Posts Tagged ‘Cycling’


Summary of today? Well, I made it alive, for which I am grateful. I have a lovely soft bed to sleep in, for which I am grateful. I had a cool night out on the town, inclusive dancing and music. And I am in Karakol. I have seen the YouTube clip ‘The Road from Karakol’ so many hundred of times. And now I am here – and really am stoked.

Entrance to Karakol

Entrance to Karakol

It is a shame that I have only seen the magic stretch of Issykul shoreline in the grey rain. I can imagine that the sandy beaches would be dazzling, and clear water might look blue with a bit of sun.

Issykul

Issykul

The last 30km into Karakol was dangerous – such maniac drivers.
I cycle concentrated.
My eyes are fixed to the road. When can I give the next pedal-stroke? Can I accelerate, or bump over the next pothole or mound of bitumen?
My ears are pricked. I hear a car. From in front? Behind? How far? What speed? What is the driver’s asshole factor (volume of motor and tyre noise)? I hear a horn. This means I am to steer straight for the soft sand on the side of the road. A horn means ‘I am coming through, and running over everything in my path.’ A horn is used in one of three circumstances:
1. I am approaching you (the cyclist) from behind, and another car is overtaking me. There is not enough space for everyone, so, you should head into the sand.
2. A car is coming from the opposite direction. There is not enough space for everyone, so you should head into the sand.
3. I am a complete wanker, and, even though there is no other car within hundreds of metres, I hate cyclists in general, and so you should head into the sand.
I made it to Karakol. Several people I have cycled with have been hit in Kyrgyzstan. I can see why.

While cycling through the undulating landscape, the mind wanders, and ponders some weird things. I have a question for readers of my blog. Can you explain the following? When the road leaves the lake shore, it undulates over the plains leading from the mountains to the lake. Crossing these plains, the road passes over little streams and rivers running from the mountains to the lake. Over and over again, I find myself climbing to the top of an undulation, crossing a stream, and then descending again. Why, oh why, are the streams running along the top of the undulations, and not the bottom?
Well, there. That is what keeps my mind occupied on these long trips. ☺


I am lying in the tent, again on the Issykul lake shore. I am listening to the crashing of the waves just metres away, and the patter of rain on the tent. Today was grey with the odd drop of rain, and the standard afternoon headwind. It kept the swimmers away – and so I could bathe alone in the clear waters of the lake.

Sandy beach

Sandy beach

When the road nears the lake, there are little dirt tracks that head to the shore. Sometimes populated with a car, today they were often empty. It was too grey for some. Today, the road also left the lake, and climbed over 300m – not something you expect on the lake shore. Still, I also got some downhill speed.

Cooking at Issykul

Cooking at Issykul

Update 23:00
I didn’t expect this. The noise is incredible as the tent is being ballooned in gusts by the wind. Lying stretched out in my tent, my left arm is anchoring the front right hand corner of the tent, and my right arm is vertical, holding the central arch. The wind is howling and the rain is pounding down. I can’t turn or move, lest the tent implode in a gust, sacrificing my little spot of dry earth. I can’t hear the thunder for the rain, but see the flickering light outside the tent. Repeatedly.


My tent is set up at the end of a sandy road, metres from the water lapping the shore of Issy Kul lake. The sun has just set, and I see the silhouette of the mountains behind the opposite shore of the lake slowly fading to grey. Today is the day of the lake.

Sun bathing on Issykul

Sun bathing on Issykul

Today has been a repeat of my trip to the lake with public transport. I saw the familiar town of Balychy, and even saw my train arrive.

The train to Issykul

The train to Issykul

I went for a swim behind the old soviet sign that we also saw earlier. I ran into a group of kids that cycled around the lake last year to raise money for the poor in Kyrgyzstan. This year they were playing football.

Soviet monument

Soviet monument

The group of footballers/cyclists

The group of footballers/cyclists

It was hard to get away from the masses to camp. I investigated the whole little sandy peninsula, including the massive pile of cars and swimmers near the yurts, before deciding on (what I thought) was a remote, secluded place. Unfortunately some more campers arrived and have just started their loud music. Oh well..


My rest in Luang Namtha in Laos has given me time to upload my next video of the cycling trip from Holland to Australia. This is the second instalment of my cycle through the Middle Kingdom – from Xiahe in Gansu province, through Sichuan and Yunnan to Laos. I hope you like it!


After nearly 2 weeks of rest in Bishkek, and a lovely visit from a friend from Germany, today I was not motivated at all to press on. I miss my friends, and felt lonely heading off eastwards towards the vastness and heat of China with little prospect of meeting a cycling partner for a while. The kilometres ticked by on the boring busy road with only diahorrea stops and food stops to break up the cycling.

Camping spot

Camping spot

In Bishkek the touring cyclists flocked to the ‘AT House’. There was always a tent city in the garden, people coming and going, and lots of bike and cycle route discussions. My friend from Germany, Tim, came to visit, bringing lots of spare parts for the bike. With a friend, transported in from my old life in Europe, it becomes clear that I have changed. Like the others, I sit and tell cycle stories, discuss routes, visa applications and the like. The cycle community has become my pool of peers. I don’t talk about work, deadlines, colleagues, management. The emotional depth of the discussions is the same. Just the topic is different.

Today, my close friends are now over 14000km away. On the good side, my Australian friends are a few kilometres closer.

I like my cycling friends and the great hosts Angie and Nathan in Bishkek. A group of us went away with Tim to see something of Kyrgyzstan. We chose Issykul – the second biggest alpine lake in the world. We camped near a mud-bath and salt lake, next to the bigger Issykul lake. Our day was spend rolling around in the mud, and drinking kymys in a yurt.

Wallowing in mud

Wallowing in mud

We got there by a 5 hour, 150km train ride for about 1 euro.

Ready for the train ride

Ready for the train ride

Tim and me in the train on the way to Issykul

Tim and me in the train on the way to Issykul

Now my break in Bishkek is over and the vastness of China looms. The trip, and life in general, is always in motion. Happy will be followed by sad. And then by happy again. Its OK to be sad sometimes.


My posts have been delayed so I do not post on China while in China. I have now cycled through China and am in Laos. From now on, I will post without this delay. You can read my thoughts of cycling through Laos and beyond in closer to real time, while also reading daily posts of my trip through China (with the 3 month delay). Here are my thoughts on China.

As a skinny, exhausted cyclist, I staggered across the border from China to Laos. I cycled over 6000km in China in almost 3 months. It was an intense part of my trip. I had training to prepare me (cycling to China), and I needed it. Wind and sand, multiple 100km stretches of mud bath roadworks and a lot of steep climbing. China was an assault on the senses. Beautiful, wild, vast nature, and a culture so foreign, it left me reeling from culture shock. A truly rewarding experience. Thank you China!

Perched on the side of the hill

Perched on the side of the hill

My Chinese Friends
I met and cycled with some lovely Chinese people, who welcomed me to join them and become their friends as we experienced their country together. It amazes me how light they can travel. Two small panniers on the back and that was it. For Achun, it included a tent and sleeping bag. Chinese hikers, however, are definitely not light travellers.
I met, had my photo taken, and became WeChat (Chinese Facebook) friends with many, many people. People would stop their cars in front of me, get out, and take photos of them with me and my bike. They would often give me water and food, and give me the thumbs up. Just stopping on the side of the road often brought me an audience and photos. People are definitely very curious and welcoming.

16000km

16000km

Big Brother is watching – all the time
I grew to fear the police, who are everywhere. In hotels, restaurants and public places, there are police signs with photos of the local police officers and telephone numbers to call. Foreigners can only stay in registered foreigner hotels – a rule which is strictly enforced in some places (usually bigger towns, especially in Xinjiang), and less strict in others. I have been woken up in the middle of the night by the police for a passport check. I was asked to leave a hotel after having checked in and showered. Once I was taken to the police both in the evening and the following morning for registration. Many hotels cannot take foreigners, and in Guazhou, I left after an hour of searching for an affordable hotel and camped in the desert.
The police in Xinjiang have a checkpoint at major road junctions and check passports. Once I was refused entrance on the road I wanted to go on. I had to change clothes and return half an hour later with a different story, told to a different police officer.
In China, the police mean: maybe we won’t let you do what you want to do. China is a police state, and you can feel it.

The police presence

The police presence

China – a developed country with a difference
I came to China expecting to see a country striving to be ‘developed’. Depending on your definition, it is already there. In many ways, it is everything America would like to be but isn’t. Brand new multi-lane freeways that stretch into the distance. Shiny bright shopping complexes. Advertisements with young, vibrant models inviting to spend, spend, spend. Spending has become the new Chinese meaning of life, I sometimes think. There is a huge middle class I hadn’t expected of wealthy, educated people with money to spend. I met them as cycle companions, or as tourists (like myself), visiting their own country. They are lovely, interesting, welcoming people with a life, in many ways, similar to my (old) life in Europe.

Then there is the working class in China – and there are lots and lots of workers. I was amazed how there was no rubbish lying around, given how everyone lets litter slip from their fingers, anywhere and everywhere. The reason is, there is someone sweeping every street – every day. There is someone trimming the grass – every blade – everywhere. The land is intensively – manually – farmed. There are people everywhere on the fields, sewing the seed, managing the crops, harvesting and processing the harvest.

China is one big construction site. Massive freeways are being built and old roads are being upgraded. The number of workers available to do this is incredible. One hundred kilometres of road is built at once, with people in bulldozers, trucks, and setting the cement barriers on the side. The workers line the 100km stretch mud bath from beginning to end. New towns are being built out of nothing in the middle of nowhere with high-rise apartment blocks, new multi-lane connecting roads, and shopping malls. Many are still empty, but ready as the people from the land move there, as is part of the Chinese government’s development plan.

Roadworks

Roadworks

China: a beautiful, foreign place
China is a beautiful country. I love vast expanses, and being immersed in nature – being alone at one with nature. Cycling through the endless desert, I am awed with nature’s power and magnificence. The remote mountain roads in Sichuan and Yunnan are stunning, as is the dense jungle in southern Yunnan. The tourist attractions do not give me this peace and wonder – they are overcrowded and very expensive.

Although my mandarin is now quite reasonable, and I could communicate, I feel very foreign in China. I have western sensibilities and taste buds, which don’t fare well in the Middle Kingdom. I can’t get used to the slurping when eating and constant high volume spitting. Trucks and cars tooting to signify their presence drove me crazy, and I never had fears of falling into the trap of overeating.

When I leave a country, I like to buy some of my favourite food to take with me to eat in the next country. In China, I went to the supermarket before the border, and came out empty handed. I lost weight in China.

Here is my first video on China. My second one will be ready in a few days! 🙂


No photos today. Just a hot straight, boring road along the plains to Bishkek. Now its time for a well earned rest, staying at the touring cyclists’ hangout – the AT Guesthouse.


I come out of the tunnel at around 3200m and start my descent. I pull up at the first curve and my jaw drops. It’s incredible. Jagged, rich red mammoth mountains, rising at almost impossible angles. The road winds its way out of sight, and far, far below – almost out of eye-sight – between the two mountain precipices – it appears. That is where I’m going.

The road down to Bishkek

The road down to Bishkek

Climbing up steep passes, 4km/h is the norm. If it is steeper, it is still 4km/h. This pass was 1000m in about 10km, and so it was much quicker to climb than the other pass (which took 60km to climb its 2000+ metres). Also, it was quite satisfying, as you could see the whole climb from the beginning – winding its way up the steep wall of mountains. Sitting at the top, I could follow the curves with my eye, reliving every pedal-stroke.

The view back over yurt valley

The view back over yurt valley

The potholed, unventilated tunnel, is well known amongst cyclists. Some sneak through it (although it is not allowed). I was quite happy to take a lift through it, to emerge all ready to descend at the other end.

The road down to Bishkek

The road down to Bishkek

The road down to Bishkek

The road down to Bishkek

The descent was not too rapid as there was a gale-force wind howling up the valley, which abated when I reached the plain. And, my, the plains were hot. Any plans of pushing on to Bishkek were abandoned as I sat, looking outside at the heat, from an air-conditioned service station.


Cycling down yurt valley – wide rolling, grassy hills between two distant ridges of snowy mountains. Horses as far as the eye can see. And kymys (fermented mare milk) sales direct from the yurt. And inside the yurt I look up and see the Kyrgyzstan flag – the arches at the top adorning every roof.

Yurt roof

Yurt roof

There was nothing else to eat. In Kyrgyzstan I have grown used to shops selling Snickers. Invited into several different yurts, I got offered kymys (which I can barely drink out of politeness), bread and cream (that is good), and cubes of lamb fat (which is not bad either). I passed on the little lamb foot poking up at me from the plate. Grandma was dismembering an animal (a lamb, I think), removing different organs when I entered. Later I saw it all hanging out in the sun in a big netting (to protect it from the flies) on what looked like a clothes-line.

Meat hanging out to dry

Meat hanging out to dry

Central to every yurt is its kymys container. One was in the form of a big barrel with a long-handled ladle. Another was a big pouch made from leather. Poking out the top was a wooden stick, which was to be pumped up and down to make the kymys fizzy before serving.

Kymys holder

Kymys holder

All the people are lovely, very welcoming, and very happy. They are all here in Yurt Valley for the summer before returning to their village of Talas for the winter.

Yurt friends

Yurt friends

Yurt school

Yurt school

Kymys sales

Kymys sales

And then I reached it. A service station. With everything a service station has in the west. Cold drinks. Chocolates. Chips. A comfortable modern chair and table. I blush as I breathe a sigh of relief and sink into the seat. I binge on things I maybe shouldn’t. Sometimes it’s all just too foreign.

Service station

Service station

I’m camped behind a little ridge, not visible from the road. This place is well known for bikes being stolen. All cyclists camp near here at the base of the road that climbs 1100m in 10km. I hope my spot is hidden enough.


When the climb is over 2200m (about the height of Mt Kosiosko – the highest mountain in Australia), it takes some time. Gastroniza sleeps, bee stings, icy river swims, watching milk being separated. And the ever uphill crawl. Still not at the summit yet.

Honey

Honey

Still hot for the most part (until I reached high enough), the day was punctuated by stops at some of the many many restaurants, usually followed by a sleep. I’m still never hungry, but I know I must eat. I force things down, and hope the lack of appetite is due to the heat.

When I wasn’t passing a restaurant, I was passing people selling honey. And where there’s honey, there are bees. One stung me – my first ever bee sting. For a few minutes I was worrying – what if I am allergic. It turns out I am spectacularly not allergic to bee stings.

Bee sting

Bee sting

As I got higher, the number of yurts increased. As the sun was getting lower, I was looking for a nice spot to set up my tent – all the nice spots are taken up by yurts.. ☺ So I asked if I could camp near a yurt on the river. Of course. I even got shown how to separate milk into cream and the rest. And some kymys – fermented mare’s milk.