The End of the Road?
In the night headlights shone through my tent, so I opened it and shone back. A small car, a Lada or something with roof luggage that doubled its height was wading through the torrent and stopped in the middle. Oh god it’s about to be swept away, I thought, can I help? However, possibly anchored down by all that was above, the driver persevered and crossed over to my side of the river. Well that’s encouraging, I went back to sleep. At first light my optimistic theory was proving right. At night, I’d mused, it’s colder, snow doesn’t melt, the flow will be stemmed. The unknown was how long it takes the daytime thaw to flow from mountain summit to beside me. I dozed, I made breakfast, that being, boil the kettle and eat what’s left over from ‘dinner’. Oh, also I thought the situation called for the opening of an emergency protein bar, as although in the middle of nowhere I’m realising I’m reaching the end, no emergencies yet.
By 7am the crossing was significantly more crossable, there was an exposed island in the middle of the river. I walked it back and forth, moving submerged rocks and building a ‘ramp’ over the slippery cast iron, exposed pipes. I’m pretty sure I can do this. There has been no one, other than a ghostly car in the last 12 hours. I can wait but I’m not going to. I gear up, warm the engine, plot my course one more time and just as I’m ready to set sail, down the track comes a Landover camper driven by a couple of young, fresh, clean, fit Austrians. They really are remarkably sterile; tanned athletic limbs, protruding from clean loose clothing, brushed hair, washed faces, like they’d just got out of a soft bed, had fruit for breakfast and got into an air-conditioned cab. It was a pretty accurate assumption.
We chatted a little but my bike was running and I was in Moses mode, keen to wash my tyres, so I gave the uncontaminated sparkling girl my phone and she videoed me as I took to the water like a beaver. As if I’d been contemplating it all night I forded the river dam well. Jobs-a-good-un. The obstacle, I realise, for the big rigs is not the crossing but on the other side where the flow had undermined the track, surged beneath and weakened the surface. The path between cliff and river was at a 45-degree angle, no issue for a two-wheeled pilot. However, for top-heavy, top of the range, high-end, high-rise rolling luxury accommodation, it could result in a crumbling river bank and toppling the expedition vehicle over into Instagram exhibition. I can see why they turned back.
I then helped guide the Landover across. He was just a young lad, and was taking what to me seemed to be the wrong route. We’d only just met and I didn’t want come over as Mr. Assertive but you really need to do it my way, you will bottom out on the boulder if you continue in that trajectory. He continued, he bottomed out, he reversed, he took my advice and we all high-fived on the other side.
Back onto the desolate plateau, and another river crossing but that was nothing compared to what I just came through, only stopped to photo the waterfall that it came from. I had the song ‘Damn Good’ in my head by Dave Lee Roth. I’ve met those Austrians a hundred times on the road over the last 40 years. They were in their 20’s doing their overseas (over rivers) thing. I very much doubt it will become their lifestyle, just a year out, then career, mortgage, family, and a photo on the mantelpiece. Presumptions but, I’d be prepared to bet, accurate. Nothing wrong with that.
I considered the lyrics playing in my head ‘Hey take a look at this picture, can you believe that was you? … and who’s that in the corner not me? Oh the crazy things we used to do… I’ll be having good times, damn good times’ I wish I had a copy of that selfie they took, although the image is probably better in my head. Here I am travelling full speed (30kmph) towards my 60th and nothing much has changed since I was driving a VW combi van across Australia in my 20’s
Good to remember, you know that it is, I still feel it like the sun on my skin
Maybe that’s better
Ain’t nothin’ like it when you’re reachin’ for stars
And you grab one for what it is worth
You can tell ’em
We’ll be having good times
The song concludes, and we are, me and my KLR, exactly what we want to be doing.
That was Dave Lee Roth’s peak, where’s my peak, was that my peak, another peak, like an ECG. Am I peaking? Can you see it? Are you blind to it? A peaky blinder? I’ve stolen another moment, beaten the improbability factor, I’ve got it but I’m not sure I own it. I’ll give it all the appreciation it deserves until someone merits it more. This is in-helmet elation, this is extreme solitude, this is free-falling thoughts, recalling the best of the past, while in the moment and excited for the future.
On it went this dirt road, and as a 40 km finale, the surface became filling removing, vibrating, corrugated washboard. Excruciating: I’m not sure I would have continued if I approached my dream destination from this nightmarish direction. I don’t care how much you love off road riding, I defy anyone not to feel the thrill of tarmac when it finally, in this case after about 3 days, returns. Fourth and fifth gear finally get engaged and as all KLR riders know, pull in the clutch one more time in the hope of a 6th but no, that’s it, rev higher or be content.
I can get over 600kms range on a tank full, but that figure comes down on dirt road and slow speed. Fuel is becoming an issue, the tiny settlements have none, and the ‘supermarket’ is one room in a house with a few sparsely stacked shelves. They offer a very limited diet, what do you all eat and how do you power your vehicles?
I have no choice but to continue and eventually get petrol out of a cooking oil bottle, they have a new shiny pump but it’s not plumbed in. The crisis continues and ‘to the border’ is the unanimous response to my repeated request.
The thrills keep coming though, up to 4600m. This is what I brought the heated clothing for and all my additional layers, didn’t need them, damn it. All that space they have taken up, all those extra protein bars I could have carried.
The road continues to dispense utter awe in every direction. I wasn’t ready for a bed, I want to stay out here, I’m too wide eyed to be caged within a room. As I said, this is not a long road, the traverse time dictated by surface and stop-in-your-tracks grandeur, and I want to stay on it.
So I find a little undulation and, hidden from the road, sheltered from the wind, I wild camp again. OK, I may have under estimated the altitude thing. Two bloody degrees the temperature dropped to in the night. Every time I got up to empty a retracting bladder I grabbed more clothing out of the pannier, in the end just waiting for it to get light. All those sweaty nights and now this extreme. The excesses continued all the way to the border.
These poor immigration officers, one shack, a room with two beds, a small stove and a single desk where they stamp my passport. ‘Cigarette?’
‘No sorry’, wish I did. They have nothing, must be the naughty post where bad officials are sent. For how long? What a sad and solitary existence, no provisions, no privacy. I’ve just walked into their bedroom, their kitchen, their office, their placement. I pledge to tell everyone I meet coming from Kyrgyzstan to take cigarettes for the border control, it’s the only thing they crave. I’d smoke too if that was my predicament.
And that’s it, I’m in Kyrgyzstan.
Last April, when I was back in the UK I said to my mum ‘Why don’t you fly out a meet me in Bishkek for your 90th? We’ll hire a 4×4 and go explore.’ There was a lot of vulnerable variables in the plan. But I got on my little KLR like I always do, headed east like I usually do, and now I’m just 200kms from the meeting point, it looks like the plan might just come together.
It was a convoluted journey, not exactly what you’d call well-coordinated but I continued, persevered and satisfied my soul’s yearning desire which was the wilderness of the expansive Pamir mountains. Indelible, indescribable, exhilerating, and beyond any words I have, or photos I’ve taken.
You just have to be here, see it, feel it. That’s why I came, that’s what I’ve done, it’s been overwhelming but not quite beyond ability, a journey that will stay with me but thankfully not in scars or fractures. We’ve both been down a few times, however, bike and rider came through relatively unscathed, but undeniably affected by what was witnessed. Reassuring on many levels that I still have the ability, the planet still can thrill and its inhabitants are mostly friendly and hospitable, regardless what the media and those in power tell you. Don’t believe me? Go find out for yourself, the journey never ends.
I think I’ll go get a coffee now with my donation fund.
Thanks to the donators:
Dave P, Richard F, Peter Q, Ernest L, John O’, Gary P, Nicholas P, Marcus H, Paul L, Damien B, Aasa O, Stephen P, John S, John D, Lorena O, Paul A, Ted K, Peter B, Paul C, Hitch DS, Steve P, JMW, Fay R and that’s as far as PayPal will let me scroll back. You all truly played a part in this journey, and made a difference.
Cheers
Graham
