Kyrgyzstan

Finally leaving Bishkek I made my way east to lake Issy Kul, stopping for the night half way around the lake in the town of Karakol. Issy Kul proved less interesting and scenic than I thought it would be, the major excitement was being stopped by the police three times in one day for "speeding." Believe me when I say I am by far the safest person on these roads! In each case I simply refused to pay, spoke only in English, and rapidly at that, and the police soon gave up attempting to extort money from me.

Fortunately the next few days were wonderful, the following morning I rode to Song Kul, a smaller lake 3000m up in the mountains. Wonderful place, absolutely no development, only herders who bring their flocks up for the summer pastures. The road up to the lake is 60km long and after passing the last village about 25km in it turns into a narrow dirt track that climbs up to 3500m before descending to the lake.


At the top of the pass it was snowing slightly, but as I descended to the lake it stopped and I found myself in presented with magnificent views of the lake ringed by snow capped mountains. The tourist yurts had been taken down for winter and I had the entire place to myself as far as the eye could see. I rode across the grass towards the lake and set up camp and cooked dinner. Absolute silence, didn't meet another soul and when night fell the stars were incredibly brilliant and close. Was woken up a few times during the night by herds of horses galloping across the pastures.

Sunset at Song Kul:


All packed up and ready to start the day:


In the morning I took a different track down from the lake, this one was even rugged - narrow switchbacks with loose rocks, and barely wide enough for one car. Once again I didn't meet a soul until I made it down to the valley, and then only herders bring their flocks down for the winter. In the valley the road surface turned flat and smooth and I was able to ride through it standing on the pegs at 40mph.A feeling of absolute freedom to be out there alone riding across a landscape like that, the pictures just can't do it justice.

The road down from Song Kul:


A Kyrgyz traffic jam:


Later in the day I rode south to Tash Rabat, an ancient caravan stop on the Silk Rode close to the Chinese border:



This was another really peaceful spot, I rode up into the mountain behind the site and set up camp:


The next morning I awoke to find my tent surrounded by a herd of yaks with their shaggy winter coats on full display:


These guys also wanted to say hello:



Yak dung for winter fuel:


A cyclist had recommended a dirt and gravel route across central Kyrgyzstan linking Tash Rabat and the city of Osh that would save me from having to return north towards Bishkek and linking up with the main road. The first part of the road from Tash Rabat to the town of Baetov was very rugged and isolated:

Just where you don't want to have a flat, so of course at the top of a mountain I had my first flat tire of the trip. The tires have tubes, like a bicycle, so I had to take the rear wheel off and change the tube. As I'm doing this a flock and a herder pass me and start down the mountain, a few minutes later a second herder shows up. Completely drunk, almost falling off his horse. He starts to talk to me in Kyrgyz and grows louder and louder and more insistent. I have no idea what he wants, but I'm starting to get quite annoyed at this point - then he starts trying to charge me on his horse and threatening me with his whip! I keep backing away and start yelling and the first herder comes galloping up and after a bit of a struggle leads the drunk one away.

Set down to work on the tire and ten minutes later I see the drunk herder galloping up the pass! He escaped from the other guy who didn't notice or care I guess, this time he was even more belligerent and started to aggressively come after me - on the horse the entire time, he tried to dismount but was too drunk. I wish he had been able to because I would have knocked him out, but with him on the horse there was nothing I could do, I didn't want to get close because I was afraid he'd use his whip so I just kept backing away. Then he knocks over the motorcycle and I start to get really angry and also worried, because he's shown no sign he is going to back off and is becoming even more aggressive, continuing to try and charge me and hit me with the whip.

I'm starting to think I'm going to have to really hurt him to get him to stop because he is showing no signs of letting up and it is impossible for me to ride away or outrun him, my only option was to pick up one of the large stones on the road and hit him hard in the chest or head, but that could obviously have seriously hurt or even killed him which could have gotten very messy. Just then a third herder shows up and after a long struggle is able to lead the drunk away.

After that stupidity I fix the tire and ride down the mountain, as I pass the drunk he starts after me on his horse! I can only go so fast because of the switchbacks in the road and he almost catches up to me before one of the other herders catches him. A real nightmare, alcoholism in rural areas has probably been the worst part of this trip everywhere. In some places I don't even like to stop on the side of the road or in villages because most of the men I meet are drunk and can get belligerent very quickly.

Later in the day I have a second flat rear tire! These take forever to fix, because it is almost impossible for me to get the wheel back on the bike on the side of the road. Awful design, its an impossibly tight fit and two hands just isn't enough. Fortunately I meet a farmer who gives me a hand and I'm back on the road after an hour of so. As I'm riding a car of 4 young guys wave me down, they step out bottles in hand and which is my signal to immediately take off. I started to think that this wasn't a good place to camp so in the next village I asked around for fuel and a place to stay. I was led to a young couple who sells benzine of unknown quality out of their house, pouring it out of a pail into the fuel tank. They also offer to host me and I spend the night there. The next morning they ask me what I want to pay - I offer 600 som, a generous offer, most homestays are around 350-400, and hand them a 1000 som bill. Of course instead of giving me change the price instantly turns to 1000 som which is more than I paid for a hotel in Bishkek. Between the drunk, the dodgy police, and getting ripped off I started to have a bit of a sour impression of the people...

A familiar sight:

The next day two more flats. The patched tube from yesterday gave out after about 50km, at this point I had no tubes except a spare front tube which is larger than the one normally use in the rear. I stuffed it in, and less than 30km I had another flat! At this point I see I'm 15km away from a town so I say screw it and ride on the flat. Bad idea - I hit a hole the rim is bent to hell and of course the tire gives out completely right before the town. Some kids helped me to wave down a car though and I left the bike and took the wheel and tubes to a tire repair shop in the town and patched the tubes and beat my rim back in some semblance of a circle with a hammer.

With that down I was back on the road and found myself riding a crazy mountain pass, seriously not for someone afraid of heights. A narrow dirt track, loose stones and rocks, sharp corners, washed out in parts, and on the side a sheer drop hundreds and hundreds of meters.

Let's hope she holds:



You can just make out the road hanging on to the side of the mountain:

Baikal to Bishkek

A much procrastinated over update is finally here. For brevity's sake I have left out some details in some parts. My last post found me heading towards the southern end of Lake Baikal where I took a short ferry to Olkhan Island:

Olkhan Island:




On the ferry I had met a group of four Russians - three of whom were named Jenya! Jenya and Jenya were architects from Yektarinburg on a two week vacation to Olkhan and Jenya and Kirill were hitching from Moscow to Vladivostok on the Pacific coast and then down into Asia. They invited me to join them at their hotel and I spent three nights in their company.

Somehow we found ourselves agreeing to dig ditches at the hotel in return for money, vodka, and use of the banya.

Kirill hard at work:


The fruit of Jenya's and my labor:



After three nights on Olkhan it was time to continue the journey - I had decided that I would have to abandon my plans to ride across Mongolia and return to Krasnoyarsk where I knew a good mechanic who could take a look at the bike and repair the frame damage and check the engine which had been making noises and backfiring. It was too late in the season to risk crossing Mongolia on a damaged bike, another substantial delay would mean it would be impossible to complete the ride before winter set it.

I had hoped for a trouble free ride from the Olkhan ferry to Irkutsk, but it was not to be. First I ran out of gas about 10km from the ferry, without a fuel gauge it can be difficult to know how much fuel is in the tank and I had (mistakenly) thought I had enough to get to the nearest station. Fortunately I ran out about 500m from a road building crew camp, so I made my way over and asked for a few liters. They seemed to find my predicament hilarious, but generously gave me some fuel for free.

To add more excitement to the day I ran into more problems with the frame. The only road on Olkhan Island is in quite a bad state and the potholes and corrugations had taken a toll on the frame and the crack that had developed again on the Zhigalvo road gave out completely about halfway to Irkutsk. I managed to nurse it 25km to the town of Bayanday where an Armenian fruit seller helped me to find someone who was able to weld the frame back together for the second time.

With that done I continued on to Irkutsk where I managed to find a small, but very pleasant hostel in the center of the city. Hostels are nonexistent in Russia outside of St. Petersburg and Moscow so this was a treat. I had essentially limited my accomodation options in Russia to camping and couchsurfing, by not registering my visa. In Russia you're supposed to register with the immigration police within a week of entering the country and then each time you travel to a new city and this is usually done by your hotel – for a fee of course! In reality the police and border guards don't care about registration at all, but for some bizarre reason hotels won't accept you as a guest if you can't show them previous registrations. After parking the bike and I ventured out for dinner. Irkutsk is an attractive city with European style architecture in the center. Had a dinner of mediocre sushi that was redeemed when my server invited me join her friends at a bar to watch the Russia-Ireland football game that night.

Rode west towards Krasnoyarsk the following day as far as I could before stopping to camp. From Irkutsk to Krasnoyarsk is a distance of 1100km – it is impossible to truly understand the scale of Russia without traveling across it, the distances dwarf even those in the United States. Reached Krasnoyarsk the next day and met up with my couchsurfing hosts Ksenya and Sasha who would graciously host me for five nights.

From Krasnoyarsk I had to backtrack 500 kilometers west to the city of Kemerovo before I could make my way south towards the Altai. The road was relatively good and I was able to ride past Kemerovo before nightfall. The region south of Kemerovo is a center of large scale agriculture product so it proved a bit difficult to find a suitable camping place. In the dark I very nearly got the bike stuck in a field of asperagus before I finally managed to find a good spot to pitch the tent. Although it is basically possible to camp anywhere, I usually take some care when selecting my site. I try to avoid being visible from the main road and stay away from towns and villages. I've never had anyone bother me, and wouldn't really expect anyone to, but in many of the rural areas alcoholism is a serious problem and I prefer not to have any unexpected visitors while sleeping, regardless of how well meaning they might be.

The next day I was blessed with some excellent riding weather and beautiful scenery. The sky was cloudless and it was warm enough to ride without the heated jacket for the first time in weeks. The road, which I had mostly to myself, wound its way through hills and birch forests. The autumn colors were on full display and I almost felt myself transported back to New England. I continued on past Bisk and Gorno-Altaisk and entered the Altai Republic. The Altai borders Kazakhstan and Mongolia and contains Siberia's highest mountains. It is named after the Altai people who make up about 30% of the republic's population. I would be following the M52, known as the Chusky Trakt, from Gorno-Altaisk 400 kilometers to the Mongolian border town of Kosh-Agach. From Kosh-Agach I would backtrack part of the way before turning off the Trakt and following dirt roads that passed through villages inhabited almost exclusively by the Altai to a small border crossing with Kazakhstan.

I found an excellent camping site next to a stream and fell asleep to the sound of the rushing water.

I awoke the next morning before 7:00 to find the bike and tent covered in frost and my water bottle frozen. A few seconds outside the sleeping bag was enough to convince me it was probably still below freezing so I crawled back in for another two hours of sleep. By 10:00 when I started riding it had warmed up considerably. In any event the day was beautiful with a brilliantly clear sky. I rode the entire Chusky Trakt south to Kosh Agash where I picked up some supplies then turned around and rode about 100km north before finding a camping spot for the night. One of my best days riding ever, hundreds of kilometers of mountains, canyons, and rivers, before the landscape turned into an otherworldly steppe near Kosh Agash.

The next morning I continued around 100km north on the Trakt before turning off and following a good gravel road 100km west to the town of Ust Kan. From Ust Kan I then made my way north on several hundred kilometers of dirt and gravel roads to Petrovlovskae where a Russian insisted on paying for my dinner at a cafe. This route was recommended to me by a fellow rider as the shortest route between the Altai and the easternmost border crossing with Kazakhstan – it was also far more interesting than taking the main roads. The route passed through many small villages, the Altai people still live a traditional lifestyle and are mostly herders. Camped just outside the town next to a river, it was thankfully noticeably warmer at night now that I was at a lower elevation. Awoke early as I wanted to give myself plenty of time for the border crossing and was on the road by 8:00. The road continued on mostly gravel and bad pavement and in a very short moment of inattention I found the bike airborne and myself launched off the seat! Fortunately I remembered to hold on the bars and my feet stayed on the pegs so I was able to keep control of the bike. A good reminder that you can't take your eyes off the road for even a second!!

The rough roads had dislodged one of the wires between my heated jacket plug and the fuse box so I was forced to stop at a cafe to take off the luggage and seat and fix it. I was very quickly reminded of why I almost never stop to work on the bike in villages or cafes/fuel stations, instead preferring to do it in an isolated spot off the road. A car load of very drunk Russians came over and immediately started bombarding me with questions and inspecting the bike. After about fifteen minutes of this I was starting to lose my patience, it wasn't yet 9:00 and I wasn't in the mood to deal with a bunch of drunks. Fortunately they drove off after not too much longer... and of course these are the idiots you encounter while riding. Although Russia has very strict laws against drinking and driving that doesn't seem to deter people, and its not unusual to see drivers drinking vodka at roadside cafes during lunch or picking up a bottle for the road.

After fixing the wire I continued on gravel roads through an agricultural region until I reached the border. Kazakhstan and Russia have a customs union and the border crossing was painless, there were only a few cars ahead of me and the officials on both sides were very friendly and professional. The Kazakh border guard even serenaded me with American pop songs while stamping my passport!

From the Kazakh border it was a three day ride to Almaty, a modern and pleasant city, with attractive, broad tree lined avenues filled with speeding luxury SUVs. It also has excellent restaurants and cafes and I took advantage of the city's multiethic population to sample some Korean and Indian food. A welcome break from Russian cuisine.

I had neglected to register my Kazakh visa with the local authorities within the required five days and to register late or be caught without registration would subject me to a fine so I decided to leave Almaty after only two nights in the hope that the border guards would overlook the lack of registration or at least be more lenient.

No problems exiting Kazakhstan even without the registration (and a license plate which fell off somewhere in Russia!) and incredibly on the Kyrgyz side I didn't have to make a customs declaration or fill out any temporary import documents for the motorcycle. They simply stamped my passport and waved me on.

Within a few hours I found myself in Bishkek where I ended up spending four nights. There is a very little going on in the city, but it is a pleasant place to spend a few days and I stayed at an excellent guesthouse that attracted an interesting crowd of travelers, including several cyclists who had been on the road between 6 and 18 months!

North Baikal

I awoke to see the sun and set off to try to find a fix for the foot peg. Almost immediately I met a Russian guy on a motorcycle and he led me to his garage where he had some an extra foot peg that fit with some welding and improvisation. Incredible how I always seem to meet people at the right time! By midday the sun had been replaced with clouds, but fortunately it came back out in the afternoon and I decided to ride south 45km to the village of Baikalskoe and was rewarded with some spectacular views:

The next morning I awoke early – I would have to retrace my route back almost the entire 180km to Magistrali. The rain held off all morning and the road proved much easier during the day and slightly drier (no doubt the foot peg helped as well!). On the way back I had a chance to see some of the scenery I had missed at night:

I made it to Ulkan, the turn off for the road to Zhigalvo 300km south, in good time and thought I could easily make it to Zhigalvo by early evening. You've heard that by now and can guess what happened... The road was in truly bad shape – whereas the other dirt roads had been hardpacked enough not to turn to mud, the Zhigalvo road was much looser dirt and had turned to deep mud in many places making for very slow and treacherous going. In between the mud it had long stretches of potholes and corrugations. After about 100km I heard a noise coming from the front brake – I stopped to inspect it and incredibly one of the front brake pads was worn completely down to the metal! When the mechanics in Ufa replaced the disc I had given them new pads to install. That was less than 3000 miles ago – the pads are usually good for over 15,000! The other pad looked barely used – the mechanic in Ufa had incorrectly installed one of the new pads and it must have been wearing against the brake disc the entire time. Thankfully I had saved the old pads which still had plenty of life and I was able to change the brake pads on the side of the road or I would have been riding with no front brake.

This caused me to lose more precious daylight and I was pretty upset at this point – at the morons in Ufa for screwing up an extremely simple job and at myself for not checking their work or just insisting on doing it myself in the first place. To be fair it was just some bad luck, overall I've been extremely impressed with the ingenuity and mechanical skills of Russians – they can fix nearly anything it seems, probably a necessity when you have roads like this!

I once again didn't make it to civilization before nightfall. I won't relate another woe is me tale in full, but suffice it to say it was a very bizarre night and I met many strange characters.

South of Zhigalvo the dirt roads continued, but they were in excellent condition, following the Lena River and passing through many small villages. In Tsarist times many prominent revolutionaries were exiled to these communities: