Monday began without urgency. Rain was forecast for the morning, so I allowed myself a slower start. Breakfast stretched until 11:00, and with checkout at 11:30, there was no reason to rush. Outside, a drizzle confirmed the forecast, but the radar suggested it would ease soon.

By the time I finally set off, close to noon, the rain had already softened into something manageable. The plan was simple: follow the Black Sea coast west toward Samsun, around 300 kilometers, four to five hours on the road.

The Sea in Revolt

Not long after leaving, the weather revealed its true character. The rain itself was light, intermittent. But the sea—that was another story.

Waves crashed violently against the coastline, powerful enough to spill onto the road in several sections. In some areas, the water had dragged large stones across the asphalt, leaving behind scattered debris and forcing traffic into narrow, cautious lines. At one point, tractors were already working to clear the road, while vehicles crept forward one behind the other.

I didn’t capture the moment on camera, but I saw it clearly: a wave rising several meters high, breaking over the road just ahead of a truck, swallowing everything in white foam before retreating again.

It was a reminder that sometimes the danger doesn’t come from above—but from the side.

Shelter and Waiting

By early afternoon, I reached a fuel station near Giresun. What had started as a light drizzle turned suddenly into steady rain, heavier than before.

I took the opportunity to stop—coffee, a short rest, and a chance to warm up slightly. It wasn’t particularly cold, but for the first time in days, I felt a certain fatigue settling in.

The break came at the right moment. By the time I got back on the road, the rain had eased once again.

From there, the ride became calmer.

Kilometers of Calm

The remaining distance passed without much incident. The sky stayed grey, the road damp but manageable, and the traffic light enough to keep a steady rhythm.

There was a brief thought of changing plans—perhaps heading inland toward a higher route—but the coast felt like the safer choice. The mountains could wait.

By 5:00 p.m., just as daylight began to fade, I arrived in Samsun.

Simple Comforts

The hotel was modest but more than enough—a large room for just €20. After unloading the bike, I headed straight to a nearby washing station.

The ride along the coast, combined with previous days of snow and salt, had left its mark. Whether from the sea spray or earlier mountain crossings, the bike needed cleaning. Under the water and foam, it slowly returned to something closer to normal.

A small ritual, but a satisfying one.

An Evening in Samsun

Dinner was uncomplicated and perfect for the moment: two dürüms—one chicken, one beef—and a drink, all for less than €6. Simple food, warm, filling.

Walking back to the hotel, the city felt quiet. A drizzle returned, barely noticeable now. Inside, the focus shifted once again to the road ahead.

Looking Toward the Mountains

Cappadocia lingered on the horizon.

The forecasts were clearer now: temperatures dropping to -8°C at night, with lighter conditions during the day. Snow remained a possibility, especially in the higher passes—some reaching 2,000 meters.

Camping, once an appealing idea, was no longer realistic. Cold can be managed. Ice cannot. For now, the decision remained open: continue along the coast, or turn inland and take the risk.

A Day to Pause

Today wasn’t about pushing limits. It was about moving forward without forcing the journey—accepting the weather, adapting to the road, and knowing when to keep things simple.

Some days are meant for distance. Others, like this one, are meant for balance. And along a restless coast, that was more than enough.