Leaving the ‘Stans

Our final day in Tajikistan found us packing the bikes in the chill early morning air. Luckily breakfast included porridge, or at least a Tajik form of it, to warm us up and yak butter to spread on the bread. We had an early start as there was a long ride at high altitude plus a dreaded border crossing - today we would be going to Kyrgyzstan. The road turned out to be mostly tarmac – a pleasant surprise for us and a welcome change to the dirt roads, meaning that we could take in our surroundings, the awesome mountains continued and then there was Lake Karakol, where we ventured down to the lakeshore for some amazing photos.

There was a fence running along on the eastern side of us - it turned out to be the Chinese border. They’ve got the whole country fenced off by the looks of it, so there’s no sneaking in the back way – or at least not without a Steve McQueen style bike jump.

The final stretch to the border was another steep dirt track. This was to be the day’s third pass over .4000 metres, the group are all taking it in their stride now and the bikes are coping well with the thin air - we just don’t have the acceleration that we’d have lower down.

The border itself is quite a spread out affair as the Tajiks insist on having their border post at the top of the mountain while the Kyrgyz people more sensibly have theirs at a lower elevation where you can actually breathe. We managed to exit fairly easily, only paying one bribe and having to dodge the herd of yak ambling through. We temporarily lost two of our riders when one of them discovered he had a puncture. Not bad going, considering by this stage our bikes have covered a combined total of almost 100,000 miles, and this was the first puncture.

We’d been warned to expect treacherous, slippery mud on the route down the other side through the 11 miles of no-man’s land. We were lucky, a run of dry weather meant that the mud had dried out a lot, yes the bikes were sliding at times, and getting perilously close to the precipice, but it wasn’t as bad as we’d feared and we all made it safely down to the smiling Kyrgyz border guards who processed our entry in record time and sent us on our way. Due to the political turmoil that has engulfed Kyrgyzstan in recent times, we were only to have one night in this great country. We stayed in the small settlement of Sary Tash where accommodation was offered in a homestay or in a yurt. The Aussies tried the yurt and declared it cosy. Our meals were served in another yurt, traditionally decorated where we sat cross-legged around a low table. Yaks and cows roamed through the village, looking at us curiously as we rode by.

The following morning and another early start as we had another border crossing – suckers for punishment! We had two in less than 24 hours. Yet again we had a stunningly beautiful ride; a panorama of snow-topped peaks surrounded us as we left the village. Mark, our expedition leader was amazed, on his previous two rides through here; the weather had been so bad that they had not seen any of these mountains before.

A delay on the way was caused by another puncture! Our luck had obviously run out as far as our invincible tyres were concerned. Our luck was out in other areas as well, as this turned out to be a record-breaking border crossing, surpassing all expectations (plus the sweepstake) by taking 10 hours to clear. The puncture delayed us and our van was having electrical problems. But the main reason for our delay was that a major earthquake had hit north-western China the previous day and had destroyed a bridge on the only road from the border to the rest of the country. Our group was not allowed to enter China without guides and our guides were stuck on the far side of the bridge. They eventually made it through; our progress through customs was also hampered by the fact that they take a three hour lunch break at the border post. The bikes were fumigated by a guy driving a mini-van and wielding a spray gun that pathetically sprayed some sort of liquid at the front and rear tyres. Naturally there was a fee for this - worth it for the entertainment value.

Reports about the bridge indicated that it was not passable and so we left our bikes in the customs compound and climbed onto a bus (oh the indignity) clutching helmets and bike gear. We headed off, unaware of how long it would be before we were to see our bikes again.

Tajikistan – The Jewel in the Crown

Our ride through the ‘Stans brought us to Tajikistan, one of the least known of the former Soviet states, but perhaps one of the most stunning. Geographically it’s the Bolivia of Central Asia, a landlocked country with mountains covering over 90% of its surface area.

Yep, it’s mountainous and so it’s an ideal place for bike travel, if you’re feeling adventurous. The tarmac, where it exists is often pitiful and the gravel you can really get to grips with, just the clouds of dust are a problem, soon solved by ensuring that you’re the front rider as many of our group discovered. The numerous peaks and mountain passes gave us miles of twisting tracks to ride, a relief after some of the desert roads we’d ridden to get here. Uzbekistan may have grabbed more than its fair share of stunning architecture, but it had nothing to compare with the majesty of the Pamir mountains, or in fact any of the mountain ranges that litter Tajikistan.

We started in Dushanbe, with its cool leafy boulevards, great array of restaurants (Ecuadorian dinner anyone?), fantastic outdoor beer and shashlik gardens is not actually very typical of Tajik life. We made the most of it, though our main activity was the maintenance and servicing of the bikes. We had 26 tyres to unload from the roof - everyone was changing from the hardwearing multi-use Metzeler Tourance to knobbly tyres with a bit of bite to them, the majority of us electing to have Continental TKC’s. It was back-breaking work as we removed wheels, changed tyres, did oil changes and replaced filters, as well as the all-important checking every bolt to ensure they’re secure and hadn’t rattled loose on all the bumpy tracks. By the end of the second day in Dushanbe, all the work was completed and we could relax a bit.


Our hotel had a lot of military personnel staying, mostly air force officers from a number of different countries and all of them having a role in Afghanistan - a stark reminder just how close we now are to the conflict areas. They were all fascinated with us and our bikes, and the fact that we had ridden here from London. They crowded round asking their questions, with some of them ready to sign up for a trip with us next year.

Eventually we tore ourselves away from the luxuries of Wi-Fi Internet access, cold beers and air-conditioning, knowing that it's going to be weeks rather than days before we experience them again. The road took us south to the Amu Darya river which marks the border with Afghanistan. Here, there were a lot more animals roaming in their flocks and herds as well as donkeys in abundance, a clear reflection of Tajikistan’s poor economic situation – it is the poorest of the former Soviet Republics and around 20% of the population lives on less than $1.25 a day.

The mountains got higher and we were riding around 120 miles a day, the combination of gravel, sand, loose stones and river crossings ensuring that it was still a full day of riding, though the river crossings were mostly dry as they have had a mild winter here. Very different to the conditions experienced in 2010! Each evening we’d arrive at our home-stay (fairly basic accommodation with local families) marvelling at the amazing scenery that we’d seen and comparing ride experiences of thrills and of course the occasional spills. No-one has escaped unscathed at this point.

For days on end we followed the river, all the time no more than 100 yards from Afghanistan on the opposite bank, where we could see the local people going about their daily lives and often they would call across and wave at us riding our bikes through. We reached the Wakhan Valley, one of the most remote places in the world and once more the scenery became even more amazing with the Hindu Kush forming a back drop. In fact, Afghanistan is so narrow at this point that the mountains we were looking at are actually in Pakistan, some of them being over 6,000 metres high (nearly 20,000 feet). Looking at the snow on them, we could start to envision how the Himalayas will appear when we reach them in a couple of weeks.

We arrived at the Yamchun fortress, a 2nd century fortification with its magnificent mountainside position commanding the valley which made a great spot for photo opportunities. Then as a reward for making it along the narrow and steep gravel track, some of us took advantage of the Bibi Fatima hot springs, making the most of the hot water gushing out of the mountainside to soothe our weary muscles and wash away the dust and sweat from the journey.

Our ride out of the Wakhan Valley was possibly the most spectacular yet (though that was before we saw what Kyrgyzstan had to offer), as the track wound its way up from the valley floor until we were at 4300 metres, gasping for breath and having to ride through sand, a challenge for everyone. We also had our first casualty of the trip, when a kamikaze dash across the track by a golden marmot ended badly for it under the wheel of a rider who will remain nameless, but who comes from the same country that gave us ABBA.

Our final day along the famous Pamir Highway, with herds of yak alongside brought us to Murghab, the epitome of a wild west town, an extremely dusty settlement where the bazaar operates out of abandoned shipping containers and yak dung is the main source of fuel. Tomorrow another border and the Kyzl Art Pass await!

Unbelievable Uzbekistan

Despite the sadistic behaviour of some of the Uzbek border guards we were ready to be impressed with Uzbekistan and we weren’t disappointed. The sun was setting over the desert as we arrived showing off the landscape to its best advantage, even the graveyards looked stunning.
Uzbekistan has the dubious honour of being a double land-locked country ie not only does it not possess a coastline but none of the countries it borders have a coastline either. Sand might be plentiful, but seaside holidays are not really an option for the average Uzbeki person.

We had three classic Silk Road cities on our journey through Uzbekistan, each one as incredible as the previous one. From Khiva and its mud walled inner city in the north, through Bukhara with the Kalon minaret that so impressed Genghis Khan when he came this way that it was virtually the only building he didn’t raze to the ground in the whole of Central Asia and then the incomparable Samarkand with the blue-tiled splendour of the Registan, probably the best known monument in this part of the world.

We wandered through these cities and also had guided tours to really appreciate them, learning about medrasses, mosques and mausoleums as well as the great Timerlane. The roads were variable with some serious gravel, loose dirt and mud in the north where there appears to be 60 miles of continuous road works, not too bad to ride on an adventure bike but the unpredictable swerving of the lorries and cars around us made it more perilous. The infamous Uzbek speed traps on the roads didn’t blunt our enjoyment as we all managed to avoid their clutches, except Al who talked his way out in true Geordie style.

Some riders even bribed guards to climb the impossibly steep steps of the minarets and get the ultimate views with their cameras. We also came across other bike travellers including the Italians and the Scousers in Bukhara. A sense of camaraderie always develops as we swapped stories about our exploits to reach this far-flung part of the planet.

The money is almost comical as the exchange rate is almost 4,000 Uzbek Som to the pound, but they don’t have many large denomination notes and so every transaction involves a big wad of banknotes. Changing £100 found us stuffing money into every pocket available.

Due to a spat with neighbouring Tajikistan, some of the borders were closed at short notice (not an uncommon occurrence in the ‘Stans) and so we had to change our route and head south out of Samarkand to the frontier post near Denav. A beautiful ride in itself though it did mean that we would be missing the infamous Tunnel of Doom that had awaited us in the Fan Mountains of northern Tajikistan. For some, it was a disappointment to miss such a challenge, but for others a relief not to be facing that high altitude obstacle.

Turkmenistan Tales

We were leaving the Middle East and ahead of us loomed the ‘Stans, more formally known as Central Asia, however first we had another border crossing to deal with. Having learnt by now to be prepared, our group was well armed not only with drinks and snacks but also books and laptops, though an impromptu team “push-ups” competition also livened the proceedings a bit. Finally Iranian bureaucracy was finished with us, a small bonus was that we were so late getting out of Iran that the Turkmenistan Customs officials rushed us through as they were due to finish and head home.

This meant we were through more quickly than expected and soon found ourselves riding down a beautiful mountain road as the sun was going down. Minutes later we found ourselves staring in awe as a cluster of white marble buildings seemed to rise from the floor of the desert. We had reached Ashgabat, the capital and a despot’s dream. The President who had been in charge since the end of the Soviet regime had insisted that every building in his capital be covered with white marble to make them more pleasing to look at. For most of us however, our eyes were drawn to the nearest bar which happened to be a British pub complete with a league football match showing on the TV. It was our first alcohol since leaving Eastern Turkey and the cold beers went down well, for some a little too well, particularly when they saw their bar bills.

We had two days of rest in the city and ventured out onto the streets for a walking tour with Oleg the guide. Wonderfully informative and an eye-opener into just how far a megalomaniac can take his ego in one city. Whichever way we looked there were statues and portraits of the Presidents with the current one rapidly replacing those of the old one with flattering images of himself. There were soldiers everywhere, ensuring that no pictures were taken of sensitive subjects, as it seemed a bit random just what was considered sensitive, many of us fell foul of them, at one point for just taking a snapshot of the stainless steel traffic lights. Our Swiss rider JB seemed to perfect the art of international espionage and was to be seen trotting away from angry militia at almost every corner – never once breaking into a sweat as they ran after him in hot pursuit.

After the chador clad women of Iran, here the females looked particularly graceful, the majority of them wearing long gowns that are brightly coloured and embroidered, and sporting long plaits and bejewelled skull caps. Whilst the men appear to favour huge fleecy and shaggy hats.
The heat of the desert meant we spent some time by the hotel pool where some riders provided us with a demonstration of yoga alongside one of Aussie yoga which makes good use of a cold can of beer to get that extra stretch.

Tiring of pool and city life we headed north, the roads after Ashgabat were to be straight ones as they cross the desert. In keeping with the police state policies of Turkmenistan, we had to travel in convoy at all times. The smooth tarmac of the city was quickly replaced by broken up slabs that we weaved our way around. We spotted our first camels and stopped to take pictures and marvel at the way they just wander out into the road oblivious to the traffic, which admittedly in the Kara Kum desert is few and far between.

The only garage in the area was out of petrol; luckily we were carrying some spare fuel. Our destination for the night was in the desert itself where after negotiating our way cautiously through some deep sand, we unloaded the tents and quickly set them up – some more quickly than others as the pop-up tent once more proved its worth. Kebabs were cooked over an open fire and a delicious meal was produced and eaten accompanied by cold beers as the sun went down. Once it was completely dark, we headed further into the desert to see the famous Flaming Gas Crater of Darvaza, a huge crater which lights up the night sky as the natural gas is burning where it seeps out through the cracks in the rocks. Some say it’s been burning for 60 years, but no-one seems to know exactly why it’s ablaze, rumours abound of Russian mining incompetence but the locals disagree. We watched it awestruck and took photos but none will do it justice. All agreed it was worth a night in a tent to witness such a spectacle.

The next morning back onto the desert road, which deteriorated as we ventured further north. The villages are polar opposites to Ashgabat, life is crowded, chaotic and often dirty, but we were greeted warmly at every settlement we rode through. It was a long day and when the border post was finally in sight we breathed a sigh of relief but we were in for a shock as the Uzbek border guards were almost sadistic in their attitude towards us. Forcing us to stand out in the desert sun for many hours while they very slowly processed the vehicles one at a time, searching through everything. Hours later we were finally through and as the sun set we turned south east to the fabled Silk Road City of Khiva.