Texas is a big state, there are a lot of places to go, but my route is more or less clear. I started pedaling towards the capital, Austin. I really wanted to stay there, but I lost my chance by staying at Özlem and Julien’s house for a long time.
Not to mention arriving in Austin, just getting close to it made me incredibly happy. I had been pedaling on flat roads for months; finally, the hills and climbs started. I can’t describe my joy, finally, thank God! No joke, I really, really dislike flat roads and areas.
The first thing I noticed when entering Austin was the presence of public transport and that even white-collar workers use it. Also, after Florida, I started seeing properly built bike lanes in the city again. Austin is a well-organized, tidy city and, of course, much more beautiful than Houston.
In 2015, a young follower named Berat emailed me about his planned bike tour across the US. He said he would come here one day. He couldn’t make the tour as he wished, but he won a green card, got a work permit, and started working as a bartender here, he invited me to his home. He insisted that I stay with him. I had planned to stay only two days in Austin, but I ended up extending it to three.
Erdinç has been following me since my days cycling in Africa. He was a music teacher in Turkey, came here, became a citizen, and started living here. Though not by bike, he has toured the US with his motorcycle and caravan. He knows me well and understands how challenging the road is for me. He’s aware of the situation. One evening, we went to an open-air concert, and I introduced Berat and Erdinç to each other. I make them friends.
One evening, Erdinç invited me to a volleyball match. There’s a beach volleyball court where Turks regularly play after work. We go there together. I really liked the atmosphere, it was a lot of fun. Big cities should have areas like this in their parks. I wondered if we could have something like that in Lausanne Park in Ankara. It could work, but it wouldn’t be the same as here. It’s almost impossible to see stray animals in Austin. There are no cats or dogs. If this were in our country, a cat or dog would definitely enter the sand area and pee, and you wouldn’t be able to play there with your feet. Even if you fence it off, you’d always have to check the door to make sure animals don’t get in. Also, you wouldn’t be able to save the ball. In short, it could be done forcibly, but it wouldn’t be the same as here. Anyway, I really liked the court here, and I lost track of how many sets we played until 11:00 PM.
After the match, we sit down and chat. They ask me what I do for a living. I say, “I came to America to travel, and I’m Erdinç’s guest” and quickly change the subject. A few minutes later, Erdinç comes to me and says, “Why aren’t you saying who you are and what you’ve done? Amazing, you’re something else.” I brush it off, saying “It’s better this way, never mind.” Then, a new friend in the group asks again what I do for a living. Erdinç jumps in and says, “Actually, Gürkan Genç is a famous person in our country, but you don’t know him, and he’s not saying what he does,” and then he explains what I’ve done.
It didn’t matter at all to this group of young people in their early thirties who had left their country to have a better standard of living, who worked from morning to night, what I did. After Erdinç explained, there was a moment of silence. One of them suddenly said, “I hit a cyclist with my car in Turkey and killed him, but it wasn’t my fault.” He said this as the first sentence in front of a man who has been cycling around the world. I had a thousand questions in my head but didn’t ask. Most likely, he’s someone who fled the country, and the reason is either this or some other situation. I silently observe them. They’re trying to comprehend what a world bike tour is. A few of them congratulate me.
One of them said, “In the hustle and bustle of life, it’s impossible for us to follow people who engage in activities like this. We all have our own struggles and busy lives. Sorry, I don’t know you, and I’m hearing your name for the first time. Not just me, but everyone is hearing about you for the first time.”
As I mentioned earlier:
• Even today, 99.98% of the youth in my country have no idea who I am. (I calculated this based on Facebook and Instagram data for the 0-30 age range.)
• For the 0.02% of people who know me in my country, I’ve observed over 14 years how much what I do matters to them. I can even give a rough estimate.
• Back in 2011, during the presentation I gave to students of Eskişehir Anadolu University, I had a good understanding of what the situation would be in the future. That’s why sometimes, I don’t even want to introduce myself or talk in certain environments. Honestly, I don’t even like it when others do it on my behalf. It can be discussed when I’m not around, but when I’m there, trying to explain something that they won’t be able to grasp in just a few minutes becomes tiring and upsetting.
Why is it upsetting? Because when I explain something, I relive those moments over and over. What I do is my life, my livelihood, my job, everything to me; but for the person in front of me, it mostly feels like a meaningless activity they can’t make sense of. Everyone takes pride in what they do and wants to be appreciated. Believe me, for the vast majority of people, what I do seems meaningless. That’s why I share what I do freely with children, but for adults, unless I’m on stage, I prefer not to explain.
Before leaving Austin, I also met up with Cihan Yavuz. We had exchanged a few messages over the years. He said to me, “Gürkan, you’ve always been my idol, but I did something that even you haven’t done.” He had children from different nationalities while traveling. He now has a child with his current wife. He’s trying to bring all his children to the United States and plans to build a life for them here. Kudos to Cihan. I had shared a similar story in my Nicaragua memories. Cihan insisted I stay with him, but I left early the next morning. I wanted to finish the Texas part and visit Ahmet, who has been financially supporting me for years. He had been waiting for a long time.
I had never met him before. He had been following me since my trip to Japan. During my world tour, he supported me at critical moments in ways I didn’t even understand.
He lives in a place called Odessa in Texas. I hadn’t understood why he lived in Odessa, but as I got closer to the area, it became clearer. There are oil wells everywhere. They are divided into parcels, and the entire environment is a desert. No matter which secondary road I choose, I can’t avoid the oil tankers.
The temperature has risen significantly. Right now, I have officially entered the Chihuahuan Desert, which is located between Texas and New Mexico. During the day, I can easily reach 48 degrees Celsius on my bike. Most of this desert is in Mexico, but in the United States, it spans across the western tip of Texas, as well as southern New Mexico and Arizona. My route stretches from New Mexico to the capital, Santa Fe, and the desert’s boundary continues all the way there; after that, the environment changes.
Let’s move on to another topic.
As a touring cyclist, the first places I visited were countries in Central Asia and East Asia. A person riding a bike with bags and sporting clothes is immediately recognized as a tourist in these societies. The local people or other tourists in those countries show hospitality in one way or another. Where you are from or what you are doing doesn’t really matter; they can’t even know that.
Similarly, when traveling in Europe, you are also seen as a tourist. In countries that have a strong cycling culture, they show respect and always offer help.
In the Middle East, you are greeted with incredible hospitality and respect. In Africa, you are still a tourist, and they try to host you amid their poverty, showing interest in you.
In South America, I spent many years and traveled to almost every country, and the hospitality there was remarkable.
However, when things shifted to North America, especially the United States, everything changed 180 degrees.
I’ve mentioned this in other writings as well. In my travels across America, starting from Miami in Florida to the town of Lincoln in New Mexico, American citizens were generally afraid of me. Over a distance of more than 5000 kilometers, I didn’t encounter a local who saw me in a desolate area and came up to say, “Do you need anything? Would you like some water?” Let me clarify: I didn’t need water or anything else. I had everything on my bike, as I could enter remote places anytime. Come on, I’ve been on the road for 14 years, don’t treat me like a fool. (I’m particularly emphasizing this because it’s really funny. However, a news story was made in our country. The headline was “No one gave water while crossing the desert.” The reporter, of course, summarized it in the most attention-grabbing words. Of course, 99.99% of our people didn’t read the entire news and didn’t research who I am, so the comments they made were something you must see. The comments were filled with insults, mockery, and treating me like an idiot. I just smiled, what else could I do when the majority of my fellow Turks are like this?)
I mentioned the distance, and as you can see, in 69 countries, I never encountered such a situation, and it was also interesting that no one showed hospitality over such a large distance. I thought about the reasons for this throughout my journey. Three main reasons emerged:
- Americans may think that a cyclist traveling in this way can meet their own needs.
- The adoption of an individual lifestyle in the United States and the strict definition of personal space may cause people to be wary of foreigners.
- There may be a lack of hospitality in American culture.
If we address the first point, based on the day I wrote this, this was only the case in two out of the ten states I passed through. In Utah and Colorado, people respected what I was doing and believed or knew that I could be prepared for all possibilities. They acted accordingly. However, the other eight states either couldn’t understand what I was doing or didn’t want to understand.
If we consider the third point, it’s not valid either because once Americans fully understand who I am and what I’m doing, they show incredible hospitality. At that point, it’s impossible not to be amazed at what’s being done.
So, the second point remains. In this country, there’s an abnormal level of fear that I’ve never seen in other countries. The issue of personal space comes along with this.
This “fear” situation is often said to be created by the state. There seems to be some state influence, but it’s also impossible to overlook it from another perspective. In my opinion, the gaps in the state’s laws and the moral collapse of society have created a state of fear. Every American living in this country is a factor in creation of the fear empire because there are opportunities to make money from recognizing this gap. Insurance, law, social media content creation, and many other methods feed into this situation.
As I mentioned in my previous article, why would a citizen invite a neighbor’s kid to their home to play with their child? You never know who someone is when they need help on the road; helping them might bring trouble your way. Since I travel by bicycle in this country, in the eyes of many Americans, I am a beggar. Check the videos on YouTube. How many people are there who film beggars, causing fear in society?
Are the most dangerous areas of a society, armed zones, gangs, and robbers being presented, or are its beauties? Don’t scary situations being shared increase the views of posts and generate income? Who allows this to happen? The government. The content creator says, “I’m informing the public.” However, the self-control of the content is left to untrained individuals. Public awareness, philosophy, sociology, ethics, psychology, none of these matter to them. If they didn’t know they would make money from their work, they wouldn’t waste their time on these contents, nor would they shoot images that put their lives at risk. The more you scare society, the more it gets viewed and the more money you make. As someone who graduated from the Faculty of Communication with a major in Radio-TV – Cinema, there was a title in information sharing, particularly under “Journalism Ethics.” Those who have received education in this field or work in the media sector will notice this.
Before describing the events in Lincoln and the city of Roswell, I would like to share a conversation I had with a farmer in a small town where I took a break just before reaching Odessa, the last city I was going to stay in Texas. He had two bicycles in the back of his vehicle. Just as he was about to enter the gas station where I had stopped, he backed out:
I was traveling on a long road, and a man approached me and said:
Man: It looks like you’re coming from a long journey; this bike seems solid.
Me: Yes, it’s quite a long journey.
Man: Are you traveling internationally?
Me: Yes.
Man: I’ve always wanted to do what you’re doing. I’m 70 years old now, and I have more money than I could spend for the rest of my life, but I don’t have the strength or courage to make the journey you’re on right now. Unfortunately, lunch isn’t sold here, but please accept this $20 as my small contribution to your journey.
And just like that, after traveling 5000 kilometers across the United States, someone, without knowing who I was or what I was doing, supported me by giving me $20. Wow! He also recommended a good cyclist near Odessa for my bike. With the money he gave me, I have lunch on the way.
I stayed with Ahmet and his wife Celine at their home in Odessa. Ahmet, a lecturer at a university in Turkey, moved to the United States many years ago using the green card option. After working in various jobs, he started his own transportation company, hauling goods within the country with his own truck. When I asked why he lived in Odessa, his answer was simple: “Gürkan, there’s oil in this region, and I can say this is the center of transportation.” Being close to the Mexican border and having oil fields around the area already demonstrates the importance of transportation in the region. As I mentioned above, the area is full of trucks.
By the way, it’s worth mentioning that the first oil well in this region was opened in 1923, and there are now over 2000 oil wells in the area. Ahmet was very knowledgeable about this subject because he had transported oil with his truck at one point.
Ahmet was a geography teacher in Turkey, so he had the chance to travel to many regions of our country. Because of his education and interests, our conversations at home were really enjoyable. On a free day, he drove me 1000 kilometers, taking me to Big Bend National Park, Balmorhea State Park, and the town of Marfa.
Thus, Big Bend became my first national park in the United States. It was truly invaluable and precious to explore such an amazing geography with a geography teacher. I saw beautiful places and learned wonderful things.
During my stay here, I also had my blood tests done at the hospital. Thanks to Sine Akten, who sent a document from New York to the local hospital for me, I got the tests done. Everything turned out perfectly. Onward!
I also coincidentally met Mustafa, who works as a lecturer in Turkey. He had come to conduct research for a master’s program, studying the pollination process of bees in desert environments, and planning to return to Turkey afterward.
After my time with Ahmet and Celine, I knew we would always have the opportunity to meet again in the U.S. I also wanted to thank Celine for her delicious meals. (A month later, we met again on the road.) Once again, I’m grateful to Ahmet for continuously following and supporting me for 14 years, especially when I needed help the most. See you again.
After Texas, the next biggest city was Roswell. Man, this city is really interesting. I took a tour around the city, and my impression was:
It feels like someone from the outside world visits the city, shops around, and then leaves. The sales strategies of the stores here are built around this idea. The reason behind this is the alleged UFO crash in Roswell in 1947. Since that day, the city has become quite famous. There’s even an Alien Museum.
In this museum, there are interviews, observations, and presentations by academic researchers about the events that took place at the time and afterward. If you happen to be in the area, I recommend visiting.
I had previously mentioned how things like “fear” and “the unknown” turn into profit. It’s 1947, YAY!, 63 years have passed… Someone really pulled a fast one. A similar situation has been happening in the last 10 years with today’s social media. (If I’m not mistaken, YouTube and social media started giving advertising revenue in 2015.)
While I was wandering around the city, I met a cyclist. Since I was already there I asked if I could use his stand to adjust the front wheel’s spoke tension. He rented me the stand for $10. After aligning the wheel, I left the place and checked into a hotel. I needed a shower and to do laundry. The next morning, as I stepped out of my hotel room, I found myself face-to-face with a four-wheeled bike.
Eric covers in 5 days what I do in 1 day. The bike is incredibly heavy. When a tire bursts, he lifts the bike with a car jack and changes the tire. The bike has around 40 liters of water capacity and, I estimate, carries more than 10 kilos of food. With all these items, it easily weighs over 40 kilos. Tools, clothes, odds and ends, the weight of the bike itself… There’s even a solar panel on top. However, this panel is only used for charging electronic devices; the bike has no electric motor. This kind of travel is definitely not a style I would choose. But he’s happy traveling this way.
I left Roswell, and around noon, the temperature reached 53 degrees Celsius. Whew, it was incredibly hot. However, there was something that made me happy: the climbs had started, and my altitude was slowly increasing.
Suddenly, the rear tire went flat… Uh-oh, what’s this now? It’s definitely a piece (steel wire) of a truck tire that’s punctured my tire. I bought these tires in March 2023 from Erdoğanlar Bicycle shop in Ankara: Schwalbe Marathon MTB Plus. All the tires I’ve used are listed on my website. These tires have a lifespan of 10,000 kilometers, which I have already tested and confirmed. It was time to replace them. However, this time, I wanted to switch to a different brand. I planned to replace it in Santa Fe.
By the way, after leaving Odessa, I broke my fastest 100-kilometer average speed record in 14 years of touring. I averaged 30 kilometers per hour, and this was with a hybrid frame (MTB/Gravel/Touring bike). The bike weighs around 35 kilograms. Everything is in order, and the data is recorded on Strava. The KRON G1 frame has truly been a legend. With a few minor adjustments, I dream of building a near-perfect bike. Also, making an electric version of this model is one of my dreams. Let’s see if fate allows it, will it happen?
Anyway, back to the flat tire. In this heat, I took off the rear wheel and examined the inner tube. The valve had torn off. Actually, the part where the valve was welded had loosened and opened due to the heat and the pressure I applied while climbing. Okay, I understood the reason and noted it down. I decided to change the inner tube.
I took the second inner tube, and inflated it… Ufff, it was so hot that I was dripping with sweat, and then the inner tube exploded! What a nightmare. I got another new inner tube, and inflated it… After a while, it too tore at the valve. Wow, the first one is okay, but this second one… something is up.
I put on a third inner tube, one of those new thinner inner tubes, but it wouldn’t inflate. I couldn’t understand why; I kept pumping air, but it wouldn’t fill.
I tried a fourth inner tube. I was putting in a lot of effort under this heat. There wasn’t a single tree or structure in sight where I could take shelter from the sun; I was right in the middle of a desert. And there are no videos or photos of this process either. I had left Roswell, traveled 60 kilometers, and there was no settlement. The first place ahead was a gas station which was 20 kilometers away. The nearest bike shop where I could buy an inner tube was 200 kilometers away, and again, there was nothing along the road. So if an inner tube went, things would really get difficult. Fortunately, I had brought over 6 liters of water just in case. During the repair, I sweated so much.
The fourth inner tube inflated, but then it deflated again. It’s impossible not to go crazy. First, I checked the inner tube, yes, there were two punctures. Since the previous tubes had torn at the valve connection, I didn’t think a truck tire wire could have punctured it. I kept searching… but I couldn’t find it. Nothing was sticking out of the outer tire. I patched the inner tubes and inflated it again. The tire deflated once more. I checked again, and the inner tube was still punctured! This time, when I checked the outer tire, I attached my headlamp and checked it millimeter by millimeter. Finally, I found that fine wire. Damn it.
I inflated the tire and started riding again. After a while, the tire deflated again, but this time it happened within 5 kilometers. So, I ll inflate it every 5 kilometers, at least until I get to the gas station ahead. I was literally roasting under the sun.
I arrived at the gas station and asked the attendants how long it would take for an Amazon order to arrive here. They said 4 days. Wow, 4 days… I didn’t want to set up camp at the gas station, so I was thinking about what to do next. Meanwhile, my doctor, Sine Akten, called. I told her about the desert crossing. She replied:
Sine: You’ve had a polar bear situation, Gürkan!
Note: there is a Turkish proverb, a popular one we use in Türkiye for having such unluck or unlucky moments. ‘The unfortunate Bedouin would get fucked by a polar bear in the desert…’
We couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. Then, we thought of calling 911, but what could we say? I told Sine to hold on while I called 911. I hung up the phone and dialed:
Me: Hello, my name is Gürkan Genç. I’m a Turkish national cyclist, Gürkan Genç. I’m currently cycling around the world. These are my social media handles. I’m cycling from Miami to Alaska. I’m at a gas station between Roswell and Lincoln in New Mexico, and my inner tubes have burst and gotten damaged, so I can’t continue my journey. There are no Uber or rental cars available in this area. The nearest bike shop is about 200 kilometers ahead, and I was wondering if a police officer with a pickup truck could take me back to Roswell? Hitchhiking is prohibited, and no one would pick me up because I have a bike with me. I’m stuck here.
After a brief moment of silence, I received a call:
911 Operator: Mr. Gürkan, you will receive a response within 5 minutes.
I opened the chair on my bike, sat in front of the gas station, and waited. Sure enough, six minutes later, the phone rang:
911 Operator: The Roswell sheriff is on his way with a truck. Please do not leave your location.
Me: Thank you so much.
Wow, the sheriff was coming to pick me up from Roswell. And indeed, the guy arrived in a big truck.
Sherrif: Mr. Gürkan, first, please show me what you’re carrying in your bags while maintaining a safe distance and empty all your bags.
He was right, so I showed everything inside my bags while maintaining the safety distance.
Sherrif: Now, you can place your bike and belongings in the back of the vehicle.
By the way, no help was offered; I had to carry everything myself, which was a very reasonable action.
Sherrif: Now, please sit in the back of the vehicle.
He also mentioned that he could drop me off at a bike shop further ahead in another city, but I insisted on going to Roswell. For 14 years, this has always been the case; unless absolutely necessary, I never travel with my bike in a vehicle. If there’s a chance I’ll pedal the same route again, I’ll do it. For example, I’ll pedal the 60 kilometers I covered yesterday again tomorrow. To add: until this point in the United States, this had only happened once, and that was for a 50-kilometer stretch. I also document these moments.
The sheriff made me sit in a special compartment in the vehicle, resembling a closed box where criminals usually sit. When I called out to him in a normal tone, he couldn’t hear me. It took a few raised attempts before he finally heard me. I figured speaking was hard, so I gave up. The guy really did take me to Roswell.
Me: Thank you so much for everything. I’d love to buy you a soup or a meal if you have time.
Sherrif: Thank you, Mr. Gürkan. Helping those in need is our duty. I wish you the best in your journey. Good evening.
I returned to the hotel I had stayed the previous day. The next day, I replaced both the front and rear inner tubes and, as usual, bought three extra inner tubes. What happened yesterday had never occurred in the 14 years of my travels, so I didn’t think it was an issue that required a major precaution. I don’t expect to face it again for many years to come.
I managed to pedal back along the route I had taken yesterday and reached the town of Lincoln. The town had an important historical background, but when I stopped there, I learned even more interesting facts.
This town is known as the hometown of the infamous outlaw Billy the Kid. His fame, both in the United States and around the world, comes from the peak of the cattle trade in the town and his involvement in killing several people. He’s also known for killing court officials during his attempted escape just before his execution. After being shot by a sheriff, he became a legendary freedom fighter. He has quite an interesting story. The courthouse, jail, and other buildings from that era have maintained their original form and are still standing today.
I almost reached 100 kilometers that day. With yesterday’s stress and the heat of today, I thought I deserved a break.
Wow, a bar! I’ll stop here for a rest. It had an old-fashioned feel.
“A stranger entered the town from the vast desert. He looked unlike anyone from this region or this country. Confidently riding his black, strong horse through the center of town, he greeted the landowners sitting on their porches as he slowly pedaled toward the bar at the end of town. It was clear he had been on the road for a long time. When he reached the bar, he dismounted, surveyed his surroundings, locked his bike outside, and entered the bar where laughter filled the air. The moment he stepped inside, all laughter stopped, and everyone turned to look at him.”
It was like one of those scenes from movies when a stranger cowboy walks into a bar. I swear, I lived that moment. As I made my way to the bar, everyone was looking at me. When I entered, I said:
Hello, I have to tell you something; I really felt like an actor in a movie scene. I could hear your laughter from outside, but the moment I walked in, it stopped.
They all laughed again and asked what I’d like. Of course, I had a cold beer. After being in 50-degree heat, stepping into that place felt so relieving and refreshing, that I downed the beer in one go. It was the best beer I’ve had in a long time. When they saw me drinking it like that, I shared where I was from and what I was doing, and the whole conversation turned into a talk about cycling around the world. We went outside, took photos of my bike, and inside, they took more pictures. They didn’t charge me a dime, and they even gave me a safe place to sleep. So, to sum it up, the whole thing was like a scene from a movie, and it ended just like that.
The next day, on the road, I saw my first rattlesnake. It’s an animal I might encounter easily in the areas where I pitch my tent. As I mentioned before, I’ll mark around the tent to keep things safe from it.
And now, I’m about to enter the capital of another state: New Mexico – Santa Fe.