Kyrgyzstan, the infinite frontier of grass

6.25 - 7.6

This is a long one but it's bursting from the seams with epicness and adventure. Grab a cup of tea and your bladder, your in for an exciting ride.

For those of you who have no idea where Kyrgyzstan is, here's a quick geography lesson

And here's a link to my route in Kyrgyzstan; dotted lines are hitched, solid lines are cycled

As I alluded to earlier, I unknowingly embarked on an epic off road adventure once leaving Song Kol. I topped the pass just south of the lake, which revealed a heavenly oasis of lush green mountains with a snaking path of switchbacks descending the mountain.

I cruised down the switchbacks and shortly after found myself cycling on a horse path that ran alongside the gravel nightmare of a road. I cycled some 5 kilometers on a decent horse path, dodging prickly bushes and trying to keep an eye on the constantly disappearing trail, meanwhile the sun was shining it's finest light on the mountains ahead of me. This was truly a pleasure to cycle.

Descent into Ak-Tal

I pitched my tent in a field just as the last bit of sunlight was vanishing. The next morning I awoke and began to cycle towards Kazarman. I asked a policeman, lazily taking bribes in the middle of the road, if I was on the right road to Kara Suu and he instinctively nodded his head in approval. Another 20 kilometers down the road, I arrived in a unexpected town. Someone informed me that the name of this town was 'Ugut' and I instantly knew that the police man had sent me down the wrong road. No worries though, I would improvise a new route, after all this sort of flexibility and adaptability is critical to cycle tour...I mean adventure cyclist. So I saw a line on my trusty Gizi map connecting this town, Ugut, with Kongorchock. I asked a few locals where the road was and they gave me this horrified and confused look, then pointed me to the other road which went some 100 kilometers out of the way. The road on my Gizi map was exactly what I wanted, a hypotenuse to the two right angle roads that the locals wanted me to take. I was determined to find this road, after all if the Gizi map shows a solid yellow line, it must exist.....it was during one of my map talks with the men of Ugut (with lines drawn in the sand like we were about to execute a football play) that a policeman pulled up to check out the excitement. I had done really well with avoiding corrupt policeman in Kyrgyzstan, I ran into some french cyclist in Kashgar that told me of a Kyrgyz officer demanding their passports, once their passports were surrendered the policeman demanded $100 if they ever wanted to get them back. So anytime I would pass a Kyrgyz police checkpoint/bribe station, I would just put my head down and continue cycling, despite the whistles and hand motions to try to get me to stop. ('Stupid tourists', I could only imagine them saying). Back to the story....I had done well up to this point with corrupt police but as the policeman approached me and all the men slowly backed away from our football play, I somehow knew my luck was about to change. 'Salam Alekum' (the respectful greeting for anyone older than you), we shook hands then he mumbled the one word I feared the most 'passport'. I played dumb, acting like I had no idea what he had just said (could I pass for illiterate?). 'Passport!' he exclaimed making the imaginary book with his hands. I once again gave the baffled look and he went to his car for something. I grabbed my bicycle, folded my map, threw it in my pannier and started cycling down the road. Could I really get away with this? Beep Beeeep Beeeep ....I was being pulled over, a first on my bicycle. The policeman was furious. I put the bicycle down and approached the perturbed policeman, who showed me what an actual passport looks like. 'Oh....paceport' - I said with the stupidest accent I could come up with at the time, 'Da' - said the red faced policeman. I looked at him and with a stern face and said 'Ney'. He looked at me as if I had just spoken about his mother and he started to get on his cell phone. I knew that this had gone far enough and if he really wanted my money, he would get it one way or another. So I looked behind me for reassurance to a crowd that had at this point grown to the entire town watching the showdown. The townspeople simultaneously motioned for me to give up my passport, meanwhile the policeman is watching this whole non spoken conversation elapse. I dig in my bag, pull out my passport, place it in the hands of the policeman and he walks over to his car. 'This policeman in podunk Kyrgyzstan is about to take me for everything I'm worth'. He sat in his car, wrote my name, DOB, passport and visa number on a little scrap piece of paper then grabs the passport and hands it right back to me. I'm frozen in astonishment, I place the passport back in my bag, shake the policeman's hand and cycle towards my hypotenuse road with a retrospective grin on my face.

So the road immediately evolved into gravel just outside of town, I cycled past a few farms and a few houses until everything just abruptly ended everything that is except for the gravel road that continued into the mountains. So I cycled along this God awful road without seeing any sign of life for 2 days...no land cultivation, no dogs, no houses, no cars, nothing....except for this awful gravel road. So steep and uncompacted that I had to push my cycle up many hills. Luckily I was carrying plenty of food and water because this place was deserted and super hot. The gravel road was apparently the old highway which was abandoned some time ago, this was evident when I arrived at the junction of the road and the river. The road has been completely washed away by a landslide some time ago and was impassible without climbing gear or a white water raft. So I turned around and cycled towards another small path that I had seen earlier. I followed this small path for some 25 slow kilometers, most of the time wondering if I was even on the right track to civilization. It was extremely brutal and after 25 km I encountered the first sign of life since my police encounter, two men on horses. They assured me I was on the right path, which happened to have another river crossing within sight (this one a little more manageable) and they ended up carrying my panniers across the river while I crossed with my bike above my head. 5 kilometers further I arrived at the junction of my hypotenuse road and the main road (still gravel), what should have been a shortcut turned into an extra day of pushing my bike through the boonies. From now on if a local gives me advice, I take it.

This was the bold line on the map that I cycled for 25 km

So I pushed on, cycling another 3 days on remote gravel roads until I reached Kazarman. I was so excited to reach a town that I could already taste the beefsteak meal that awaited me. I combed the entire town, cafes, hotels, even asking locals if they could make beefsteak. It was fruitless and I almost fell down and wept. I settled for 'montou' (mutton dumplings) and 'sherpa' (lamb and potato soup).

Stone art just outside of Kazarman

This is where things get really interesting...I hadn't taken a rest in nearly 15 days and my body was begging me for a break. However I couldn't bring myself to rest in a town without beefsteaks...that's just inhumane...so I pushed on towards Jalalabad, which was theoretically only 1 day away. This turned out to be the hardest and craziest day of my entire trip, no questions asked, gaining 2000 meters of elevation in only 60 km, all on dirt roads, pushing my bicycle up most of the mountain. The road climbed the mountain like a spiral staircase and I could see the top which seemed to remain at the same unobtainable distance. I finally topped out at 3000 meters at 7 pm, absolutely exhausted with only 30 minutes before the light would disappear. The black clouds then took their entrance and ushered in a violent wind that nearly knocked me off my bicycle. The summit was no place to get caught in the storm that was brewing, so I took to the descent and just as the sun was disappearing, I landed at the first yurt from the summit. I set up my tent behind the yurt just as the first rain drops arrived...then came the rain, then the lightning, then came the wind, then came the rain and wind, then came the rain, wind, lightning and the noise of wind roaring through the valley. I sat in my tent wondering who would be the first to be struck by lightning, the yurt or the tent. Would my therma-rest insulate me from the electric shock? It got closer and closer and I was about to wet my pants....then it passed. I took a quick sigh then came the sound of wind and the violence that accompanied it. My tent was bowing, flexing, taking the aluminum poles to another level of elasticity. I was sure that my poles would break. I could hear the wind coming...this sinister and eerie dark sound, then 30 seconds later a blast would hit my tent and I was saying a prayer for my tent. Then praising North Face for making such a quality tent. Then repeating the process for another 3 hours until the wind died down and only rain pelted my tent. I was so relieved, I checked the damage and only one stake had been pulled out of the ground. This was without a doubt the craziest day of my entire trip.....thus far.

The day after the storm

So the next day I unzipped my tent to a wet and soggy world. I felt like I had been hit by a mack truck, I was tired, my body was aching and all I wanted to do was eat a plate of beefsteak and take a break. So after a few bowls of chai (they finally invited me into their yurt the next morning) I hit the soggy road. At first the going was miserably muddy but manageable. About 15 km from the yurt, I encountered the worst mud ever imaginable. It stuck into my brakes, my fenders, my chain...I couldn't even push my bicycle out of the mud. I had to completely pick up the cycle and put it in a grassy section. I was down, mentally and physically, I was wet, there was no way any cars were driving through this road today. I grabbed a stick and started sluggishly scraping out the mud from underneath my fenders, this would take ages and the road was impassable for at least a few days....the beefsteak dream was dead. Just then a car pulled up and motioned for me to get in...it was an older man and his driver who were coming to the mountain to pick up a few sheep for the slaughter. It was a miracle. I plopped my muddy bicycle on top of three sheep who were squashed and nearly suffocating under the weight of my bicycle. I had to closely monitor the sheep's vital signs and constantly make sure they were indeed still breathing. When one of the sheep would stop breathing, we would slam on the brakes and the driver, a 18 year old kid, would jump out of the car, buck knife in hand, ready to slaughter the animal to preserve the meat. It seriously happened about 7 times and each time we lifted the bicycle the sheep would take this gasping breath and the buck knife would go back in the drivers pocket. I felt bad for the sheep but they had it coming sooner or later.

mud covered bike and sheep asphyxia

So to make a long story short, they dropped me and my bike at a car wash in Jalalabad, all 3 sheep took a temporary sigh of relief. I washed all of the mud off my bike, changed my chain and was invited to sleep at one of the car washer's house. I fell asleep watching last seasons Champions League final. 'I have severely improved my predicament!'

So at this point I had been in Kyrgyzstan nearly a month and my time was coming to an end, bittersweet to leave a place that was so dear and positive for me but excited to explore new territory in Tajikistan. I hitched back to Osh and 3 days later I was camping with 4 British motorcyclists only 20 kilometers from the Kyrgyzstan/Tajikistan border.

my last day in Kyrgyzstan

Here's some stats up to this point:
Elevation Gained - 268,760 ft
Time spent on bicycle - 362 hrs
Total distance - 3740 miles

Pictures....

Did I mention I love beefsteak

This was the first thing I encountered when my path interesected the road, 5 people taking their sheep out of the trunk to fix a flat, then shoving it back in the trunk