Asiatastic

Crossing the finish line

2009-12-10T22:53:00.006+05:00

So I left Petra, a lovely jewel hidden in the middle of the desert and headed towards the southern coast of Jordan on the Red Sea. I was cycling through the middle of nowhere, no houses, no people, no plants, no water, just a strip of asphalt running through the mountainous desert of southern Jordan. After about 75 km I passed a small village and of course the sky started pouring stones. I tried to keep the wise words of the elder on my mind, but I still wanted to strangle those little hellians. Before I knew it, I had lost all of my 1600 vertical meters and I was sitting at a Pizza Hut in Aqaba at sea level. The next day I took the ferry from Aqaba (Jordan) to Nuweiba (Egypt) as the only overland route involved crossing through Israel (and I was trying to avoid the stamp).

So my time was rapidly coming to an end (my flight back to the states was less than 7 days away!). I was calculating how much time it would take to cycle to Cairo and assuming everything went smoothly, I could probably arrive in Cairo the day before my flight departed. But the thought of ending my trip in a smog congested chaotic city seemed rather anti-climatic...I wanted to cycle through a proper finish line with applause, champagne, ribbons and those olympic steps for 2nd and 3rd place. Then I would put on my sponsor hat, swig a Sprite and finish it off with a point to the sky. So I decided to just cycle to the beach and spend my last days relaxing on the warm sand, snorkeling over coral reefs, eating proper food (anything other than hummus and falafel). I would still drink my victory Sprite and I would still be wearing my Kyrgyzstan hat (the fact that the hat is still with me is amazing).

So I did just that, I spent the night in a bungalow directly on the beach in Nuweiba (serenaded to sleep by crashing waves for all of $2/night).

Then I cycled what was to be my last real day on the bike, from Nuweiba to Dahab. I cycled up and over a mountain pass and then continued straight to the Red Sea. It wasn't exactly the crowd I was hoping for, just a few windsurfers and some sea birds. I spent a few minutes somewhat mesmerized by the crashing waves, warm sun, and people riding the wind while grazing the top of the water. I sat down at a restaurant and ordered my victory sprite and a pizza.

Could I really be finished? It's hard to believe I won't be continuing to the next village on my bicycle, hard to believe tomorrow I'll be wearing box briefs under my zip-off pants instead of those lovely padded shorts, hard to believe it's been nearly 11 months since I left the states (before Obama even took office) with two duffel bags, a backpack and some new shoes (you should see my shoes now). Which brings me to a reflective moment. Thinking back on this trip, one word that comes to mind and probably best describes my cycling adventures is EPIC!

Let's see....I crossed the equator twice, barely able to sleep in only my boxers without wetting the bed with sweat, I've had my chest, fingers and toes hooked to suction cups in an Indonesian hospital only to have the nurse tell me that I was 'very tired', I drank moonshine with a Chinese man over lunch, had a Tazmanian devil plague my stomach in western China, shivered in my 15° F sleeping bag (wearing every layer of clothing I owned) at 16,000 ft in India, stank up a Pakistan bus so bad the driver stopped and sprayed everyone with an aerosol can, had my rainfly completely torn off my tent by wind on the Tibetan plateau, went 2½ weeks without a shower in the Pamir mountains, climbed a 18,500 ft pass on my bicycle, covertly slept in a military watch tower in Tajikistan, had my bike completely caked in mud laying atop 3 sheep struggling to breath in the back of a station wagon in Kyrgyzstan, spent the night huddled over a hotplate with a 75 yr old Turkish guy while the snow fell outside, fought a fever and potential malaria in 120° F weather by pitching my tent in a hotel room, which led to 3 days in a rundown Tajik hospital, had my rainfly completely demolished by kids throwing rocks in Jordan, held a dancing tribute to Michael Jackson in Tajikistan, avoided Pakistanie bombs by 1 week and missed a Kashmiri hand grenade by 3 hours.

I've slept all over the place...with local families in their houses, in yurts, apartments, schools, gardens, abandoned houses, random fields, restaurants, mountainous meadows, snowy plateaus, gas stations, highway medians, hostels galore, roofs, bed bug infested mattresses, you name it. My poor stomach has fought a never ending battle with every bacteria in existence, I've witnessed cultures ethnically morphing as I traveled from country to country, I've mastered the art of communicating with my hands, learned how to wash my clothes in a bucket and dry them while riding my bike, bargaining has become second nature (although the Indian post office still ranks as the weirdest) and it will be quite the shock when I start to argue over the price of a sandwich in America ('sir...I'm just a waitress and the price is fixed'). I've exchanged smiles with nearly everyone, shook hands with about a million different people, my body has slowly morphed into a cycling machine (thighs and buns of steel), my tires have rolled over 15 different countries, 11,000 km (6,835 miles) on 3 different continents, over desert, jungle, mountains, snow (and still without a single puncture!). I've climbed over 118,520 vertical meters (388,850 ft). That's enough to climb the Empire State building 311 times or enough to climb Mt Everest from sea level 13 times. I've spent over 685 hours with my butt atop my Brooks saddle (my butt cheeks are clearly imprinted on the seat). Which brings me back to my initially question: Could I really be finished? I'm walking away from this experience with such a positive impression and optimistic outlook on life, I've grown so much on this trip, gaining experiences and perspective that will be with me for the rest of my life! With my mind constantly scheming each time I see a map, I know it's only a matter of time before my feet get restless and my wheels are rolling again.

At this point I'm disassembling my bicycle and putting it into a box, consolidating my panniers into one big duffel bag, and trying to see as much as possible before my flight in only 3 days! I hope you all enjoyed reading this blog and I hope to see you all very soon.

What a cool language

The Nile River in Cairo

Sadly enough, I turned down this street, right into Cairo traffic

I love that Cornflakes have to say' Free from Pig Products and it's Derivatives'

Mosque in Cairo

The Sphinx

The Pyramids

Dig it!

The Holy Land

2009-12-09T20:48:00.007+05:00

So I took a 4 day sidetrip to Israel (or did I?). Trying to avoid the Israeli stamp and clear my tracks of any evidence of visiting the holy land turned out to be quite the hassle. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, here's the deal: Some muslim countries absolutely hate Israel (i.e. Iran wants to blow Israel off the map) and as a result, will not issue you a visa if your passport has any proof or suggestions that you visited the Holy Land (countries include: Iran, Kuwait, Lebanon, Syria, Libya, Sudan, Pakistan, Yemen and Saudi Arabia). This meant not only did I need to avoid the Israel stamp, I needed to manage not getting stamped out of Jordan (as this is essentially the same as an Israeli stamp). I'd heard from many fellow travelers that you just simply asked the immigration officer to stamp a seperate sheet of paper. Well...it wasn't quite that simple. Turns out there is only one border crossing which will facilitate the people wishing to avoid the Israeli stamp stigma. At this and only this crossing which runs straight through the West Bank, Jordan doesn't technically stamp anyone out of their country (although you still pay the departure tax) but when you reach the Israeli border, you must be adamant against avoiding the stamp (I met one kid who was stamped into Israel before he could ask otherwise). This special request, of course, raises suspicion as to why you would want to avoid the stamp and leads to being 'detained' for hours with other suspicious characters (namely Palestenians wanting to return to their families) until the interrogation room and interrogator could hear your case. Israel won't just let anyone into their country, they are paranoid beyond belief (and rightfully so) and they suspect and assume that everyone wants to take them down. I met a jewish kid from New York who was detained because he said his middle name was Allen, but with a nasal clog, it may have sounded like he said 'Ali', a significant figure in Islamic history. Wow....I was detained for 2.5 hours and when my interrogation time came, they asked about my visit to Pakistan, Tajikistan, Syria and Lebanon. At first I thought it to be a little much but then again, I've heard that America's immigration officers ask you to check:

'Are you a terrorist?'

()Yes

()No

So I sucessfully avoided the stamp, and within 2 hours I had a pocked full of Shekels (the coolest name for a currency in the world) and I was feasting on turkey (a proper one), stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy cooked over a hot plate, macaroni and cheese (hot plate) and pasta salad. It was Thanksgiving afterall and the Americans abroad united in a hostel in Jerusalem to enjoy the event (the other foreigners were amazed at the amount of food we consumed).

Jerusalem is an amazing place. If not, simply due to the fact that it holds so much religious significance to so many different people. In one corner you have hisitic jews head banging like they're listening to rock music, with one hand on the temple's wall and the other holding open one of their many holy books (an amazing sight to behold!), in the other city corner you have masses of muslims who come to pray at the Noble Sanctuary (Dome of the Rock) which is one of the holiest sights in Islam (next to Mecca and Medina) which is the location of the prophet Mohammed's ascent into heaven (with the angel Gabriel). So it's not only one of the holiest of places for both Jews and Muslims, it's also, for Christians, the location of the Church of the Holy Wisdom where an inscription tells of Jesus's birth to Mary and the location where Abraham was told by God to sacrifice Isaac his oldest son in a test of faith. This place has a holy feel to it, and it's seperated into a Muslim area, Christian area and a Jewish area. On top of that, modern day Jerusalem is crawling with tourists and vendors of all sorts of gizmos and useless crap. This is probably the most American tourists I've seen in one place thus far.

Orthodox Jews worshipping at the Western Wall

Streets of Jerusalem at night

Jerusalem with Dome of the Rock

The next morning, still shaking off the Turkey hangover, I took a 45 minute ride to Tel Aviv, a very modern Israeli city on the Mediterranean Coast. By the way, you could probably circum-navigate Israel in about 5 hours (it's a really small country).

Tel Aviv

My four day Israel tour was up and after a quick visit to Jesus's manger in Bethlehem, I was back in Jordan with a pocket full of Dinars and a passport devoid of an Israeli visit.

Remeber how I mentioned I was hit by my first Jordanian rock on the first day I entered the country? Well....Jordan kids are the worst stone throwers I've ever seen! They come running to the road, waving and yelling 'welcome' (with one hand behind their backs). As soon as I turn my back, the stones come flying! I've gotten really good at avoiding the situation all together, never turning my back to the kids, changing to the opposite lane of traffic so there is another car inbetween me and the kids, or just simply ducking my head and cycling really fast (they hardly ever actually hit me). So I camped the other night in a small patch of flat land, depressed from the surrounding road just within a small village in southern Jordan. I didn't arrive at the village until about 10 pm, so I couldn't see extremely well. I awoke the next morning promptly at 7 am to the sound of smacks on my tent. Sure enough, my tent was being pelted with stones from kids on their way to school, like 50 of them and some of the stones were not small at all. Once the hail storm was over, I cautiously exited my tent (wishing I had a pellet gun) and found a large gash in my rainfly (rendering my rainfly basically worthless) and my bike had 2 badly bent spokes. And of course the spokes were on the cassette side, which required removal of the cassette (a timely process). That wasn't exactly the best foot to start the morning out on, and my mood turned pretty foul. Jordanian kids were now the enemy and I wanted them to feel my pain. To know how difficult it is to travel in a foreign land, not to mention having to worry about getting a concusion from little hellians. It wasn't until I reached Petra later that afternoon and explained the events to an elder Jordanian man smoking a shisha that I felt better. He put it to me like this....'I goto your country and someone says' [at this point he makes a gun with his fingers and points it at my face] 'give me your money. Here is no problem'. And he was exactly right, I probably woundn't last 5 days riding a bicycle through America before I was jumped. If all I have to worry about are kids throwing stones, I've got it pretty good.

So I spent the next day reliving scenes from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade in Petra with my new Italian friend, Aliche (Ali-chey).

This narrow siq begins to open up and then....

Shezam!

Me in the siq

The Monastery in Petra

Graffitti on the wall near Bethlehem

yasir arafat's grave in the west bank

Westbank wall graffiti

Baby goat in Petra

Bedouin twins listening to my IPOD

The road goes on forever

2009-11-25T21:49:00.007+05:00

On the 19th, Patrick and I jumped on our bicycles and cycled through the streets of Beirut. We cycled along the coast until we reached the road that led to Damascus, at which point I thanked him for all of his kindness and we said our farewells. Then I started climbing what turned out to be one gigantic, nonstop, treacherous hill. When I finally reached the Lebanese border, completely drenched in sweat, I'd climbed some 1800 vertical meters in only 70 km (that's steep!). I was stamped out of Lebanon only 5 days after entering the country.

The no-man's land from Lebanon to Syria was equally as brutal (with an extra 200 meters of climbing), my legs were feeling it but luckily the Syrian border was only about 10 km away. I arrived at the border at about 4:30 pm, thinking that since I had previously waited 3.5 hours for approval from Damascus at the Turkey-Syrian border, they would just issue me another visa sans hassle (after all, I received approval only about a week before). But no....each entry requires unique approval from Damascus and two omelets, three overprices chai's and about 5 Seinfeld episodes later, the sweet Syrian ink touched my passport and I was officially back in Syria. This was at about 10:30 pm. It was pitch black and surprisingly cold, I cycled about 8 km before finding a place for my tent on the side of a rocky hill. This was about 1 am. I slept extremely hard as this was the most vertical elevation I've climbed in a single day this entire trip! There's also this unnerving feeling when sleeping this close to borders, especially when it's classified by our former President as a rogue state.

The next day I arrived at the ancient and charming city of Damascus. I ended up staying with some British students who were studying Arabic and living in a huge flat near the old city. This was my first experience with Couchsurfing.org and I must say, it was quite positive. Their place was in a great location, just above a never ending fruit and vegetable market, away from all tourists except yours truly. The locals were extremely nice and after asking where I was from, would almost always reply with a warm 'Welcome to Syria'. The cost of living is extremely cheap in Syria, I've practically been living on 25 cent falafel sandwiches, 20 cent plates of hummus, $1 kebab (shawrma) and fresh juice.

I'm practically running on these fried chickpea circles with cumin spice

The 24 hour market below the flat

After 3 days in Damascus ('Sham' in Arabic) I headed towards Dar'a, the border town between Syria and Jordan. I absolutely flew through that flat stretch (125 km before lunch!). The next day I said my final farewell to Syria, changed my money from Syrian pounds into Jordanian dinars and once again payed my exit tax to Syria. That same day I reached the fabulously preserved and restored Roman city of Jerash, with ruins dating back to 100 AD! Here's what I found.

Roman Theatre

These are the original stones that paved this area
You could still see chariot tire ruts in the stone

Just as the sun was setting the rain started to fall. There was a small hotel just near the ruins but after the owner quoted me and another traveler a ridiculous price for the simplest of rooms, I was back on my bike, cycling in the rain and pitch dark. I ended up sleeping in yet another partially built gas station.....this time I shared the floor with a younger (<75 yr old) Egyptian man who worked on and guarded the place.

Gas stations have been good to me

I'm currently in Amman (the capital of Jordan), where I'll ditch my bike for a few days and take a side trip to Israel (Jerusalem, Bethlehem, etc). I was also hit by my first Jordanian rock today, which feels a lot like being hit with a Kyrgyz rock, Pakistanie rocks stung a little more (Pakistanies are crazy about cricket). I've also been hit by Syrian rocks and Indian rocks, although the suspects were typically under 8.

Beirut

Did I mention Beirut was blown to crumbles only 3 years ago

Streets of Damascus

I don't need much...just some floor space

Damascus falafel stand

Syria to Lebanon

2009-11-18T14:00:00.006+05:00

You know most of the time I share photos of these picture perfect campsites, lovely little grassy knolls with a babbling brook running right beside my tent, like something out of a Patagonia magazine. Well I wanted to point out that it's not always so glorious. Four nights ago it was pouring down rain and I found myself sleeping here.

This is the partially built building I slept in

It protected me extremely well from the downpour outside but the sound of bats and mice menaced me all night.

The next day I visited Krak des Chevaliers, a castle dating back to 1031, expanded by the crusader knights in the 12th century. It provided some 2000 hospitallers (crusaders) shelter from the Islamic armies that besieged the fortress.

The world needs more castles with moats!

These were the archers holes

View of Syrian countryside from the Castle

Later that day I cycled to the Syrian/Lebanon border. When I arrived at the Syria border it was utter chaos; massive ques of trucks, unoccupied cars blocking the gates, tons of people walking across the border carrying gigantic plastic bags (who knows what they were carrying). When I finally got the attention of an immigration officer, he informed me that I had to pay a $10 USD departure tax before I could get stamped out. I've heard of people being charge departure taxes when leaving the airport, but never in passing 11 countries overland have I been charged a departure tax. I started to argue with the officer, thinking he was taking me for a ride, when I realized that ever the local people were paying 10 dollars just to leave the country. It was actually quite the hassle to just get stamped out of Syria.

I cycled right past the Lebanese immigration office first of all, so when I arrived at a gate the officers informed me that I had to get a visa before entering into their country. So I cycled back to the small building that was their immigration office and went to apply for a visa. The immigration officer was as nice as he could be and when he asked how long I wanted to stay in Lebanon, I simply said, 15 days (as that was the cheapest visa available). He flipped through my passport a few times then said, 'I tell you what Mr Hardie, I'll give you 30 days for free'. I shook the man's hand and my departure tax anger quickly disappeared as this immigration officer just saved me about $16 USD.

Money changers at the border

I reached the Mediterranean coast of Lebanon just as the sun was setting.

The next day I reached Beirut, the Paris of the Middle East, an extremely progressive city with no shortage of flashy cars, sexy appeal, or expensive cafes. This is also the first time I've seen some restaurants in over 10 months (TGIF, Applebees, Hardees, Krispy Kreme).

Krispy Kreme in English and Arabic

Just as I arrived in Beirut proper, I pulled out a map and tried to get my bearings straight. Out of nowhere someone said, 'Hey man'. And low and behond, it was Patrick, my American friend that I met in Pakistan 3 months ago. Patrick was studying at the American University in Beirut and invited me to stop in if I was in the area. How he found me in the city was nothing short of amazing.

Beirut is amazing. Muslim women walking around with head scarves next to women with extremely revealing blouses and skimpy skirts. Men completely GQ'd out in their 500 Mercedes with nose bandages implying plastic surgery, passing traditional muslim men with sunni hats and prayer beads. It's an amazingly diverse place, it has completely blown me away and dissolved every limitation that existed for me mentally for the Middle East. What's even more amazing, is that this place was completely blown away, bombed until only crumbs remained only 3 years ago!

And as always the food is great!

Diner last night (Patrick and Alicia)

Syria

2009-11-13T17:17:00.005+05:00

11.09 - Present

First of all, I would like to bring attention to the dates just above this text. I'm no longer recounting adventures from countries I've long since traveled, that's right, I'm now broadcasting Kyle adventures in real time, not quite in the present tense but close enough, keeping you on the edge of your seat.

So I camped about 2 km before the Turkish border (11/8) and prepared for the potential madness that awaited me the next day (like I said, I had no Syrian visa and I'd read that some Americans had to wait 12 hours for the visa approval from Damascus). So the next morning I arrived at the Bab Al-Hawha border between Syria and Turkey. I was once again dressed in my best clothes (Chinese slacks and t-shirt from Thailand....basically what you see me wearing in every picture off my bike) and humbly approached the immigration counter with my passport in hand. I handed it to the officer and after thumbing through my passport 2 or 3 times, he looks back at me and with hands in the air asks "visa?". I replied with "no visa" and was instantly directed to a backroom where a really fat man smoking a cigarette and drinking chai proceeded to ask me a few standard questions without picking up his head. I was told to wait outside and I was most definitely prepared to wait all day, with arabic numbers and phrases to memorize, I had a full day of schooling ahead of me. The was about 8:30 am. At about noon, I peeped my head into the office to tell the men I was going to grab some lunch just across the street, when I noticed the fat man holding a piece of paper. It was my approval letter from Damascus and 15 minutes later I was cycling in Syria with a relieved smile on my face.

The road signs are now solely in Arabic

Written and read right to left

Syria is my first true Arabic country: Arabic music, Arabic people and Arabic dress. I can really notice a big difference in Arabs from their Persian neighbors of Central Asia.

Many men now wear head scraves

So I spent a day wandering through the beautifully historic city of Aleppo, which is a town like no other, an old town with a certain charm that suggests perhaps I could spend the rest of my life lost in the labyrinth of streets, eating falafel wraps and practically living in the fresh juice stands.

The Armenian (Christian) district of Aleppo

But the show must go one, so I began cycling the deserty countryside of Syria. Syria is extremely flat, save the mountains near the coast, so it's easy to log 100+ km each day. However the people are so friendly and hospitable that every 5 km I'm waved off my bike to share a cup of tea, a bite to eat or just a conversation. People in Syria are extremely nice. So the day becomes a delicate balance of logging enough kilometers while still soaking in each opportunity to experience these amazing people and their culture. One things for sure, a foreigner would never go thirsty cycling through Syria. In fact, if Syrians had their way you'd have 79 cups of tea ingested before lunch and your teeth would be grinding together from caffeine and sugar overdose. They are that nice!

Two nights ago, I was cycling through a town when I came to a crossroads and pulled out my map. The sun was beginning to set and I was waved over to a small shop just as the last light was disappearing. Everyone at the shop was extremely interested in where I was from, where I was going, my profession, etc. One of the boys spoke rather good English and he invited me to sleep at his house for the night. An exclusive first hand experience of Syrian culture. First of all, Syrian families are gigantic. Ahmed (the english speaker) and his 8 brothers and sister lived together in a small 3 roomed house with his parents. Next door (literally about 5 feet away) was his uncle's house which housed 14 of his uncle's children (they always referred to his uncle as busy man). Across from his uncle's was another uncle who had 9 children. Then there was Ahmed's grandparent's house. It was like a zoo of kids playing, brothers chatting, elder men smoking shisha and sipping chai. When the diner came, it came on one big round metal tray carried on Ahmed's mother's head. The men all gathered around a rug on the floor and the contents of the tray were placed around the rug. Black and green olives, yoghurt, potato casserole, fresh greens, tomatoes, cucumbers, and a few other things I had no idea about. No forks, spoons or knives, instead everyone took a gigantic round pita bread and places it on their left leg (sitting indian style) and began breaking off pieces of bread and dipping it into the various dishes. You must eat with only your right hand...as the left hand is used for the dirtier tasks in life (i.e. wiping your bum). It was an amazing experience, one that I'll never forget and as I was pulling away from the house and waving goodbye to the family of 100,000 men, women, children and animals, I said to myself....'This is what it's all about!'

Ahmed (hand around me) with brothers and sisters

So I'm currently in Hama, a small city with a charming and kind soul. I'm once again drinking about 6 large glasses of freshly squeezed juice each day. This place is famous for the norias, large wooden water wheels that scoop water out of the river and into irrigation canals and aqueducts that deliver water to the surrounding areas.

Norias of Hama at sunset last night

Friends and fresh juice stands!

Waved off my bike for chai

Syrian catfish....yum

Me and Mr Soap (Aleppo)

Me and Mr Quran (Aleppo)

Waved off my bike for a buffet of free deserts

Countryside of Syria

Friends and breakfast in Aleppo

Turkey

2009-11-08T18:53:00.009+05:00

10.22 - 11.09

So I arrived in Istanbul! I was so fed up wıth hasslıng and bargaınıng wıth Delhı rıckshaw drıvers that I decıded to just cycle to the Delhı aırport, dıssasemble the bıke and shrınk wrap the lıvıng crap out of ıt rather than box ıt up and take a cab to the aırport. I trıed to buy an aırlıne tıcket from a Delhı travel agent ın hopes that they could get a cheaper deal than a websıte but that turned ınto a nıghtmare. Delhı travel agents must not get a whole lot of ınternatıonal busıness because they contınually told me that they could not ıssue me a tıcket unless I had a Turkısh vısa. 'There ıs no vısa on arrıval for Turkey'. I went to the Turkısh ımmıgratıon websıte and ındeed ıt stated - 3 months vısa on arrıval. I told thıs to the travel agent but they basıcally shook theır head and called me a lıar. Then I asked how much a bıcycle would cost and they essentıally gave me the runaround by handıng me a number to call at 11 p.m. (11 pm?). It was a fax number...so after 3 days of beatıng around the bush, I decided to retract my hopes from the travel agents and take thıngs ınto my own hands.

So I arrıved ın Istanbul, assembled the bıke and started to cycle away from the aırport. Holy crap, thıs place was clean, cıvıl, European! Cars actually stopped at red lıghts, I saw my fırst que ın nearly 9 months, women were walkıng around wıthout head scarves, for once I dıdn't need to look both ways when crossıng a one way street, ıt was almost too domestıc after nearly 9 months ın Asıa. It felt lıke home...sort of. I almost felt out of place. I stopped at a gas statıon and bought a sprıte and a chocolate bar (gas statıons ın Asıa only sell gas) and I contınued to cycle along the coast untıl I reached the beautıfully hıstorıc cıty of Istanbul (European sıde).

I decıded to 'bomb' my stomach and start a new (lıke I saıd, I hadn't had a solıd poo ın nearly 2 weeks....Delhı had really gotten to me). So on my 6th day of steady Cıproflaxın, I let out an exhuberant cheer of joy from the toılet as my stomach was fınally returnıng to normal (ımagıne the guy ın the stall next to me). I spent my fırst few days ın Istanbul beıng a proper tourıst wıth the masses of westerners beıng loaded and unloaded from buses and cruıse shıps. Thıs was by far the most tourısty place I'd been to...and for good reason. Thıs ancıent cıty was drıppıng rıch wıth hıstory datıng back to before Chrıst. They had a church turned mosque turned museum (Aya Sofya) that was buılt ın 537 AD! Both the Roman empıre and the Ottoman empıre had theır tıme occupyıng thıs cıty.

And the food....the food was the freshest breath of aır I'd had sınce leavıng the states. It actually resembled food, workıng at Papoulıs ın Macon had brought me up to speed wıth Medıterranean food but thıs was no doubt the real deal holyfıeld. Baklava, Döner Kebabs, Stuffed vegetables, Medıterranean Salads, Fresh bread, eggplant casseroles, Turkısh delıghts, Chaı....everythıng was delıcıous, albeıt expensıve. My stomach was smılıng for the fırst tıme ın months.

So I ended up connectıng wıth a Turkısh gırl ın Istanbul through a cyclıng websıte (www.warmshowers.com) and she was an awesome host. She lived on the Asıan sıde of Istanbul so I was able to escape the masses of tourısts on the European sıde and get a closer look at the real Istanbul. She showed me around the cıty, took me to the Black sea, we cooked delıcıous Turkısh dıners together, watched terrıble movıes together. She was an Englısh teacher so she had stellar englısh. It was a prıvıledge to have found such a wonderful host, impromptu guıde and solıd frıend ın Istanbul.

Ebru

Ebru's famous breakfast

So I took a traın from Istanbul to Ankara (the capıtal). I knew I was runnıng out of tıme before the mountaıns of Turkey were completely covered ın snow and cyclıng turned mıserably cold. So I started cyclıng from the traın statıon ın Ankara. I couldnt fınd a good road map ın Istanbul so all I had was a tourıst map wıth only some major towns and the Lonely Looser for the Mıddle East. The only real roads on the map were major hıghways. So ınevıtably I just asked for dırectıons and I ended up on the road wıth semı trucks, loads of cars and dısmal scenery. Thıs was by far the least plannıng I'd done on thıs trıp. I was just kınd of goıng for ıt. Plus the weather was begınnıng to turn sour and freezıng raın mıxed wıth snow pelted me for the fırst 3 days out of Ankara.

I was cyclıng on the hıghway and the sun was settıng at 4:30 (lıghts out by 5) so I spent my fırst nıght sleepıng ın my tent ın the skınny forest (medıan) that seperated the hıghway traffıc (I always wanted to sleep on the medıan). Can you ımagıne what the drıver thought that passed me as I pulled my bıke out of the woods and back onto the hıghway? I spent my second nıght ın my tent behınd a gas statıon, I was loggıng some 150 km each day waıtıng for the cıtıes to end and the country to begın. Up and down terrıbly hılly terraın, I was clımbıng and droppıng some 1000 m each day. The raın and snow came heavy for the next 2 days and I pushed on through, soakıng wet and cold to the bone. I was lucky enough to fınd a cheap hotel on my thırd nıght, and on the fourth day I found the countrysıde, or maybe the countrysıde found me. It was cold, the land was covered ın wet snow but road was fınally down to two lanes and the tractor traılers were much fewer ın number.

I was crankıng through the mountaıns of Turkey, tryıng to reach the coast before I completely froze. I was hot and sweaty whıle I was cyclıng but once I stopped, the sweat turned ınto a chıll and my core temp dropped. I wasn't doıng enough plannıng (nor dıd I care enough) to know how many kılometers untıl the next hotel, lıke I saıd, I was just kınd of goıng for ıt. Thıs compounded wıth the early sunset found me ın some peculıar and desperate sleepıng sıtuatıons as the sun was rapıdly dıssapearıng. Abandonded houses and unoccupıed gas statıons were my preferance, the walls were enough to protect me from the wınd and provıde a good place to cook dıner. One extremely wındy nıght I thought I had found the jackpot (a gas statıon under constructıon) but as I pulled up to steel and dırt pıles, I saw a small lıght glowıng from ınsıde a small glass room. Insıde thıs room was a makeshıft bed of blankets on the floor and a 75 yr old Turkısh guy chaın smokıng cıgarettes, tryıng to stay warm over a small electrıc hotplate. I pulled up to the glass and asked the man ıf I could pıtch my tent behınd a newly constructed wall. He ınvıted me to sleep ınsıde and we spent the nıght hovered around the hotplate practıcally ın sılence. I never dıd fıgure out what he was doıng there....homeless guy, watchman, constructıon worker?

So after 9 days of cyclıng through the beautıfull remote yet brutally cold and wet mountaıns of central Turkey, I reached the Medıterranean coast. And what a glorıous day that was, ıt ınvolved a wrong turn whıch resulted ın me cyclıng through a toll plaza, rıght past the sıgn that showed that bıcycles are prohıbıted on the ınterstate. 60 km wıth truck drıvers honkıng theır horn and gesterurıng for me to get off the ınterstate. I passed another toll plaza and the workers jumped out of theır booth and told me to stop. I got off my bıke and sımply opened my wallet and trıed to gıve them 1 lıra (65 cents). They gave me thıs crazy look and then waved me on my way. I dropped nearly 2000 m that day and ınto a warm and breezy coastal clımate. Goodbye snow and frozen raın, hello warmth and beaches.

I feel like I say this about every place that I've been but here's for reiteration....Turkish people were again some of the friendliest people I've encountered on this trip. It's like being a foreigner on a bicycle automatically places you in a superhero category, cars honking, old men jumping and waving, kids going absolutely bizerk, everyone taking pictures of you with their cellphones. Maybe it's because I like to stay off the beaten path or maybe people are just genuinely that kind. Eitherway, restaurants were constantly giving me free meals, groceries were filling my bag to the brim with all sorts of vegetables, bread, chocolate, and asking nothing in return, a guy even gave me money for diner last night.....so much that I started to ask myself, "Do I really deserve this?"

So I cycled along the coast, eatıng Döner Kebabs and soakıng ın the beautıful scenery. After 3 days of coastal rıdıng, I fınally reached the border town of Reyhanlı, only 8 km from the Syrıan border, which is where I'm writing this blog. I dont have a Syrıa vısa and Syrıa and Amerıca arent exactly buddy buddy, so I'm hopıng tomorrow ınvolves a Syrıan vısa and a smıle.

Wrapping up.....Turkey is definitely one of the highlights of my trip. The weather wasn't so great and the interstate riding left a lot to be desired but the incredibly kind people and rich culture juxtaposed the experience into an absolute pleasure and enjoyable experience.

One thıng I've learned on thıs trıp ıs how to be adaptable to any clımate and every weather sıtuatıon possıble. Cyclıng through wınd, sand storms, snow, raın, bıtter cold, blısterıng hot, you really have to be able to fıght and endure anythıng mother nature throws at you.

Here's some stats up to this point:
Total distance cycled: 9,683 km (6,016 miles)
Total elevation gained: 116,099 m (380,902 ft)
Total time my butt has been pressed against the leathery goodness of my Brooks saddle: 605 hr

Pictures!

Turkish kids

Huge mosque in Adana

Almost to the coast!

Doner Kebab shop in Iskenderun

Father son and Kebab in Dortyol

One of my favorite towns in Turkey, Ulukishla

The couple on right cycled from France!

India

2009-10-19T19:34:00.017+06:00

9.16 - 10.21

I swear I cycled through a National Geographic magazine when I left Lahore and headed towards the Indian border, only some 30 km away. I cycled through a zoo of animals: water buffalo, cows, goats, sheep, donkeys, kids playing cricket in fields, shepherds guiding their herds to greener pastures, this was much different from the remote mountainous terrain of northern Pakistan, and it was blistering hot. I have no idea how these people worked outside while keeping the fast and not drinking water. I arrived at the Pakistan/India border (there's only one for foreigners) and entered the Pakistan immigration/customs. Everyone inside the building was asleep, wasting away the hours until they could eat again (at least I think that's why...maybe they were just lazy). I had to wake up an officer to stamp me out of Pakistan. I arrived at the India immigration and everyone was very much alive, albeit playing solitaire but upright and somewhat alert. These people weren't fasting, they were of a completely different religion, the Hindu religion. After all, this is the reason Pakistan was created, to provide religious sovereignty for these severely different religions.

Flashback: August 15, 1947. India obtains it's independence from the British. Pakistan and India are separated by drawing a line on a map, creating one country for Muslims and one for Hindus. Drawing the line turns out to be much harder than it sounds, some areas are completely mixed with Hindus, Muslims and Buddhists. Jammu and Kashmir is one of these areas. The prince, a Hindi born man, was asked which area he wanted to belong to, Pakistan or Hindustan? He stalled giving a definite answer and shortly after, the Kashmir valley was invaded by an army of Pashtun troops from the newly formed gov't of Pakistan...they were going to take Kashmir for themselves. The prince panicked and called on the Indian army for help against the invaders (somewhat pledging allegiance to the Indian side). And just like that, only 2 months after India won it's independence from the British, they were at war with Pakistan, and essentially they've been going at it ever since. Pakistanie people don't like Indian people and the feelings are most definitely reciprocated. These two groups have a dark history of violence, accusations, hate crimes and murder against each other. The Kashmir valley was never the same, India fought the Pakistan insurgency and recovered 2/3 of the valley while Pakistan violently held onto their third. This is where the Line of Control (LOC) was established and the controversy has ensued ever since, neither side ever came to an agreement on anything. And this was the area in northern India which I was going to cycle through, an extremely popular route with cyclists, one of the highest roads in the world.

Snapping out of the flashback.....first things first, I drank a Sprite in public, not hiding it in a paper bag and sneaking sips, a first in nearly 2 weeks. I then stuck around and attended the famous border closing ceremony between Pakistan and India. It was like a football match, with people filling the stands and cheering/taunting the opposing side (Pakistan). It was a great introduction to India.

I then cycled the remaining 30 km to Amristar (in the dark), Amristar is the home of the Sikh's sacred Golden Temple, a marvelous sparkling bling bling temple that quarters any and everyone who comes to it in need for free. The fact that they housed so many people was simply amazing, people were sleeping all over the place! Foreign tourists get their own seperated room with beds with A/C, while the Indian people got the cold stone floor. Not only did they put everyone up for free, they also fed everyone for free! Granted the food was extremely basic, but keep in mind that India has the second largest population in the world, so you can only imagine the assembly line that is required to feed all these people for free. It was quıite the process.

I found Sikh people to be extremely hospitable and genuinely kind people, I met some Sikhs at the border ceremony earlier that day, after I informed them that I was going to cycle to Amristar (30 km) in the dark, they kindly offered to trail behind me in their motorbikes to fend off the crazy drivers and provide a little more substantial light than my headlamp could provide. We arrived in Amristar where they bought me my first Indian diner and showed me to the Golden Temple. After putting my things away and a quick vetement change, they showed me around the temple, explaining their religion and different parts of the temple. Before entering the main temple, you must remove your shoes and wash your feet in a communal water trough. I was in a conversation with one of the Sikh guys about the temple's promise to house anyone in need, when he stopped and said `see you are our guest and we are honored to have you here` then he swooped his hand down and grabbed a handful of water from the trough and took a sip of it! Keep in mind this is not only the rest of India's dirty feet water, this is also Kyle's dirty feet water, and anyone who has smelled the deathly odors that are emitted from my trench foot can attest for putting my feet stinch into a completely seperate category inside itself! And this guy just drank it! I told him he really didn't have to do that, the fact that this amazingly beautiful place puts me up and feeds me for free is enough proof that I am indeed an honored guest in this place.

I wanted to get through northern India before the snow fell....I had my fair share of snow cycling in China...but Nicole (who was there only a few weeks earlier) informed me that the snow had already beat me to the mountain tops and it was only a matter of time before the passes would be barricaded for the winter. So I needed to hurry up! I had met a Spanish cyclist, Alejandro, in Pakistan a few weeks earlier and when he showed up at the Golden Temple wondering where he would cycle to next, we decided to tackle the Himalayas of northern India together. Alex and I booked a bus to Manali and after 17 hours of roller coaster simulations on one of the slowest and oldest busses humanly possible (it would stop for anyone who needed a ride, 5 km or 500 km) we finally arrived in the Manali. Back in the mountains!

No time for the Israeli new years party; only a nepalese pizza, a few beers and we were off cycling again. Manali had loads of tourists; Indian tourists, foreign tourists and Israeli tourists or more like Israeli habitants. So we hit the road, straight out of Manali the climbing began and never really stopped. Right out of the gates, we climbed over 2000 vertical meters in less than 50 kilometers, by the way, that's brutal! This is where I realized Alex was a freakin machine on the bike! The kid knows how to ride a bike.

So sparing your eyes and mind from downright fatigue which results in skimming the words and dragging the scrollbar until the next picture appears (don't be ashamed, everyone does it), here is the abbreviated version, the cliffnotes from my cycle through northern India.

Alex and I cycled from Manali to Leh (10 days, 500 km) then Leh to Srinagar (6 days, 450 km), up and over some of the highest passes in the world (18,380 ft, 17,580 ft, 16,600 ft, 16,500 ft, etc). Cycling at this altitude is tough, it's almost as if you're body is only able to run at 50% output. You're huffing and puffing, trying to recieve as much oxygen as possible but it's never quite enough. Every 30 minutes or so, you have to stop and let your heart and lungs catch up with the rest of your body. Sleeping at this altitude isn't exactly fluffy clouds and sheed either, as you're constantly tossing and turning in discontent. Nonetheless, we cycled through a beautifully vast landscape that changed culturally from Indian Hindi (Manali) to Tibetan Buddhist (Leh) to Kashmiri Muslim (Srinagar). Cycling the road that runs just south of infamous Line of Control (LOC) between India and Pakistan, at one point we were within 5 km from the Pakistan border.

Traveling through northern India was really interesting given the route that I'd already taken to get here. I'd experıenced the Tıbetan culture from the other sıde of Chına, and the Muslım culture from the Pakıstan sıde. Now all of these cultures met at the border of Indıa and as I traveled through Tibetan Ladakh and Muslım Kashmır, all of these prevıous experıences and memorıes were brought back to lıfe for a brıef moment. 'Juley!' from the Tıbetans, 'Salam Aleykom' from the Kashmiris. The changes were obvıous, one day we cycled past the last Tibetan vıllage and from there on out the people looked dıfferent, they dressed dıfferent, the houses were buılt dıfferently, the red and gold Gompas turned ınto green Mınarets, the spınnıng prayer wheels turned ınto scratchy alarm clocks (calls for prayer) at 5 am, and the peaceful protests for separatısm turned ınto vıolent explosıons that took peoples lıves. Here's an example of the cultural change from east (Tıbetan) to west (Kashmiri muslım)

When we finally arrived in Srinagar, a rather large city, I went to ask a traffic policeman directıons to the 'Dal Gate' area. He said, go this way, turn here, left, right, etc. I said thank you and just as I was pullıng away, he saıd, 'oh yeah, but don't go through Lal Chowk, there was a bomb earlıer today'. I guess that was a mınor detail....sure enough, a mılıtant separatıst had thrown a hand grenade ınto the market only a few hours before I arrived. Me and Srinagar started out on the wrong foot and never dıd seem to get along. The entire Kasmır valley had Indıan soldıers scattered about, on the sıde of hılls, standıng over Kasmırıs harvestıng wheat, surveyıng the land from Kashmırı's rooftops, it was obvıous the Indıan army was fully ıntent on keepıng a strong grıp on that controversıal area.

We met tons of cyclists along the way, with whom we joined forces and created the almighty party train of cyclists.

And that was pretty much the extent of my cyclıng ın India, save the ride to the Delhı airport. I was entertaınıng the ıdea of cyclıng through central and north eastern India and ınto Nepal but one week of 'rest' ın Delhi made me decide otherwise. I hadn't had a solıd poo ın nearly 7 days and the mayhem of vulture salesman in Delhi was too much for me after nearly 10 months in Asia. So I said my goodbyes to everyone I'd grown so close to (we were lıke famıly) and I bought a one way tıcket to Istanbul where I would contınue my trıp through the Mıddle East.

Here's some stats up to this point:

Total distance cycled: 8860 km (5,505 miles)
Total elevation gained: 110,114 m (361,266 ft)
Total time on bike: 558 hr

I think I've maxed out Blogger with pıctures, sorry ıf the format looks weird. And props to Alex for the nıce photos...I really need to get a better camera.

Pakistan, my love

2009-10-16T19:21:00.010+06:00

8.16 - 9.15

The northern areas of Pakistan were absolutely lovely, everything was just so drastic and extreme. The road somehow adhered to the side of extremely steep mountains, it was best not to look down at certain points. Northern Pakistan actually reminded me of Alaska in that it was still very much geologically active. Just cycling the stretch from Sost to Gilgit, you knew that you were following the same path that a glacier had traveled while carving out the valley, only a few geological minutes before. Every now and then, you'd see this majestic white-caped monster in the distance, then the jaw would drop and the cycle would come to a stop.

From an engineering perspective, certain parts of the road were only temporarily held together, as the local and global slope stability were inevitably doomed for failure, the slopes were incredibly steep both above and below the road and as soon as the first decent rain fell, the road completely fell apart as did the friction between the scree and boulders that hung out above the road. I was lucky enough to experience both; local failures, where a part of the road would slide or the rocks above would block the road, and global failures where the entire road would wash away and have to be rebuilt. What a freakin nightmare to maintain, but then again, where else can you travel by road through such a amazing amphitheater of 7 and 8 thousand meter peaks? I never dared listen to music while cycling the KKH, my ear was always open for the slightest sound of a rock slide, which occurred more than once while cycling.

Building roads where they have no business being

The people that live in the northern areas of Pakistan are mostly Ismalis, just like the isolated Pamiri people of Tajikistan (I think Agha Khan has a thing for helping remote people...and making them praise him). The Ismalis of Pakistan are similar to those of Tajikistan in that they don't adhere to a strict and conservative way of life as the rest of the Muslim community does. The women can actually be seen(!) without head scarves, the men don't all wear the traditional dresses, there are no mosques blaring calls for prayer at 5 am, and most importantly they don't participate in the fast (Ramadan). Since I hadn't yet experienced the fast with the rest of the muslim community, I didn't fully appreciate this fact until I reached Islamabad. Another interesting fact about the people of northern Pakistan, they can't vote yet they're still governed by the laws from which they have no say, there is a big push for partial or full autonomy.

Hiding to take a drink of water
Ramadan was an interesting time to be in Pakistan

So Konup and I only cycled about 40 km each day, trying to take our sweet, sweet time, delaying the inevitable end of cycling on the KKH. We arrived in Hunza, the place the pajama boss asked me to take further motorized transportation, where we ended up spending 4 days in this beautiful place. The vibe was ever so pleasant, the views were spectacular, and this was our first internet since Kyrgyzstan (nearly 3 weeks ago). Rakaposhi, the 7,788 m (25,551 ft) giant was basically in our back yard.

Our back yard, Rakaposhi in white

After hearing tons of positive and safe reports from locals and fellow cyclists, I decided to continue cycling past Hunza until Gilgit, only about 100 km south. Everyone unanimously advised us against traveling further south from Gilgit, so this was where my wheels took their final turn on the KKH. Gilgit was my first real Pakistanie town, which was filled with hungry muslim men, counting down the hours until the sun would finally set, all in the same dresses. All the restaurants were closed save the one tourist guesthouse (Madina's guesthouse is awesome by the way). I really felt for the men who cooked our food, laboring all day surrounded by the delicious aromas of food, with their stomachs screaming for just a morsel.

Bloody visas! [as my 52 yr old German friend often bickered]. Visas are probably the most difficult, hectic and expensive aspect of traveling, especially when you're from America. Americans typically pay much more than the average traveler. I wanted to continue to Turkey via Iran, which is said to have absolutely beautiful landscapes and an extremely hospitable [yet highly misunderstood] culture. However after some brief research and a few emails, my hopes for crossing Iran were crushed. American's require a guide and a strict itinerary, which must be followed. I was quoted at 150 Euros per day for the guide service. So I decided that I would continue to India after Pakistan and cycle the northern India Himalayan loop that is quite popular with cyclist. But I needed an Indian visa first [ahhh the catch], which was said to take two weeks to obtain from Islamabad. First of all, bombs regularly rattle Islamabad, which is no place to spend two weeks dodging land mines secretly eating food from the quicke-mart, so the plan was to take a bus to Islamabad, apply for the Indian visa, return to Gilgit and cycle the Deosai plains, returning to Islamabad just in time to receive my visa, then I would have to race to the Pakistan tourist office and extend my visa on the same day (as my Pakistan visa would expire the day after I received my passport). Visas are a freakin logistical nightmare and most of the time I spend more money on the visa than I do for my entire duration of stay in the country. In addition to this madness, Central Asia countries require you to specify the start and end date of the visa, instead of the usual start the day I enter the country. Get with the program stan countries!
(Pakistan - $150 - 1 month)
(Tajikistan - $40 - 1 month)
(Kyrgyzstan - $70 - 1 month)
(China - $120 - double entry, 1 month each entry)
(India - $70 - 6 month)

My bus ride from Gilgit to Islamabad actually took somewhere around 17 crammed, sleepless hours. I sluggishly exited the bus, put on my slacks from China, then proceeded to the diplomatic enclave to apply for my Indian visa. Simply getting into the diplomatic area is a crazy process of paranoid bomb prevention, filled with pat downs, canine explosive sniffing and a war zone of armed guards pointing machine guns at you. I applied for my Indian visa and just as I was leaving the embassy, it started to lightly rain. I jumped on the bus back to Gilgit later that afternoon [this would be my encounter with both failures of the KKH]. I actually ran into two cycling friends in Islamabad, Dan and Krista (http://www.ridehimalaya.com) who jumped on a plane about the same time I jumped back on the bus back to Gilgit. They actually arrived back in Australia before I arrived back in Gilgit (seriously!) My 17 hour bus ride turned into a 33 hour nightmare, barricaded by rock slides and the road simply washing away.

This guy fell asleep on me

It took two days of stretching and relaxing to recover from that one. The rain continued and the road continued to wither away. I waited the rain out for 3 days and man...it was seriously coming down, constantly pouring for 3 days, creating one of the worst and unsafest conditions for the road. So I wisely decided not to continue cycling to the Deosai plains but instead wait a few extra days in Gilgit and return to the Indian embassy early in hopes that my visa would be ready.

The people! The people of Pakistan were possibly the friendliest I've encountered on this entire trip. People would stop you in the street, shake your hand, and ask if there was anything they could do for you. "You are a guest in my country, can I do anything for you?" It wasn't uncommon to have someone grab you by the hand, take you to a store, buy you a coke and a bag of chips, exchange a few kind words, then say goodbye. Everyone expressed a concern for an incorrect and menacing portrayal of the Muslim community as terrorists. The Taliban have received such international attention lately that almost everyone would express some sort of disapproval for the Taliban, saying things like 'they call themselves Muslims....these people are not Muslims!' There was a lot of animosity towards the Taliban and the media for bringing such a negative connotation to the Muslim community.

Guns! Guns were everywhere in Pakistan, I'm talking ubiquitous, everywhere. Walk into Pizza Hut and there's a guard with a sawed off shotgun to welcome you. Every ATM had an armed guard. The Chinese workers on the KKH all had armed guards watching over them. The second day in Pakistan, I saw a video from a cell phone of a Pakistanie guy shooting an anti-aircraft gun into the sky. Guns are just a part of everyday life in Pakistan. One day Konup and I were cycling through a tiny village and decided to stop for a soda, we sat on a bench sipping our sodas when two armed guards approached us and started to ask us how we were enjoying Pakistan, to which we replied...'no problem' [which eventually turned into our instinctive response to almost every question]. We asked if we could take pictures with these tough looking guys with such tough looking guns. They agreed and we posed beside them for a few shots, then out of nowhere, they handed the guns to us, gave us their hats and aviator glasses and took pictures of us.

One thing I realized in Pakistan was how fundamentally different Islam is from Christianity. Whereas most of our western churches only give us a rough guideline of how to live, where the ultimate decision is made within the person, Islam gives a distinct set of laws which must not be violated. In Islamic countries, for example, if someone is caught stealing they are taken to the state court and tried under it's laws. Adversely, if someone is caught drinking, they are taken to Islamic court (yeah...it's illegal for Pakistanie people to drink). There is a distinction between crimes against Islam and crimes against the state and each are treated differently. I found this interesting.

So with some persistence, a healthy smile and a pair of slacks from China, I was able to pick up my Indian visa 5 days early. I spent my remaining days in Pakistan having my mind blow away by the artistic, mystical and somewhat comical culture of Sufi muslims in Lahore (the most progressive city in Pakistan). Sufi's believe in using various alternative ways to reach higher levels of spiritual enlightenment, ranging anywhere from art to music to trance (shaking their heads uncontrollable for four hours to drums) to smoking hash to whipping themselves until blood is pouring down their own backs. Lahore is a crazy cool place, only 20 km from the Indian border, a place where Islamic mystics (if they deserve this term) are on display each Thursday night, a place where a subway is manned by a man with a shotgun, a place that actually just had three bombs explode last week.

So that closes the Pakistan book, what an absolutely beautiful country, amazingly rich culture, from north to south, I definitely didn't expect it to be this cool.

Here's some stats from the end of Pakistan:
Total Distance cycled - 7632 km (4,742 miles)
Total Elevation gained - 95,939 m (314,760 ft)
Total time on bike (butt on Brooks) - 480 hr - 52 min

I also uploaded most of my pictures from Pakistan here:
http://s191.photobucket.com/albums/z93/lineker119/Bicycle%20-%20Pakistan/?albumview=grid
And my pictures from China here:
http://s191.photobucket.com/albums/z93/lineker119/Bicycle%20-%20Pakistan/Bicycle%20-%20China%20part%202/?albumview=grid

Glorious, glorious KKH

It was best not to look down, this was the view from inside the jeep to Fairy Meadows.
Two inches stood between us and a sheer cliff

This was the road to Fair Meadows (picture above) supported by hand placed rocks, scary

Konup and I slept under the stars just off the KKH

Me and some hungry Pakistanie workers on the KKH, dressed in typical Pakistanie fashion

Me at Nanga Parbat basecamp

The Killer, Nanga Parbat from Fairy Meadows

Pakistanie kids also dressed in the typical fashion

Rakaposhi

We walked this suspension bridge near Passu

View from my tent in Passu

The meeting of the three mountain ranges
[Karakoram Range, Himalayan Range and Hindu Kush]

China revisited, The Karakoram Highway

2009-10-11T14:55:00.009+06:00

8.2 - 8.16

So I arrived back in Kashgar, nearly 2 months after my first visit and what a noticeable change in atmosphere. The riots in Urumqi, followed by an aftershock of unrest in Kashgar, were only about 3 weeks before my arrival and the town was now dominated by an overwhelming military presence ensuring order and communist compliance. Seriously, there were masses of heavily armed military trucks just driving in circles around the city waiting for a problem (or excuse) to kick some Uyghur ass. I'd seen this previously in the Tibetan town of Ganze where the military presence was outnumbering the Tibetan population 10:1 and we were told that monks and foreigners weren't allowed to use the internet. The town of Kashgar had turned into the same story, except this time the Chinese government had basically blacked out the entire Xinjiang province from communicating with the outside world. No internet, no international calls or faxes, nothing....it was an interesting time to be in Kashgar, but we took it in stride nonetheless. There were hardly any tourists in Kashgar (most had canceled their plans after the riots) but there were tons of cyclists! We spent our nights not being slaves to spacebook, but rather eating weird Chinese dishes (like donkey meat pies), drinking cheap beer, sharing stories from the road and somewhat enjoying our detachment from the rest of the world. We did tourist things during the day, visited markets, explored old town Kashgar, sat in the park and read books, wondered through the Sunday animal market. I found a Merida bike shop with a new Shimano rear hub and just like that I was back in the bicycle game.

Military convoys dominated the streets

Relaxing with other cyclists in Kashgar

Sunday animal market

This is where I met Michal (aka Konup), a Czech cyclist who had cycled all the way from Czech Republic to Kashgar (across Russia and Kazakstan). Here is his website: http://konup.nastole.cz/wp/

We met in the western restaurant in Kashgar and this is how the friendship was born:
'My english not so good and I a little drunkie but the road is very good road!' - referring to the amazing views from the not so amazing quality of road connecting China to Kyrgyzstan.

I initially thought he'd been cycling alone for too long and he'd gone mad (kind of like those people who just start talking to themselves out of nowhere) but turns out the owner of the restaurant was desperate for business and kept feeding him shots of cobra whiskey (literally there was a cobra soaking in the whiskey). I said goodnight to the crazy Czech cyclists and returned to my dorm room, 30 minutes later he came stumbling in and crashed on the bed next to mine. The next morning he explained the owners generosity with the cobra serum (with a hand on his forehead), he didn't speak the best English and my Russian was a bit rusty but we instantly became friends. He also had a nice camera so props goto him for most of the awesome pictures on this blog.

Konup

So I was heading to the Ninth Wonder of the World, the Karakoram Highway, which connects western China to Pakistan, at this point I was heading alone which was a little unnerving regardless of the positive report from the rest of Team 7. Konup and I were heading in the same direction (once I convinced him to bag his Tibet trip and head to Pakistan) so we decided to cycle together from Kashgar. The Chinese government had set up additional checkpoints for Uyghur and foreign people on the road, which had reportedly given some cyclist problems, so Konup and I cycled along a backroad for the first 10 kilometers until the first major checkpoint was dodged. From there it was a beautiful stretch of flat, deserty, dry, somewhat remote road all the way to Karakul Lake (my third Karakul Lake on this trip...one in Kyrgyzstan, one in Tajikistan, and one in China). I forgot to put on ample sunscreen from Kashgar and the Donkey Meat Pies were wreaking havoc on both of our stomachs, so we ended up spending a day recovering in a Kyrgyz yurt at Karakul Lake, which was one of the most beautiful places in the world to recover.

Our humble abode at Karakul Lake

After some 15 hours of sleep and a well needed break from the sun, we started cycling towards the Chinese border town of Tashkurgan. The road from Kashgar to Tashkurgan was absolutely beautiful. It only took us 2.5 days of cycling to reach Tashkurgan from Kashgar and from there the Chinese government requires all independent travelers to take a bus up and over the Khunjerab Pass (the official Chinese Pakistan border) to the Pakistan border town of Sost. After one night in Tashkurgan (yet another disgusting Chinese border town) a bus ticket was bought and I was finally stamped out of China for the second and final time.

I had spent a total of 70 days in China on this trip. I had a quick flash back, kind of a mental slideshow of memories along my Chinese journey (my entry into southern China alone, being offered maggots wrapped in a banana leaf, the beautiful hike through Tiger Leaping Gorge, teaching english in a Tibetan classroom, my tazmanian devil Giradia experience, the wind/sand/snow storm that almost took my rainfly straight off my tent, cycling 10 days on the remote Tibetan plateau, saying goodbye to the rest of Team 7, the whorehouse hotel in Urumqi, beginning my solo adventure from Kashgar). China has been a large part of my trip and I did some serious growing in this wonderful country.

This all came as I was on the bus, riding to the Pakistan border with a bus of Pakistanie men completely decked out in Salwar Kameez. I was pulled out of my reminiscent daze by a Pakistanie man tapping me on the shoulder. I turned around, he was an older man, one of the more serious looking bald men with a huge white beard, he struck me as extremely religious.

"I hope I'm not bothering you but I wanted to ask you a question" - Pakistanie man
"Sure, go ahead" - I just knew he wanted to ask me which country I was from, I had already decided I would tell everyone I was from Canada
"I wanted to ask you how many women you poked in China" - Pakistanie man with a grin on his face
"Uhh, none" - I did not see that one coming
The Pakistanie man points to his friend sitting in the front (another ultra religious looking elder) and says "Three"

We all laughed hysterically and that served as my introduction to Pakistanie people. We had great conversation with the men on the bus, everyone spoke extremely good english served with a thick layer of wit and a hint of playfulness that had me feeling much more at ease about the uncertainty for the days that lie ahead.

As we approached the top of Khunjerab pass, we started to ask the driver if we could cycle the remaining 80 km to the Pakistan border town of Sost. After some resistance and consistent debate, we were allowed to get off the bus and finish the remaining 80 km by bicycle. This was an absolutely beautiful stretch of road, I still didn't have a visa for Pakistan and I was already stamped out of China, so technically I was illegally in Pakistan (yup...an American illegally in Pakistan). The views were so breathtaking that the idea of racing the 80 km to immigration/customs just seemed like a crime. So we decided to take our sweet time, stopping every 5 minutes to take a picture and soak in the beautiful, remote, jagged mountains that surrounded this astonishing road. The simple fact that this road was successfully built and still somewhat maintained was nothing short of amazing, it definitely wasn't an easy task building it. Something like 2 workers died for every kilometer of the KKH, something I didn't like to think about too much. However there were tons of Pakistanie and Chinese people working on the road, each working in their separate ethnic groups; each time we'd pass a Pakistanie group, work would stop and cheers and eruptions of positive energy would come from the workers, the Chinese would just stop and stare with a cigarette in their mouths. We also realized that we'd somehow timed our visit during Ramadan, the month of sun-up to sun-down fasting observed by the muslim world. No food, no water, no bacon, nothing while the sun is up, this is going to be interesting.

The road zigzagged through an amazing valley, dwarfed by 7 and 8 thousand meter peaks. My jaw was dropped and my eyes were stuck in a buy-eyed fashion. We spent the night in 'no man's land', legally out of China and illegally in Pakistan. The next morning we awoke and completed the remaining kilometers through a beautiful stretch of road and arrived in Sost at customs/immigration. I still didn't have a visa and could easily be turned back to China if they were in a sour mood, so I entered the building with a polite demeanor, knowing that I was at the mercy of the officer on duty.

I was immediately greeted by an officer who looked as tough as Stalone with a stern face
"Who told you it was ok to get off the bus?" - Tough guy
[Pause] [Pause] [Pause] "the driver" - I'll never get the visa now
"IT IS NOT ALLOWED!" - Tough guy in an even tougher voice

I'm definitely not getting the visa now, he looked at me smoking his cigarette through a cupped hand, on a rating of 1-10 on manliness, this guy was at 100. He made me want to grab an axe and start chopping wood, eat a steak for breakfast and possibly chase it with a glass of bourbon. He took my passport and hesitantly started filling out my visa. 5 minutes and $150 later (yeah, American visas cost $150, Czech Republic was free), my visa was glued into my passport and everything was filled in save the signature. I sat in a hallway with Konup for 30 minutes, waiting for them to hand me back my passport, wondering what was taking them so long. Then opened the main door and entered a man dressed in what resembled blue pajamas, accompanied by 4 tough looking body guards. This guy was the boss of something, did he just get out of bed?. The boss and his cronies walked into an office and 2 minutes later I was summoned inside. We asked if they wanted both of us but they only wanted to see me. So I walked into this office with the pajama boss siting behind a desk and his cronies occupying the remaining chairs,
"So you are from America?" - Pajama Boss "Where do you want to go in Pakistan?"
I replied with Islamabad (the capital) to which he quickly responded "Not allowed". "I mean Gilgit?" - this is only as far as I wanted to cycle, some 200 km away, to which he again replied "Not allowed", "Ok, so where can I go in Pakistan?" - a little confused at the question, "Hunza" - he replied. Hunza! This was only some 100 km away from here, and why was he not telling this to the Czech guy? The pajama boss then began an explanation of how the Taliban were gaining ground and how it was not safe for me past Hunza. Wow, this took that comfort gained from the playful Pakistanie guys on the bus directly away from me. I agreed to everything he said, kind of like saying 'yes sir' to everything the principal says, just to get him to sign the visa form and make me a legal tourist in Pakistan.

So I left the customs office a little disturbed. Sost, my first Pakistanie town, was like something out of a horror movie. There were only men walking around this town, men all dressed in the same clothing (Kameez dresses). What a drastic change from China! Even the places which you could typically find at least one women were replaced with only men. The markets had only men buying and selling vegetables, the tailors were all men, all restaurants were only men eating, cooking, preparing, serving food, all men in the same dresses.

So Konup and I ate a meal (prepared and served by only men) then grabbed a hotel room. The words from the pajama boss were still ringing in my head bringing my American pride to an alltime low. When we checked into a hotel and were asked to fill in the registration form, I just copied Konup's information into my space, altering a few numbers and letters here and there, basically saying that we were neighbors in Czech.

Later that night we grabbed diner at the hotel (prepared and served by one man this time). Mind you Konup has a thick Russian sounding accent and a limited English vocabulary, he uses his hands in illustration most of the time, so when we carry on a conversation, it's rather obvious that we're not from the same country and especially not hometown neighbors (we're speaking English for crying out loud!). So as we carried on a broken conversation at diner, the owner brought tea to our table and politely inquired "What is your countries language?" We both opened our mouths simultaneously saying two different things. I replied with English while Konup replied with Czech. The owner gave a satisfied response of "ok", kind of like saying "that's what I thought". I felt terrible, the owner didn't seem to care and that turned out to be the first and last time I lied about my nationality in Pakistan.

More Pakistan to come....Pictures (props to Konup for the good ones!)

Most wanted Uyghurs

Mao illuminated at night in new city Kashgar

a little cramped? Store front in Old City Kashgar

The Karakoram Highway in China

Larger than life, Muztagh Ata, me riding towards Karakul Lake

The view from our yurt at Karakul Lake, Muztagh Ata mountain

Beautiful campspot second day from Kashgar

Uyghur men eating boiled sheep's heads in Kashgar, they said the tongue was the best

Videos

2009-10-08T18:02:00.002+06:00

So I finally arrived at a half decent internet connection and managed to upload two videos that accompany my blog posting of Tajikistan.

The first video is of my campspot in an abandoned stone/mud hut:

http://s191.photobucket.com/albums/z93/lineker119/Bicycle%20-%20Tajikistan/?action=view&current=IMGP2146.flv

The second video is the Tajik dance off with the kids that I played soccer with for hours. MJ would be proud.

http://s191.photobucket.com/albums/z93/lineker119/Bicycle%20-%20Tajikistan/?action=view&current=IMGP2177.flv

Enjoy

Tajikistan part deux

2009-10-08T15:06:00.016+06:00

7.15 - 8.1

Here's a map of my route in Tajikistan and a quick geography lesson....it's only been a proper country for 20 years so don't feel so bad.

Solid lines cycled, dots motorized transport

So I continued cycling through the Wakhan Valley, astonished at the hospitality of the Pamiri people, soaking in the beautiful surrounding landscape and dodging brides to-be. The terrain on the other side of the river started off as barren, isolated and inhabitable but as I cycled west, the Afghan towns became bigger and more frequent. Proper buildings with electricity replaced the mudhuts that previously scattered the small valleys and I caught close glances of the Afghans decked out in their Shalwar Kameez. I felt like I was at an Afghan aquarium, viewing the life of these amazingly isolated people, completely separated and cut off from the rest of civilization by a raging river. The Afghan side was dry and extremely rocky, they were so isolated and desperate for farmland that I saw cultivated slopes that were on the sides of insanely steep, barely walkable mountain sides. I would stop and marvel at a small patch of green grass and shrubs on a slope that was unfathomable for human feet. One small slip and 4,000 ft of tumbling straight down.

Aghan kids across the river

One day I was cycling through a town when a local woman jumped out in the road and motioned for me to stop. I wasn't really sure why but I figured she wasn't going to rob me, so I stopped. She pointed across the river and covered her head with her hands. Just as I opened my mouth to ask "what?!" a loud explosion sounded in the distance and about 10 seconds later, the entire area was pelted with small pebbles and stones projected from across the river. "Holy crap!", my mind was racing with millions of possibilities but after the shrapnel of stones stopped flying, she just put her basket of vegetables on top of her head and continued about her business like nothing happened. Turns out the Afghans were blasting a new road just across the river. The Tajiks had a local man watching their every move and whenever the Afghans would run and take cover, he would let out a big yell and everyone in the village would take cover. It was a hilarious sight to behold, at least once I realized it wasn't guerrilla warfare between the neighboring countries. I ate lunch just down from the blastings and whenever the man would yell, I had to take cover behind a large tree.

So I pushed onto Khorog, my first real town in weeks. The night before I arrived, I slept on a cot in a tiny restaurant just beside a beautiful tributary stream. The owner was unbelievably nice; he fed me diner, gave me a cot, then left the restaurant and said you can have anything you want. I was like, 'wait wait wait...let me pay you before you leave'. He just threw his hand at me and said 'don't worry about it'.

I rested a day in Khorog (after dodging yet another bride) and pushed on towards Dushanbe. The first day out of the gates, I charged some 100+ km and landed at yet another soccer game in a small village. This time it was a proper soccer field with men on the field and women and children watching the match. I was waved over to join a team and within 5 minutes I blasted a shot that ricocheted off the cross bar and into the imaginary net. I was immediately taken back 5 years to highschool soccer and my instinctive victory dance that followed was the shirt over the head, airplane celebration. People applauded the crazy foreigner wearing shorts (Muslim countries don't wear shorts in public for any reason, not even soccer) and after the game I was offered to sleep at one of the boys' houses. Turns out the boy, Parpisho, was a child prodigy and was studying his poor little butt off in Dushanbe trying to apply to a top US, UK or Turkish school. We spent the night eating eggs (his family was flat broke save smiles, kindness and livestock) and solving college level math problems. It was a connection like no other and I felt the desperate need to help this aspiring scholar out....he was a really good kid who was sharp as a tack, laboring in the fields for his poor family by day and studying all night to gain an extra edge on his classmates. He said he averaged around 4 hours of sleep each night.

Parpisho (the child prodigy) and I. I almost broke his foot during the soccer game

Parpisho's beautiful village of Vamd

Another interesting twist to add to the already crazy world of cycling through the Wakhan Valley; the banks of the river were landmined some years ago by Soviet troops to prevent Afghan incursion. There were 'mine sweepers' working through some of the areas but whenever I had to relieve myself during my cycle, it was always a chess movement of strategic feet placement. I usually only stepped on areas where it was obvious that animals had previously grazed (aka if there was short grass and animal poo, it was cleared).

Don't pee there!

So I officially left the wonderful, isolated and hospitable world of the Wakhan Valley (and the Pamiri people) and began cycling towards the flat, boiling hot interior of Tajikistan. The temperature had gotten remarkably hotter by the day and my new game place was to awake at 5:30 am, cycle from 6 until 11 then find a shaded place and spend the hottest part of the day in a relaxed slumber eating apricots, writing poetry and day dreaming about buying a vowel from Vanna White. This was great in theory but it never actually happened, I have a really hard time stopping without someone physically pulling me off the bike or begging me to go for a swim, I was going to continue as long as the conditions were bearable.

At this point, I'd been married to my bike some 400+ hours, so needless to say, we knew each other pretty well. If there was a slight leak in air pressure in the back tire, I knew as soon as I mounted the bike. If my rear left pannier was missing a sock, I could tell. So just before Kulyab when I heard a strange creak coming from the rear tire, I knew something was wrong. I isolated the noise and indeed it was a crunching like sound coming from my rear hub. My rear wheel's bearings were failing, producing an eerie sound like teeth grinding. This wasn't exactly a problem I could fix on the fly, I needed a bike shop......a proper bicycle shop and Tajikistan (one of the poorest countries in Asia) only had bike mechanics armed with hammers, wrenches and blow torches.

So I dismounted the bike and stuck out a thumb (well, you don't actually stick out your thumb in Asia, you do a motion kind of like fanning a fire with a piece of cardboard while remaining standing). Within an hour the bike was on top of a jeep and I was cruising through the blistering heat of Tajikistan in my first motorized transport since the crazy mud/sheep crushing event in Kyrgyzstan. If you stuck your head out the window, it literally felt like a blow drier. This place was blistering hot and I was already feeling a bit run down and my stomach didn't quite feel right (which was nothing new). So one jeep, one mack-truck and one Audi later, I arrived in Qurghonteepa, the hometown of the girl and father that I met in Urumqi (China) that had invited me to their house. At this point, my rear bicycle tire couldn't even turn and my stomach situation had degraded to a ill feeling fever and a rumble unlike any other. So I opted to get a hotel room and sleep off the bug, arriving at my hosts house refreshed and energetic the next day.

I ate at a restaurant just across from where the Audi had dropped me off (because of my non-functional bicycle). First things first, Qurghonteepa doesn't see many tourist at all, so for an white person to just walk into your restaurant is a big deal. The heads in the restaurant turned and everyone rushed over to the table to hear my story (at this point I knew enough Tajik to keep everyone's interest for about 2.5 minutes) but I was feeling completely out of sorts and needed to sleep off the funk. One of the younger employees spoke some rudimentary english and offered to help me find a hotel and shuffle my gear and broken bike to the room. His name was Sobir and this was the start of a wonderful friendship between a big hearted 19 yr old Tajik boy and a Georgia boy turned cyclist. He left me to rest in my hotel room, which was void of aircon, a fan or bug screens on the windows. (Qurghonteepa has a malaria warning and plenty of mosquitoes). It was 120 degrees F outside and the room was like a sauna. I was getting sicker by the moment and my paranoia of getting malaria increased by the bug bite, so I did the only logical thing in my mind......I pitched my tent in the middle of the room. I slept the entire day in a puddle of my own sweat and my energy was depleting fast, that night I got super sick and spent the night moaning in disgust and pain.

So I'm in one of the hottest places on the planet, my bike is broken and my body is following suit. It takes all the energy I have just to walk 10 feet to the bathroom and each time I stand up, I get overwhelmingly dizzy. I try to find the house keeper to ask for a wet towel and chicken noodle soup but she is nowhere to be found. Then out of nowhere appears Sobir.

Sobir, the freakin man

'Hey Kyle.....ok?' - Sobir
'Yeah, I'm alright' - I'm not ok at all, I haven't felt this bad since the Tazmanian devil from China

Sobir brings me a wet towel, goes to the market and buy me some juice, soup and a new shirt (my cycling shirt is disgusting with sweat stains and odor). He leaves me to goto work but promises to visit me after his shift. I am getting no better, my insides are absolutely crazy and my fever hasn't broken in almost 2 days (I'm thinking about the family that I came here to visit, I have no way to contact them besides email so they have no idea I'm here). Sobir comes back after his shift with a bowl of sheep broth, rice and potatoes (God bless his soul). I'm practically in a coma, unable to do anything except goto the bathroom, even talking requires too much energy. We both agree that if the fever doesn't break by the morning, I'll have to goto the hospital. So the morning comes and I've managed to sleep but my fever is still running strong and my bowels are absolutely mad, so Sobir takes the morning off work and accompanies me to the local hospital, I'm dizzy and noxious just standing up. We goto the hospital, which has no organized strategy for accepting patients, you just wander around until you knock on the right door (I have no idea what I would have done without Sobir) luckily Sobir's family friend was one of the doctors on shift and we knocked on the right door. The doctor looked at me, put his hand on my forehead, then asked me to stick out my tongue. My tongue revealed a white film and the doctor immediately declared, 'stomak infesione'. I was then placed in the back of a makeshift ambulance (basically a small 1970 van with a rug in the back) and taken to the dusty rundown warehouse of a building that represented Qurghonteepa's stomach infection clinic. Sobir fought the red tape and bureaucrats to get me a bed and insisted that I was traveling and had no money to pay a hefty doctors bill. They found a bed for me on the second floor of this boiling hot warehouse, no electricity, no running water, no bug screens for the windows. I was beginning to wonder if I'd made the right decision coming to the hospital. The nurse came around and stuck me with a needle then hooked me up to a saline drop which was fixed to the nearby window with a nail, the needle was masked by a small piece of sticker taken from the IV bag. The nurse brought me a used glass jar (I swear it was a pickle jar) full of salt water and motioned for me to drink it. This place was most definitely sub par but within a few hours, I was actually retaining liquids and I slept for nearly 14 hours.

I spent a total of 3 days in the hospital, swatting mosquitoes in between long sleeps and the daily visit from Sobir. I shared a room with two people, a father who was withgoing some sort of skin treatment and the son who was watching over and caring for the father. The hospital didn't offer food so the son fed me and his father 3 meals a day, chicken soup and bread for 3 days. It was absolutely amazing and I was astonished by the kindness that people showed me in my time of need. When I was feeling better and ready to leave, the father and son also decided that their time had expired (there is no such thing as doctors discharging patients, patients discharge patients). They packed up their belongings, we packed into their car and they drove me to my hotel, the hospital visit cost me all of about $1.50.

I went directly to Sobir's work and everyone in the restaurant gave me a warm 'welcome back' greeting and a hearty plate of beefsteak! Me, Sobir and some of the restaurant workers visited the local swimming hole (a river that ran through town) later that afternoon.

Sobir, his brother and I at the famed restaurant (this is the shirt he bought me, 'Dad and I fish fry')

Still, the sole reason I came to Qurghonteepa was to rendez-vous with the Tajik father and daughter that I had bonded with so well in China. I had recieved an email from Fazilat, the daughter, almost weekly in anxious anticipation for my arrival and I had been in their hometown for nearly 5 days without being able to contact them. So Sobir and I left my hotel, jumped in a taxi and headed for the house of Hoji Gulom ('Hoji' is the prefix given to Muslims who have visited Mecca). The taxi pulled into the house and instantly the father dropped his work and gave me a huge warm welcome. I introduced Sobir to 'Hoji' (I love introducing two wonderful people to each other) and Sobir got in the taxi to leave. I extended a long and grateful thanks to Sobir for everything that he had done and promised to pay him a visit before I left.

At this point the red carpet was unrolled, the sheep was slaughtered and the fruits were harvested, work was stopped and everyone and their mother, brother, cousin, dogs, everyone came to welcome me to their town. It was like my second welcome to Qurghonteepa and after my initial greeting celebration, sheep slaughtering, food harvesting, I was taken into the 'dining room' (basically a sleeping room with a special rug that food is eaten on) and I was presented (completely spoiled) with a feast fit for a king: sheep, potatoes, pilof, fruits, homeade bread and jams, chai, you name it, it was on the table....on the rug. This was a traditional muslim family, only the men participated in the feast while the women served the men and ate outside. This wouldn't have been a problem except none of the men spoke any english and after my 2.5 minutes of Tajik vocabulary was exhausted, our conversation (if you can even call it that) fell into this meaningless baby dialogue of popular brand names. "Lexus.....America?", "Brittany Spears.....America?", "Obama.....America?". Then it fell into this groundhogs day conversation that I'd painfully endured for the past 2 months while traveling in Central Asia and not speaking the language.

"Velisepeat.....dingy?" (How much does your bike cost?)
"Zina....doram?" (Do you have a wife?)
"Profession?" - (What's your profession?)
"Profession....Dingy, Dingy?" (How much money do you make in a year?, I always responded with a unrealistically, inadequately small number that still blew their minds)
"Visa, da?" (Can you get me a visa for America?)

Seriously, everyone I'd encountered for the past 2 months has asked me these same questions and I desperately needed to conduct a conversation with some form of intellectual stimulation. The answer to my problem was just in the other room, Fazilat, the bright english speaker eager to practice her engligh was seperated from me by more than a simple wall made of wood. And that's how I spent the next 3 days, being treated like a king...a mute king. I managed a few sentences with Fazilat at home but it always ended abruptly with an awkwardness that I couldn't seem to grasp. I couldn't understand how the social and religious rules had changed so much from China (travel) to Tajikistan (home), but that's how women are contained, concealed and protected within the Muslim community.

Me, 'Hoji' and his family (Fazilat on far right)

It was a hard lesson to learn and after three days I was ready to step down from my throne and get a move on. My body was nearly repaired but my bike still needed some surgery. So I headed towards Dushanbe, 'Hoji' and his brother drove me to Dushanbe and I hooked up with some Swiss friends that I'd passed on the road a few weeks earlier. They were living in Dushanbe, working for a Swiss NGO, and they spoke EEENNNGGGLIIISSSHHH! I had my first real conversation in weeks, they were smart, intellectual, not concerned with how much money my bike was worth! We slept in, ate three bowls of cereal in the morning, sat on a western toilet, drank beer, went rock climbing! It was fantastic and I felt the most comfortable I've felt in months.

White people! Swiss friends in Dushanbe

From Dushanbe, I recieved a new Kyrgyzstan visa and made the long and trecherous 4 day motorized journey back to Kashgar (China) dodging the crazy Uzbekistan enclaves.

Here's some stats up to this point:

Total distance: 7225 km (4,489 miles)
Total elevation gained: 90,764 m (297,782 ft)
Total cycling time (my butt on the saddle): 439 hrs

Pictures!

I was a little confused by this sign....I guess just pick one!

This was the day before I got nasty sick, i love this picture, the array of expressions are priceless,
''A Moment in Tajik History"

Nassim and I, this kid was cool

Sobir took this picture just as we decided to goto the hospital

The night the sickness came a knockin, more bride dodging

I met these Finnish guys driving then selling this old beater back to the Toyota dealership from Finland

My hosts in Ishkashim, the mother insisted that her daughter (far left) and I get married

More bride dodging, these mothers were equally intent on marrying their daughters to me

Rock climbing in Dushanbe!

Tajikistan

2009-09-16T19:14:00.017+06:00

7.6 - 7. 15

Out of the green rolling hills and into the real mountains....Tajikistan here I come. The Pamir Highway also known as the Roof of the World attracts cyclists from around the world with it's seemingly untouched and uninhabited landscape, high altitude mountain lakes, breath taking views of surrounding mountains and the charming and hospitable Pamiri people. The Pamir Highway, running from Osh to Dushanbe, is the second highest international road in the world, second to the Karakoram Highway connecting China and Pakistan.

Once again, the Kyrgyz immigration was not much more than a few trailers and a gate in the mountains. 'No drugs or weapons?" - Kyrgyz immigration/customs, this was a ridiculous question, it would be the equivalent of smuggling hash into Amsterdam. I read in the 'Lonely Looser' (my 52 yr old German friend termed the popular travel guide) that 50% of the Tajik economy was thought to be somehow involved with the opium/heroin drug trade from their Afghan neighbors. 50% ! So I kind of looked at the customs officer with a 'seriously?' look and I was stamped out of Kyrgyzstan..then came my first introduction to the roads of Tajikistan. It was tortuous, the road was super steep and sandy, the going was extremely slow and I was beginning to wonder if I would make it 20 km to the Tajik immigration. Luckily at some point, I topped out on a mountain pass and cruised the remaining distance downhill to immigration. When I arrived at the gate the guard, a kid who couldn't have been over 18 holding an AK 47, took a quick look at me and turned his head away from me. I passed a Swiss cyclist a few hours earlier who said that the Tajik border guards demanded money from him or else they would pull everything from his bags in search for drugs; corruption runs deep here. The Swiss guy also gave me a map of the Pamir's in exchange for some Kyrgyz som. So I sat at the Tajik border for some 15 minutes waiting for this guard to acknowledge my presence, I started to go under the gate until I realized he was pointing his AK 47 at me. I retracted my steps...he walked over and demanded I give him cigarettes, dingy or vodka. I reached in my bag and handed him my passport, he ended up folding in the end and opening the gate but a firm stance and a 30 minute wait was required.

So I'm in Tajikistan, one of the poorest of the ex-Soviet countries. The Lonely Looser says that their GDP is less than a Hollywood movie and I also read in a Time article that 50% of Tajik's economy is based on remittances, immigrant workers sending money back to the country. So needless to say, Tajikistan doesn't exactly have a lot of money to spare.

So I started cycling through the Eastern Pamirs, which was extremely dry, deserty and remote. There were no signs of life, except for one village located in the middle of nowhere that I passed on the way to Karakul Lake. Maybe 1 or 2 cars would pass me each day along with a handful of motorcyclists and the feeling of remoteness and utter detachment from life was liberating. I pitched my tent on the roof of the world, playing Bob Dylan on my IPOD speakers, cooking spaghetti, all without encountering a soul....it was a beautiful experience.

So I cycled to Kara-Kul Lake, a beautiful crater lake at 13,000 ft. The majority of people from the Tajik border to this point were Kyrgyz people trapped by the crazy borders established from the Soviet madness, so I could still speak some elementary Kyrgyz with most of the people. I ended up spending the night in a yurt with a local family. The family had nothing more than shear chai (bitter milk tea) and naan (bread) to eat, which I later came to find out that most Pamiri people somehow live on nothing but bread, butter, milk and tea. I wrote in my journal later that night, 'Man cannot live on bread alone.....unless your Tajik'. Seriously, that is all they exist on.....and they don't look extremely malnourished. However I've been cycling some 8 hours and my body was beginning to eat itself from the inside, so I was desperate to get something a little more substantial in my body. So I had to escape the family for a few hours and cook a big pot of spaghetti to calm my growling stomach, I felt selfish.

Karakul Lake

The Kyrgyz family that I stayed with at Karakul Lake

The next day I climbed over the largest pass on the Pamir highway, 4600 m (15,090 ft), and breezed down the backside of the pass into an even more desolate landscape. I arrived in the first real 'town', Murghab, the next afternoon and quickly realized that there was nothing in this crap town for me save some snicker bars from 2005 and some Russian pasta. I hit the road after a quick food resupply, an exchange of money and a quick meal of shishlek (minced meat on a stick) and samsa (oven baked mutton pastries, basically the same as indians samosas). I was desperate for a rest day as I had been cycling strong for almost 14 days over some steep and terrible roads and my body was begging for a break. So I cycled about 20 km outside of town and found a beautiful campsite alongside a meandering stream (once again in the middle of nowhere). I immediately got naked and submerged myself into this frigid stream, my first cleaning in almost 2 weeks. Once again it was just me and Dylan, singing songs and smiling. No cars, no people, no animals, just me and the mountains. I took the rest of the afternoon to wash clothes, read, relax and soak in the beauty of this barren landscape.

Just me and Bob

So I awoke refreshed with some clean clothes and started to cycle towards Alichur. That must have been the cue for the headwind because it blew and blew and blew until I was sick, tired and burnt from the wind. I was only able to cycle some 80 brutal km per day and when I finally reached Alichur, my body was glowing red and I felt like I had been skiing all day, I slept for some 12 hours that night and most of my dreams involved me floating or flying around....I was beat.

Windy times call for desperate measures

I then began to cycle towards the Wakhan Corridor, an extremely isolated region on the southern border of Tajikistan separated from Afghanistan only by a river. I cycled for 2 days in the middle of absolutely nowhere, turning away from the main Pamir Highway, crossing the Kargush Pass and dropping into the Wakhan Corridor. This was possible the highlight of my Tajikistan travels....the first views of the Hindu Kush mountain range came into view and stole my breath. I was once again in the middle of nowhere, with maybe 2 cars passing me each day. I pitched my tent in yet another picture perfect location.

The next morning I cycled the remaining high and remote stretch before dropping into the Wakhan Valley, at this point the terrain drastically changed from uninhabited dry, crunchy, sandy, remote, prickly landscape to inhabited, irrigated, green, lush, beautiful, full of trees landscape. After about 25 switchbacks, I dropped directly into the first village, Langar. There was some sort of Muslim holiday and subsequent celebration going on and I was waved into a large feast and party full of Karaoke and dancing.

Party in Langar

After a few plates of pilof and chai, I thanked my kind hosts and jumped back on my bicycle. Soaking in the new lush oasis environment full of tall trees, green gardens and Afghanistan only about 100 feet across the river, I was mesmerized. When I arrived in Zong, only about 5 km from Langar, I was easily lured off my bike by a group of kids playing soccer on one of the most beautiful soccer pitches I've ever witnessed, even though it was only made of sand and trees. Tired of cycling and ready for some human interaction, I threw my bike down and joined in on the game. The players slowly increased in number as each kid returned home from their work in the fields and by 6 o'clock we had a proper game, keeper and all. It was an awesome experience and extremely well needed after such a long time cycling in the middle of nowhere. I pitched my tent on the far end of the soccer field and was invited inside by every family in the village, I stuck to my picturesque tent spot. This was my first day in the Wakhan Valley and what a first impression.

The kids that lured me off my bike (we had a danceoff shortly after)

Then it turned into a full sided match (Hindu Kush in background)

I continued along the Wakhan Valley for the next few days, jaw dropped and eyes indulging in the candy of mountains that surrounded the area. The Hindu Kush mountain range was gigantic, steep and powder coated. I slowed down my cycling and only logged some 40 km each day. The scenery was just so beautiful and almost every person that I passed invited me inside for chai. So in between stopping for pictures and drinking chai with all the locals, I only had a few hours to cycle each day. I was still learning Tajik words as I cycled so I was slowly able to communicate a little more each day.

Being alone, I was invited into many houses for chai, a place to sleep or sometimes just a break from the heat....some were wonderful and positive experiences, some absolute nightmares.

Example 1: One family invited me inside for chai and the father must have passed away only a few years earlier. The son, sporting two thumbs on one hand, poured me a cup of shear chai, half in my cup half on the carpet. The cat immediately started licking the moist carpet and the kid football punted the cat across the room. He then opened the closet (the closet!) and pulled out a carcass/skeleton of a sheep....'Ghoust!' he yelled, then with a butter knife in hand proceeded to whack and pull each bone/rib from the carcase, there was no meat remaining on this thing....when the plate was full of meatless bones, the mother took the plate into a back room and 5 minutes later returned with a plate of deep fried bones with a few flakes of skin . I was trying my best to be respectful and thankful for their kindness so I grabbed a bone and started to gnaw on the marrow. It was like something out of a Hitchcock film and the next day my stomach was torn to shreds.

My hospitable yet terrifying hosts (kid on left sporting two thumbs and licking my snickers wrapper)

Example 2: I was sitting on a bridge after filtering some water from a river when a girl and some kids approached me. The girl spoke good enough english and invited me inside for chai. I sat with the family of 6, showed them pictures of my travels, pointed out where I was from on a map of the world, even carried on a somewhat decent conversation about my profession, my travels, and my marital status. Once the father found out I was single and from America, he grabbed his two daughters, 16 and 18 yrs old, put one under each arm and sort of symbolically offered each of them to me for marriage, both of the girls were smiling in approval. I smiled, finished my chai and told them I'd think about it.....

My two brides: Sweet 16 on left, 18 on right

These Pamiri people mostly follow Islam but not they're not the traditional Muslim's that you would encounter elsewhere in the world. They are mostly Ismali's which means that they don't follow the traditional Islamic world of mosques and prayer 5 times a day. Instead of mosques, they have a community prayer building and a community leader who leads everyone in prayer. They are much less conservative in regards to dress and tradition, and as a result are much more appealing to me (and the rest of the world) than the super serious Islamic world that surrounds them. Prince Agha Khan is their giver of bread and consequently their religious leader.

From my initial marriage proposition with sweet 16 and 'legal in America' 18, it was like the entire Tajik community got on the telephone and informed the girls that a single American cyclist was on his way to their town. I had girls practically hanging on my bicycle, begging me to rescue them from a future life of housekeeping and take them to the promise land of greener pastures. It was an interesting predicament, I could only imagine my parents reaction if I arrived in Hartsfield Airport with a Tajik bride...and best of all, she speaks absolutely no English!

More to come but for now, you know the drill....pictures

Tajik kids with Afghan mountains in background

Tajik family in Zong

Transporting Grandma in the sidecar

Hindu Kush

My first glance at the Hindu Kush mountains

Kyrgyzstan, the infinite frontier of grass

2009-09-14T19:23:00.000+06:00

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

The view from the top just before the black clouds rolled in

This Kyrgyz family invited me to their picnic on the side of the mountain,
I sent them 10 copies of this picture

The youth of the yurt camp

Just before Sary Tash (round 2)

British motorcyclists near the Tajik border

This guy stopped in the middle of the road and demanded that I take his picture...so I did

I played postman by delivering a package from the Sultanovas (Bishkek family)
to their family friends in Aly (southern Kyrgyzstan)

Kyrgyzstan part 2....the saga continues

2009-09-08T08:00:00.000+06:00

6.15 - 6.25

I awoke from the random field where the truck had dropped us off only a few hours before, my tarp was neatly folded and Peter was nowhere in sight. I mounted the bicycle, sleep deprived and a little disoriented from the truck ride the night before, and cycled towards Bishkek. I wanted to apply for my Tajikistan visa today as it was said to take a week to process. Whenever I visit an embassy I try not to look and smell like a stinky cyclist that just spent the night in a field. So when I arrived in Bishkek, I threw some water on my face, patted down my hair and changed into my 'nice' clothes (slacks I bought in China for $2.25 and short sleeve plaid dress shirt from Thailand). The Lonely Planet describes the Tajik embassy as being 'lost in suburbia' and that turned out to be right on the money. After nearly 4 hours of cycling through endless neighborhoods and asking taxi drivers who all replied with shrugged shoulders, I threw in the towel and bought an ice cream. Sitting on the sidewalk, sweating profusely all over my 'nice' clothes (looking more like a speed junkey than a classy gent) eating my ice cream, full of frustration, I heard 'Hey!'. It was Peter who was returning from the Tajik embassy, he pointed to a side road just down from my sidewalk hangout. Located at the end of a residential cul-de-sac was the infamous Tajik embassy. I rang the bell just in time as the consulate was packing her bags, she kindly accepted my visa application and I left the embassy with a smile on my face.

So I had 4 days to kill before my visa would be ready. Bishkek is a semi-modern city, surrounded by large mountains and nomadic farmers, it's quite interesting to see trolley cars intermixed with donkeys, both of which are carrying people from A to B. I'm not exactly a city person and I was eager to explore the surrounding mountains of Bishkek, so I took a side trip to Ala-Archa Canyon just south of Bishkek. I cycled only about 50 kilometers from the city but gained nearly 1500 meters of elevation....it was steep. So I landed at a beautiful campsite at the start of the canyon.

Ala-Archa Canyon near Bishkek

I spent the next day hiking through Ala-Archa canyon all the way back to a winter ski hut. I then returned back to my campsite, mounted the Surly and enjoyed loosing all of those 1500 meters of elevation from the previous day. It was about half way through the hike that I remembered that the Kyrgyz family from Bishkek that had passed me on the road and invited me to be a guest in their home were going to return to Bishkek today. So when I arrived in Bishkek I rang Merim, little did I know at the time but this was to be the start of a wonderful friendship with some of the kindest Kyrgyz people in the world, the Sultanovas.

They met me at a Gamburger restaurant (there is no 'H' sound in Russian) and I followed them in their car, me on my bike, to their house. Once again the red carpet was rolled out and they showed me the utmost kindness and hospitality, they treated me like family and we instantly bonded. The family consisted of a spunky english speaking mother, a devoted and successful business-man and father, 3 daughters about my age and 1 younger son. They all spoke extremely good english, the oldest daughter, Ilona, lived in Switzerland and was fluent in both french and english. Unlike most Kyrgyz families I had encountered up to this point, they were extremely relaxed in religion and traditions, i.e. the women were allowed to dress freely and without head scarves, they could also eat and talk with me at diner....this was a huge change from the male dominated Kyrgyzstan that I'd experienced thus far. We enjoyed wonderful conversations, probably the best I've engaged in since Kashgar, we ate huge meals, told jokes, drank Russian vodka, laughed, had dance parties, traded dance moves, shared stories from the road, they showed me around Bishkek, searched for things in the bazaar, never allowing me to spend a penny. I ended up staying 5 days at their house, somewhat waiting for my visa, somewhat feeling the most comfortable I've felt on this trip.

The Sultanovas (aka my Bishkek harem)

When the time finally came to pick up my visa and head down the road, I didn't really want to leave these wonderful people and they were begging me to stay....so I spent another 2 days with them. When my time had finally expired, I had to pry myself away from the smiles and laughs. I said goodbye to my amazing hosts and thanked them for all of their kindness and hit the road, munching on the kilo of cherries that they offered me for the road.

Prying myself away from the kindness

So I cycled from Bishkek (the capital) to Lake Issyk Kul, the tenth largest lake in the world and the second largest alpine lake in the world. Issyk Kul used to be a huge destination for Russian vacationers but has declined since the end of the Soviet Union. So I reached the west end of the lake, found a locals beach, procured a plate of beefsteak then stripped down to my swimmies and went swimming (aka bathing in the cycling world). The lake was beautiful, surrounded by mountains to the north and south...I ended up pitching my tent right on the beach and fell asleep to the sound of water rolling back and forth along the shore.

Lake Issyk-Kul

The next morning I said goodbye to my beach utopia and began cycling south towards another alpine lake, Song Kol. Some days of cycling passed, a few more beefsteaks consumed, a few more pristine campsites enjoyed, then I began the rough ascent from Sary Bulak to Song Kol. The road was a torturous 65 kilometers of steep sandy crap. I had to push my bike through some sections, probably the toughest road I'd encountered up to this point, I even cycled through a huge section of snow just before reaching the pass into Song Kol (this was June 23rd). I had climbed nearly 700 meters of elevation on crap roads, I topped the pass and beautiful Song Kol came into view.

I cycled towards the lake when tons of kids came running to the road. I stopped and was persuaded to pitch my tent near a families yurt. It was rather cold, as the summer hadn't exactly reached this part of the mountains, and the family invited me inside for chai. I enjoyed a few cups of chai, made some attempts at the usual bland conversation when I noticed a car pulling up to the yurt. I didn't pay much attention to the car but the next thing I know, two familiar faces pop into the view and to my surprise, it was Merim, Ilona and Ilona's husband, Phillip, from Bishkek. Mind you I'm in the absolute middle of nowhere, not expecting to see anything remotely familiar except the blue sky above. So the Sultanova's had picked up Phillip from the airport who had just arrived from Switzerland, then they decided to go plan a vacation to Song Kol in conjunction with my visit. So we spent the next day riding horses around the mountains that surround lake Song Kol, even riding horses in Song Kol!

Riding horses into the drink

They 'invited me' (this was my first introduction to the wonderful term) for the horse ride, once again not allowing me to spend a penny. We spent that night in a yurt, just the four of us, bundled up in blankets and telling jokes until we fell asleep. It was really great to see them again and the next morning we said our farewells for a second time and I mounted the bike. 5 minutes down the road, I was already missing them.

Saying goodbye for the second time

So I cycled along the perimeter of the lake, from the north to the south shore, passing seasonal, semi-nomadic Kyrgyz families living in yurts and taking advantage of the endless green natural resources for their livestock. This was the beginning of my epic offroad adventure......more on that to come but first more pictures.

Look how small the kid is compared to the horse

Kyrgyz kids around Song Kol

Our beautiful horses at Song Kol

Big Guns!

A Kyrgyz family and their yurt around Song Kol

This kid reminded me of Chunk from the Goonies

Kyrgyzstan

2009-08-26T22:40:00.000+06:00

6.08 - 6.14

So after 7 km of somewhat difficult cycling through no mans land, I pulled into Kyrgyzstan immigration/customs. The Kyrgyz immigration office was basically two trailers in the middle of nowhere.
"Do you speak Russian?" - Kyrgyz immigration officer
"Uhhhh, no"

So a stamp was delivered and after registering in a few books, I was on my way. At the Chinese border I met Peter, a German cyclist who had been cycling the majority of his 52 years (some 100,000 km). He had just cycled through China some 3 months from Hong Kong, so we kept each other company while we enjoyed the beginning stretches of Kyrgyzstan. It was cold, the scenery was drastically different from the last few days in China. The Pamir range of Tajikistan came into view, which was absolutely breathtaking.

The last 4 days of China were mostly dry deserty mountains with every type of vegetation trying to stick into my skin and poke a hole in my tire. Now it was grassy rolling hills with white giants in the background. All of the road signs were now in Cyrillic (Russian), people were talking to me in Russian and I had absolutely no idea what they were saying (nothing new), I was indeed finally out of China. The road degraded from beautiful asphalt to noncompacted stones and gravel. I chose to bypass the majority of this washboard nightmare of a road and cycled mostly on the grassy plain that surrounded the road. The views were absolutely incredible

Finally standing on grass (Pamir Mountains in background)

We cycled until sunset and were waved into a house by an english speaking Kyrgyz girl. This was my first encounter with Kyrgyz people and their unprecedented hospitality. They cooked us diner, made us a bed of blankets on the floor and charged us absolutely nothing. I spent the night eating potatoes and naan, drinking chai and writing down Kyrgyz words to study while I cycled.

This is the house we stayed at

So I continued to Sary Tash, a beautiful town that connects Kyrgyzstan with Tajikistan. After a meal of 'Akaretchka' (Chicken in Russian) and Monteu (dumplings) I continued cycling towards Osh. The roads in Kyrgyzstan were much different than those in China. Most of the grades were a steep 12% and the roads were mostly dirt intermixed with rocks. The Chinese were rebuilding the road but were still a long way from completion. This was an epic day, the terrain turned into beautiful grassy rolling hills, the color green overwhelmed my sights. Kyrgyzstan has only been a country for some 19 years, previously part of the Soviet Union. Kyrgyz people are mostly semi-nomadic, like Tibetans, during the summer months they live in yurts high in the mountains to let their livestock graze on the endless grassy resources and in the winter they relocate to mud huts and houses in warmer areas. The average Kyrgyz person makes a whopping $300 per year. The population of Kyrgyzstan is said to be outnumbered 10 times in number by sheep, horses and donkeys. Kyrgyz kids are put on horses at early ages, I saw many kids who couldn't have been over 6 years old riding gigantic horses.

So I cycled some 250 km towards Osh, through some beautiful terrain. Along the road I was passed by a car with a Kyrgyz family on vacation in the mountainous region of Ali. They invited me to be a guest in their home if I was ever in Bishkek, the capital of Kyrgyzstan.

It was about 6 pm, 2 days after leaving Sary Tash and the black clouds came rolling in. I was still 40 km from Osh so I decided to ask a local herder if I could pitch my tent underneath his barn. He kind of gave me this confused look like 'why would you want to do that?' then said 'dorma' and pointed me inside his house. The family and I instantly bonded. I saw a mangled bicycle hanging from the wall of their all-in-one barn/kitchen/diner room. I pulled out my tools and Neuron (the youngest son) and I spent a few hours repairing the bicycle until he was racing around the farm with a huge smile on his face. This family was great, they made me a bed of blankets, they hinted that I needed a shave, then proceeded to straight-razor shave my face, they killed a sheep for me and we had a feast of 'pilof' (rice) and sheep. All of this without being able to speak a lick of Kyrgyz or Russian.

The faces of kindness from the all-in-one room

Refreshed and on fire for life, I pulled into Osh and spent a few days enjoying Beefsteaks, a Russian dish of mashed potatoes, macaroni, and rice topped with a beef patty then topped with gravy and a fried egg and as always accompanied by a naan and bottomless chai. Beefsteaks turned out to be a big hit for me in Central Asia.

I had heard a lot of wonderful things about Tajikistan and the beauty of the Pamir Highway, so after some brief research I decided I needed to get a Tajikistan visa in Bishkek. The sooner the better so from Osh I decided I would begin to cycle towards Bishkek, some 800 km away, then hitch the rest of the way to time my arrival with the opening of the embassy on Monday (currently Friday). So I left Osh after another lovely beefsteak meal and headed towards Jalalabad. About 5 km into the cycle, a semi truck passes me with it's horn completely laid on. I kind of shrugged it off but noticed that the truck was also toting a bicycle in addition to the gigantic boulders on the flatbed. The truck then put on the brakes. "Get in"...it was Peter, the German cyclist, sitting shotgun. He was also on his way to Bishkek to sort out the 'bloddy visas' and he repeatedly put it. So another bicycle was added to the cargo and away we went, bumping down the road, trying to keep our teeth from chattering. The truck consisted of a Kyrgyz man and his nephew. I sat behind the front seats with the nephew, constantly ducking to avoid getting flagged by the Kyrgyz police. That brings me to another very interesting fact about Kyrgyzstan...the police are incredibly corrupt. They don't really do anything all day except flag cars from the side of the road and demand that they pay them money. It's actually quite funny, sometimes you are pulled over 5 times on the same street and the people don't seem to mind.

So we only rode about 4 hours towards Bishkek when the semi took a turn into a neighborhood, we pulled into a house and cut the engine; he had brought us to his house. We were then introduced to his family and they prepared us a feast of rice, sheep, naan and chai. They made us a bed of blankets and I was once again astonished by the unprecedanted hospitality of these people....this would never happen in the States, bring two random stinky strangers into your home and roll out the red carpet.

So we left the next morning, full of chai, bread and chocolates. We thanked the family for all of their kindness and began rolling down the road. The landscape was astonishingly green and beautiful.

We weren't exactly racing down the road and the police continually stopped us for bribes, so when we did finally arrive in Bishkek it was 4 am. The truck wasn't going through town so they dropped us off on the side of the road about 15 km from town (never once asking for money). Peter didn't have a tent so he just wrapped himself up in my tarp and slept in the field...52 years old. "You know another good place to sleep?.......a cemetary" - Peter said just before being dropped off in the field. Peter once slept in a jail cell in Africa because he had nowhere to sleep. He just walked into a jail and asked if he could sleep there.

The Kyrgyz truck driver and his nephew at their home

I love the kid's expression in the suit

From Kyrgyzstan with Love

Peter cycling on grass just before Sary Tash

Sary Tash

You can get a good view of the butcher by sticking your head up a t-bone's butt....wait

Out of China and into Kyrgyzstan

2009-08-26T17:25:00.000+06:00

5.27 - 06.08
So I caught a train from Dunhuang (Gansu province) to Urumqi (the capital of the Xinjiang province) to arrange for my Kyrgyzstan visa. Like I mentioned before, I knew absolutely nothing about Kyrgyzstan except that it had a gigantic lake and it was said to be beautiful. So while waiting for my visa in Urumqi, I spent tons of time on the internet researching possible routes and planning my next move. I also enjoyed my first Pizza Hut since Thailand!

This was my pizza and the sign at the register. So much of China is lost in translation.

I met a Chinese man outside of Pizza Hut who owned a bike shop so we instantly bonded (of course we couldn't speak a word to each other) so he and I hit every hotel in the city trying to scout out a cheap spot for me to lay my head for the next 5 nights. What we found was absolutely perfect, a cheap hotel just outside the city with nice rooms....that night loud sounds awoke me from my sleep and it was at this point that I realized I was staying in a Chinese whore house, offering rooms by the hour to Chinese business men.

I really enjoyed Urumqi. This was my first introduction to the Uyghur people of China, a muslim minority that don't really have any business in China. They are more closely related to their persian neighbors in Central Asia but were swallowed by the expanding borders of China (command and conquer!). Their culture was unique and classy, they ate kebabs and rice dishes topped with lamb, the men wore stylish hats, rode on donkeys and congregated in circles, the women wore dresses and head scarves, they looked completely different from the Huan chinese that we'd experienced for the past 2 months. It was in Urumqi that I met two really cool people: a girl and her father from Qurghonteppa, Tajikistan. Fazilat, the Tajik girl, spoke extremely good english and the three of us enjoyed a wonderful night of exploring the city, eating lamb and learning about each others culture. They invited me to be a guest in their house if I was ever in southern Tajikistan.

So once my Kyrgyzstan visa was completed, I jumped on a train to Kashgar. Just outside the train station, I grabbed a quick bite before starting the boarding formalities. I sat down with what I thought to be yet another bowl of 'Mien Tay Ah' (noodle soup) but after a few difficult chews I looked into my bowl and identified something from biology class....I was indeed eating stomach. I almost vomited right there....I stood up and walked into the train station.

Kashgar is a major crossroads for cyclist, a central stop for people traveling along the silk road. I met a ton of cyclist in Kashgar, more than I'd met in the 3 months of cycling thus far! Most of them were on major cycling trips, having left from their front door in Europe and continuing east through China or south through Pakistan. Kashgar was even more rich with Uyghur culture than Urumqi. At this point I had almost spent 2 full months in China and I was eager to see, taste, experience something new. So I started the 250 km cycle towards the Kyrgyz border.

I reached the Chinese border (Irkestam Pass) 2.5 days later, excited to have started my solo adventure on the right foot and having all of my newborn ducks in a row. This border has only been open for a few years and was closed on the weekends. So I spent Sunday night in one of the most disgusting towns so far in China (and that's saying something!). "Tseu Sol?", I asked (Where's the bathroom?). They pointed me around the back of the building and I discovered landmines of turds lining the wall of the building. It was anywhere you pleased. Right on par for China!

So the next morning I got my things and headed for Chinese immigration. 'Zank you' from the Chinese immigration officer, a stamp followed and I was finally out of China! 2 months - April 8th to June 8th - were spent crossing China. I then began the 7 km of cycling in 'no man's land' between the Chinese and Kyrgyzstan border. Let's get it going!

Here's some pics from my last days in China:

Chinese checkers

Lagmien (noodles) and PBR

Making 'Mien Tay Ah' in Urumqi

Did I mention much of China is lost in translation?
This sign was over the urinal in the mosque in Kashgar

Colorful mixture of nuts and dried fruits in Urumqi

More noodle soup

My Uyghur friend Iziz selling polo on the street

Iziz and his daughter

Chinese people eat the weirdest things.
Tarantulas, scorpions, millipedes...

even deep friend starfish

These guys were super cool

The Vitality of a Southern Boy Turned Cyclist

2009-08-25T22:47:00.000+06:00

So I must first apologize for not being a responsible blogger. With my last posting over 3 months ago, I've received emails from people asking if everything is ok, where I am and am I still alive? So first things first, I am indeed alive and well, quite more than that actually, I'm absolutely fantastic, a glowing ball of energy rolling down the road on two wheels. My smile seems to grow by the day, my legs are solid steel, my buns firmer than ever and my bowels are crazy as all hell.....I love it!

So I guess first I owe an explanation for why I haven't posted anything in over 3 months. In a nutshell here's the deal. Shortly after my last posting we reached Dunhuang, China (Gansu Province) which is where our route intersected train tracts. Our Chinese visas were within 2 weeks of expiring and the 1000 km of Taklamakan desert didn't exactly sound enticing to race across. So we decided to take a train through what remained of China (the gigantic Xinjiang province, which comprises 1/6th of China's landmass). However it was at this point that Spencer and Breckan, running low on time before the start of law school in August, decided to bypass the Central Asian countries and head directly south from Kashgar. So Dunhuang turned out to be a fork in the road for the rest of 'Team 7' and I, they would turn left in Kashgar and cycle south towards Pakistan. I would embark on a solo adventure and cycle west from Kashgar towards Kyrgyzstan, a country I knew absolutely nothing about (I couldn't even spell it). So we said our farewells, thanked each other for the time shared and the awesome memories and we departed in our own directions. (This was May 27th).

So I was to continue the rest of my trip alone (while singing 'Here I go again on my own!'). This was met with both excitement and anxiety as my two weeks of solo cycling in China was actually quite adventuresome but somewhat solemn. I actually wrote myself some words of encouragement just after I left the rest of the crew, a sort of pep talk before embarking on my solo journey (link to journal entry). The only problem was that my mother, the sweetest woman on the face of the earth, would have worried herself sick if she knew I was traveling alone, especially through a country with 'stan' in the title. So to save her some well deserved sleep (that she survived my childhood is deserving inside itself), I decided to lay low in the online world and I put the blog on temporary hiatus. Even my mother admits that she'd rather not know some things....but now I'm hoping to have gained some credibility for staying alive these past 3 months.

So that's the reason for me not posting for the past 3 months, as with China blocking blogger. My mother always taught me to stick with anything that I started and this is certainly no exception. So I'll release a few blogs from each country that I've been to, a sort of time release to prevent overwhelming your eyes and inboxes while maintaining the whole excitement of the unknown for my present experiences.

There's lots to catch up on....

Adventure Cyclists

2009-05-28T08:51:00.002+06:00

[So I've gone back and fixed this post which was during a time when China has blocked blogger and I had someone very dear to me post it via email - Kyle 9.05.09]

5.20.09

Hey yall!

So from time to time China, in it's infinite communistic wisdom, has been know to censor certain information from it's general population (case in point; preventing the entire country of China from ever accessing Youtube!). This week it appears as if they have a personal vendetta against Blogger (with sighs of frustration) Nonetheless I'm itching to share some stories....so here we go.

These past 10 days have been nothing short of hardcore and as such, we have decided to change our descriptor from cycle tourists to adventure cyclists. We have been in a nonstop battle with every possible element (sickness, extreme cold, sand blizzards, howling winds, near famine, snow storms, insane altitudes, the crappiest roads ever constructed...just to name a few). I think the theme of this posting will be based on quotes from these past 2 weeks that have stuck out in my head....

"What kind of hotel collects money at 11:30 at night?" - Spencer

Our hotel decided to raise the price from 35 yuan ($5) per room to 35 yuan per bed and strategically collect the money from us at 11:30 at night (after we repeatedly tried to pay for the room earlier that night). We got the police involved and the man firmly stood his ground without budging, given the fact that we were comfortably wrapped in blankets next to our personal yak dung fire. We then did something that no one would have ever imagined 4 foreigners would have done....we got out from under the covers, we got our money back, we packed our bags and we entered the blizzard of a snow storm that awaited us outside at 14,000 ft. We jumped on our bicycles and with our headlamps barely illuminating the road, we cycled to the outskirts of 'town', until we found a field to set up our tents.

Us: 1 Hotel trying to rip off foreigners: 0

"That's the beauty of being self sufficient" - Spencer

This is where we ended up

So we spent the past 10 days cycling through No Mans Land and by that I mean the sticks, the middle of nowhere, the boonies, absolutely no one would hear a tree if it were to fall where we'd cycled (if trees actually grew at this altitude). The road was noncompacted mushy gravel/sand and instead of the usual going up the hill and back down the hill routine, we just topped out and stayed at the top of the mountain/plateau. Whereas before we would top out at 15,000 ft and all stop for a picture and maybe a victory snack, we didn't even think about stopping because the entire 400 km was a huge series of passes that fluctuated between 14,500 ft and 16,000 ft and the wind and horizontal snow was relentless (not to mention the cold). So here we are in the middle of nowhere bundled up in every piece of clothing we have (we did just cycle pass the equator a few months ago), with a gailing wind blowing snow in our faces at an extremely high altitude. It was like trying to cycle on the beach....

One night we set up camp near some bluffs to protect us from the wind. That night ended up being a battle against one of the nastiest sand/snow storms I've ever experienced in my life. The wind literally filled all of our tents with sand (I was bailing my tent out by filling up a cup and emptying the sand in a ziplock baggie). Then the wind ripped my rain fly completely off my tent.....so try to picture this.....I made a barricade inside of my tent with my panniers to protect me from the sand. Then my rainfly flew off (literally ripped my stakes out of the ground), so I've got one arm outside of my tent, preventing my rainfly from flying into the abyss, the rest of my body is crouched behind my internal barricade with my eyes squinting from the blinding sand storm. Then came the snow....or more like hail....and I had about 15 seconds to reattach my rainfly and makeshift some stakes before the snow absolutely pelted us. It was one of the longest and hardest nights we've had and we awoke the next morning feeling like we'd lost a nasty fight with a gravitron machine. Here's what we looked like in the morning.

"I'm taking the next truck to Golmud" - Breckan

It didn't help that we were barely able to pedal 40 km per day due to the nasty road and even nastier weather, which made it seem like we'd never get out of that stretch of vast nothingness. On top of the weather, there were no more than 2 vehicles passing us each day and none of them were willing to stop for our waving arms (still not exactly sure why they wouldn't stop....it's not like 4 people on bicycles were going to rob them or anything). Regardless we were in it for the longhaul. On top of that...we were carrying all of our own food, which tasted more or less like cardboard.

"I thought China was going to be nothing but eggrolls and sweet and sour chicken"

"I haven't found a single egg roll nor Mongolian beef...I'm actually surprised if the restaurant has fried rice!"

"You know the food is bad when you're in China and you crave Panda Express!" - Spencer

This was our conversation after inviting ourselves into a Tibetan house, where they put us up in their barn with drying yak dung and their ancient grandmother who had a cough that sounded like death itself. Here we are in the barn

So after 10 days of slugging through some of the worst cycling environment possible, with our backs and butts aching from the neverending ruts in the roads and our faces chapped and windburnt, we finally reached pavement!

It was a glorious moment and we were so excited that the next day, Charlie and I pedaled some 120 miles and in the process dropped off the Tibetan plateau and into the surrounding desert (enter instant warmth). It was the first time we've dropped below 14,000 ft in nearly 2 weeks and accordingly, it was the first time I'd take off my patagonia polypro longsleeve to expose my forearms in nearly 2 weeks. I'd been riding with long john bottoms and 3 layers of wool socks, those were instantly peeled off and we were back to riding with shorts and t-shirts within 1 hour of dropping off the frozen mountainous terrain. We also saw our first trees in almost two weeks.

So we reached Golmud which was surprisingly not a lot like Vegas. In the middle of the desert (and the middle of nowhere) there is a quaint little town with 2.5 million people and best of all....a Dicos. It doesn't take much to please cycle tourist....I mean adventure cyclist....just a cheap hotel, a decent grocery store and access to something that resembles western food.

"You know the toilets are bad in China when you would rather squat in a ditch than use the toilets" - Charlie

I've cycled a grand total of 2415 miles thus far...and we've just begun!

And once again, here's some pictures....

Some random Tibetans and me doing the baseball pose

Tibetan kids that surrounded Charlie and I while we were fixing our bikes

Tibetan Ninja

The polygamist Tibetan rocking my headlamp and shades

One of the polygamist's kids

Charlie and I helped these yak herders (kids) get this yaks head dislodged from the fence

My bike sitting high on top of the Tibetan plateau

Me and some Tibetan (they know how to rock a stylish hat)

Four cute kids

2009-05-10T12:37:00.000+06:00

"The best part about traveling by bicycle is not traveling by bicycle" - Spencer

While this is true most of the time (hiking through beautiful gorges, exploring monasteries) this time it turned out not to be the case.....

So in Litang we met Christian, an Austrian cyclist, who was on an epic adventure from Australia back to Austria by bicycle his website (it's in German...but the pictures are nice). He had been cycling solo for the past 7 months and happily agreed to accompany us for the next 4 days until we reached Garze. So we rode as a group of 5.

Christian added to the mix

A Tibetan town nestled in a beautiful valley

When riding in such a large group, you stick out like a sore thumb, which isn't exactly what we were hoping to accomplish as we were stopped at almost every military checkpoint. (At this point, we're permitted to be in such areas but our proximity to Tibet is such that each checkpoint consists of ridiculously long paperwork and stupid speculation intermixed with thumb twiddling). We prefer ducking under the checkpoint bars which saves us time and energy.

Stopped at yet another military checkpoint (it's a town spectacle)

So we arrived in Garze. Garze has undoubtedly had some recent riots because the entire town was on lock down. Cops were numbered on every corner, Breckan couldn't send mail back to the states, the banks wouldn't exchange US dollars and when we walked into the internet cafe, we were told that 'Monks and Foreigners could not use the internet'. Ok......

So our visas were going to expire within the next few days (hard to believe we'd been in China almost a month!) and we needed to extend our visas ASAP as the overstay penalty is about $70 per day. We took a trip to the Tourist Police department and were told that the closest place to extend our visas was some 400 km away, which meant we had to take a bus. We then asked the police man if we could use the internet and he wrote us a permission slip. I felt like we were getting excused from Social Studies class for a dentists visit....he then told us that we could use the internet for one hour and we couldn't tell any foreigners about the 'situation in Garze'.

So we had to take a bus....we arrived at the bus station the next morning at 6 a.m. (let the chaos ensue). We could find no bus to take us to Yushu, and on top of that most of our stomachs weren't feeling quite right, so after some frantic searching and trying to communicate with people through phrase books (most of which couldn't read anyway) we arrived at the conclusion that we would have to hire a van/minibus to take us there. So with as many complications as humanly possible (to put it lightly) our 4 bikes were strapped on top of a van and we were stuffed inside of said van with 17 large sacks of rice/barley and a little girl sitting on the console. (They know how to get every penny out of their trip as the pistons to space ratio was maxed out). We back of the van exploded open a few times, releasing all of our gear into the road. It was a hellacious trip and it ended with us being dropped off, not in the town which we had agreed on, but in another town where we could take another bus to our destination the next morning.

Packed like sardines and sick as dogs

That night was one of the longest nights of my entire life....somehow a tazmanian devil had made its way inside of my stomach and was wreaking some serious havoc on my insides. Almost like some deranged adolescent had somehow incorporated a blender with my innards and had his finger on the pulverize button all night long. I've had my fair share of sickness in my day, but never had I experienced anything like this before.

So needless to say, the bus ride the next morning was terrible. The bus topped out at 15,000 ft as my stomach tried to convince the deranged adolescent to take his finger off the blender. We finally arrived in Yushu and when we arrived at the office to extend our visas, we were told that they were 'out of paper' and would have to wait until Monday (currently Wednesday) to renew our visas. On top of that, our pockets were getting frighteningly low on cash and guess what....none of the ATMs worked and none of the banks would exchange US dollars. So we were broke, sick and about to overstay our visas (a slight predicament). So Breckan (being the brave soul and least sick) decided to take a 14 hour bus to Xining to resupply our money the next morning. The next morning came around, and Breckan was sick, so Spencer (being the brave soul that he is) took the 14 hour bus ride to resupply money. We were all bed struck with sickness and luckily we found a place that rented us a DVD player, and the visa/money predicament came as a blessing to help us recover from our sickness as there was no way we could continue riding (well I guess we could have....but it would have been disastrous)

So we started feeling somewhat better but the stomach problems persisted and after a week of rumbling stomachs and uncertainty passing gas, we decided that there was something living inside of our stomachs (maybe there was a tazmanian devil afterall). We prematurely diagnosed ourselves with Giardia (as the hospital had no way of testing for it) and after a fast run through the hospital, we were given about 500 pills that we were to take each day. I think this is how they diagnosed us; 'Your stomach hurts?' here's a pill for every type of stomach problem known to man since 1750. So we decided to take only the pills for Giardia (6 each day) and so far we're recovering right nice. Charlie pood his pants (sorry Charlie) but Spencer needed some vengeance. And we've caught up on about 25 movies, mostly Brad Pit collections, but hopefully all will go smoothly when we start riding tomorrow.....wish us luck. In the mean time, since I got such positive feedback from my last 'people' posting, here's some more people pictures....

A kid monk with my glasses (looks kind of like Matrix monk)

Tibetan girls in Garze

Chinese warrior on horse in Yushu

Tibetan girl who really wanted us to take her picture (we were sick beyond belief)

We gave these guys a bicycle tire patch for their flat motorcycle tire, they were grateful (grateful not depicted in photo...they brought their confused look instead)

Every kid in the neighborhood came out to watch us

I went to an English class in Litang and spoke/taught a classroom of Tibetan kids. It was a cool experience

I swear these people aren't outlaws from the wild west

All about the people

2009-04-29T12:06:00.000+06:00

So I really wanted to do a quick posting on the people that I've encountered along the way, as they are what's it's all about (and of course the food). I feel like pictures fill in where words simply fall short (and I'm in a sentimental mood). So here's to the people that have made my trip....

By the way, you can click on each picture to see the full size

Up This Hill and Down, Up this Hill Again

2009-04-28T15:31:00.001+06:00

So I've decided that the song that best describes my life these days is Up this Hill and Down by the Osborne Brothers...

"Up this Hill and Down, Up this hill again,
Up this Hill and Down, Up this hill again,
It's a mighty mighty long road, What aint got no end."

So as you're probably well aware, China and Tibet don't exactly have a romantic relationship (to put it lightly) and as a result, China has a tendency to prevent foreigners from traveling to certain regions of Tibet (namely the TAR). However, due to some quasi recent riots and a Tibetan anniversary, China has put the lock down on most Tibetan prefectures (prefectures basically meaning areas that contains a majority of Tibetan people) and closed down foreign travel within these regions (which basically accounts for most of western China). So after a beautiful hike in Tiger Leaping Gorge (where we met 2 of the coolest Israeli's to grace this planet), we were faced with a rather critical decision. Do we play it safe, jump on a bus and skirt around these Tibetan regions (which is extremely out of the way and much less beautiful) or do we press our luck and cycle some 400 km towards a Tibetan prefecture and risk being turned around away (which would result in loosing about a week in travel time). So over a plate of dumplings and some green tea, we decided to roll the dice and take our chances on Tibet.

4/21: We pressed north towards Shangri-La . We climbed for the majority of the day until we finally leveled out at 3200m (10,000 ft). This was the first time that we consistently cycled at this altitude and it showed as we stopped every 10 km to put on more clothes (it's funny writing this now as we had no idea how much elevation we would gain in the coming days). So we arrived in Shangri-La, which warmly welcomed us with plates of french toast (the real kind), yak steaks and chai tea (as we've learned to take advantage of food when it's actually available). Shangri-La is a central hub for foreigners traveling to Tibetan regions, so we heard all sorts of skepticism over our attempt to enter the Tibetan prefecture.

So after stocking up on food and warm clothes (I picked up a sweater and a pair of slacks for 19 yuan ($2.75 each), we pressed north towards the Yunnan/Sichuan border, where the success of our passage was in question. So we hit out first checkpoint (on 4/23) with some anxious emotions but after a quick glance at our passports we were told 'Zank You' and waved on through the gates. However we knew from recent reports that there were more checkpoint in our future, so we weren't entire in the clear. Then came the hills or more like one gigantic hill that never ended. We finally topped out at this pass:

We knew that we had at least one more checkpoint before we were in the clear, so this mental unease lingered in the back of everyone's head as we turned each pedal (realizing that we may very well have to turn around and reclimb these insanely large hills). Nonetheless, we pressed on
4/23...This was possibly the hardest day we've had thus far, involving climbing retardedly large mountains on a road that was slightly less than primitive. We climbed all day until we finally topped out at an insane elevation of 13,660 ft.

Once we topped out, we quickly realized that a hot lunch was out of the question, as there was nothing but road for as far as we could see. So at about 6 pm, running on fumes from jelly candies purchased at breakfast (we were running on 'E'), we spotted a town nestled in the bottom of a valley that we still towered over. So after one of the most painful descents of my life (as all 85 km was unpaved) we rolled into a town just as the sun was departing that had one lodging option and one dining option. The lodging option turned out to be a few rooms at some hot springs (awesome!), the dining option however turned out to be ramen noodles....

4/25...So we pressed on towards Xiangcheng and just outside of our hot spring town, we encountered our second checkpoint (insert anxious emotions here). The checkpoint was a large bar that spanned the width of the road. We pedalled right up to the bar, looked both ways, then ducked under the bar and continued pedalling, without our feet even hitting the ground. Ok...so technically this area is closed to foreigners and technically the legitimacy of our passage is questionable but come on....we pedalled our sore asses all the way from Thailand and we gave them a fair chance :) And to add icing to the cake, every police man that we passed waved and gave us the thumbs up, which put our fugitive feelings at ease. "Yeah, we deserve to be here!" (By the way, the repercussions for being caught in a closed area are simply being forced to leave that province so we're not exactly facing time or anything. (So to the cute french girls from Shangri-La, we made it)

So after a day in Xiangchang, we headed north (4/26). Spencer has some troubles keeping his tired inflated, so Charlie and I pushed ahead. Around lunchtime, we stopped to wait for Spenc and Breck to catch up and we found ourselves on a hillside near a Tibetan village (by the way, Tibetan villages are awesome!). So with our stomachs growling, we figured we'd see if there was anywhere to buy some food. So I went walking through this beautiful village and one of the first things I ran across was 3 Tibetan elders spinning prayer wheels in a Stupa. They immediately took interest in me, I gave them a warm smile, motioned for food and in no time I was being escorted into a beautifully elegant Tibetan house with intricacies of wood carvings on every surface and a large common room with a kitchen.

We were sat down and fed a delicious lunch of potatoes, rice and yak butter tea.

After it was all said and done, they wanted nothing for the meal, just out of the kindness of their hearts. On top of that, one of the elders sat by the road and watched our bikes while we ate. Did I mention I love Tibet?

Charlie and I with the Tibetan elder that watched our bikes

That left such a great taste in our mouths (both literally and figuratively) that the rest of the afternoon was nothing but smiles with intermixed huffing and puffing as we climbed to our highest elevation thus far:

Peaking at 14,910 ft (notice the time)

So we descended from this high altitude, and landed in a small Tibetan village (Sandui Village) which was quite possibly the most beautiful town I've ever seen in my life. We stayed at a gigantic Tibetan castle for 15 Yuan ($2). Did I mention I love Tibet?

So we're currently in Litang where we arrived after a long night of freezing rain and hail experienced from our tents. The campspot was possibly one of the most picturesque spots I've ever had the privilege to sleep at (as it was around 13,000 ft).

This trip has been nothing short of amazing. Words like 'epic' and 'best day ever' are used almost daily and I find myself with a permanent smile plastered on my face. It kind of makes me sad because I don't believe life could get much better than this and I want to share this happiness with everyone that I love and care so much about (hence the extremely long blog posting). I've also posted all of my China pictures thus far here: http://s191.photobucket.com/albums/z93/lineker119/Bicycle%20-%20Laos/Bicycle%20-%20China/?albumview=grid

Finally, here's some stats:

Days in China: 22

Miles in China: 925

Total miles cycled: 1750

I want to ride my bicycle....

2009-04-20T13:07:00.000+06:00

So I've decided to restructure my blog a little bit, to more simplify the recounting of my adventures and better suit the reader's interests, as I can only imagine the names of these towns (which I've phonetically translated into English words) mean absolutely nothing to everyone. I think the easiest and most effective way to relay where I've been and where I am in the world is visually (as no one can deny the effectiveness of picture books).

So here we go (let me know what you think)

4.12.09 - I left Pu Er (the last place that I posted from) after a much needed rest day and charged some towards Dali. I stopped for lunch just before Toe Swee and had one of the most interesting experiences of my trip. First of all, most Chinese men wear sports coats no matter what the occasion. Weather it be a day working in the fields or just lounging around the house. So I pulled into this little house/restaurant and the family immediately took to me (grandmother and all). The father (decked out in a sports coat) immediately hands me a glass of clear liquid. Well...the clear unassuming liquid turned out to be some form of Chinese bootleg moonshine and he looked like he'd been getting after it since breakfast. So needless to say a few cheers later, before my food actually got to me, I was rather enjoying myself, trying to shoot the breeze with minimal amounts of Chinese is extremely hard. So I scarfed down the awesome food, said goodbye to one of the coolest Chinese families and pressed on, however the enjoying it part didn't last past the next gigantic hill. I ended up logging 123 km that day and ended up in Maentza at a beautiful camp spot.

4.13.09 Today I logged my first 100 mile day (163 km) and felt really strong all day, maybe it was the lack of moonshine? I still climbed some 1500 meters (4900 feet) and was still without Team 7 but had a strong feeling that they would come coasting down the hill at any moment.

4.14.09 Logged 135 km

4.15.09 I arrived in Dali after yet another trecherous climb. It's kind of like Vegas' little Chinese sister. Located high in the Cangshan mountains and miles from anything, Dali is a huge city surrounded by mountains that tower over the city, making it resemble a minature doll town. It's beautiful and better yet, I learned how to order delicious plates of pork! Today is day 12 since I left Team 7.

4.16.09 I arrived in old town Dali, which is only 15 km north of the new town. I checked into a hostel, dropped my bags and jumped on the bike to explore the town. As soon as I jumped on my bike, I noticed some people from a distance that looked vaguely familiar. And low and behold, having breakfast at a German restaurant was the rest of Team 7.

Reunited after 13 days of solo riding!

4.17.09 So we headed towards Tiger Leaping Gorge, where we were to take a few day trek. And it was awesome. I would highly recommend it to anyone heading to China. Here's some pictures....

This is the guesthouse we stayed at....absolutely beautiful

Here's my China progress as of today (we are currently at Snow Mountain).

I've cycled some 1300 miles and gained some 65,000 vertical feet.

So everyday is pretty much an epic adventure. I really don't mind the gigantic hills that I climb each day, which is good because I'd be a grumpy mess in this terrain. A ton of huge hills, 14 bowls of noodle soup, a little more Chinese to add to the vocabulary, and a ton of smiles each day. My recipe for success. My legs and buns are becoming solid steel bars.

Lots to catch up on

2009-04-10T16:44:00.000+05:00

I feel like so much has transpired since my last post, so without boring you with 82 paragraphs of this day and that, I'll give you the executive summary of the adventures of Kyle and I'll have to let the pictures fill in where the words don't.

First of all...against all odds and countless attempts to upload a video, I finally broke through. This was a priceless moment in Indonesia (let me know if link doesn't work)
http://s191.photobucket.com/albums/z93/lineker119/?action=view&current=IMGP0951.flv

So as we were on the train from Malaysia back to Bangkok, I realized that my passport expired in January of 2010. Big deal, right? Well, most countries require that your passport not expire within 6 months of applying for a visa, which meant that come July I would no longer be able to apply for visas without a new passport. So therein lied the dilemma. So in a nutshell, I got a friend of Nicole's, who lives in Bangkok, to pick up my new passport and mail it to me while I was still in Thailand. Since everyone else on 'Team 7' had to leave Thailand before their visas expired, we decided to part ways and let me iron out my passport issues. We left with talk/speculation of crossing paths somewhere in Laos. This was on the 11th of April.

So I ended up doing a large loop back through Chiang Rai and north (an alternative route) to Chiang Khong, where I was to pick up my new passport. I arrived in Chiang Khong late on the 6th. The next morning I picked up my new passport without too much hassle :) and jumped on the next boat to Laos (04/07). At this point, I was basically playing Tom and Jerry with Team 7, trying to pick up their trail. I charged super hard that day, through never ending hills that seemed to have no summits. I don't think I ever have nor want to push myself as hard as I did that day. But to no avail, the team was nowhere in sight. So during one of the punishing ascents, I ended up grabbing a hold of the back of a semitruck that was struggling up the hill about as much as I was, and he gave me a 'ride' for a few clutch kilometers to the summit. When I finally let go, the semi came to a stop and the driver gave me a look like....'that's all you wanted?, do you really want to pedal this?' So after some hand gestures and some pointing, which made no sense to either of us, he ended up convincing me to throw my bike into the back of his rig and down the road we went. It was an epic experience full of being fed a bowl of rice with tomato fish sauce and playing Michael Jackson on my IPOD speakers (thanks Nicole!). He ended up taking me some 115km down the road to Luang Namtha only about 60 km from the China border. I was sure that I'd closed the 2 day lead between me and Team 7......

So the next day (04/08) I pushed on towards China, I arrived at the Chinese border around 12 and after hassling the Laos immigration officers, they finally produced Charlie, Spencer and Breckan's departure cards indicating that they had passed earlier that morning. So I flew through Laos in only 2 days (as did the rest of Team 7).

So I crossed into China.....

which was like night and day or more like famine to feast. Laos is soo poor and food was nearly impossible to find. Mostly rice and more rice, then came China, which was like I entered Vegas. So after gorging myself with huge friend chicken legs and some weird baked animal legs, I charged into China. I'd been pushing it hard the past few days, maybe a little harder than I should have, and I ended up in Long Lin, a tiny little farm town about 60 km from the China border. I pulled into the 'town' and didn't even pretend like I spoke the language, as I didn't even know how to say hello or how to count to 10. I was down to the necessities of communication, pointing to my mouth for food and putting my hands near my head indicating I needed a place to sleep. And the woman I played charades with reminded me of an old black lady in Macon, Georgia who didn't really care who you were, where you came from or what you done but would express her sincere kindness in the form of gigantic bowls of freshly steamed vegetables, a delicious chicken/egg concoction and a large bowl of rice. Then she proceeded to show me the spare bedroom, all without exchanging a single word. It was magical, almost as if I was her muted child and she knew exactly how to care for me.

So I pushed on with some soreness and a great taste in my mouth from the kindness the night before, and pushed through some beautiful stretches of rural China. I pressed some 140 km (my biggest day thus far) hoping that around the next corner would be 'Team 7' taking a break from the sweltering heat......what I did find around the corner was some women sitting underneath umbrellas selling various fruits, vegetables and things I would have never thought edible.

Mie Dom, maggots and ants wrapped in banana leaves. Gotta love China!

One advantage to cycling through China, unlike Laos and Thailand, is their discovery or simply their ability to build tunnels which cut directly through mountains and avoid gigantic climbs only to fall right back down to the bottom of the valley, which is a total downer on the morale . I've passed through tons of tunnels, some up to a mile in length.

So I ended up in Guan Ping (04/09) yet another tiny farm 'town' which consisted of about 2 buildings and a bathroom. And once again, charades and a smile turned into a wonderful home cooked diner and a free place to stay in their spare bedroom. I'm actually really enjoying the liberation and benefits of the solo life, all of the experiences that I've had have been the result of no one other than my own actions. My encounters with people typically involve getting off of my bike and sitting in silence with some woman who just goes about her life while I rest or eat. I'm emailing 'Team 7' as much as possible, but the ruralness of China has prevented a steady stream of emails. So I'm currently in Pu Er (04/10) which is extremely famous for their tea. I've taken a rest day today and plan to head north tomorrow. China is awesome! I'm eating extremely well (almost too well) and the people are the kindest people on the planet.

So I'm hoping to reconnect with 'Team 7' in Dali which is about 500 km north of Pu Er. So it's looking like I'll be another 5 or so days trucking it solo. And unless my travelers luck runs out, I'm in for a wonderful adventure. We're starting to get super rural and I don't forsee a whole lot of internet in the near future, so if you don't hear from me, close you eyes and imagine a white guy totally out of place hanging out with some weathered Chinese farmers eating some mysterious animal concotion in total silence with a huge smile on my face. I love it!

Here's my China progress thus far:

In case you are not a walking globe and have no idea where these places that I mention are,
here's a super rough (ghetto rather) progress map of SE Asia thus far.

I also posted all of my cycling pictures from:
Thailand
Laos
China

Finally here's some stats that I thought were interesting (as Charlie is the official record keeper, this is all I have at the moment)

Total miles: 1,050
Days away from 'Team 7' : 8
Days in China: 4
Days spent in Laos: 2
Days out of the country: 83
Days without a job: 191
Days without paying for rent: 328

And here's some pictures from China:

Team 7

2009-04-04T16:01:00.000+05:00

Team 7 is united and fully charged, meticulously hand picked and armed with logic, a ample sense of direction and enough 'cow neo' (sticky rice) to live 12 long constipated years. Enter Spencer and Breckan, two friends who will share the next 4 months with Charlie and I and who represent the logic in the prior statement. Our team hats make it appear as if we're sponsored by 7 Eleven, when in actuality we paid for them online (not to say we don't look incredibly stunning in them especially when posing outside of a 7 Eleven)

So we left Bangkok on the night train and arrived in Chiang Mai the next afternoon with just enough time to scarf down some pizza and hit the road (interstate) towards the north. We were fresh; full of energy, enthusiasm and if it weren't for the sunlight issue, we would have probably ridden to China. The Thailand leg of the trip is quite different from our Sumatra tour because of one drastic hurdle that we have managed to clear....the language barrier. Spencer, MVP, is fluent in Thai so our daily encounters no longer have to involve pointing and playing charades until someone finally realizes that we're looking for an enema (true story and an even funnier ending after we grabbed a nose cleaner and pointed it to our butts...they will probably laugh about that for years to come). So our quality of living has drastically improved, we spent the first night camping near some hot springs. Our second night was spent camping at a beautiful lake reservoir with one of the most soulful Thai guy still alive. We have camped out every night thus far, reducing our daily cost to 75 cent plates of food and 10 cent ice creams (probably one every 2 hours). Yesterday, we took drastic measures to flag down an ice cream motor cycle man, after he flew past us and vanished into a side path.

So here is a glimpse into my world....So since I bought this new handle bar bag in Bangkok, I've been able to listen to my IPOD during the day. I am loving it....here's what I've been listening to (as if anyone even cares)

and of course....

So we've currently cycled some 250 km (150 miles) in Thailand and should be entering into Laos within the next few days. We've cycled approximately a total 1000 km (600 miles) thus far. I'm working on getting a map of our progress so that you can have an idea of where we've actually gone in the world. I'll also post a summary of our total miles, elevation and time on the next post.

Closing the Indonesia Book + Link to all pictures

2009-03-27T17:16:00.000+05:00

So we continued our gypsy cyclist lifestyle and charged north to Danau Toba, which is the largest volcanic lake in the world. This gigantic crater lake is 60 miles long by 15 miles wide and contains an island the size of Singapore. Undoubedtly the tourist who used to be many in number and full in pocket have chose to go elsewhere with their vacation time. Add a ton of 'resorts' to the decreased demand and you've got the ideal situation for some tired cyclers looking to pay nothing for a eutopic and relaxing paradise. It was just what the doctor ordered....Charlie and I awoke at 7 am the next morning like two kids who were wiping sleep from their eyes when all of a sudden they realize that it's Christmas morning and sprint downstairs to bask in the glory of their new presents....

I probably hadn't teeter tottered in 15 years....

After giving our legs (and buns) a much needed break and doing absolutely nothing for 2 days, we headed northeast towards Medan with a brief layover in Berastagi. We also joined traveling efforts with a really cool Dutch couple that we met in Toba. As we set out on bicycles from Berastagi towards Medan, our Dutch traveling companions took the same route via bus. Normally we get smoked (both figuratively and physically) by buses but this day was one full of steep grades all downhill. It was amazing, we would pass our friends in the bus on a downhill stretch then the bus would overtake us on a straight stretch. Our friends counted 5 of these leapfrogs until the straight stretch became longer and they zoomed past us. It was one of the funnest (and easiest) days of riding we've had thus far. We averaged 25 km/h for 3 hours.

So after arriving in Medan, we met up with our Dutch comrades and traveled north to Bukit Lawang. Bukit Lawang is unique in that it is one of only two places in the world that contains wild orangutans. So we took a trek through the jungle.....

Our guide informed us that we probably had a 70% chance of actually catching a glimpse of our wild red headed cousin. So as we hiked through the exotically lush jungle, we caught a vague resemblance of a red dot in the trees. And with a little persuasion by some yellow snacks, it took a break from it's hectic life of lounging in the trees and came a little closer.....

After we stared in amazement, people snapping shots like the paparazzi, we walked back to where our guide was mischeviously hanging back. Then out of nowhere, walking nonchelant up the trail, a mother oranguatan with a child hanging from her teat appeared. She walked right up to me, put her arm over my shoulder and pulled herself into a cuddle position. It was unexpected (to say the least) and amazing. It was almost as if I was the mother, holding the mother who was holding the baby

And here's one of the baby

So after our excursion, we returned to Medan, said our goodbyes to Indonesia and grabbed a ferry to Panang, Malaysia where we relaxed for a few days before catching a 20 hour train ride back to Bangkok. We've cycled some 700 km (430 miles) through Sumatra, which was kind of like the appetizer before the feast. We're currently laying over in Bangkok, about to join forces with Spencer and Breckan to head up north.

I also uploaded all of my Sumatra pics to my photobucket account. Here's a link:http://s191.photobucket.com/albums/z93/lineker119/Bicycle%20-%20Sumatra/?albumview=grid

Crash

2009-03-10T16:51:00.000+05:00

So here's a picture I forgot to post of Charlie and I hitch hiking with the gigantic box through Singapore's customs. This is where we got scanned by the x-ray and the customs people thought we were trying to sneak into their country....
So Charlie and I hit the road from Pekanbaru and stayed the night in Bangkinang (where I wrote the last posting from). then started cranking the next morning around 10 am east towards Lake Maninjou. We cycled some 30 km super strong, through tons of people throwing 'Hey Mister' left and right and 'How are you?' lingering around every corner, it's at this point that we realize that this whole attention thing could get old real fast, we charged and then the heat started taking its toll. I looked at my Sunto watch and it read 105 degrees F off my wrist. I couldn't seem to maintain a satisfactory level of hydration and I felt myself getting the cold sweats (almost like someone who feels super warm during the late stages of hypothermia). It was kind of scary...I pushed a little further, looking for some shade but without success I just stopped on the side of the road and drinched myself with water and pulled out some nutella (which had liquified in the furnace of the day). I literally drank the hazlenut cocoa gooness for some extra energy and pushed on....to find Charlie just over the next hill in the first shade in almost 10 km. Welcome to Sumatra! We learned our second lesson in cycle touring: Never leave on a cycle tour without a topo map. (Kind of common sense but a lesson learned the hard way)

However we found some relief in the form of a minibus that carried us through the brutal mountains and the scorching heat into the fertile and lush terrain of west sumatra. The change was like night and day...brutal dry desert-like terrain into lush tropical jungle.

So we stayed the night in Payakumbuh and pushed on to Lake Maninjou the next day, super excited to our old hot desert life and welcomed our new moist shady life of cycle tourers. Lake Maninjou is a beautiful crater lake just barely south of the equator that boasts 44 hairpin turns through a beautiful setting overlooking the lake. And it was everybit as awesome as it was hyped up to be.....most definitely the most beautiful stretch of road I've ever cycled! We dodged monkeys in the road, tried to avoid local buses zooming around each hairpin turn. It was quite the picturesque setting....check Charlie out:

Here's another beautiful shot of Charlie that I can't seem to upload. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=30635912&l=971d5&id=64201834

So we stayed the night in Lake Maninjou which was like our own personal paradise. It was at this point that we realized that we must be carrying waaay too much extra gear. We could feel every ounce during our climbs. So we purged our gear and literally started shedding anything that was remotely iffy. We started asking questions like, 'Why are we hauling a pharmacy across Asia?' We ended up with a huge pile of unwanted gear that the hotel guests gladly took off our hands. We loaded our bikes back up and could immediately feel the difference. Off we went to Bukittinggi.....

We wandered around Bukittinggi looking for malaria medecine, a seamstress, soap, t.p., and a barber (as my hair had become a shaggy mess that left a sour taste in my mouth after the near heat stroke incident). So we went to the barber and after a discussion with Charlie...I ended up doing something that, anyone who knows me, would have never in a million years guessed I would have done.....yup. Even I couldn't believe I did it! The next morning I even shaved my face....I feel like an alien to myself. I keep doing a double take when I catch myself in the mirror. That's really me!

That night I learned the third lesson in cycle touring: Never sleep near a mosque without an IPOD right next to you. I was abruptly awoken at 5 am by crazy repetitive prayer chants that resembled a aboriginal bipolar man stuck in a cave for eternity (not to diss on the muslim religion). It was never ending and broadcasted from loudspeakers that appeared to be 15 feet from our window (and my IPOD was burried in my bags).

So the next day we awoke with a new cycling philosophy...trying to get in most of our cycling before the sun gets the opportunity to pin us into submission. So we awoke at 6 (after the freaking mosque alarm clock) and were cycling by 6:30. We logged 77 km before noon. We were stoked....we cross the equator (check out my new look...it feels awesome). Here's some pictures.....

So we're currently in Payabungan (about 200 km south of Lake Toba). I'm feeling stronger by the day, the soreness in my legs and my butt is starting to subside. My thighs and butt are going to be like steel.....and I counted 25 'Hello Mister' in 15 minutes this morning. It's starting to get old....until the entire school comes running towards you to wave and give high fives (then we're quite ok with it).

And Away We Go...

2009-03-05T17:57:00.000+05:00

Sorry it's been so long since I've posted anything. I've been going nonstop ever since my plane landed in Thailand (almost 7 weeks ago!). Just writing that makes me realize how much time has flown by. So my first 2.5 weeks were spent in Ton Sai, a beach town near Krabi that boasts world class rock climbing and a super relaxed backpacker scene. That was awesome (see my earlier blog for a link to pictures).

Then we headed back to Bangkok where Nicole and I were to begin our epic adventures together. We had such a good time together, so much that we both walked away with the 'best vacation ever' title to be imprinted on our photo album. We ran back down to Ton Sai (Thailand) where we climbed for a few more days, then crossed the peninsula east to the island of Ko Pha Ngan where we explored waterfalls, discovered our own private beach and personal paradise of Hat Khuat Beach, surreal. Then we caught a flight to Luang Prabang, Laos where we went on an elephant trek, took a Laotion cooking class, played in a heavenly blue waterfall and fell in love with a super lazy city. Then caught a train to Vang Vieng, Laos. This place totally took the cake (at least my slice of it). We rented bikes for about $1 USD/day and after some persuasion they threw in some well needed umbrellas for sun shade. We rode to the blue lagoon and cave where we found some of the bluest water I've ever seen and our own personal swimming hole (here's an appetizer until I can upload all of them (http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2023279&id=64201834&l=afc62). From there, we caught the public bus down to Vientiane, Laos and zipped down to Singapore, where we strategically booked a room in the heart of the Singapore's red light district (actually we ended up there by total chance that the cheapest hotel online happened to be there....thanks cheaphotels.com). It was actually rather depressingly comical....this RLD didn't exactly have the girls behind glass. The first night we pulled up, it was raining and the street was lined with umbrellas spaced about 10 feet apart. In addition, all of the streets all run parallel and each street represents a different ethnicity. We think our street was mandarin Chinese.

Then came the bicycle preparation. We tracked down the bicycle shop that brought us to Singapore in the first place, T.R. Bikes (We Pimp Your Ride). I bought my bicycle from these guys, who turned out to be some of the coolest guys on the planet. So I got a first glance at my chariot, all that stood between Charlie and I pedaling into the abiss was Charlie's bike, which was shipped all the way from Alaska. So as it turns out, his bicycle was waiting for us to pick up at what would be the Singapore equivalent to the Customs Area at any of our international ports (if that helps out at all :)). So Charlie and I knowing darn well that his bicycle box, filled with all of his gear (bicycle, tent, sleeping bag, clothes, etc) was much too large to fit inside a taxi (a. he had his bicycle box custom made, b. only people with clearance were allowed inside the gate). So we went through about a 4 hour process of paying tax on his bicycle, receiving the appropriate permits, clearing his box then getting the freaking fork lift drivers to get his box. We finally got the box and decided that he would simply assemble his bicycle and ride it back to the hostel (some 20 km away) and I would just grab public transport back. Well....we changed our mind after getting freaked out about customs agents peeved at us opening the box, so we were stuck with one gigantic box, which neither of us could plausibly carry to the front of the gate and no transport to take us there. So we flagged down some random truck drivers, who at first looked at us like we were completely retarded then obliged to help us out. So Charlie and I rode in the back of what appeared to be a truck full of sacks of grain through customs. Then spent another 20 minutes in front of the customs gate asking/harassing large enough trucks until one super nice man agreed to give us a ride back to the bike shops area for a few extra sings. (See pictures below). It was a pretty epic day....but all the pieces of the bicycle puzzle has aligned and we were ready to start cycling.

So let the bicycle journey begin!

Charlie, Nicole and I spent the last night sorting gear, packing our bags and preparing for our departure from Singapore. It was at this point that I realized a very important lesson in bicycle touring; always pick a hotel room closest to the ground floor because bicycles don't exactly fit on elevators (at least not asian elevators). I know, you might be saying, 'that seems pretty logical'......well, it wasn't at the time. We were on the 6th floor...

The next morning, we hit the road through the outskirts of Singapore's Red Light District and directly into town where Charlie and I 'popped our cherry' and delicately weaved (wove?) through Singapore traffic (which is on the left side of the road). We were so amped to be riding that we flew into town. We arrived at the harbor front center and bought ourselves two one way tickets to Pekanbaru, Sumatra (Indonesia). We loaded our bicycles onto the ferry and embarked on what is to be an absolutely epic journey....

1 hour later, we arrived in Sekupung (Batam) and jumped another ferry to Selat Panjang. We exited the boat and it was immediately apparent that we were the most interesting and peculiar things to ever grace this tiny island. We literally stopped traffic, everyone surrounded us as if they had never seen anyone like us before and immediately wanted to either shake our hands, take their picture with us, or just sit down and chat with us (which was interesting because the only English phrases that most people knew was: 'Hey Mister!' and 'How are you?'). One person actually spoke semi-coherent english and we were informed that 'farrangs' (foreigners) havent landed on that island in over 5 years. It was pretty incredible....then we saw this huge, ancient, wooden, barely alive, blue boat limp into the port. It seriously reminded me of what I would envision an old slave boat harboring hundreds of slaves, with each person receiving a tiny cubby hole for sleeping space and a small circle approximately the diameter of one's head above their bed for looking out the window. We exchanged smiles with tons of people, who at this point had each poked their heads out of their personal 'windows' in amazement at our mere existance. It wasn't until a few minutes later that someone came by, looked at our boat tickets and pointed to that ancient gigantic blue vessel. We were stoked...riding this asian titantic some 10 hours with no other foreigners. It was awesome; a tile bed, no blankets, no one to speak english with except Charlie and nonstop Indonesian movies including what resembled to be the three stooges indonesian style (see pictures below).

So we arrived in Pekanbaru after some rough sleep on the coolest boat to grace the planet. We got off the boat and started pedaling towards town (as we still didn't have a map of Sumatra). And once again, we stopped all traffic. It was like we were war heroes returning from the front lines of a battle won in the favor of Sumatra. People were bombarding us on motor bikes, kids were flocking from their yards...all to yell 'Hey Mister! 'How are you?'. Then once we waved and said, 'fine, How are you?', they would begin smiling and laughing like we just told the funniest joke in the world. If this is any indication of how this trip is going to be, we're in for a serious adventure. So I'd call this first day a success, although my saddle is still in the process of breaking in, so my butt is super sore. Our plan is to ride to West Sumatra to Bukittingi and Lake Maniju (sp?) and then up towards Medan where we'll catch a ferry to Georgetown, Malasia. Then boogie to Bangkok, where we'll hook up with Spencer and Breckan and continue the journey through Laos and beyond.

More photos...

2009-02-11T19:23:00.000+05:00

So I've decided to upload photos to my photobucket account instead of adding them directly to this blog. So here's a link http://s191.photobucket.com/albums/z93/lineker119/Thailand/ to the goods. Enjoy...

Sawadie Ka

2009-01-31T11:31:00.000+05:00

Greetings from Thailand! You know...I haven't left the country in nearly 5 years so I was extremely overdue for a nice dose of cultural diversity, realizing that the rest of the world does not necessarily operate like we do...as was evident by my first day in Thailand, riding on the back of a motorbike taxi, passing cars in head on traffic. So I've been here for nearly 2 weeks now, we traveled around Bangkok for a few days and then bought a ticket to Krabi (after one crazy ride on a tuk tuk). We then caught a long tail boat to Ton Sai, a beautiful place surrounded by amazing limestone formations, a climbers paradise. A place where you can climb beautiful stalagtites right off the beach and be in the ocean within minutes. It's freakin amazing!

So the first day in Ton Sai, we (Charlie and I) were walking down the road and immediately run into Suzi and Jared from Anchorage. A few days later, I ran into Sam (who I met in Red Rocks this December). Last night, I opened the bungalow door to find Tim and Eric from Anchorage. we've run into 5 more friends from Anchorage last night. AK is representing in Ton Sai....reconfirming how small of a world we live in.

Anywho, I tried to upload a few videos but the cost and quality of internet is ridiculous. So those might have to wait. Here's a few photos from the past few weeks, I'll try to post more as soon as I get to decent internet (assuming that ever happens).

And I'm out

2009-01-17T06:43:00.000+05:00

Whew (as I wipe the sweat off my brow)....my bags are packed and I'm ready to depart. I'm extremely happy to have that taken care of. It was a meticulous process of delicately placing (jamming) tons of stuff into two duffel bags and a backpack. Here's a list of what I packed. Which ended up packing down neatly into this:

My next post will likely be from Asia.

My first blog

2009-01-14T09:16:00.000+05:00

I'm the man on the mountain, come on up. I'm the plowman in the valley with a face full of mud. Yes, I'm fumbling and I know my car don't start. Yes, I'm stumbling and I know I play a bad guitar.

What a great start to a new year! So I finally rolled back home to Hotlanta last night after 3 months of meandering through the northwest. It was kind of surreal to finally pull into my parents house with the Subaru that has been my home base for the past 3 months. I finally unloaded the rubber totes, folded the curtains one last time and placed them to rest on top of the spare tire. It's time to do something different! Although as I was unpacking my bags last night, I kept having memories from my road trip flashing through my head. What an awesome 3 months...here's the first set's shenanigans.

Anchorage -> Barge -> Seattle -> Portland -> Eugene, Redwoods -> San Fran -> Redwoods -> Tahoe, Salt Lake -> Moab, Denver -> New Orleans -> Anchorage -> Denver -> Vegas (after a few hurdles and one large boulder) -> Denver -> Atlanta -> Denver -> Louisville -> Atlanta. Some serious sandwiches....here's some pictures.

On to the second set...so in 3 days, I've got a one way ticket to Bangkok. The plan is to cruise around SE Asia for the first month and a half; climb and explore through Thailand and Laos. Then in early March, my buddy Charlie and I are going to shoot down to Singapore and pick up our bicycles that we've been tweaking for the past few months. Then we begin pedaling towards Laos, where we will reunite with Spencer and Breckan (who are currently teaching English in Bangkok). Then we will join pedaling forces; stand in a circle and touch our chosen pedals together and out of a whirlwind of smoke, summon Captain Planet...well not exactly that cool but you get the idea, we're going to pedal further. So we've kind of adopted a philosophy of no preconcieved routes or schedules.....well more like a kind of hot spot/push pin tour with no concrete route or schedule getting there. The kind of play it by ear mentailty that is lacking in too many bicycle tours in my opinion. i.e. If we arrive in Tajikistan and beautiful women greet us with palm leaves and peeled grapes, we might just stay for a while (just an example). Anywho, I'm excited about the simple interactions with people, breaking the language barrier with a smile, swimming on pristine beaches, seeing and riding through extremely cool terrain, eating a diversity of international food, riding elephants, getting in shape, laughing, getting to know Charlie, Spenc and Breck, and the list goes on. So that's the idea behind the blog. I'll update this with pictures and stories as the travels unfold. And sorry if my writing sucks...it's the engineer in me.