnABike (http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/Travellingtwo) and if we can’t get faster internet in Central Asia that’s where you’ll find our updates for the meantime*

We made our escape from Mashhad today. There’s still a few days before we need to be at the Turkmenistan border but to be honest the city was getting on our nerves.

With so many tourists flooding in to see the holy shrine, it’s impossible to even stroll down the sidewalk easily. Left and right, street sellers have blankets spread out, covered in everything from spices to childrens toys, clothing and household goods. If they’re not on the ground, they’re standing up, shoving things in your face that you just might want to buy. Cheap electric shaver? Flying helicopter? No thanks.

Prices are, of course, more expensive with a steady stream of eager customers and we had to watch what we were being charged more so than anywhere else in Iran. Maybe earlier in our trip it wouldn’t have mattered so much but we really don’t want to change any more dollars into Iranian currency.

Instead we’re trying to stretch out our funds for our remaining days in the country. That meant getting out of Mashhad and so we did after running a few last errands in the afternoon and fielding a host of questions from our hotel manager. It was a stream of consciousness that actually didn’t seem to need many answers, just a listening ear, and went something like this: “What about your parents? What is your job? Oh, you know all about bicycles. I bet your husband knows more than you do. Do you have a house in Canada? Don’t you think you should buy a house and make babies?”

After all that we were looking forward even more to hitting the road. From what we’ve seen so far, the scenery is unremarkable but at least the traffic dies down considerably once in the countryside. It’s mostly flat out here but we managed to find a farm track leading into some small hills and there we found a great little hiding place for the night.

Just as we arrived near where we wanted to camp, a motorbike appeared from the nearby fields. At first we were wary. We don’t like to set up our tent when someone is watching if we can help it. We waited a few minutes and sure enough the two men came over to say hello. Our fears were quickly dispersed. We think we’ve become quite good judges of character during our trip and these men smiled broadly as they asked us if we had enough water or needed anything.

As soon as we assured them we were fine they carried on their way and we were able to set up our home a few hundred meters away in a little dip in the landscape. It’s a good spot. A couple cars have driven up the track but we haven’t seen them and they haven’t noticed us either. A peaceful night awaits and then a relaxed trip further towards the border tomorrow.

We were warned that the traffic in Mashhad was the worst in Iran and it wasn’t an exaggeration. Coming into a city is never our favourite part of cycling but just imagine trying to negotiate streets when stop signs and red lights are mere suggestions and half the vehicles are from out of town. No one really knows where to go. They just want to get there.

Mashhad brings in tourists from all over the country who come to visit the shrine of Imam Reza and right now, during Iranian New Year, is peak season. Someone told us that over 6 million visitors come to Mashhad during No Ruz – twice Mashhad’s normal population. The streets are absolutely heaving with people going to the shrine and shopping for souvenirs like saffron and turquoise. Of course the vendors take advantage of this and we’ve had to watch prices more here than anywhere else in Iran. Even Bijan, who speaks Farsi, gets taxi drivers trying to charge double what they should.

At least the ride into Mashhad was considerably more relaxed. We had a great night’s sleep just outside the small village of Fakhr e Dawood and awoke to a breeze blowing towards Mashhad. Add in a few downhill runs and you’ll understand why we rolled into the city almost as quickly as the cars!

Now we’ll take a few days here to rest up and get some more work done on our bikes. On Saturday we’ll start the last leg of our journey in Iran towards the Turkmenistan border, where a cold beer and hijab-free cycling awaits.

As an advisory of radio silence to come, we don’t know when we’ll next have internet access. It’s unlikely we’ll check in as we’re cycling through Turkmenistan from April 1st-7th so don’t expect to hear from us until we reach the first major town or city in Uzbekistan.

There’s nothing like a good shower to set you on the right course and Iran’s hammams have kept us nice and clean lately. We didn’t really think to use them earlier in our trip, or if the thought crossed our mind we were put off by the challenge of finding one without being able to speak the language, but Bijan has led us to a few over the past week or so and now we’re converted. For about $0.50 you can get scrubbed up in your own private cubicle and wash your clothes at the same time. Fantastic.

After our wash, we made another important stop at the pastry shop for a sweet breakfast, washed down with freshly squeezed carrot juice. All these things would be luxuries in Europe but that’s the wonderful thing about touring in less developed countries. You get a real bang for your buck. Even with the U.S. dollar falling as it has lately - we’ve been carrying greenbacks and swapping them for an ever decreasing amount of Rials - things are still pretty good value here. When we finally got down to the business of cycling it was rather less interesting than the rest of the trip. There’s just a motorway between here and Mashhad so it was put-your-head-down stuff.

Late in the day we ventured into a village in search of supplies and a quiet place to camp for the night. You know it’s a tiny spot when most of the town comes out to greet you and the shop owner can be pulled out of his home to open the only store, just because you happened to arrive. We made another stop for bread fresh out of the oven and then we found a home for our tents just outside the town. The peacefulness of the surrounding fields and vineyards make a welcome change from the roar of the traffic going to Mashhad.

A cluster of fruit trees just off the road looked like the perfect place for a lunchtime break. It was certainly pretty with all the springtime blossoms but it turned out to be a rather costly place to stop.

By the time we walked our bikes through a field to the shade of the trees and back to the road, Bijan had a flat in his back tire from the thorns. As the afternoon went on, he suffered three more flats. Each time we thought we’d cleaned up the last of the thorns only to find the air leaking out again a few minutes later. By the time the last flat appeared near dusk we were shattered.

An earlier tailwind had turned against us and the remaining few kilometers into Nyshabur were proving difficult. Instead we settled on a rustic camping site near some abandonned ruins. As these things usually go, no sooner had we set up our tent and started to settle in than a kind person appeared to offer us a shower, meal and bed for the night at his house five kilometers down the road. If he’d only been fifteen minutes earlier we’d have taken him up on it without thinking but now we couldn’t quite face the good half hour of work needed to pack everything away again.

Shortly after our would-be-benefactor left, the local shepherd showed up to also offer his help and check out all our things. He couldn’t quite imagine a trip like this. “I get tired if I go on my motorcycle for an hour,” he told us, looking wide-eyed at our tent, our stove that runs on petrol and lifting our bikes to test their weight.

By this time it was completely dark and we scarfed our supper alone, save for two owls perched on the ruins and cooing at us. We wonder if we set up our tent on their favourite nighttime hunting ground. Tomorrow it’s back on the road again to visit Nyshabur and then no doubt on towards Mashhad where we’ll finally take a well earned rest day before heading for the border.