Thursday, November 27th, 2008 at Whole Wheat and Honey Coffee Shop (corner of 100th and 100th). Please come at 7:00 if you want coffee and snacks. The show will start at 7:30.
There will be a donation jar at the door just to help cover the cost of the show (keeping the coffee shop open late) so please bring some spare change.
Come one come all! Please pass this info on to anyone you think might be interested.
See you all on Thursday night.
Christine & Jodie
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
In Numbers
Some stats from the trip:
Total kilometers: 1900 km
Total elevation gain (over large passes only): 9540 meters
Highest pass: 4282 meters
Available oxygen in the air at 4282m: less than 1/2 of at sea level
Days riding: 33
Days spent dealing with central asian bureaucracy: 6
Rest days: 7
Sick days: 11 (ick!)
Riding-in-the-snow days: 4
Coldest night: -14C
Kilograms of Nutella consumed: 3
Flat tires: 0 (we love schwalble!)
Real stand-up hot showers: 2
Total kilometers: 1900 km
Total elevation gain (over large passes only): 9540 meters
Highest pass: 4282 meters
Available oxygen in the air at 4282m: less than 1/2 of at sea level
Days riding: 33
Days spent dealing with central asian bureaucracy: 6
Rest days: 7
Sick days: 11 (ick!)
Riding-in-the-snow days: 4
Coldest night: -14C
Kilograms of Nutella consumed: 3
Flat tires: 0 (we love schwalble!)
Real stand-up hot showers: 2
Oh Canada!
We made it! We are in Vancouver and have already taken warm, stand up showers, enjoyed some non-stop tap water along with a nice COLD beer from Boston Pizza, and slept in beds with clean sheets... ahhh the luxury! It seems like a bit of a shock to the system and the details of the trip already seem to be fading into a story from the past...
We are on our way up to Fort St John tomorrow and will soon be working on a slide show. We are planning to show it this Thursday evening. The details are still in progress, so keep watching for updates.
We are on our way up to Fort St John tomorrow and will soon be working on a slide show. We are planning to show it this Thursday evening. The details are still in progress, so keep watching for updates.
We got a great big convoy, aint she a beautiful sight...
We had this and every other trucker song in our heads as we rattled over the last leg of our journey with the convoy of Tajik transport tucks.
With low energy from being sick and only a few days left, we decided that we had to start hitching. The first day out of Khorog, our bikes got a nice ride in the back of a highway crew's dump truck for about 100 rattly kilometers. That night we stayed in a little roadside hotel and woke up to a parking lot full of trucks. In the morning, I started asking about rides to Dushanbe. Their loads were all tagged so they couldn't open them to load bikes, but they were more than willing to take us anyway and ended up cramming all of our dirty gear in the cabs. With our bikes and bobs in four different trucks, we made sure that we had our money, passports and plane tickets on us in case we never saw that gear again. We hopped in with 'John Rambo' and 'Morog' to start the adventure. We were told that it would take 15 hours to Dushanbe. The 550 kilometers ended up taking a total of 32 hours and was an adventure and a cultural experience to say the least!
We had a lot of laughs with this group and as we got to know them, soon came up with a list of nicknames. I wont go into detail about them, but use your imagination... They included John Rambo or Joey from friends, The Prophets, Lola, Che Guevara (the Tajik version), and Ole Dad. It was great to watch their interactions, they are just like family and are constantly bantering back and forth and laughing. We often weren't really sure if they were arguing or just talking, but these loud discussions would often end with boyish handshakes, high fives or fake punches.
The road quality is probably best described as treacherous. It's hard to believe that a road connecting two of the country's major cities could be a single lane boulder field for most of the distance. We clung to the edge of a cliff as we wound our way along the Panj river that is the boarder between Afghanistan and Tajikistan. We would stop to throw freshly fallen boulders off of the road while carefully watching above for anymore that might be falling down. Around corners, we would honk to let traffic know that we were coming. When we could meet another big truck, one of us would back up to a slightly wider section, fold the mirrors in and hold our breath as the other would inch by. When Christine and I were sure that we were going to go tumbling over the cliff at any moment, she asked to get out and our driver Morog burst out laughing saying, "Normal! Normal!"
It might be because of the rough road, the quality of the tires, or the fact that our bad luck seems to be contagious these days, but we had THREE flat tires on our truck alone! Each time, the whole convoy would stop to help with the process. It went like this: put rocks under the tires so the truck can't roll, put on 'work clothes,' take a chew of raw tobacco, jack up the axle with the flat, remove the tire, pry the tire off the rim, use random tools (different every time) to chisel the tube off of the rim, pull out the tube and toss it over the bank, clean the rim and cover it with dirt, put the new tube in, start the air flow, smash the pieces of the rim back together and put the tire back on, wash your hands and face, change clothes, remove the rocks from the tires and get on the road (not that you were ever off of it in the first place- the whole time you are watching for other vehicles passing by). This is even more interesting in the dark and when all of these steps have been completed only to find that the tire itself is blown and will have to be replaced. At this point the tools start to fly and we do our best to decipher the Tajik cuss words...
We were very amused with the level of personal care that our driver displayed. After a flat he would have us pour water for him as he washed with soap (not so common in this here). He would change his entire outfit, fix his hair and get back into the truck to spray Hogo (not Hugo, Hogo) cologne and to finish the process, he would spend five minutes moisturizing his hands. Who knew a Tajik trucker could be so concerned with his look? He also often sprayed air fresher everywhere, leaving us coughing and gasping for air. The dash and the floor were wiped when we were waiting for others and everything was always neat and tidy. When you live in your truck, it's nice to keep it clean.
And live it it we did! At two am and another 165 kilometers to Dushanbe, we stopped for sleep at a truck stop. We were on asphalt at that point so it seemed crazy to be stopping so close to our destination, but what we didn't realize was that the road would soon go back to single lane dirt and would be another eight hours the following day. We were happy to sleep in the seats and let the Morog have the bed but he insisted that we take it. Not feeling like arguing all night we gave in and Chris and I shared a two and a half foot wide bed - yet another bonding experience! Five hours later we were back on the road, listening to our favorite four song Russian cassette tape.
We arrived in Dushanbe with some great memories and a better understanding of Tajik culture. Despite the fact that we had to turn down a few marriage proposals, this was a safe and amusing way wrap up our trip.
With low energy from being sick and only a few days left, we decided that we had to start hitching. The first day out of Khorog, our bikes got a nice ride in the back of a highway crew's dump truck for about 100 rattly kilometers. That night we stayed in a little roadside hotel and woke up to a parking lot full of trucks. In the morning, I started asking about rides to Dushanbe. Their loads were all tagged so they couldn't open them to load bikes, but they were more than willing to take us anyway and ended up cramming all of our dirty gear in the cabs. With our bikes and bobs in four different trucks, we made sure that we had our money, passports and plane tickets on us in case we never saw that gear again. We hopped in with 'John Rambo' and 'Morog' to start the adventure. We were told that it would take 15 hours to Dushanbe. The 550 kilometers ended up taking a total of 32 hours and was an adventure and a cultural experience to say the least!
We had a lot of laughs with this group and as we got to know them, soon came up with a list of nicknames. I wont go into detail about them, but use your imagination... They included John Rambo or Joey from friends, The Prophets, Lola, Che Guevara (the Tajik version), and Ole Dad. It was great to watch their interactions, they are just like family and are constantly bantering back and forth and laughing. We often weren't really sure if they were arguing or just talking, but these loud discussions would often end with boyish handshakes, high fives or fake punches.
The road quality is probably best described as treacherous. It's hard to believe that a road connecting two of the country's major cities could be a single lane boulder field for most of the distance. We clung to the edge of a cliff as we wound our way along the Panj river that is the boarder between Afghanistan and Tajikistan. We would stop to throw freshly fallen boulders off of the road while carefully watching above for anymore that might be falling down. Around corners, we would honk to let traffic know that we were coming. When we could meet another big truck, one of us would back up to a slightly wider section, fold the mirrors in and hold our breath as the other would inch by. When Christine and I were sure that we were going to go tumbling over the cliff at any moment, she asked to get out and our driver Morog burst out laughing saying, "Normal! Normal!"
It might be because of the rough road, the quality of the tires, or the fact that our bad luck seems to be contagious these days, but we had THREE flat tires on our truck alone! Each time, the whole convoy would stop to help with the process. It went like this: put rocks under the tires so the truck can't roll, put on 'work clothes,' take a chew of raw tobacco, jack up the axle with the flat, remove the tire, pry the tire off the rim, use random tools (different every time) to chisel the tube off of the rim, pull out the tube and toss it over the bank, clean the rim and cover it with dirt, put the new tube in, start the air flow, smash the pieces of the rim back together and put the tire back on, wash your hands and face, change clothes, remove the rocks from the tires and get on the road (not that you were ever off of it in the first place- the whole time you are watching for other vehicles passing by). This is even more interesting in the dark and when all of these steps have been completed only to find that the tire itself is blown and will have to be replaced. At this point the tools start to fly and we do our best to decipher the Tajik cuss words...
We were very amused with the level of personal care that our driver displayed. After a flat he would have us pour water for him as he washed with soap (not so common in this here). He would change his entire outfit, fix his hair and get back into the truck to spray Hogo (not Hugo, Hogo) cologne and to finish the process, he would spend five minutes moisturizing his hands. Who knew a Tajik trucker could be so concerned with his look? He also often sprayed air fresher everywhere, leaving us coughing and gasping for air. The dash and the floor were wiped when we were waiting for others and everything was always neat and tidy. When you live in your truck, it's nice to keep it clean.
And live it it we did! At two am and another 165 kilometers to Dushanbe, we stopped for sleep at a truck stop. We were on asphalt at that point so it seemed crazy to be stopping so close to our destination, but what we didn't realize was that the road would soon go back to single lane dirt and would be another eight hours the following day. We were happy to sleep in the seats and let the Morog have the bed but he insisted that we take it. Not feeling like arguing all night we gave in and Chris and I shared a two and a half foot wide bed - yet another bonding experience! Five hours later we were back on the road, listening to our favorite four song Russian cassette tape.
We arrived in Dushanbe with some great memories and a better understanding of Tajik culture. Despite the fact that we had to turn down a few marriage proposals, this was a safe and amusing way wrap up our trip.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Afghanistan
It was a crazy feeling when we first looked across the Panj River that divides Tajikistan and Afghanistan. We were almost speechless, just thinking, "Wow, that's it..." That scary place that we hear so much about in the western media. Yet across the river, in the small villages full of simple mudbrick homes, miles of hand-built stone fences and deciduous trees in a full palette of fall colors, there were no bombs flying, guns firing, buildings burning. There were just people going about their daily lives - herding livestock, moving along footpaths between homes and between villages, playing soccer on the flats by the river. Many of the people on the Afghan side in this area would have been Tajik enthnicity and I found it crazy to think of how different their lives must be from their neighbors; how their fates were sealed by the arbitrary drawing of a line on a map by politicians so far removed.
On the Afghan side of the river, there were no roads. For hundreds of kilometers, as we rattled and bounced along Tajikistan's main highway, we looked across at the footpath in Afghanistan. I was completely fascinated by it and found it hard to take my eyes off of it. In flatter areas (of which there aren't many), the trail was paved by hundreds of years of donkey caravans, sheep and cattle herds and pedestrians moving back and forth between villages and towns. The small villages were spread about a day's walk apart and we never did see a large town where one might buy supplies. We did see a few small donkey caravans carrying heavy loads, probably walking for several days in each direction to the nearest market. Along the cliffs that ran alongside most of the Panj, wood and rocks were used to build narrow bridges between ledges in the cliff and headspace or extra width was chisled out of the rock by hand. The entire length of it that we followed was an incredible feat of engineering, made all the more impressive by the knowledge that it was 100s of years old.
We couldn't help but think of what an amazing trip it would be to travel along this network of paths by foot but don't worry, we won't be buying tickets to Afghanistan anytime soon!
Christine
On the Afghan side of the river, there were no roads. For hundreds of kilometers, as we rattled and bounced along Tajikistan's main highway, we looked across at the footpath in Afghanistan. I was completely fascinated by it and found it hard to take my eyes off of it. In flatter areas (of which there aren't many), the trail was paved by hundreds of years of donkey caravans, sheep and cattle herds and pedestrians moving back and forth between villages and towns. The small villages were spread about a day's walk apart and we never did see a large town where one might buy supplies. We did see a few small donkey caravans carrying heavy loads, probably walking for several days in each direction to the nearest market. Along the cliffs that ran alongside most of the Panj, wood and rocks were used to build narrow bridges between ledges in the cliff and headspace or extra width was chisled out of the rock by hand. The entire length of it that we followed was an incredible feat of engineering, made all the more impressive by the knowledge that it was 100s of years old.
We couldn't help but think of what an amazing trip it would be to travel along this network of paths by foot but don't worry, we won't be buying tickets to Afghanistan anytime soon!
Christine
Sunday, November 16, 2008
The Finish Line: Dushanbe
We made it! We're in Dushanbe and just have to box our bikes and do some Christmas shopping before our flight home.
Unfortunately, we did't make it on our bikes. It only took us about 40kms from Khorog to decide that we still weren't up to riding and so we started hitching. It was quite an adventure and cultural experience in itself, joining a 5-truck tajik convoy for 32 hours (which will be the topic of a blog in the next day or two).
We're still not healthy, but happy to be in the capital and soon to fly home. In the meantime, we'll be taking good care of each other.
Watch for an announcement for our slideshow in the next day or two as well - it'll be next week sometime in FSJ, we just have to book a room somewhere.
Unfortunately, we did't make it on our bikes. It only took us about 40kms from Khorog to decide that we still weren't up to riding and so we started hitching. It was quite an adventure and cultural experience in itself, joining a 5-truck tajik convoy for 32 hours (which will be the topic of a blog in the next day or two).
We're still not healthy, but happy to be in the capital and soon to fly home. In the meantime, we'll be taking good care of each other.
Watch for an announcement for our slideshow in the next day or two as well - it'll be next week sometime in FSJ, we just have to book a room somewhere.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Speaking of the Loo...
Jodie and I have been way-laid in Khorog for several days now, battling a bout of giardia. We managed to track down some drugs yesterday and are on the way to recovery. We've been very lucky to have a comfortable place to stay with a very nice hostess cooking for us and flushing western toilets! If all goes well today, we'll hit the road again tomorrow for 3-4 more days of riding before making a beeline for Dushanbe (the capital city) and our flight home.
Fingers crossed for good strong stomachs and sunny skies for our last few days on the road, please!
Fingers crossed for good strong stomachs and sunny skies for our last few days on the road, please!
Monday, November 10, 2008
Loo, Loo, skip to the Loo
Ok, the toilets in Central Asia deserve their very own special mention here. They're a pretty big part of our day (some days more than others!) so we don't always appreciate the sheer variety of them....
~ The ultimate is the classic western toilet with a seat and everything. Bonus if it's actually indoors and double bonus if it flushes! We've only seen 4-5 of these gems on our trip.
~ Mid-range is the classic western toilet without a seat or the outdoor sitter. Also fairly uncommon.
~ The classic is the outdoor squatter. Usually placed far enough from the house that you need to bundle up before every night-time excursion and usually have to dodge a snarling dog en route. The hole is usually diamond shaped and there are raised foot-holds on either side. Aim is a bit of an issue in these. Now for a bit of a rant. Jodie and I have only been here for 2 months, and we've more or lessed mastered the art of aiming at a squatter.... WHY CAN LOCALS NOT DO THIS?!?!?! I mean they've grown up with these and they still seem to get more crap around the hole than in it.
~ The icky-yucky, bottom of the barrel option is the public indoor squatter. Same aim problems as with outdoor sqatters, but maybe it just seems worse because it's on a white ceramic squatter rather than a brown wood one. I don't know, but these ones make me feel like I need to use hand sanitizer up to my elbows. Oddly, they're the ones you have to pay for. At every entrance, there's a woman collecting about 20 cents per person and handing you far too little toilet paper*.
* A note on toilet paper: All but the public squatters are BYOTP so we usually tote a whole roll around with us every day. In Kyrgyzstan, the toilet paper is more like sand-paper. In Tajikistan, it's a little softer but flimsy so you need to use a lot to make sure at least some layer in there holds together!
** Finding a toilet (of any kind) with walls AND a door is a treat. In many cases, there are 2-3 holes in a row. Even in co-ed bathrooms! I wasn't sure if anyone actually used the toilet side by side (we're talking like 2 feet apart with nothing between you) until the night in Jelandy. After I waited for a man to finish smoking and squatting in the women's (awkward), I went in to do my business. On the other side of the thin wall, I could hear at least 3 men smoking and talking...and grunting and flatulating!
I hope nobody was reading this over dinner and sorry if anyone finds it in poor taste. But really, don't most of us appreciate a good toilet story?!
Christine
~ The ultimate is the classic western toilet with a seat and everything. Bonus if it's actually indoors and double bonus if it flushes! We've only seen 4-5 of these gems on our trip.
~ Mid-range is the classic western toilet without a seat or the outdoor sitter. Also fairly uncommon.
~ The classic is the outdoor squatter. Usually placed far enough from the house that you need to bundle up before every night-time excursion and usually have to dodge a snarling dog en route. The hole is usually diamond shaped and there are raised foot-holds on either side. Aim is a bit of an issue in these. Now for a bit of a rant. Jodie and I have only been here for 2 months, and we've more or lessed mastered the art of aiming at a squatter.... WHY CAN LOCALS NOT DO THIS?!?!?! I mean they've grown up with these and they still seem to get more crap around the hole than in it.
~ The icky-yucky, bottom of the barrel option is the public indoor squatter. Same aim problems as with outdoor sqatters, but maybe it just seems worse because it's on a white ceramic squatter rather than a brown wood one. I don't know, but these ones make me feel like I need to use hand sanitizer up to my elbows. Oddly, they're the ones you have to pay for. At every entrance, there's a woman collecting about 20 cents per person and handing you far too little toilet paper*.
* A note on toilet paper: All but the public squatters are BYOTP so we usually tote a whole roll around with us every day. In Kyrgyzstan, the toilet paper is more like sand-paper. In Tajikistan, it's a little softer but flimsy so you need to use a lot to make sure at least some layer in there holds together!
** Finding a toilet (of any kind) with walls AND a door is a treat. In many cases, there are 2-3 holes in a row. Even in co-ed bathrooms! I wasn't sure if anyone actually used the toilet side by side (we're talking like 2 feet apart with nothing between you) until the night in Jelandy. After I waited for a man to finish smoking and squatting in the women's (awkward), I went in to do my business. On the other side of the thin wall, I could hear at least 3 men smoking and talking...and grunting and flatulating!
I hope nobody was reading this over dinner and sorry if anyone finds it in poor taste. But really, don't most of us appreciate a good toilet story?!
Christine
Saturday, November 08, 2008
From Barn Yards to Border Guards
We often find that the hardest and most uncertian part of our day is between four pm and eight pm. Around four we begin looking for somewhere safe and comefortable to sleep; we are usually settled in and happy with our choice by around eight. We are never really sure where we might end up and it is really an adventure every time. Here is a list of some of our 'campsites' over the past two weeks:
-> Kyrgyz Customs Building - private room, hot water heated, and protected by Customs Guards
-> Homestays - these vary from having our own room to a room shared with the entire family
-they are always decorated with beautiful rugs and lots of warm blankets
-provide hot chai and lots good food
-> Roadside Tent Site - hiding in the ditch trying to get some shelter from the wind
- waking up to a blanket of fresh snow
-> Hotel Room - Private, locking doors, BEDS, and a hot springs connected to the building
-> Abandoned Barn - 4230m, on a nice thick layer of sheep poo, -14 degrees
-waking up in the night to a rat chewing on Christine's BOB
Where are you sleeping tonight?
Jodie
-> Kyrgyz Customs Building - private room, hot water heated, and protected by Customs Guards
-> Homestays - these vary from having our own room to a room shared with the entire family
-they are always decorated with beautiful rugs and lots of warm blankets
-provide hot chai and lots good food
-> Roadside Tent Site - hiding in the ditch trying to get some shelter from the wind
- waking up to a blanket of fresh snow
-> Hotel Room - Private, locking doors, BEDS, and a hot springs connected to the building
-> Abandoned Barn - 4230m, on a nice thick layer of sheep poo, -14 degrees
-waking up in the night to a rat chewing on Christine's BOB
Where are you sleeping tonight?
Jodie
Christine! Get in here - I think we're making felt!
We were camping in the yard of some wonderful people after a long day on the bikes when they decided that it would be a good idea to give us a cultural experiance and put me to work.
I had been 'chatting' (as much as you can chat with someone who speaks a different language) with one of the women when another came out of the house, grabbed my arm and drug me inside. She was laughing and motioning for me to roll up my sleeves. Not sure what I was getting into, I followed the orders. We went into a room where there was a tarp covered in a thick layer of sheep wool. Three of us got onto our knees and began gently rolling up the tarp and wool as another poured boiling water through a strainer and onto the wool. Once it was rolled in the tarp, we secured it tightly with twine and the real work began.
We took the roll onto another mat, got back on our hands and knees and began rolling it back and forth. With each roll, we would flop all of our weight onto our forearms and the roll in order to compress the wool. It was actually quite hard work, but a lot of fun! The woman on my left kept flopping over and hitting me with her hips, laughing all the while. We counted in Kyrgyz and then in English, and then there were a bunch of words that I didn't understand...
We unrolled that, pulled off clumps of hair that were not matting properly and then removed the tarp. Again more boiling water was added and then just the felt mat was re-rolled. We covered it in plastic and went back to work with our forearms. Of course, the laughing and pushing continued with the work. We unrolled, re-rolled from the other end and worked it again and again. The last time we unrolled it, it was folded up, wrapped in twine, soaked in boiling water and set outside to dry and cool.
They showed us one of the coulourful traditional felt rugs that they had made in the past so we could see what a finished product would look like. What an incredible, yet simple process! It has given me so much more appreciation for all of the beautiful rugs and felted products that we are seeing everywhere! It is also wonderful that they realized what a great experiance that it would be for us and let us take part.
Jodie
I had been 'chatting' (as much as you can chat with someone who speaks a different language) with one of the women when another came out of the house, grabbed my arm and drug me inside. She was laughing and motioning for me to roll up my sleeves. Not sure what I was getting into, I followed the orders. We went into a room where there was a tarp covered in a thick layer of sheep wool. Three of us got onto our knees and began gently rolling up the tarp and wool as another poured boiling water through a strainer and onto the wool. Once it was rolled in the tarp, we secured it tightly with twine and the real work began.
We took the roll onto another mat, got back on our hands and knees and began rolling it back and forth. With each roll, we would flop all of our weight onto our forearms and the roll in order to compress the wool. It was actually quite hard work, but a lot of fun! The woman on my left kept flopping over and hitting me with her hips, laughing all the while. We counted in Kyrgyz and then in English, and then there were a bunch of words that I didn't understand...
We unrolled that, pulled off clumps of hair that were not matting properly and then removed the tarp. Again more boiling water was added and then just the felt mat was re-rolled. We covered it in plastic and went back to work with our forearms. Of course, the laughing and pushing continued with the work. We unrolled, re-rolled from the other end and worked it again and again. The last time we unrolled it, it was folded up, wrapped in twine, soaked in boiling water and set outside to dry and cool.
They showed us one of the coulourful traditional felt rugs that they had made in the past so we could see what a finished product would look like. What an incredible, yet simple process! It has given me so much more appreciation for all of the beautiful rugs and felted products that we are seeing everywhere! It is also wonderful that they realized what a great experiance that it would be for us and let us take part.
Jodie
Friday, November 07, 2008
Snowin' and Blowin'
For much of our ride across the Pamirs, I was reminded of the Canadian Arctic and quite appropriately had lines from a Robert Service poem in my head:
"To speak of the cold through the parka's fold
It stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze
Till at times we could not see...
It wasn't much fun but the only one
To whimper was...Christine!"
We pushed our bikes up the steep, rough road to the top of the Kizil Art pass that marks the border between Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. Everyone we talked to assured us that there would be snow on the Kyrgyz side, but as soon as you cross into Tajikistan and descend onto the Pamir Plateau, there would be none. The plateau is nearly a desert and in the fall, it should be clear and cold.
We were coughing and sputtering as we reached the top of the 4250m pass (there's only 1/2 the available oxygen in the air at 4000m as at sea level), and stopped only long enough to take a few victory pictures with the "Tajikistan" sign and to bundle up against the cold wind. The clouds had been brewing all day, but we were relieved to see that, indeed, there was no snow on the south side of the pass! We were home free!
We pitched our tent next to the road that night, using the steep ditch as a wind break. Crawling into bed that night, we were cold but happy to be free of the snow and rain that we had run into in Kyrgyzstan. As we lay there writing in our journals, the wind even died down and we fell into a deep sleep, tuckered out from a long climb...
When we unzipped the tent fly the next morning, there were 2-3 inches of fresh snow on the ground, and more was falling so that the white of the sky and mountains merged and the entire landscape was nothing but snow. As much as we love snow, it was an ominous start to our trip across the Pamirs and we worried that we might not be able to cross some of the passes. As we had several weeks before in Kyrgyzstan, we rode slowly and carefully, following a set of truck tracks as best we could until they disappeared beneath more snow.
Riding to the top of the next pass kept us warm and the road was always discernable despite the storm. The ride down was more treacherous than the ride up and we sqeezed the brakes, afraid of our tires losing traction and making us crash. Eventually, the wind came up, the clouds started to break and the snow on the road became slush. Soon the descent was no longer slippery, but wet and the spray and dampness in the air had us shivering in the cold wind.
We cowered in the shelter of a culvert opening for lunch. When we stood up and turned around, we were shocked to see that the sky had opened up so that we had an incredible view of Karakol Lake. It was a surreal carribean blue, studded with freshly snow-covered islands and incredibly beautiful. The wind continued for the rest of the day, but at least it was blowing the storm away and so we were happy for it....
But wind wasn't always our friend. After spending 2 beautiful sunny, calm days off in Murgab to recover from a head cold, the wind started to blow again on the day we set out. At first, it was bearable and we were so excited about the beauty of the mountains and valleys that surrounded us that we were able to ignore it. Well, the wind of the Pamirs doesn't like to be ignored. So it blew harder. And harder. And harder. And always against us. The first night, we were lucky to find a home that would accept guests near the top of the pass that we were climbing and took refuge there for the night. The next day, the wind continued to blow in our faces so hard that despite being a 'net downhill' day, we crawled along at speeds half of what we would normally do on the same roads. This day, we actually crawled right inside on a culvert to eat lunch and escape the constant and mind-shattering noise of the wind in our ears. On the wide open plain, there was nowhere to take refuge and we didn't think that our tent would hold up in such a raging wind, so we pushed ourselves to keep going to the next town where we could find a sheltered place to sleep. It was the longest day that we spent in the saddle so far: 7 hours 11 minutes. Seven very difficult hours... But at last we were warm and fed in the comfort of a local family's home.
I like to think that life will only throw as much at you as you can handle and life must have realized how close to our limits we were with the winter weather in the Pamirs because our last two days up on the high plateau were clear, calm and beautiful - absolutely perfect riding conditions for the most spectacular part of the highway!
Christine
"To speak of the cold through the parka's fold
It stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze
Till at times we could not see...
It wasn't much fun but the only one
To whimper was...Christine!"
We pushed our bikes up the steep, rough road to the top of the Kizil Art pass that marks the border between Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. Everyone we talked to assured us that there would be snow on the Kyrgyz side, but as soon as you cross into Tajikistan and descend onto the Pamir Plateau, there would be none. The plateau is nearly a desert and in the fall, it should be clear and cold.
We were coughing and sputtering as we reached the top of the 4250m pass (there's only 1/2 the available oxygen in the air at 4000m as at sea level), and stopped only long enough to take a few victory pictures with the "Tajikistan" sign and to bundle up against the cold wind. The clouds had been brewing all day, but we were relieved to see that, indeed, there was no snow on the south side of the pass! We were home free!
We pitched our tent next to the road that night, using the steep ditch as a wind break. Crawling into bed that night, we were cold but happy to be free of the snow and rain that we had run into in Kyrgyzstan. As we lay there writing in our journals, the wind even died down and we fell into a deep sleep, tuckered out from a long climb...
When we unzipped the tent fly the next morning, there were 2-3 inches of fresh snow on the ground, and more was falling so that the white of the sky and mountains merged and the entire landscape was nothing but snow. As much as we love snow, it was an ominous start to our trip across the Pamirs and we worried that we might not be able to cross some of the passes. As we had several weeks before in Kyrgyzstan, we rode slowly and carefully, following a set of truck tracks as best we could until they disappeared beneath more snow.
Riding to the top of the next pass kept us warm and the road was always discernable despite the storm. The ride down was more treacherous than the ride up and we sqeezed the brakes, afraid of our tires losing traction and making us crash. Eventually, the wind came up, the clouds started to break and the snow on the road became slush. Soon the descent was no longer slippery, but wet and the spray and dampness in the air had us shivering in the cold wind.
We cowered in the shelter of a culvert opening for lunch. When we stood up and turned around, we were shocked to see that the sky had opened up so that we had an incredible view of Karakol Lake. It was a surreal carribean blue, studded with freshly snow-covered islands and incredibly beautiful. The wind continued for the rest of the day, but at least it was blowing the storm away and so we were happy for it....
But wind wasn't always our friend. After spending 2 beautiful sunny, calm days off in Murgab to recover from a head cold, the wind started to blow again on the day we set out. At first, it was bearable and we were so excited about the beauty of the mountains and valleys that surrounded us that we were able to ignore it. Well, the wind of the Pamirs doesn't like to be ignored. So it blew harder. And harder. And harder. And always against us. The first night, we were lucky to find a home that would accept guests near the top of the pass that we were climbing and took refuge there for the night. The next day, the wind continued to blow in our faces so hard that despite being a 'net downhill' day, we crawled along at speeds half of what we would normally do on the same roads. This day, we actually crawled right inside on a culvert to eat lunch and escape the constant and mind-shattering noise of the wind in our ears. On the wide open plain, there was nowhere to take refuge and we didn't think that our tent would hold up in such a raging wind, so we pushed ourselves to keep going to the next town where we could find a sheltered place to sleep. It was the longest day that we spent in the saddle so far: 7 hours 11 minutes. Seven very difficult hours... But at last we were warm and fed in the comfort of a local family's home.
I like to think that life will only throw as much at you as you can handle and life must have realized how close to our limits we were with the winter weather in the Pamirs because our last two days up on the high plateau were clear, calm and beautiful - absolutely perfect riding conditions for the most spectacular part of the highway!
Christine
Since our last blog....
We've climbed over 5000 vertical meters on our bikes, ridden through a snowstorm and fought to maintain our sanity through 2 days of strong headwinds....so we're exhaustend! But the Pamir highway was even more remote and beautiful that we imagined and we've got a lot of great memories and pictures from our time "up there". The pictures are already up, and the blogs are on their way...
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