Trans-Anatolian Motorcycle Journey in Turkey: Agnès’ Roadtrip Story
From May 30 to June 30, 2014, six friends set out on a deep, long-format roadtrip across Turkey—toward the far East they thought they already knew. Agnès, rider and photographer, tells the story from the saddle: shipping bikes to Greece to skip heavy formalities, long wet transitions that reshape an itinerary, and those rare moments when an ancient site is yours alone. This is a voyage moto built on real distance—8,500 km in 32 days—and on the kind of group dynamic that either breaks on day three… or tightens for good.
“It’s decided: we’re bringing our friends on a long Trans-Anatolian run.”
“We’re going all the way to Turkey’s far East,” Agnès says, “a region Jean-Pierre and I have ridden for years, in every direction.” This time, the team is bigger: six friends, five motorcycles, one shared obsession for riding beyond the obvious.
The garage is eclectic: two Harley-Davidson Heritage Softail (1995) and a Dyna Low Rider for Agnès and Jean-Pierre, a BMW R 1200 GS (Alain), a BMW F 800 GS (Jean), and a Triumph Tiger 800 (Lydia and Bernard). Different machines, different rhythms—yet the group stays welded for the full loop.
Because they already know how long customs and temporary import formalities can stretch, they make a clear call: ship the bikes to Greece, then cross into Turkey riding. Less wasted energy up front, more road where it matters.
Thessaloniki: the real start line, pointing the front wheels at Turkey
They collect the bikes from the carrier in Thessaloniki and roll into day one: a clean 300 km to Keşan, just after the border. The crossing is not a one-and-done: Agnès notes multiple stops and checks, and even a scanner inspection for Alain—who had arrived by road with his bike in a van, crossing the Balkans.
It’s late May. They expect stable weather and manageable heat. Turkey answers with a different script.
Day two is the first test: a long, transitional 690 km, largely in heavy rain and violent storms. Gallipoli becomes a blur of spray and brake lights. At Çanakkale, the ferry is a short pause under a roof before the push south. They reach Pamukkale very late—soaked in every sense.
Morning brings the payoff: the “cotton castle” of Pamukkale and the ruins of Hierapolis under sun and dramatic cloud. Then the storms return. On wet, grooved pavement, Jean-Pierre’s Harley steps out—one of those moments where the road reminds you who decides. No injury, but the message lands.
They ride into a moody arrival at Salda Gölü, its pale shoreline and bright water feeling almost unreal under a black sky.
Empty ruins, thunder overhead: Sagalassos and Eğirdir
Small backroads lead them through immense fields of white poppies—some as tall as Agnès—toward Sagalassos. The site is rich (theatre, nymphaeum, fountains, library), and the weather turns it cinematic: bright breaks, then a “majestic” storm. They’re alone on the stones, far from mass tourism, with time to wander without being pushed along.
That night they stop on the shore of Lake Eğirdir. Dinner is local and simple: sigara böreği, fish from the lake, fries. Over the table, they do what good roadtrip teams do: adapt the route. Cappadocia is forecast for violent storms; they turn the compass south, chasing steadier skies.
“On a Harley, you enjoy the curves at a slower pace—of the road and the landscape.”
They point toward Antalya via the Taurus Mountains: narrow, twisting mountain roads under thick forest cover. The lighter bikes play; the Harleys settle into a calmer cadence—less speed, more line choice, more scenery.
They skirt Antalya and stop at Aspendos for its famous theatre, partially under restoration—beautiful, but not untouched. Then comes the coastline, and the shock of change: resorts and big hotels spreading fast compared to previous rides.
A police stop flips into a friendly exchange: questions about the bikes, photos on Jean-Pierre’s Harley, social media handles—without anyone even asking for papers. It’s Turkey’s human side: curious, direct, unexpectedly warm.
The ride to Anamur turns into a rolling belvedere above the Mediterranean. They stop often—viewpoints, roadside products, and those small local bananas from nearby plantations in the hot, humid strip along the water. They sleep in a modest beach hotel; the evening is cool enough that Agnès pulls on a light down jacket.
“The landscapes feel like the Cévennes… the Causses… even the U.S.!”
For the next days, they aim for 250 to 350 km stages—a distance that leaves space for visits and avoids arriving exhausted at night. Instead of hugging the coast, they cut inland to Alahan Monastery and Uzuncaburç. The road is the reward: long stretches following a jade-colored river lined with oleanders, then sudden open panoramas that spark the comparisons.
Evening stop: Silifke, facing a half-submerged castle lit in unapologetically kitsch pink and red after sunset.
Not everything is poetic. Bernard drops his bike while pulling it off a curb; Jean-Pierre goes down helping him. Later, an unavoidable highway day brings trucks and buses—exactly what they’d avoided so far.
Near Gaziantep, Jean stalls in a tunnel right after overtaking a truck—an adrenaline spike nobody wants to repeat. At a fuel stop they check the bike carefully; nothing obvious. Heat, fuel vapour pressure, chance—sometimes you never get a clean answer. They wash the bikes “the Turkish way”: thick foam, lots of enthusiasm, and just barely avoiding the brush.
On a motorcycle roadtrip, you cross sites older than 12,000 years
They reach the Euphrates at Halfeti for a private late-afternoon boat trip—ideal light, a swim to reset bodies and minds. The surprise is practical: the boat has no ladder. They climb back up the hard way, and later refuse to pay the full agreed amount to make their point.
The next day is a highlight: Göbekli Tepe. Agnès calls it “exceptional,” hard to grasp—megaliths raised 12,000 years before our era, with only a fraction excavated at the time. The stage ends in Şanlıurfa, a city they love, and a reminder of proximity: they’re roughly 20 km from the Syrian border.
They walk the bazaar—one of the most typical in the region—then head to Balıklıgöl. Again, weather: torrential rain and hail. That night flips into one of those travel moments you don’t plan: dinner with music and dance among locals, and they’re the only tourists. Lentil soup, kebabs, honey-and-pistachio pastries, ayran, and spicy raw meatballs prepared in front of them.
They won’t miss Mount Nemrut (Nemrut Dağ): colossal heads scattered near a tumulus at 2,200 m. The climb is delicate on a road that turns into a rough, storm-ravined track—especially on heavy Harleys. Mist and lunar landscapes add to the feeling. Alone on the terraces, with no pressure to leave, the site becomes almost intimate.
They descend and cross the Euphrates on a small ferry, rolling through basalt plateaus and mineral expanses broken by green meadows and herds. Night stop: Diyarbakır, which Agnès notes has expanded rapidly in recent years with Kurdish populations pushed from eastern villages.
To be continued. The next episode takes the team farther east, with more mechanical hassles—and more encounters worth the miles.
What did this motorcycle expedition cost?
Agnès shares an average budget per person for the full journey:
- Return flights Paris ↔ Thessaloniki: €200
- Motorcycle logistics (shipping): €1,100
- Fuel (around €1.9/L at the time): €600
- Accommodation: €700
- Meals: €600
- Total: €3,200 per person (1 bike), for 32 days
Planet Ride craft tip
If you want to keep a mixed group (heavy cruisers + adventure bikes) happy for a month, build the rhythm around the slowest machine: 250–350 km “experience days”, and keep the long transitions for rare, deliberate pushes. It protects focus, reduces risk in bad weather, and leaves daylight for the places you came for.
Mini-FAQ
- Is 690 km in Turkey doable in a day?
Yes, but plan it as a pure transfer day. With rain, checkpoints, ferries, and breaks, it can become a late arrival—exactly what happened to Agnès’ group. - Do you need to plan for cold in early summer?
Yes. Even on a late-May/June roadtrip, evenings by the sea can turn cool, and high points like Nemrut Dağ (2,200 m) can feel cold and damp after storms. - How do you manage navigation and communication on a long ride?
Have offline maps on your phone and at least one backup (GPS or second phone). In remote stretches, don’t count on continuous signal—especially when your day depends on timing (ferries, late arrivals).
À savoir aujourd’hui
This story remains a reliable snapshot of a real 2014 roadtrip: distances, weather surprises, and the logic of adapting the route on the fly. What should be checked before leaving in 2026: border and customs procedures, regional access conditions in the far East, and the practicalities on sites and roads (restoration work, track condition up to Nemrut Dağ).
