It's been about two months now since I made it back to the states. That time has gone by in a whirl wind. So I apologize for the severe delay here. Enjoy the rest of my story!
Picking back up in the mountains of Kyrgyzstan.....
I bet you think I am going to start out with some harrowing story of a midnight raid or possibly we will finally encounter that wolf everyone and their mother kept warning us about. WRONG! I am going to tell you a different story. One I forgot to tell in the last post.
The story of the mid afternoon vodka party.
While my European ancestors have been drinking the fire water for hundreds of not thousands of years, hard liquor is relatively new to central Asia. As a result alcoholism is a problem, especially in the countryside. Not that it isn't a problem in Europe and the states too, because it certainly is, but here it's vodka and lots of it. Not as bad as Mongolia but it is noticeable. As a result we had a few run ins with the stuff and those who seem to enjoy it a little too much. The story I am about to write being one of the more memorable times.
While riding towards Karakol we had our usual encounters with curious locals. Most were your normal affairs, small talk in what little of each others' language we could speak, a hand shake, then on our respective ways. Until an older man on a horse decided to invite us for what was initially tea, then quickly changed to whiskey, which actually meant vodka. He didn't appear visibly drunk so we agreed and followed him, and his horse, to town. Rather than being led to a house however we went first to a store. Here a gathering of the local vodka social club quickly precipitated and a bottle was purchased along with carbonated water and lots of candy. We turned down the kumiss (the same fermented mares milk you find in Mongolia with a slightly smokier flavor somehow) and sitting in the store. We were already looking for an out but our bikes were outside and our hosts were very persistent. We went to hide by the fence with our hosts, who apparently were attempting to keep up the facade of an observant Muslims which generally means no excessive drinking, and got to it after a prayer, another irony here. It was interesting, shots were poured, as were chasers and the old guy who had waived us over wouldn't let us do anything unless we had candy in our hands. We took pictures, at their insistence, the old guy had recruited a friend, and of course we finished the bottle. You can't seem to open one without finishing it in this part of the world. Then things got weird. Our friend who had invited us on this excursion turned the corner from happy drunk to mean real quick. Everything from kill Americans, to he was going to kill us if we didn't pay him. Obviously this unarmed old drunk posed no real threat but there was no need for a fight. While we tried to reason with the guy I simply wanted to get out of there. His friend, who was slightly less drunk gave us the motion of "get out of here he's drunk and I need to put him to bed" and we happily obliged. So half drunk we rode away. Our mean drunk friend reappeared by the road, seemingly by magic, and looked to be apologizing but we didn't stop to see, we waived and rode on. Interesting things happen on the road.
Picking back up in the mountains of Kyrgyzstan.....
I bet you think I am going to start out with some harrowing story of a midnight raid or possibly we will finally encounter that wolf everyone and their mother kept warning us about. WRONG! I am going to tell you a different story. One I forgot to tell in the last post.
The story of the mid afternoon vodka party.
While my European ancestors have been drinking the fire water for hundreds of not thousands of years, hard liquor is relatively new to central Asia. As a result alcoholism is a problem, especially in the countryside. Not that it isn't a problem in Europe and the states too, because it certainly is, but here it's vodka and lots of it. Not as bad as Mongolia but it is noticeable. As a result we had a few run ins with the stuff and those who seem to enjoy it a little too much. The story I am about to write being one of the more memorable times.
While riding towards Karakol we had our usual encounters with curious locals. Most were your normal affairs, small talk in what little of each others' language we could speak, a hand shake, then on our respective ways. Until an older man on a horse decided to invite us for what was initially tea, then quickly changed to whiskey, which actually meant vodka. He didn't appear visibly drunk so we agreed and followed him, and his horse, to town. Rather than being led to a house however we went first to a store. Here a gathering of the local vodka social club quickly precipitated and a bottle was purchased along with carbonated water and lots of candy. We turned down the kumiss (the same fermented mares milk you find in Mongolia with a slightly smokier flavor somehow) and sitting in the store. We were already looking for an out but our bikes were outside and our hosts were very persistent. We went to hide by the fence with our hosts, who apparently were attempting to keep up the facade of an observant Muslims which generally means no excessive drinking, and got to it after a prayer, another irony here. It was interesting, shots were poured, as were chasers and the old guy who had waived us over wouldn't let us do anything unless we had candy in our hands. We took pictures, at their insistence, the old guy had recruited a friend, and of course we finished the bottle. You can't seem to open one without finishing it in this part of the world. Then things got weird. Our friend who had invited us on this excursion turned the corner from happy drunk to mean real quick. Everything from kill Americans, to he was going to kill us if we didn't pay him. Obviously this unarmed old drunk posed no real threat but there was no need for a fight. While we tried to reason with the guy I simply wanted to get out of there. His friend, who was slightly less drunk gave us the motion of "get out of here he's drunk and I need to put him to bed" and we happily obliged. So half drunk we rode away. Our mean drunk friend reappeared by the road, seemingly by magic, and looked to be apologizing but we didn't stop to see, we waived and rode on. Interesting things happen on the road.
Our rather pickled friends. Photo: Kyle
Kyle with the "gentlemen".
Back to our regularly scheduled program.
On the way to camp. God's hour as it has been called.
Not a bad sight.
Like I said I had settled in for a much deserved good nights sleep figuring no one would be traveling this road at night. The most we had to worry about was cows. Well I was woken up by a spot light on my tent and was immediately proven wrong. I had been sleeping for two, maybe three hours when I woke up to confusion. What I though at first was the moon turned out to be what must have been a million candle power spot light on my tent. I quickly realized the thing was much too bright and coming from the wrong direction to be the moon. "Oh goddamn it" was the first thought that came to my mind. After sticking my head out to see what was happening I was busted. The spotlighters had spotted the spotlightee. We were quickly approached by a Mitsubishi Montero, this is an important point, Montero. I was in a daze and trying to prepare for whatever shenanigans were about to happen as the offending SUV picked its way to our campsite from the road. Now what? As the offending vehicle proceeded to park right next to my tent and spotlight me in the face two guys roughly in their late 20's got out. They immediately laid in with the "where are you from?" "where are you going?", etc. chit chat and offered me kumiss, repeatedly. Just two guys looking for drinking buddies, in the middle of the night, on a secluded mountain road, sure why not. Don't worry about the being asleep part or anything. I continuously insisted I just wanted to sleep, I was very tired, I didn't have any cigarettes, and I didn't want any kumiss to little avail. This went on for about 25 minutes. One of them spoke just enough English to think he could communicate with a very pissed off American which didn't help. Finally, and only after I agreed to accept a bottle of kumiss as a parting gift, they got the point. With a cry of "MONTERO GO!?" followed by a loud "YES, MONTERO GO!" they started to pack up. Then they turned their attention to Kyle who had somehow slept through all this. They asked his name. In an attempt to get them out of there I told them, perhaps not the best idea but I just wanted to sleep. The spot light now turned on Kyle, at least it wasn't in my face, cries of "Kyle!!!, Kyle are you okay!!!!" serenaded the night. After a few minutes of this they drove off, almost over our bikes. As I watched them pick their way back to the road Kyle emerged and asked what the commotion was all about. I gave him a run down sprinkled with expletives. He thought it all amusing, I was simply pissed. I watched their spotlight light up the night as they drove away to harass other people and tried to get back to sleep.
The view down valley from camp. Doesn't look bad right?
The view up the valley. Will the storm miss us?
After a not so awesome night of sleep thanks to Montero guys we woke to an almost promising sky, down valley that is. Up the valley the storm was coming in. Looks like our decision to shoot for a single day up and over the pass was the right one. Nothing like being stuck in a storm at over 12,000 feet. Not so much. Now we were stuck at 11,500 but at least it was daylight. I had taken down my tent and Kyle was almost there when the storm rolled in. Call us optimistic but we were hoping it would hold off. We packed up and water proofed everything we could and dove into Kyle's tent to wait it out. We finally got back on the road at 1pm after a morning of reading and remaining as dry as possible.
It was slow going, not as difficult as the way up but hard with multiple stream crossings and plenty of occasion to get off the bike and do some pushing. Downhill is always easier but regular on and off, especially of the shoes and occasionally pants, of the bike to cross water slows things down substantially. It was a long day but we got down out of the mountains and managed to get to a good camp. Luckily the view stayed pretty spectacular the entire time.
Glaciers, big mountains, and cold water!
Amazing riding.
We met this little gangster on the way down. 11 yrs. bad ass
and out tending the flock.
What?
Things get a little wet. Photo: Kyle
Things get especially wet! You can't tell but I am in
thigh deep water and have no pants on. This stream
was running fast and I almost lost it a few times. Photo: Kyle
Down in the valley things were a little less pressing. The threat of weather was much less and the temperatures were reasonable. We settled in for the night and took a slightly slow morning the next day. It was a good spot and the valley was home to a good population of both people and animals. We had to chase multiple herds of cows away but that is all in a days work in central Asia.
Down in the valley.
We cycled on still having one more pass to make it over before any kind of pavement or main road would be reached. It was a pleasant day. The road was decent and there was essentially no traffic of any variety. We also had the pleasure of meeting two other cyclists! They were a Swiss couple that had been on the road for over a year with no plans to stop. We traded stories and road beta and continued. Later I received an e-mail from them congratulating us on climbing the pass that they had descended, Tosor pass, in a single day. This confirmed its intensity and was a nice little "yeah, we did that" moment. Everyone needs an ego boost from time to time, come on! But the rest of that day went easily. We split the storm, climbed the pass, 3,400m, and made a rapid descent. Back on to washboard!!!! Couldn't get away without a little more of it. Oh how I had missed the constant vibration and extra wear on the gear! We would encounter it a few more times just to make sure we remembered all it has to offer.
Down by the river.
On our way up the pass.
After the washboard a long speedy descent through a large gorge led us to a highway and a small town. Here we ate some food, got some gas for the stove, and rode north to the town of Kochkor.
A view up a side canyon on our way down to the highway.
Kochkor was to be our final big resupply before we hit Bishkek. We intended to take a rest day-ish there and find as much information about the road ahead as possible. It was about 70k north and all down hill. We had hit the highway around mid day but it was an easy ride to get close to town. Camp was made about 9k short of town and we settled in. Once again rain was the order of the next morning. Waiting it out, per usual, and some easy breakfast while things dried gave us a relaxing morning and we then headed into town.
Kochkor was rather unremarkable but a nice little town none the less. We had the opportunity to stay at a home-stay/guest house that was literally someones' house. They made us food, for an extra fee, and we hung out. It was quite pleasant. We were able to share some stories with a few other travelers who trickled in and get a good nights sleep. It was also determined, after talking to every guide service in town, that no one knew about the road we wanted to take and we should just go for it with the info we got in Karakol. It was decided. The weather was the next question.
After much contemplation it was decided that we should wait out some forecasted rain and rest. The next day however the rain never materialized and we made a break for it instead, only after a comical shopping trip in the bazaar which involved a multi store search for the right sausage and multiple encounters with traveling Europeans in large van brigades. We made some mean trail-mix after all that though! One more big pass and adventure before Bishkek and the next phase.
After 33k and an impending thunder storm we made camp in an old abandoned farm building. Made of mud brick who knows how long it had been there but it would serve as home for the night. A rather pleasant one. We decided we would set up in what we dubbed the "maids quarters" to keep our credentials right and called it a day.
Home for the night.
The "maid's quarters".
Rain on tent fly.
The pass and the climb loomed ahead of us. We rode on and into a spectacular river valley. We had to do a little creative route finding on the way but all in all not too bad.
A little farm road never hurt anyone. Photo: Kyle
Once we were in the canyon heading up the pass the scenery was spectacular the entire way. The road was good and despite some ominous looking clouds the weather held off for the climb. We managed to outrun the storm for the entirety of the climb and were rewarded with very dramatic views. It was some of the most scenic and grand landscapes we had yet seen. That is saying a lot!
Looking up from the mouth of the canyon.
Sheep! Coming our way!
Not storming yet.
The steel pony posing for a shot.
Kyle riding the long road.
The final push to the summit.
Once at the top we had a few minutes to catch our breath and a snack before the storm rolled in on top of us.
Layer up! It's getting cold.
The storm came in quick and cold and it was a race down some extremely steep road to beat the snow.
Here it comes.
Down canyon, quickly being surrounded.
Coming in fast!
Looking back up at the pass.
Unfortunately in our haste to get down we also got our feet wet in a stream crossing. It was starting to snow so it was time to go! and go quickly. We finally made it low enough and to a pretty good campsite and called it a day. A hot dinner was in order.
Not too shabby.
The ride down from camp was also beautiful and we knew it was one of our last days on the bike so I tried to savor it.
A small taste of the scenery.
Getting out of the mountains for what would be the last time was a little bitter sweet. This meant that the majority of the trip was over. It was a hard realization but also one that, at the time, I was ready for. The long road had beaten my body up and a rest sounded amazing. All that stood between us and Bishkek was one more campsite and a half days ride.
We took it slow that day to savor the last day on the bikes and we were luckily greeted with a wonderful surprise. After a long lunch by the side of a river we encountered a young guy who promptly invited us to his sisters place for tea. It took us a minute to figure out that it was his sister and brother in law's home and not his and his wife's, language barrier and all. It was very pleasant. After about an hour or so of tea, bread and honey, and yogurt we said our good byes and made our way down the road. It was a wonderful final reminder of the hospitality of the people in the countryside.
Photo: Kyle
Photo: Kyrgyz guy with Kyle's camera
Our last campsite was our only chance on the entire trip to have a fire. The joy a campfire brings when you have been traveling out for months is remarkable. I always forget just how much I like them and how entertaining and cathartic they can be. Truly caveman television. We had the opportunity to sit by the fire and reflect on everything we had seen and been through. Remarkably we hadn't killed each other and still get along. We had made it through some truly real shit and everything was drawing to a close. The next day we would be in Bishkek and in a little less than 10 days would go our separate ways. It had been one hell of an adventure. I sat up that night for a while thinking about the past, the future, and the nature of reality. Campfires and starry nights do that to me.
