To the North of Tabas there was a range of mountains. The highways in the direction of Mashhad went around this range. My map showed a wiggly white road that went through the range. The colour of the road indicated that it wasn't asphalted. This was my kind of road.
The previous night I'd camped at the beginning of this road but in the morning figured that I didn't really have enough food. Since the following day would be Friday I couldn't count on shops in any small towns I was going through to be open. So I retraced the short distance to Tabas. Shopping even for things as simple as food can take forever, everything is available but finding the small shop that sells what you need can take time. I'm used to browsing the selection in supermarkets & being reminded by it of what I need. In Iran shopping is done at places where you tell the shopkeepers what you want & he gets it for you if he has it. It's very personal but it takes getting used to for someone like me.
In spite of getting up at 5am it wasn't until 11:30am that I was back where I started, sufficiently provisioned.
As soon as I approached the hills the decision to take this road was vindicated. There were absolutely no cars & even though the temperature approached 40° C it was very pleasant cycling. Not far from where I camped, in the foot of hills was an oasis. It was an island of date palms surrounded by hills of brown earth. I met a family who invited me to share dates & watermelon with me, which I gratefully accepted. The parents were smoking what I assumed was opium, they told me that it was illegal but as they were doing it with their children & didn't seem to be 'dope heads' I assumed that there was some tradition to do so. They had a fire in which held twigs. They would hold a heated stick against the opium & inhale the resulting smoke through rolled up paper. Further along the road I had a picnic lunch in another spring-fed grove of date trees. It was a marvelous sense to be surrounded by desert but be in such a fertile spot.
A little while later I came across a village, also centred around a source of water. It was minute, no more than a few mud brick houses surrounding a small square. I don't think that it was connected to an electrical supply. My arrival caused a flurry of movement as the women went discretely out of sight. An elderly man greeted me in a fairly matter-of-fact way which made me think I wasn't welcome, however I was sat down & a plate of food & something to drink given to. I had no opportunity nor desire to refuse it so had my second lunch. I only stopped to fill up with water & ask how far to Kharavan, which was the only town that my map showed on this road.
From there was a long section of lonely desert road that slowly rose into the mountains. For quite a while I was worried that I wouldn't make it to Kharavan before it was time to pitch my tent. No further springs appeared, I didn't have enough to last me beyond the end of the day, the point of 'no return' approached. Of course it wasn't that dramatic, it was all downhill on what had become a familiar road & there were a number of water sources on it.
In any case I arrived in Kharavan in good time. The village was a bit bigger than the unamed earlier & by a dry river. It was like a little piece of heaven after dry hills. There were fruit trees, cultivated fields & livestock, all kept alive by a spring that was dispersed by a series of irrigation channels. The villagers were clearly surprised to see a foreign cyclist in their midst but they soon took me in their stride & showered me with wonderful hospitality. I was shown a nice spot to camp in a small ploughed field just below the village & the majority of the population came to watch me set up camp. I figured that they'd stick around so long as there were interesting things to watch so I didn't delay through my normal routine of setting up the tent & cooking. They were a lovely lot, all smiles & trying to communicate, as did I. They brought me some bread & yoghurt as well as a kerosine lamp to see by as it got dark. When the handle of my mug fell off someone got some glue. All of this unasked. It was only when I tried to write my diary on my pocket PC, at which point I had people almost sitting on my shoulders, that I decided that I needed the privacy of the inside of my tent.
The sound of the insects & water passing through the irrigation channels was almost deafening after the complete silence of the previous night's desert campsite.
I cycled 69 km in 5 hours & 35 minutes
Total so far 5072 km in 70 days
GPS Coordinates of end point - N 33°44.720, E 57°05.394
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