All posts by Jonathan

Kazakhstan

Kazakhstan Part 2

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I was the guest of Nurbek and his gang of adventurous Kazakhs. These guys were looking after me while in Almaty, chauffeuring me around, taking me out to lunch and dinner etc. The boys aren’t bikers but they do everything from parachuting to quad biking to all sorts of hunting and other assorted outdoor activities.

Almaty was my chance to service and freshen up the bike. Through the Kazakh bikers I had met in Tashkent, a pair of whom were bike parts importers, I had ordered a bunch of spares, which were waiting for me on my arrival in Almaty. Unfortunately, probably the most pressing part required, the new front brake disk, was the wrong part. I would have to fore go replacing that (or wait in Almaty 2 weeks.)

Still, I managed to get the other spares I ordered, of which the new chain was the next most critical thing.

One of the other Kazakh bikers from Tashkent, Marat from “Silk Off-Road” bikers, had booked me in with the club’s mechanic and with my spares I headed on down to meet Boris the Mechanic. Boris spoke enough English and me enough Russian to fully communicate the things that needed to be done and the quirks involved.

By the time I got back from lunch, Boris had changed the chain and front sprocket. The back one was still immaculate (its steel rather than alloy). I had chosen to go down to a 14 tooth front from now on. Since picking the bike up in Wales in February, I had been riding on the standard size 15T sprocket. The 14T front will be better suited to Siberia.

The chain itself was completely knackered. I had adjusted the tension for the first time in Murgab just 4 days earlier and now it was loose again. It was making funny noises and it was definitely time to go. The front brake pads were changed. There was a little more than I thought on them, and I will keep them as emergency spares, or platforms to replace the pad material. I had hoped to merely rotate the headset bearings to eliminate the severe notching that had set in over the last 5000 km or so, but Boris the mechanic said the bearings were too far gone. So in went the spare set.

With that all done, and after a couple of large evenings with the Nurbek’s adventure boys, it was time to head north. I had just over 3 days to meet with Tony, a friend from England, and seasoned Russia rider, in Siberia. He was heading due East from Moscow and I am heading North from Almaty, with a plan to meet up on the Russian side of the Altai border about June 6th. I squeezed in a couple of hundred highway kilometers late on the 3rd and overnighted in Taldy Kurgan.

There was one other thing I needed to do in Kazakhstan and that was to register. Any stay over 5 days in the country means to have to register with the migration police. I didn’t have time in Almaty, so decided to do it in Taldy Kurgan the next morning.

– – –

04-06-09

It took me some time to find the migration police, even in relatively small Taldy Kurgan, and after initially moaning that it should be done by the visa inviting company, they relented and gave me the required stamp for 10 further days in the country.

With that out of the way, I headed off he main northern highway to explore some of the back roads. It was an pleasant afternoon over some dirt’s and some minor asphalt roads that came to a sad halt just before Lake Balkhash, 15 km before the village of Lepsi. I had a flat tyre. I have never had a tube go flat on me in 15 years
of riding and kinda figured it wouldn’t happen to me, so I had not prepared well for flat tyres. In fact I didnt have a tyre lever. I removed the back wheel, on a empty road and inspected the tyre while I waited for a vehicle to come by that might be able to help. There was nothing penetrating the new tyre. Not sure where the flat could be then.

The first two cars to stop had no tyre lever, but one of the drivers suggested he would return with one from Lepsi, where he lived. After 30 minutes by the side of the road a third car stopped, and they did have a tyre lever. A couple of guys from Almaty visiting family out in the sticks. They warned me this was a dangerous place to break down. Locals were dangerous around here.

After getting the tyre off I saw the valve had sheared off the tube. I put in my spare tube and re packed the bike. I had also noticed my luggage rack was hanging on by only a few loose bolts. the others had come off. I suspect Boris had forgotten to tighten the luggage rack bolts when he refitted it in Almaty two days earlier. I would need to find a metal repair place and sort out my rack properly. It hadn’t been fixed since Beyneu, and that was a dodgy repair to start with.

As we are getting the wheel back onto the bike, the earlier local guy (named Abai) returned with a tyre lever, which he gave to me before insisting I stop by his place in Lepsi for some tea. I could use a chill out by now, so I accepted and followed him back to Lepsi.

As I pulled into his yard I realised immediately that he was a metal worker. With it now being 6pm, I had a bright spark of an idea. If I stayed here the night, we could get to work on the bike and sort out all the metal issues that needed seeing to. It was almost 6pm by now in any case, and I wouldn’t get that far down the road.

After chai, we pumped up my back tyre a bit more (my hand pump didn’t have a working pressure guage and it was still too squidgy) and I explained my metal problems. “OK” said Abai, “Get all the luggage and the seat off” and away we went.

By the time it was dark (about 8:30) Abai and his son (the welder) had cobbled together some new drink bottle holders, and sorted out the luggage rack bolts, and we all sat down to eat a traditional Kazakh meal, which consisted of, among other things, cows stomach. I stuck to the regular beef.

– – –

05.06.09

When I awoke Abai had already headed off 250 km away in his car and I had breakfast with his wife, 2 sons and 1 daughter, all the kids in their early 20s. I didn’t stay long as I wanted to put in a lot of miles today and also to test out the new baggage rack.

The road north from Lepsi first heads to the edge of Lake Balkhash, the largest body of water in Kazakhstan. Its more like an inland sea than a lake – I couldn’t see the other side of it. From the lake north the road ends and a couple of tracks head towards Aktogay, one graded gravel and the other a pair of sandy wheel ruts. Yes the graded gravel seems the obvious choice, but no. It was heavily corrugated and very bumpy. No fun at all. I tried the sandy track and it was much better. Thrill seeking at times, but much better on the suspension.

Near Aktogay, the track disappeared all together and I was left with a dusty, soft dirt track similar to sand – the tyres sunk in a couple of inches, and riding thru it was a bit like being buffalo bill at the rodeo.. the bike was kicking thru this soft stuff like a bucking bronco.

With the need to meet Tony in Russia in about 24 hours, the recent shake up with the flat tyre and recent reports saying there is no ‘road’ heading north from Aktogay to Ayaguz, I decided to play safe and turned east towards the main road. An hour later I got to the main road and topped up with fuel.

By 3:30 pm I was just 30 km from Ayaguz when yet another dodgy quality repair from Almaty stopped me in my tracks. Not only had the valve stem sheared off (presumably from not being fitted correctly) my tube, leaving me a flat tyre in the middle of nowhere yesterday, nor the luggage rack that wasn’t tightened, this time it was the drive chain. It lost its joining link. How does a brand new chain (that cost me 200 EUR in Almaty due to customs fees) die less than 2 days into its life.?

Fortunately I was on the outskirts of a village. I walked the road and found the chain a few hundred metres back, but no sign of ‘the missing link’. A Kazakh local walking past told me there was a workshop jut a few hundred yards away near the village shop. I pushed the bike there.

There was a workshop all right, but no-one working in it. It belonged to the guy who ran the village store, and he opened it up and let me use whatever was in there, which wasn’t a lot. He did have some device which I was able to use as a chain-breaker

My idea was to take a pair of links out of the chain and to rejoin it, one link shorter, but it didn’t work. Boris had taken a link out of the chain in Almaty to give it room to stretch, so the chain was already near the minimum possible length. I needed a longer chain. With no other possibilities, I left the bike in the ‘garage’ of the general store guy and hitched into Ayaguz, 30 km north.

In Ayaguz, I was taken to an auto parts store where there had a couple of chains for Russian bikes. most were incompatible but one of them had links the same length as my own. The new chain itself was unfortunately too short, but it was just 15 EUR and I could cannibalise a few links from it and then use its new joining link to complete my masterpiece. I took it and began hitching back to my bike, in the village of Shinkosha.

Hitching back was a lot harder than hitching into Ayaguz and I waited a good 45 mins for a lift. but eventually I got my lift and was reunited with my chain less bike. Immediately I went to work, bashing pins out of the new chain and then joining up my old chain (2 days old) with the few links of new chain. My construction had to last about a week and 2000 km , when I would get a new chain sent out from England to Russia.

Finally it was ready and I fitted it to the bike and linked it all up. It all looked like it could work. Tools were put away, hands were washed and I thanks my friend in the general store and hit the road again, nervously.

It was 8pm and almost dark by now and I stopped at a cafe a few km north of Ayaguz for some food. I hadnt eaten anything other than bread all day so enjoyed a meal of shashlik and chai. I was joined by a Kazakh guy from Semey (Semipalatinsk) driving home after visiting his parents. He told me this was not a safe region. I had known from previous trips to Kazakhstan that the north of the country is very much each for his own. Its the only place in the world where I have had security problems on a bike. I was glad to not be staying the night in Ayaguz, but would need to find somewhere to stay. My friend recommended I go thru to Oskemen (Ust-Kamenogorsk) but that would take me thru to 1am and I wasn’t sure I had the energy for that.

We both hit the road, with him following me for the first 30 mins to make sure I didn’t have any problems, before his Mercedes sped off into the night. I was in no mood for speeding – still worried about my chain. I stopped at a petrol station after the chain had done a bit over 100 km to check the state of my bodge. It was still good. I was relieved and upped my speed from 80 to 90 km/h. About 11:30pm I saw a cluster of cafe’s by the road, about 15km south of Grigorievka, one larger than the others. I decided to see if they had rooms. Sure enough they did. I was feeling pretty tired and drowsy on the bike so I took a room for 5 EUR and took all my luggage in. To my surprise they had a garage and the security guy would let me use it for EUR 2.50. It was too much, but I took it anyway. I then had a lovely warm shower (extra 1.50 EUR) and a beer and relaxed after a long stressful day.

I cant get over how many things are failing, that were ‘fixed’ or fitted in Almaty. I have to find a good mechanic in Russia to give the bike a once over. Oh how I wished for Valera, the master mechanic from Yalta.

Afghanistan, Pamir, Sibirsky Extreme, Tajikistan

The High Pamir

2 Comments

27.05.09

Breakfast at my ‘homestay’ in Vamg was at 7:30am, delivered with a smile – anything I wanted. My hosts daughter had washed my smelly socks and boxers last night and had made sure they were dry by 8am. This Tajik ‘homestay’ system really rocks !!

I stayed in my hosts majestic living room, with the 5 pillars as is traditional for the Ismailis, updating the previous days blog. I had no internet or phone connection but I should be able to get beeline reception somewhere along my route today so will be able to email the blog to Jon, pics to be added later.

I left my host and headed down the road to Vrang, 5km away, where I could top up with fuel. This time it was a plastic bucket and funnel job. I had done 195 km since my last top up in Khorog, and I figured I would probably take 8 or 9 litres … so I ordered 7, and would see visually how much room I had left in the tank once that was done. Incredibly, that 7 litres overfilled the tank and about a quarter of a litre of go-go juice spilled over the sand. The bike has been incredible on fuel since we hit the tricky roads and the altitude. The last 655 km since Kulab has seen me use just 25.5 litres … less than 3.9 litres/100km (73 mpg) … while climbing pretty much the whole time.

I continued along the Panj river to Langar, the last town for about 150 km. Here the valley split in two and the road and the Afghan border followed the Pamir river, while the Panj was renamed the Wakhan river and continued into Afghanistan.  Almost immediately after Langar (2900m) the road began to climb sharply up to aroung 3500 metres. From here to the military base and checkpoint at Khargush, the road would be mainly 3400 – 3700 metres up. It was about 65 km from Langar to the checkpoint and the only company I had on that road were the countless shepherds moving sheep, goats and cattle uphill. All going the same way, driving the beasts along the road. I stopped almost as many times for them as for my foto stops.

About 5 km from Khargush, the road began climbing again and by the time I got to the deserted checkpoint at Khargush, I was at 4000 metres. I wondered around the checkpoint making lots of noise and trying to find signs of life.  It was now seriously cold.  Even in Langar, I had been overheating. But once I had climbed to 3500 metres, and the Pamir plateau, the temperature dropped rapidly. Some soldiers came trotting up the hill from the Army base 300 yards from the checkpoint, carrying a book. Good, this would be the registration book. They took down my details as they had in every other checkpoint, and opened the barbed wire encrusted gate.

I had hoped to continue following the Pamir river eastwards from here, and get into the far south east corner of Tajikistan, but Yusuf yesterday had told me it was a closed military road, confirmed by the soldiers at the checkpoint. Instead I followed the gravel road north, to the Khargush Pass. (editors note … I since heard from a guide in Murgab that its not as closed as it once was, and permission, if got thru the right contacts, was definately feasible)

From the checkpoint, the road immediately climbed higher and in quick time I was above 4300 metres. From here it was a relative flat road for the next 5 miles to the pass itself .. very flat for a pass … very gradual. So flat I didnt notice it until I was heading downhill. 4350 metres my map says.

15 minutes later and I reached the Pamir highway … the M41 … asphalt. A black ribbon of reasonable asphalt across the Pamir plateau. I was now at 3800 metres. From here is was a comfortable ride through ethereal landscapes, 130 km to Murgab, the only town of any substance on the Pamir plateau. One mile down the new asphalt road I stopped to take some fotos at the same spot as a tour group. It was only the second vehicle I had seen all day. Mostly British with an American in there too. These were the first westerners I had chatted with since leaving Jon and Marcin in Romania months ago. They were headed to Murgab as well and I agreed to meet them for dinner in Murgab.

I had plenty of time on my hands so I spent the afternoon shooting still and video clips on the Pamir plateau, but all the mounting and dismounting the bike was having an effect. I did notice feeling either tired or light headed when filming up near 4150 metres in the afternoon. I was glad Murgab was a few hundred metres lower, at 3650 metres and made my way down … stopping to take photos regularly. As with the rest of Tajikistan so far, every scene has been a postcard, and my camera has been working overtime. All my batteries were running low – camera, video etc and I would need to recharge everything in Murgab tonight.

I pulled into dusty, windswept Murgab and went searching for petrol. I had realised after this morning that it was making more sense to buy fuel in the evening so I could just pack the bike up and go in the mornings. I eventually found fuel, and tried to estimate my requirement to the Kirgiz guy selling fuel from his backyard. 285 km? should be about 11 – 12 litres. I bought 10. Again I overestimated. The last half litre ended up in the dirt again. I had used only 9.5 litres to do 285 km through the mountains, mostly uphill, mostly on dirt roads. It continues to amaze me.

I found a homestay run by a Kirgiz woman called Apal (Murgab is mostly a Kirgiz town) and unloaded the bike. I had phone reception here and sat in my room uploading the last blog post to Jon, and checking the loads of emails since I last had functional gprs reception in Khorog. There were a couple of disconcerting emails about the Kirgiz border with Uzbekistan being closed due to some troubles, but hopefully that wont affect me.

Darkness fell and Murgab was black. There was no power in the town. The town has a hydro electric plant but apparently its very old and hasnt kept up with the towns growth. IN any case it didnt work at all tonight.  This would make it hard to recharge my assorted batteries.

– – –

28.05.09

I left my homestay in Murgab with a full stomach and full tanks of fuel and went straight to the police station to register. Apparently it isn’t necessary any more but I was advised by Surat, the head of the tour company guiding the tour group I met yesterday that it would be prudent to visit them and get their OK on that. Having done that, I headed north, towards to Ak-Baital pass … the highest point in the trip at 4655 metres … at least for several months.

I had woken up much as I went to bed the previous night, with a headache and feeling less than 100% alert. It was the altitude. Heading to Ak-Baital meant climbing up 1000 metres from Murgab. This would be a test for the constitution. I needed to get back to a lower altitude and the only way I could do that was to continue North – about 100 km from Ak-Baital was another pass, the Kyzyl-Art pass (4280m) which was also the border with Kirgizia, and after that I could drop over 1000 metres to the first town in Kirgizia, Sary Tash.

I still felt that if it was possible, I would leave the road at Ak-Baital and try and climb higher up on the bike, off piste, despite my dizziness and throbbing headache. When I reached the pass, I realised that unlike every other pass I had crossed in the Pamir, the Ak-Baital was surrounded everywhere by steepness. There was no safe way I was going to score any more altitude metres and I headed on down. My GPS altitude reading was 4664m. The dizziness and the cold hit new heights in the last few hundred metres to the pass and I was very glad to be descending.

This was the highest I had ridden since Bolivia in 2005. (I made an error in an earlier post about Col de l’Iseran being the highest I had ridden before .. how could I forget Bolivia?) In Bolivia I was riding above 3600m all of the time, and above 4000m most of the time. I suspect I got up to about 4500m plus at some of the passes there, but with no GPS, I cant be sure exactly how high I was.

15 minutes beyond Ak-Baital and I saw two cars I recognised. It was the tour group from yesterday. We crossed paths a few times over the next hour with either me or them stopping for fotos, before they pulled in for lunch at Karakol. I had eaten a huge breakfast precisely so I didnt need lunch and left them by the lake.

I had got about 15 km North from the town of Karakol when the strangest thing happened. I saw a BMW type bike with a sidecar appraching from the other direction. It would have been easy to shake it off as a local on a BMW sidecar clone but something made me think twice … the bike had a headlight on. It must be a westerner. We both pulled over with huge smiles and introduced outselves. Vincent was French and had been on the road since September last year. I am the first westerner on a bike he has seen this year. Apart from colleagues Jon and Safran, Vincent was the first westerner on a bike I had seen since the Germans in Montenegro over 7 weeks ago. A guy travelling solo in Tajikistan with a sidecar – thats one for Erik Bok!!. We chatted, and discussed maps and routes when you wouldnt believe it, there in the middle of nowhere Tajikistan, a third bike (with headlight on) approaches from the north with a huge grin. Guy was from Belgium and he too hadnt seen another westerner on a bike for 2 months. None of us had seen anyone for months, and then in a remote location, we meet two others within 20 minutes ! Here’s one for Chris Scott … Guy was on a 20 year old Tenere! (The 138 kg model with a big 29 litre tank)

They both warned me about the border pass ahead … apparently its a bit muddy. Vincent with the sidecar said it was particularly tough on his set up. I advised them on routes further into Tajikistan. Vincent and his sidecar were trying to get to Pakistan, but didnt want to pay up $2000 for the Chinese tour guide system, so he has decided to go thru Tajikistan to Afghanistan and from there to Pakistan. Hope he makes it … will make a great film (he is filming his trip as well).

I had to press on tho and tackle the border. It was 2pm and you just never know how long borders will take, so I left the boys and pressed to the muddy border pass. 30 odd minutes later and I was at the Tajik border post. It was a few hundred yards before the pass itself. The process went smoothly … just went through the same steps with 3 different services. First the police checkpoint. Kill the engine, dismount, take documents into small hut. Answer a million questions. Finally the man writes down all my details into his log book and shakes my hand telling me I can go. Next is the customs shoebox. Kill the engine, dismount, take docs into shoebox room. Answer questions, smile and laugh at officials jokes, hope he hurries up and just writes down the details and eventually we are done, and I move on to the immigration booth (cylindrical tin drum) where the official takes out a log book, then decides its the wrong one, takes another, looks at every single visa and stamp in my passport (as do the police and customs guys mind you) then asks to see my vehicle papers (there is total overlap in the questions of all three services – why does an immigration guy want to ask about the bike’s papers … can he not assume that the customs guy has done that as part of his job?

Anyway it all went pretty quickly. I reckon 25 minutes and I was thru the Tajik post. As I packed up to leave, I saw the tour group’s 4WD minibus pull up at the police post, 60 yards away and gave them a wave. I stopped 20 yards past the Tajik checkpoint to talk to the new waiting minibus for the tour group, to tell the waiting Kirgiz guide that his clients are on the way thru the border now. (the group changed drivers, guide and vehicle at the border)

The Kirgiz post was not just over the pass, it was over the pass and down in the valley 25 km away! Getting up the last few hundred metres from the Tajik post to the pass was what Guy and Vincent were taking about. It was red mud city. It was a no-mans land, and no-one maintains roads in no-mans land. Steep slippery wet red mud. The name of the pass was the Kyzyl-Art Pass and I know Kyzyl means Red. I am guessing but ‘Art’ must mean earth or mud … because the intensity of the red colour was quite striking.  The slippery mud was worse on the other side.  Muddy hairpin bends at 4000 metres … mmm fun ! No wonder Vincent on the sidecar rig hated it.

When I reached the Kirgiz checkpoint 25 minutes later (and 750 metres lower), I realised I didnt have my documents on me! My passport, vehicle papers etc … I had them at the Tajik checkpoint. I searched my tankbag and pockets in vain, and it suddenly hit me that this could be a showstopper.

I asked the Kirgiz border guards to excuse me while I returned to search for my documents. On the way I passed a car load of Kirgiz who had a flat tyre in no-mans land and no way to fix it. They asked me if I had a spare patch of rubber. I took one look at the huge rip in their tube and shook my head. The best I had was a push bike repair kit with a couple of patches big enough to patch nail holes, not huge rips. I continued up the mountain. Perhaps I had left the papers at the last checkpoint – with the immigration guy – and perhaps he had given them to the tour group to carry down. I would probably pass them on the way up. In the meantime, my eyes were scanning the red earth muddy road bed for anything unnatural. Everything artificial stands out when you stare hard enough. Even at reasonable riding speeds I was suddenly seeing cigarette butts and small plastic wrappers. That was encouraging. Then I saw the tour group. I stopped and asked them if they had seen my papers, but got only blank looks back.

This was bad … it meant the docs were probably not at the Tajik post .. at the very least the Tajiks would have told them to tell me they had my docs and I should return for them. The docs must be somewhere on the road. I decided to continue up the mountain at full speed, and do a slow speed retracement once I got to the Tajik post. I powered thru the red mud and reached the pass with no sign of the papers. A few hundred yards away around the next bend would be the Tajik post.

Then suddenly I saw something at the side of the road … it was the clear plastic sandwich bag that held all my docs. It had fallen on a dry patch and was barely even dirty. I was barely more than 100 yards from the Tajik post. In my haste to leave (there is never a good reasoon to hang around or to take your time at a border post once you have been given the all clear) I must have put the docs on my tank bag while I mounted the bike or put on my helmet or whatever. And forrgotton to pack them inside the tank bag. As I rode off from the post they had fallen off the tank bag.

I was relieved as hell to have found them. It was the second time for document dramas this trip. I returned to the Kirgiz post and the boys there were relieved I had found the docs. They had been wondering what to do with me if I didnt find them. I would have been a passportless man on a motorcycle in no mans land … neither in Tajikistan nor Kirgizstan. Mutual relief ensured I was given a hasty passage thru the Kirgiz border. Both border posts had taken a mere 20 odd minutes each.  It could have been my fastest border corssing in central asia to date, but instead was a 2 hour stressful ordeal!

Kirgizia was now country number 27 and should be the last new country for me for some months. My plan had been to try and get towards Osh for the night, but the delays and the need to chill out meant I would only go to the next town, Sary Tash. The tour group had been going there and their guide had given me the name of the place they would stay when I chatted to him just after the Tajik Post 2 hours earlier and suggested I join them. At the time I pooh-poohed the idea but circumstances had changed and I decided to head into Sary Tash and find Mirbek’s homestay.

Sary Tash lies in an incredible setting. The two massive east-west ranges I had to cross on the road to Dushanbe extend here and Sary Tash lies in between them. The border pass with Tajikistan was the southern range and Sary Tash lies at the foot of the northern one. In between the two is a plain about 3200 metres up. Like the road to Dushanbe, the mountains are a solid wall … a real range rather than individual peaks and valleys. Again I looked at the range from a distance and thought ‘how the hell do you get across that?’ It was a solid wall for as far as I could see west towards Dushanbe and East towards China. Then I turned around and behind me was an equally impenetrable wall, and I had just crossed that one.

Sary Tash itself reminded me a bit of Murgab, only a little smaller and a lot greener. Here the ground was grasslands while at Murgab it had been dusty, barren, bleak and unforgiving. Animals grazed here. I found Mirbek’s guesthouse and the tour group. The Kirgiz guide arranged an extra room for me and I joined the group for tea. Dinner was on the way in less than an hour and I took the chance to wash my face and hair for the first time in two days. The rest of me will have to wait till I find a shower somewhere.

The tour group was headed for China early the next morning (5am departure) and so we all ate an early dinner. I had missed lunch so feasted on the manti provided by the hosts before discussing routes thru Kirgizia with the guide. He seemed to know exactly which roads would be open at this time and unfortunately some of the more interesting passes I had planned were not yet open.  He did recommend a morning detour tho to check out Mt Lenin … the second highest mountain in the former USSR at over 7000 metres. The Sibirsky Extreme Project could hardly bypass a chance to see Lenin Peak now, could it?

Afghanistan, Pamir, Sibirsky Extreme, Tajikistan

Along the Afghan Border

13 Comments

25.05.09

I woke up early and had breakfast at 8 o clock.  I wanted to be on the road early but there were 3 things I had to do before I left Dushanbe. (1) get GPRS working on my new Tajik sim card (2) get some petrol and (3) change some cash into Tajik somoni.

The first took about an hour, trying to call the phone provider and searching the internet – but we got there.  The second and third I could do in the centre of town.

By 10:15 I was all done and on the road.  I had two possible routes planned and I didnt know which to take.  Both involved heading 25km east of Dushanbe.  Both would meet up at Kalaikhum, on the Panj River that makes the Afghan border.

Perhaps out of laziness, I got to the turnoff point and went straight ahead, on the main road to Kalaikum.  It was  the route most travellers take, and it was a fair bit shorter than the other route.  As it happens I got only 15 km down the road when the police told me the road was closed ahead.  I could have stopped and chatted to find out why, and for how long, but as I had the other route planned, to the south via Kulab, hitting the Panj River 150 km earlier, Idecided just to turn around and take the alternate route.

This alternate route had been recommended to me by a Dutch guy, Pieter from Amsterdam,  If I hadnt been in such a hurry to get to Khorog, I would have taken it automatically.  I had a couple of reasons to press on.  The 18 days off the bike had meant I would already be late getting to Siberia and I wanted to minimise my lateness, and secondly, I had only been given 5 full days in Tajikistan from the customs guy when I entered.  Sure I could faff about in Dushanbe to get an extension, but that in itself would cost me a day..

As it happens I was now going the scenic route anyway. The road was an interesting steady climb and descent to Dangara, but the next 100 or so km to Kulab was down in the lowlands, all from 400 – 600 m in altitude and hot and to be honest, pretty boring.  My initial plan was to lunch in Kulab and then head over the last range to the Panj River.  The heat made me change plan.  I would head to Shurabad up in the hills for lunch where it would be cooler.

The road immediately began to get interesting as soon as I left Kulab – climbing from around 600 metres to a pass up at 2000 metres 20 km away.  It was just a huge open climb, a lot of fun and I stopped to take a foto at the top, looking all the way back to Kulab.  That done it was a short ride to Shurabad and lunch, only the bike wouldnt start.  Nothing.  No lights, no anything.  It was 1:45 pm.  I checked the power, and the battery was still alive.  I assumed it was a blown fuse and took off the seat and examined all the fuses … they were all fine.  I checked all visible wiring.  It was now 2:30pm.  I came to the conclusion that something was amiss with my ignition switch… what to do.?

I made an executive decision to head back to Kulab, one of the largest towns in Tajikistan … it was pretty much all downhill … I could glide the 20 km …  And I did, tho it took me 30 minutes with a few short paddling sessions in the middle.  I found a service station of sorts and spoke to the guys … saying I needed an “electrical master”.  A few phone calls were made and the sparky came 10 minutes later.  I explained to him what I thought was the problem and while I was still justifying my logic to him in Russian, he had bypassed the ignition switch with a test wire and got the bike to fire up.  So I was right for a change.

On the glide down the hill I though about what to do if it was indeed the ignition switch.  I figured I had a spare switch on my ‘dashboard’ which could double as an ignition switch, tho I would have to add a second hidden switch on the same circuit for when I left the bike, like in the evenings.  All the way down that huge hill I was thinking of where to hide that second secret switch.

I counted on the idea that ignition switches were untamperable, and to open one up was to break it.  This time I was wrong.  My Tajik sparky had opened up the ignition switch and had found the problem … a soldered connection had come unsoldered. Easy to fix if you have a soldering iron … My Tajik sparky was fast, and smart, but he had no soldering iron.  He had to disappear for 10 minutes to borrow one from a friend.

While he was away I had been chatting to the assorted lads and hangers on at the mechanics shop and the lads insisted on washing the bike.  Out of the kitchen (like many workshops in the former soviet union, a workshop if often a cafe as well – like Lyosha’s back in Beyneu) comes a loud 20 year old Tajik girl suggesting I take her on my bike back to England.  She suggested she was a good cook.  One of the lads suggested she was good at something else that I didnt catch as it was in Tajik, but it was not hard to guess the jist of the comment.  I politely declined, stating the Sibirsky Extreme Project’s completion was incompatible with riding back to England with a mad Tajik cook in tow.

The sparky returned with the ignition switch all soldered up.  5 minutes later all was fixed, the sparky was 20 Tajik somoni richer (about 3.50 EUR) and I was repacking the bike.  I had feared a day or so out of action when the bike died on the top of that pass, but I was back on the road 2 hours and 45 minutes after the bike died.  1 hour of that was my attempts to fix and then diagnose the problem and 30 more minutes was me gliding back to Kulab.  The ride back up the big hill was twice as fast and exactly 3 hours after I broke down I was riding back past the same spot.  It was now almost 5 pm and I still wanted to try and make it to Kalaikhum.  Lunch now was obviously not necessary.

After Shurabad, it became clear that my hopes of further quick progress would be dashed by an old, often unpaved road that led to the Panj River and the Afghan border.  The road may have been poor, but in the finest Tajik traditions, it was through spectacular mountains.  The area between Dungara and Kulab had been totally flat plains.  It was good to be back in the mountains and interesting scenery again.  It was about 6pm when I finally reached the Panj valley and the road turned north to head upstream on the river.

This quickly became some of the most amazing scenery I have ever ridden through. The Panj cut through a tremendously deep valley with equally tremendous vigor.  As far as I could see upstream, it was constant rapids, constant white water.  With the main road closed this route was now the only way to get from Dushanbe to the Badakhshan region, or which Khorog is the capital.  The track alongside the river was one of the most challenging I have ridden.  It was narrow, steep, often with oversize gravel and boulders, many water crossings etc etc.  It was a challenge and I really enjoyed it.  The only downside was that progress was painfully slow.  There was no way I could average 50-60 km/h on this road.  At one point I even came across a waterfall covering the track.  There was no way around it … it was cliff on one side and vertical drop on the other.  I couldnt really see what was on the other side of the fall, but plunged in anyway with visor down.  Every metre of this road was interesting and the scenery breathtaking.  This road had to make it only my recommended roads list!

As darkness descended I reverted to both headlights.  On the edge of darkness I passed a couple of soldiers patrolling the border and asked how far to Zigar (the first town on the road).  “25 km” was the answer.  At the speeds I was going, that would take almost an hour, especially with all the constant demands to stop for  fotos – imposed by the jaw dropping scenery.  At the speed trucks were going it would be 3 times that.  There were quite a few trucks doing the route too, but  they were crawling along in first gear the whole way at no more than 5 miles an hour.  the only other vehicles apart from me and the trucks were the occasional Landcruiser / Nissan Patrol, which were the buses of the Badakhshan region where I was heading.

At one narrow point I got stuck behind a truck with no way to pass.  As Ibegan to curse the truck, I realised his presence was a blessing.  In front of us was a deep water crossing.  I wanted to see how he made it across and work out how smooth the bottom was and how deep it was.  The truck inched across in low gear before struggling up the steep bank on the other side.  I could see two problems from the movement of the trucks wheels thru the water.  The bottom was rocky, and it was about 60-70 cm deep.  The depth should be ok for the bike, but I was going to have to get my feet wet.  The other problem was the bank on the other side.  It too was rocky, and steep, especially the bit where you emerge from the water.  The truck had moved on and I was alone in the world pondering this crossing.

Damn the torpedoes … engage first gear and lets go.  I was lucky, I was finding a smoother path across the bottom than the truck did and a few deep breaths later by front wheel was up on the far bank … and my boots were filled with freezing cold water.  Getting the back end out of the water was tough … the bank was rocky.  I tried pushing back a few times to get a foot or so of run up to the bank and on the third time I made it, back wheel spinning wildly all over the wet rocks but somehow finding enough traction at one point to launch me clear of the water and up onto dry land again.

I passed a gang of workers, working into the darkness, churning up the road into a surface really only designed for multi-wheel drive trucks with enormous ground clearance to pass.  I had no choice but to take on the piles of soft earth and gravel, conscious of the sheer cliff into the Panj on my right.

After one of the most exhilerating rides of my life I made it to the police checkpoint on the outskirts of Zigar, where everyone has to register.  The checkpoints in this region are not at all discriminatory.  Everyone has to get out and register their presence at each checkpoint.   There was no electricity here.  Even this police checkpoint was illuminated by a solitary candle on the desk of the chief.  All along the route by the Panj there had been no signs of life, other than the road itself and the occasional blacked out tiny village.  No power lines, no telephone wires … nothing apart from the amazing road to show man was present.

Just as I was leaving the checkpoint a truck driver stopped me for a chat.  He was going the same way and told me not to bother trying to stop in Zigar … there was no restaurants or places to stay, but he recommended a great place 15 km down the road.

15km !!! on these roads that was at least another half hour in the dark.  I reluctantly saddled up and prepared for more intense concentration.  To my  shock and surprise, on entering Zigar, I found alphalt road … not just asphalt road, but immaculate asphalt road.  It continued as I left Zigar … in fact it was like a proper road.  Wide, guard rails, reflectors.  My speed increased to 80 km/h, then 100 … I couldnt see anything but that which was illuminated by my twin xenon high beams, but that was more than enough road ahead to see the gradual curves into the distance.  It this kept up, my 15 km would pass in about 9 minutes.  Not being able to see the spectacular scenery had me wondering what was this  amazing piece of road.  How did they build a road to cruise so effortlessly through this rugged countryside?  Was it the Chinese at work again.

In no time I had reached the next village, Khostav, and found the recommended restaurant / guesthouse.  It was a truck parking lot out the front, clearly a truck drivers favorite.  I settled down on the only spare table and ordered a bowl of lagman soup, bread and a beer. The restaurant was abuzz with the chatter of Tajik truckdrivers and two landcruisers full of local bus passengers.  The only light bulb in the room flickered irritatingly and I understood why with the noise of a two stroke electricity generator howling away outside.

I got a few curious stares, but no-one interrupted my relaxation as I enjoyed every sip of the beer.  10 minutes later the truck driver I had met at thee Zigar police post walked in with his son – an apprentice truck driver I imagine – and joined me at my table.

I asked about the road.  Was it the Chinese?  No he said.  The Chinese roads are in the North of the country. This stretch was built by the Turks.  There is another road not far from here built by the Iranians.  It seems with Tajikistan being the poorest country in the former soviet union, everyone is trying to gain influence by donating roads and the like.  The Russians are currently building a 2 billion dollar hydro dam for the Tajiks which will generate all the power the country needs.  It makes sense when you are the most mountainous country on earth, to generate power by hydro methods – but the capital costs are pretty huge.  Thats where the Russians come in.  So Russia, China, Irana and Turkey … are vying for influence here.

We spoke about the road ahead.  He said this good road continued to Egar, halfway from Khostav to Kalaikhum, then fell back a bit, but still a load better than the road prior to Zigar.  The road from Kalaikhum (where the main road joins the Panj valley) to Khorog was better again.  Not as good as this good stretch, but nothing like the ‘adventure’ to Zigar.

The truck driver said he would leave at about 4am, and expect to get to Khorog about 3pm.  I was hoping to be a bit quicker than that, and in any case, would not be leaving at 4am.

Above the restaurant was a dorm room.  I settled into a bed for the night.  The meal had cost me about 2 EUR and an extra EUR for the bed.

– – –

26.05.09

I awoke early … about 5am, and decided to get up and get an early start.  Half the trucks had already left.  They work pretty hard these Tajiks.  Road crews in the middle of nowhere working well into the darkness.  Truck drivers leaving at 4 –  5 am to get to where they have to get to.  I had a cup of tea, a head shower of sorts under their fresh water waterfall, packed up the baggage and was on the road soon after 6am.  The road was exactly as the driver described.  Fantastic to Egar and then fell back a few notches, but still good for 60 km/h.

The Panj river was still amazing me.  I had joined it at 600m.  By the time I reached Kalaikhum, I was up at about 1200m.  The whole way it had been white water … rapids for over 150 km.  I topped up with fuel in Kalaikhum and realised I had been getting excellent fuel economy on these mountain roads, despite thrashing the bike.  I was getting 24-25 km/litre (4.0l/100km).  That was great news as the Pamir region is not known for its abundant fuel.  As was usually the case in Tajikistan (Dushanbe being the exception) fuel came in a tub … and I bought it by the jar, dipped into the tub of petrol. It still under half a eur per litre, even out here in the wilds of Badakhshan.  I asked about the grade of fuel.  It was a silly question.  In Badakhshan there is benzin and there is benzin.  76 octane, 80 octane, 92 octane are irrelevant concepts here.  Fuel is fuel.  Take it or leave it.

Badakhshan is the huge autonomous region in the south east of Tajikistan, of which Khorog is the capital and only major town.  The population here is mainly Ismaili, and follow the Aga Khan.  The region is 100% mountains.  There are no plains in Badakhshan, and you need a special endorsement on your visa to come here.  I got mine with the visa in London for 50 quid, but I have heard you can get them in Dushanbe in a day for 30 USD.  The Ismailis are now one of the most serene branches of Islam but that wasnt always the case.  Back in the day of Genghis and co, the branch of Islam that is now the Ismailis was known as the Assassins.  They had fortresses all over Persia and surrounding regions and always got what they wanted … until they picked a fight with Genghis.  Destroying the Assassins was one of his main priorities after having taken over the lands of the Shah of Khwarezm.

I also noticed there was mobile phone reception on my phone in Kalaikum and stopped to check emails.

Eventually, after refuelling, email checking and police checkpointing, I was back on the road.  As promised, the road onwards to Khorog was a cakewalk compared to the pre Zigar road.  I took advantage of my early start and the relaxing road to photograph locals.  I had been told by everyone from Mad Max to Kazakh business friends that Tajiks were the most attractive people of all the central asians, and I found it very hard to disagree with that.  There is a strong persian bloodline running thru the Tajiks and the language is very close to Farsi, the language of Iran.  Quite a few of the Tajiks even looked distinctly european to me.  There is two different attitudes to being photographed here, divided sharply by sex.  The men and boys leap and jump in front of me as soon as I pull out a camera, while the women and girls who were previously smiling and friendly suddenly get camera shy and photographing them is quite a challenge.  I have found out that if I plead a little, the smiles return and I am allowed to take the photos.

Next stop, 250 km and 5 hours down the road from Kalaikhum was Khorog.  I stoped here for lunch and a fuel top up.  Again, plesantly surprised that I needed less than 10 litres to top me up for the past 250 km. By Khorog I had now climbed to 2100 metres.  I had followed the Panj river all the way from 600 metres.  The white water had continued to about 75 km before Khorog, at 1900 metres.  The last 75 km was characterised by a much calmer Panj, and a wider river valley.  There were a few slower sections, including some cool overhangs above the road, but in general, the road was good for 70-80 km/h on a motorcycle the whole way.

After lunch I left the standard pamir highway which heads north east out of Khorog towards Murgab, and instead continued on south, to follow a lesser road  (and the Panj /  Afghan border) to Ishkashim and round to the east after that.  Safran had told me this was one of his favorite regions on the motosyberia trip 2 years ago so I was enthused as to what this would bring for my bike and my camera.

35km south of Khorog I was asked to stop by a young girl who wanted me to meet her father.  I was making good time so I decided to take her up on it.  The village was Khaskhorog and her father was Yusuf, a professional tour guide and fluent english speaker.  Yusuf showed me his lovely Ismaili house, explaining its traditional design and said he would like to start taking in guests as well, since the crisis had affected the amount of tourists that needed guiding.

A neighbour’s kid came in to see what was going on and to my surprise the 12 year girl was blonde – naturally. Yusuf joked that the locals called her a russian, but in fact she was pure Tajik.  Yusuf’s own daughter had honey green eyes … and it kinds reminded me a little of that legendary fotograph taken during the Soviet Afghan war of the Afghan village girl with the piecing green eyes staring straight into the camera lens.  Yusuf invited me to stay the night, but it was still only 4pm and I am ever conscious of my time limit in Tajikistan.

He is a lovely guy, and as a professional tour guide, knows everything worth seeing and how to get there in the whole Badakhshan province.  He is totally fluent in English and if you were coming to this area, you might want to stay at his place for the night – a traditional Badakhshan home, and get the full take on what to see, how to get there and have the culture of the local Ismailis explained.  He has a mobile phone and if anyone needs his contact details, let me know.  Ah yes, he also told me that I had the wrong sim card.  I picked up a ‘Beeline’ sim card and in the remote areas, ‘Indigo’ is the best brand … so theres a tip from Yusuf for anyone coming to Tajikistan … get an ‘Indigo’ sim card.

As I departed Khaskhorog, I thought to myself I must return to Tajikistan, with more time.  Safran said that he too would like to come back here.  Perhaps I can convince him to return in summer 2011 for a whole month and really tear this place apart … because its very quickly become one of my favorite countries in the whole world.  Like Switzerland, with really bad roads and about 5% of the price – and much higher mountains, steeper valleys, and people who wave at you as you ride down the main streets of the villages.  My left arm is about to fall off from all the waving so far in Tajikistan.

The road south was not as eventful or dramatic as I had anticipated.  Still every scene was a postcard, but I have to say that nothing compares with what I saw of the Panj valley between Shurabad and Zigar.  That was the most dramatic scenery and road I have ever seen. (thanks Pieter)

I passed thru Ishkashim, where I saw a bridge across the Panj to Afghanistan.  T was told there are 3 crossings in Badakhshan to Afghanistan.  One just outside Khorog, one just outside Ishkashim and one near Langar, a bit further on.  If I had more time, I would have tried to pick up a visa in Khorog at the Afghan consulate and try to pop over on the bikes, if just for an hour or so.  Maybe another idea for 2011.

I passed a old fort on the right off the road.  Yusuf had told me to keep an eye out for it.  It predates the great game in which the Russian and British jockeyed for control of this region.  The British got Afghanistan and the Russians got Tajikistan … but all things come to pass and now neither of them have either of those territories.  Prior to the great game, this region (and northern Afghanistan across the river) belonged to the Emir of Bukhara … and it was his mud brick fort that now is slowly eroding away.

I stopped for the night at Vamg, a small village about 5km before the larger town of vrang.  I saw a sign on the road pointing to a “homestay” here and popped in.  I had been following the Panj River and the Afghan border now for over 24 hours.  I started at 600 metres and now I was at 2900 metres, 650 kilometres later.  I still have 30-40 km to go beside the river before turning north into the Pamir proper.  The river valley is very wide here, several miles across.  At various points earlier in the day it was no more than 50 metres wide, and an Afghan on the opposite bank could have thrown a stone and hit me.

Now I am in the Wakhan valley.  Across the valley to the South is the Hindu Kush mountains and the thin Wakhan corridor – 25km south of me is Pakistan.  North of me is the High Pamir.  Its an amazing place to be.  I have two days left in Tajikistan … I should make it to Murghab tomorrow, and Kirgizia the following day.

.

Sibirsky Extreme

Remember Humphrey?

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If you cast your minds back to the point where the Sibirsky Extreme Project passed over the Brenner pass on the Austro / Italian border I met a chap called Humphrey who was cycling to China while Walter was making sure nobody had defaced the border sign with a Sibirsky Extreme sticker. We had a short chat about our respective journeys, I gave him a Sibirsky Extreme business card and that was that.

Well today Humphrey got in touch with Sibirsky Extreme HQ and had this to say:

Hi Jonathan!

I am the cyclist you met at the Italian border! I hope you are well- how did your trip go? I passed into Montenegro today and noticed a Sibirsky extreme sticker on the country’s signpost! Was that you guys?!

All the best

Humphrey Wilson

www.humphreywilson.blogspot.com

His blog makes for interesting reading as he is up to now covering a similar route to ourselves. He has also discovered the vicious dogs that I was plagued with every time I stopped to take a photo. Walter and Marcin didn’t encounter such difficulties as their bikes were lighter and faster 😉

While he has only encountered Montenegrin wild dogs mine were mostly Albanian. Officially there is no rabies in Albania, however, there are many stray dogs and they often travel in packs. Even if these animals are not initially aggressive rabies is very much something to watch for in the Balkans and care should be taken as there is no anti-rabies vaccine currently available in Albania according to the Federation of International Trade Associations.

We wish Humphrey all the best of luck and at his current pace he’ll be catching Walter up!

Crimea, Russia, Sibirsky Extreme, Ukraine

Russia at Last

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19.04.09 Tekos, Russia

My day began in the Hotel Kerch by taking advantage of the finest shower I had found in the Ukraine. This was followed by an hour or so to take advantage of the wireless internet in the hotel lobby. I was paying up for these things, so I might as well use them I figured.

Eventually, after my complimentary omelette breakfast, I packed up the bike and headed out towards the ferry to Russia, 15 km out of town.

I arrived at the port at 10:00, only to learn there was a ferry at 10:15, but the customs and immigration process for that boat had closed and the next one was at 1:15pm. Bad start to the day. Wasting 3 hours at a sleepy Ukranian ferry port was not something I was looking forward to. I found the ticket office … it would cost me about 3 EUR for me and 4 EUR for the motorcycle. I returned to the motorcycle to get my documents to find a traffic police officer waiting for me. I had apparently crossed a railway crossing with a flashing red light 500 yards before the port, and he was determined to nail me for my last 500 yards in the Ukraine.

The customs guys came over to see what the fuss was about, thought my motorcycle was pretty cool and pleaded with the traffic cop to let it go, but the cop was having none of it. It took about an hour to write out my ticket in duplicate, write out the penalty in duplicate and for me to go the the bank, change money, pay the 32 EUR penalty, get a receipt from the bank, get a receipt from the cop etc etc etc. About 50 forms and an hour later and he was done. After he was gone, I bought my ferry ticket and spent my last 3-4 EUR worth of Ukranian Hryvna on fruit juice and bounty bars. Having seen me go through all the drama with the traffic cop, the customs and immigration guys were apologetic and sped me thru to wait for the arrival of the 1:15 ferry.

The ferry eventually loaded up and pulled out about 2pm … which translated to 3pm in Russia … the Russian port of Port Kavkaz was an hour ahead of the Ukranian Port Krym. The crossing was only 20-30 minutes, but I wondered when I would clear the Russian port, bearing in mind I was arriving at 3:30pm.  To my pleasant surprise, the Russian side was far more efficient than my arrival in the Ukraine at Reni 8 days ago. Immigration only looked at my passport for a minute (unlike the 15 minutes of scrutinising every stamp and every blank page that the Ukranians did). As for customs, a kind motherly woman shepherded me thru the whole process, and tho she spoke no English, helped me fill out the forms and arranged my insurance.  Note for budding travellers … Russia accepts the Green Card insurance set up too these days and they actually asked for it … implying they would have happily honoured it. As I didnt have that I took 5 month insurance for about 50 EUR. That should cover my whole travels in Russia.

I was out of the port and on the road by 4:15pm. I was amazed at how relatively efficient it had been, particularly compared with the awkward guy I dealt with at Reni, who I suspect was awkward because he wanted a bribe. In contrast the Russians were relatively efficient. I had met a couple of guys on the ferry deck, one of whom was on my route and invited me to stay with him that night, 300 km down the road. He gave me his phone number, but now that I was out of the port, I called it, and it seems I had the wrong number. Oh well.

15 km down the road from the port and I stopped at a police checkpoint to have my documents checked for the first time in the trip. A quick glance at the International Driving Permit (IDP), the International Certificate for Motor Vehicles (ICMV) and my Passport and he waved me on my way. No long lingering glances or shaking of the head implying problems (really implying bribe time) … so far I was glad to be out of Ukraine and into the relative civility of Russia. Even the roads were better here.

I motored thru the summer resort city of Anapa, then the major industrial centre and port city of Novorossiysk before finding another great road south from Gelendzhik. The road was not busy and wound past valley streams and really quaint villages. Immediately I began to think of camping for the night. It was after 7:30pm now and the sunlight was just about gone.  A few km past the village of Tekos, I saw a campfire next to a cottage up on the hill. I slammed on the brakes and rode up the dirt track to the cottage. Around the fire were 7 or 8 Kolkhozniki – guys who worked together on a small communal farm. They told me to forget the idea of camping as it was too cold in the night, and to stay in the cottage instead.

In the soviet times, farms were either of the Kolkhoz or Sovkhoz variety. The Sovkhoz farms were fully state owned and run and larger, while the Kolkhoz farms were semi private, smaller and the kolkhozniki (people who worked the kolkhoz) had to provide a set amount of produce to the government – the remainder was theirs. The ultimate Soviet idea was to move everything over to the sovkhoz style farms, but successive soviets realised the partially privatised kolkhoz farms were far more efficient and never got around to sovkhozing the lot.

The kolkhozniki plied me with chai (tea) plov (meat and rice) and stories. Let me digress from the story here for a second. I will post a picture of my meal. Partly to show how simple life is in a kolkhoz and partly because I have recently received a request from a “high ranking official” to post more pictures of food. Apparently a picture that doesnt include food or a motorcycle is a wasted picture. Yes, I know what you are thinking, this sounds like a man with some strange fetishes, and you are probably right, but never-the-less, I feel obliged to honour the request – thus the picture of Kolkhoz dining service plov above.  Gordon Ramsay eat your heart out baby.

For a cityboy, this was an evening out of a fairytale for me. I was in the foothills of the Caucasus mountains, set in wild forested hills, clear water streams in a small cabin / cottage with the kind of guys who more than any I have ever met, are the real salt of the earth. These guys had very little in the way of posessions, but beamed happiness at having all they need. All the fruit, vegetables etc they need come from the kolkhoz, and its all very fresh. They also kept bees and cut some huge chunks of fresh honeycomb for me. very tasty. Many of the kolkhozniki lived in nearby villages and went home about 10pm, leaving me in the company of a family from Dagestan who lived permanently in the cottage. As is typical of Dagestan, the family was completely mixed ethnically. The father was Tatar, the mother Russian, the son and daughter mixed and the daughters boyfriend was Tabasaran. They set me up in a small room complete with power socket to recharge all my phones, laptop etc etc. Fantastic stuff.

– – –

I woke up after a fantastic nights sleep, on a very dodgy bed, was cooked breakfast and chai by Mama-san, and packed up my gear and hit the road down to Tuapse, before I turned inland and through the mountains. The road from my overnight kolkhoz to Tuapse was by the coast and motels and restaurants lined the route, tho many were not yet open at this time of year. By mid-May it would be really easy to have a wide choice of places to stay if motorcycling in these parts.

I needed to change some USD, as I only had a couple of hundred rubles on me, and I would soon need some fuel. Perhaps tonight I would also want a hotel and some food. It was sunday and the policeman I spoke to in Tuapse said there was nothing open today, and tomorrow is a holiday. I was unlikely to last till Tuesday without rubles, so needed to find something. The cop said it was possible I would find something open in Maykop, the next big town I was heading thru, and though it would be a stretch for the fuel tank, I had a few rubles with which to top up with if things got close. So I turned inland and headed for Maykop. The road was another great riding road. In fact I will add the whole section from Gelendzhik – Tuapse – Apsheronsk to the recommended roads section. It was through forested hills, following mountain streams the whole way. It really fitted in with the whole back to nature feel I had since arriving in Russia.

One of the things I love about this country is it has so much wilderness and nature, and the Russians love that and use it. People are always out picnicing in the forest. There are a little more than 2 times as many people in Russian as in the UK, in a country hundreds of times the size. There was no real chance to shower with the kolkhozniki, and having seen their latrine, I decided to wait a while and find my own location somewhere down the road. Being in the forest and the mountains, hundreds of opportunities persented themselves and eventually I turned off the road, down a track that led just 30 or 40 yards through the forest to a mountain stream. There is something “back to nature” about taking a dump in the woods. Maybe I have been cooped up in the city too long, but that and washing in a mountain stream, on the rocks, in the sunshine, in the forest, was extremely liberating. I had only been in Russia less than 24 hours, but the whole exposure to nature has been incredibly uplifting.

After my little break, I got back on the road, got to Maykop, which is the capital of the Adegey Republic, one of many semi-autonomous republics for the many nationalities in the North Caucasus. I found an open “obmen valuti” (currency exchange booth) in the centre of town, just as my fuel warning light came on and got myself some much needed rubles. Apart from topping up with fuel, I also took the chance to grab some lunch and chat with an Adegey father and daughter who had also stopped at the same Shaurma stall. I only went another 40 km out of town, where I saw a modern looking hotel. It was only 4:15pm but I thought I might as well have an early day.

I was the only guest in the hotel, so could afford to take a bed in a shared room knowing I would have the room to myself. It was only 8 EUR, and had a nice open fireplace. Allegedly it had internet and a sauna too, but the internet was only for the expensive rooms (more like 45 EUR). And the Sauna took 3 hours to heat up so they decided not to turn it on for a cheapskate in a shared room. I chatted with the receptionist, a cossack girl, about Adegeya.

Historically the cossacks were native Ukrainian horsemen who were loyal to the Russian Tsars and were instumental in the expansion of the Russian empire. The Tsar had promised them land just North of the Caucasus and the cossacks went in and took it, pushing the native peoples up into the hills and mountains. Accordingly the cossacks and the North Caucasian nationalities have historically been on opposing teams, and that history seemed to remain in the receptionist who clearly had no intention of mixing with the Adegey, despite being born here and having lived here all her life. She didnt go to Maykop when she wanted the big city shopping trip, but to Krasnodar, an ethnic Russian city 4 times further away. “Too many Adegey in Maykop” she said.

A note for travellers to Russia / Kazakhstan … the russian words for Cossack (pronounced kaZAK) and Kazakh (pronounched kaZAKH – with the KH being like the gutteral ending to the scottish ‘loch’) are remarkably similar for two completely unrelated peoples. If you dont make the effort to clarify the ending and say the work ‘Kazakh’ as we often do in english, you will likely be confused as to meaning Cossack. Similarly, the words for a female of each is also remarkably similar. A female cossack is a ‘kaZATCHka’ while a female kazakh is a ‘kaZASHka’.

As I suspected, post oil and tyre change fuel economy on the bike has returned to normal levels, around 25 km / litre (4l/100 km or 70 mpg). I filled up earlier today with 20 litres, having just done 500 km, much on twisty mountain roads.