Bicycling, a set of poems

Slightly sick I rested one day.
Close to a river is where I would lay.
At night there arrived,
what a glorious sight,
a mate with which t'go into the fray.

The trek no longer a personal grind.
Spent mostly inside one's own mind.
We were talking galore,
of our interests and more,
making the journey one o' the shared kind.

Stopping at a particular place.
Looking for food to stuff into our face.
Turkish hospitality once again,
offered by a kind man,
Breakfast, tea and talk given with much grace.

Onwards we went to the city Sivas.
Where we'd rest for a day, but alas.
Doing chores was just great,
on comfy beds we had layed,
but still we'd cycle on, on a sore ass.

We'd ascend mountains to our near east.
To eyes the greenery was a great feast.
We passed villages quaint,
most worn, others fresh paint.
Happy about all the peaks we had reached.

Days become shorter so we trudge along.
Often camping with the sun nearly gone.
But on days with great speed,
early we'd rest our feet,
to have sunsets our eyes feast upon.

At mountain crossroads we came to conclude:
the next villages won't sell any cyclist's food.
So we took a left turn,
Imrali's markets we'd yearn,
so to stock up on everything good.

Out of town we'd turn in for the night.
But were awoken by a car's flashing light.
Police afraid we would die
said: "Move! Bears are nearby!
Doesn't that give you a mighty fine fright?"

Thanking the man in our graceful nightwear.
We answered: "to be entirely fair:
Thinking like a bear
I don't think I would care,
if lunch will sleep right here or just there."

Next morning we escaped without scars.
Quickly back amongst scarier cars.
On one the window rolled down,
and invited us down,
To have breakfast. Why? Just because!

But I suppose that it was just the hook,
had fine food they did wonderfully cook.
But the host whipped out a phone,
filmed, left us alone,
and now we're in an ad placed on facebook.

To the mountains we quickly returned.
Along the way that breakfast was burned.
Paving way for the arts,
o' expelling a great many farts.
A gift, through exercise earned.

Once more we'd have great sights to behold.
Along the Euphrates our bicycles rolled.
Often said to another:
"What beauty, my brother!"
Ever more vistas would slowly unfold.

Like that our wheels ever rolled on.
Bringing us to great Erzincan (Erzindjan).
A full day we would rest,
then once more at our best,
because our asses are now truly gone.