A couple of big day at the end of March and I was feeling strong running through the arid Iranian Dasht-e Kavir desert bypassed Yazd a big city.
I put an electrolyte into my waterbottle pink in colour and a man gave me a telling off thinking I was drinking meths spirits!
A bit further on I was a bit surprised to meet two female Iranian cyclists Sheeba and Solma who had all the gear.
They spoke decent English telling me they were cycling to Tehran a few hundred kilometres away. An hour later I caught up with them stopped at the side of the road trying to flag down a vehicle to take them to Naim about 130km away. They said they were concerned about camping out, didn’t know where the nearest mosque was an d were going to stay a a friends house in Naim! Guess they won’t be cycling around the world!
Later I wondered were they undercover government agents checking me out!
A bit later three idiots on a motorcycle followed me for a bit and wouldn’t go away. I threw a rock at the bikes spokes making good contact, best tactic is to act like I am a nutter and shout like one too, it always seems to work. This time I also pulled out my Dazer dog zapper for good measure as they think its a weapon!
I ran a few more km and when it got dark was careful about my location to sleep in the desert that night. I went about 400mts off the road and sat there looking out for about 20 minutes before bedding down. I usually sleep with my Spot tracker on my arm when rough camping also my shoes on when not 100% confident I won’t be disturbed. As mentioned before my passport is in a zip lock bag in a stitched inside pocket in my running top which I sleep in. Also my smart phone and camera in my front pocket while I sleep. I can usually find a comfortable sleeping position. All this is in case I have to make an unexpected run for it, so to speak. This way I have all my essentials.
Next day a great tailwind and I ran with my back to traffic for a change as there was a nice wider than normal shoulder on that side and besides on the other side so strong was the tail wind I would have to be careful not to be blown under a truck, would obviously rather pick myself out of a ditch!
Slept again in a mosque which had small rooms around the courtyard, Just a carpet in the floor and I was happy. The nice people never bothered me.
Other nights I sleep in a kind of a prayer room they often have at the side of petrol stations. The road side signs usually indicate this. It is never a problem sleeping in these places. I just take my shoes off wrapping them in a plastic bag and change my socks!
Often the people talk to me. Sometimes they eat there. There is always a curtain down the center of the room as women pray separately to the men.
Sometimes men sleep in the women’s section as its quieter but never women in the men’s section!
One night a man answered his mobile in the middle of his prayers, then he proceeded to have a ten minute argument as he knelt!
There is usually washing facilities so I can have a body wash and wash clothes.
Next day I ran through some light rain and a man with two ho daughters stopped to give me fruit, tea and water. People are always stopping. That day I stopped early at 36km as there was nothing for a long long way.
It was a place called The Parma Rest Stop which had a great restaurant and a place to sleep in a quiet corner. Well dressed middle class people were the clientele so this runner felt a bit out of sorts but never bothered the people, usually couples for we had a couple of good chats as many spoke pigeon English.
Most of the time the waiter pestered me asking why I had never been to Romania and if I had any Romanian money. He told me he was born there and is a Romany native. Even when I was bedded down he continued to come over and pester me, so much so I though I was back in India! Then I remembered many of my former Romanian workmates in the construction sector back in Ireland told me that the Romany gipsies are descended from India. I know a bit of a stretch of the imagination here but still an interesting thought.
Next day I felt strong for all of my 63 kilometers. Truck drivers, people on family outings or just men on their own looking for a bit of company stop and offer me tea and snacks almost every day. Such kind hearted people.

Then on April 5th a much sought after milestone for I run my 1,000th marathon 42,195km in 962.8 road days. This was run at the junction to the village of Moreh.
I continued my good progress through the 27th country of the run with a 54k next day. The police have been stopping me more times than I was comfortable with. They certainty haven’t figured out like the Latinos have that if tourism is important you don’t hassle the tourists. Iran has a lot to be paranoid about as the CIA allegedly flooded the Iranian market with fake rials in an effort to screw up their economy. As much as conspiracy theorists would love this economics reckon the real damage to the economy was done by the Iranian governments decision to limit deposit interest. This resulted in many people withdrawing huge sums of money and investing in gold.
Another concern to the Iranians was the assignation of some of the countries top nuclear scientists. It is alleged Israel was behind this.

Perhaps for these reasons Americans are not allowed to travel solo in Iran, only on a tour. I have just been informed that UK citizens have recently been  banned from travelling alone. Also women but that is obviously for a.different reason.
I stand up to these cops and next thing they are telling me I have to go to a base for questioning as get this I could be a terrorist I was told. The base was about ten km inland and off my route. Let’s just say I refused. So a seargent comes out. I am not budging I tell him.
Next thing I know some bored heavies come out armed to the teeth. They manhandled me into the back of a pickup. I am handcuffed to a grill fender below the rear window. The speed off towards the base and I am swaying backwards and forwards thinking if they crash all that will be left will be my arms in handcuffs!
At the base all my photos in my camera were deleted by one of the bastards.
Full details reserved for my book. Then I was driven back to the place they picked me up from, at a sign saying 35km to Kashan. I still managed 54 kilometers that day but it was a late night finish. I am more or less at the end of the desert now, some  250km southeast of Tehran. Some houses have two door knockers, one for women so as the occupants should know who should answer.
Then on the way out of Kashan I stopped at a kiosk for a breakfast of tea and cakes. Two cops came over to buy something and asked to see my passport. I showed them it making it very clear I was not pleased. I refused their friendship attempt when  I was handed back my document.
Later when telling my experiences to Iranians I was to discover just how much the police are despised in this country.
They do a lot of speed checking and are at checkpoints at the entry and exit to many cities and  large towns. I just run hard with my head down, ignoring them, I never make eye contact after all they don’t expect me to speak Farsi!
About 35km to the holy city of Qom I stop for a rest break at a truck stop. There was one shady worker there who was giving g me too close attention. I went to wash and when I returned discovered my such glasses were missing. Stupidly I left them on a seat beside my pack. I remembered putting a full bottle of water on them to hold them down for it was a windy day. When I returned the sunglasses were gone and the man suggested they blew away. Oh yes and my empty water bottles didn’t blow away.
Later that night I turned on my mobile phone and discovered my SD card with pictures was also missing for I had left it in the office to charge.
On the way into Qom a journalist stopped me for an interview. Not sure how he planned to conduct it as he had to ask his wife the English word for journalist was. Perhaps she was going to do it.
I refused telling him I don’t do interviews in countries with censored. In Myanmar a cop who escorted me told me later he gave one on my behalf!
In Qom I slept behind a mosque at the edge of a graveyard.
An elderly motorcyclist had pitched his tent there. At first he was surprised to see me and then came over to give me an apple. Later some friends of his came by for a visit. One of them came over to me and asked if I needed any food as he was going out for a takeaway! I told him I was OK!

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