Posts Tagged ‘Tosor’


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.