Silk Road Mountain Race - Day 10

August 21, 2023

Dyudyumel to Kichi Ak-Kolot - 73 Miles

Start 7:09 AM Finish 9:41 PM

Total Duration 14:32

Moving Time 10:43

Stopped Time 3:49

Ascent 8,370'

Descent 6,852

Slept at 8,203' elevation (tent)

Race Total 897 Miles

Details at: https://ridewithgps.com/trips/132251641

https://srmr2023.maprogress.com

I slept incredibly well last night camped behind the wall of an electrical substation outside of Dyudyumel. I had taken a sleeping pill, which helped get me right to sleep. I was exhausted, and fortunately nobody bothered me. The kids didn’t return, or send their older brothers or fathers. I had great dreams, and felt fully rested in the morning.

The bottoms of my feet were still sore. I rubbed chamois butter into the dried cracks and then put on my old crusty socks. Last night I'd removed dozens of tiny burrs. I was saving the cleaner pair for when I'd need them most. Dogs were barking and roosters crowing from the small village across the road. The pack-up proceeded smoothly at a nice pace, and I had a wall where I could lean my bike for loading. I was wearing my bib, jersey, Marino wool under-layer, gilet, and jacket. It was 52°F and the morning air was crisp.

There were two men walking up the hill as I rode down the path to ЭМ-13 / M-080. I was surrounded by

cultivated fields and the road soon crossed a dried-up stream. The road surface was loose gravel and washboards. I passed the small village of Koş-Bulak as I began a downhill. It was a breathtaking descent through undulating beige velvet topography, with towering jagged mountains behind in the distance. Shadows from the early morning light accentuated the sweeping panorama. I enjoyed a series of switchbacks with a hair-pin turn midway at a stream crossing. I descended 1335' over six miles. There were a few houses and a small corral at the bottom.

The next part involved three short sawtooth-like climbs and drops. The first began with a switchback. I got hot, and pulled over to remove my long-sleeve Merino wool under-layer and jacket. My rear tire was running low, so I stopped to inflate it. Despite the comfort that the low pressure brought to the washboards, I’d lost a degree of control. My pump was caked in mud and dust, and I was grateful that it still worked. Surely some of the fine debris had worked its way down into the mechanism. Once inflated to adequate pressure, I inspected my tire and couldn’t find any holes or sealant residue.

I was following dozens of bike tire tracks, some of which appeared to be recent. The goal today was to make it to CP 3, where I'd be reunited with my tracker, get a hot meal or two, and sleep in a yurt. My original itinerary had aimed to reach CP 3 by Wednesday night, so I was two days ahead of schedule with a comfortable margin.

On the second bump I spotted a snake wiggling through the grass to the side of the road. I then stopped to photograph a few wildflowers. The set's final drop was steep with squiggly switchbacks. I descended seven hundred feet over two and a half miles at -5.8% grade. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky.

At 9:53 AM I reached the bottom and crossed the dried-up Chon-Kindyk River (Big Navel). There were a few houses and farm structures encircled by cultivated fields. I took a break and enjoyed a container of Solar Nectar orange juice and a Snickers. I removed my gilet, donned my arm protectors, and lathered myself with sunscreen. I had ridden eighteen miles. After my rest, the big climb up Kara-Göö pass began. It was seventy degrees and would soon be going up into the nineties.

I was following a small stream alongside a two mile straight section flanked by fields of dried grass and scruffy trees. Gorgeous brown rock formations towered to the left and a huge gray ridge stood to the right. I was riding on loose gravel and washboards. The Kara-Göö pass is located on a spur of the Moldo-Too ridge.

The steep switchbacks soon began and I started taking Snickers breaks at various hairpin turns, until I ran out of them. In addition, I was almost out of water. The sun was scorching and at one point I paused at a road cut where I could duck into the shade. My poor feet were swollen, particularly my left foot. It was a good thing I was wearing sandals, so that my throbbing toes could breath. Cycling shoes cramp my toes when they're swollen, and it can be debilitating. My left Achilles tendon was also bothering me.

The switchbacks went on forever, and I counted a total of thirty. One side of the road cut directly into the mountain, while a steep drop fell to the other. There was no longer any shade, and I was completely exposed. That said I was enjoying a subtle breeze that served as a tail wind when I was pedaling in the right direction. I eventually rounded a turn and could finally see the peak.

At 1:22 PM I summited 9,186’ Kara-Göö pass. It had taken three and a half hours to climb 3,217' over a distance of ten miles. The average grade had been 6.8% with a maximum 13.6%. I was greeted with a concrete monument that featured a painted red tulip, and I proudly wheeled my bike up the embankment to take a photo. Below in the distance I could see another racer behind me.

Up on the grassy plateau I enjoyed a brief flat section, and I passed a small concrete hut. Several tourist vans passed me with large DVJ stickers. De Verdwaalde Jongens leads Kyrgyzstan Wander Lust tours out of the Netherlands.

After two miles I rounded a bend and the Naryn River valley opened up below. I could see the crazy sinuous road with countless hair-pin curves and switchbacks. It looked like an intestinal tract. Beyond that lay a straight road section across a flat plain. The valley was hazy and I could see the river along with a huge range in the distance.

I enjoyed a stupendous downhill, starting through rounded grass-covered hills that gave way to stunning orange rock formations. I bombed down twenty-six switchbacks as I descended 3992' over nineteen miles, criss-crossing underneath a high voltage transmission line. I could see a village below in the distance, and in the course of time was welcomed with asphalt as I approached.

At 2:30 PM I reached the small village of Kok-Djar. A few western tourists were gathered in front of a magazin where I stopped for two liters of Bon Aqua water, two liters of Sultan Peach Iced-Tea, and a bag of fish crackers. I sat on the ground out front in the shade, and relaxed.

Matt (cap 72, UK) arrived a little bit later while I was still sitting there. He had pulled an all-nighter and had run out of water on the pass. Sun burned marks had been charred into his scalp through the helmet slats, and he had almost suffered a heat stroke. Then Christian (cap 24, Germany) showed up. I hadn’t seen Christian since day three on the way to Jukuu Pass. His derailer had snapped on Arabel Plateau and he had modified his drive train to single speed, so that he could ride down the plateau and get a taxi to Bishkek. There he found a bike shop and was then taken back to the very same spot on Arabel twenty-seven hours later. He was running on endorphins and ecstatic. Having seen that my tracker was at CP 3, Christian thought that I was further ahead. He told me that last night Quentin, Peter, Vadim, and Moritz had pulled an all-nighter out of Kazarman. They were now ahead of me.

I was out of Snickers and Matt told me that the magazin across the street had them. Once again my front light mount needed tightening. The bolt had loosened and the light was pointing down towards the tire. Arnaud (cap 16, France) pulled in, just as I was leaving.

I crossed the Kok-Djar River, and then rode through Akkyl. I enjoyed the asphalt pedaling out of the village as I rode underneath an arch featuring the National emblem of Kyrgyzstan. The coat of arms included a white falcon with it's wings spread. I climbed over a small rise and then descended down into the valley towards the river. It was incredibly arid, and almost desert-like. It had been dry since Baetov, and I realized that I hadn't seen much livestock.

I was once again riding on washboards and gravel, and my hands, wrists, elbows, and shoulders were taking a beating. The sun above was scorching as I rode east though the Naryn river valley. I was now at 5200' elevation and it was 90°F. I was surrounded by cultivated fields ringed by brown cragged mountains. Whenever the bone-jarring washboards lulled I could make good time on the dirt. I was enjoying a slight tailwind. The asphalt eventually returned, just before my cavity fillings had completely rattled loose. Through the haze I could see a ginormous mountain range ahead in the distance.

I came to the junction with M-082, and had completed the segment's two hundred and sixteen mile loop. I was just twenty-four miles north of Baetov, where I'd been two days ago. I took a left on M-082, aka The Silk Road, and was now headed towards the mountain range on the north side of the valley. I rode underneath an arch capped with a tunduk.

Right before I came to the junction with M-081 I noticed a necropolis ringed by a metal fence. Most of the tombs had fallen into decay, and I admired a newer-looking structure that resembled a small palace. It featured two large onion domes adorned at the tops with metallic crescent moons. Minaret-like towers stood at all four corners. The entrances featured pointed arches and the structure appeared to have a second level.

I was now following the Kurtka River north and rode into Janı Talap. It was 5:34 PM. I spotted a magazin to the left side of the road and took a small path through some brush to get there. My rear brakes were shot from descending Kara-Göö pass, and they barely worked. I noticed a bike parked outside, and was pleasantly surprised to see Tom (cap 105, Australia). He had lost a day because of a stomach flu, and had been holed up in Kazarman. Nomad's Cafe was closed but a small magazin sold me a liter and a half bottle of Fanta, two ice cream bars, and a bag of potato sticks. The ice cream bars had melted by the time I opened them, and my fingers were so frazzled from the washboards that I couldn't open the potato sticks without my Leatherman. Tom had been riding since midnight with the others out of Kazarman. He referred to Kara-Göö as the Stelvio Pass of Kyrgyzstan. The Stelvio Pass is the highest paved mountain pass in the Eastern Alps and borders Switzerland and northern Italy. It features seventy-five hairpin turns.

There were two boys playing with plastic bottle caps and I gave them mine. They were lining them up across the patio and then smashing the arrangement with a large rock. Arnaud (cap 16, France) showed up and started teasing me about the safety pins that clipped my arm protectors to my jersey. He additionally mocked that I needed to clean myself. His impeccable appearance was mind-boggling, and I sarcastically speculated that he had a support crew cleaning and pressing his kit every night.

Tom and I begrudgingly continued forth on M-082 heading north. I rode alongside planted fields and enjoyed stunning rugged rock formations to the east that were now bathed in golden light. I was beginning the climb towards Moldo Ashuu Pass and Song Kul Lake, and noticed aqueducts and piping coming down from the mountain that ran along the road to irrigate crops.

The valley narrowed and the sun was now behind a giant ridge to my left. At long last I was finally in the shade. The gravel road was really bumpy, and I meandered side to side trying to find the smoothest path. My poor hands were absorbing so much shock gripping the handlebars through the washboards. I regretted not having suspension. I kept changing the postures of my hands on my dropped handlebars, and was limited to five positions; the hoods, hooks, drops, tops, and ramps. I wouldn’t have minded aero bars so that my forearms and elbows could absorb the shock.

My feet were sore and the cool sounds of the nearby gurgling Kurtka tempted me. At 7:13 PM Tom and I pulled over for a quick foot soak. The stream cut through a green pasture peppered with spruce trees. Majestic mountains towered above. While Tom and I were paused his Wahoo unexpectedly died. A little frown face appeared on the screen and he couldn’t get it started again. Going forward he'd have to use his phone for navigation. Tom told me about another racer whom had obtained a GPS device from another participant, but it was missing the last two map segments. He had written out the directions on a piece of paper.

It was 70°F and felt much cooler in the shade, as I continued climbing. The river forked and I began following a smaller stream to the left. In addition to the green grass there were now trees and bushes. I continued up through the narrow valley as two boys rode towards me on a donkey. Deciduous trees were now lining the road as well as spruce.

At 8:07 PM I passed a guesthouse surrounded by a white wall with large black letters spelling НАМЫСЫ (HONOR). I stopped to take a photograph, eat a Snickers, and drink some water. I was half tempted to ask if they had a spare bed. Tom passed me and could read my mind. He reckoned that we had another three hours of pedaling to reach CP 3. It was starting to get dark and I clipped my sunglasses into my helmet.

While still in view of the guesthouse, I hit a patch of loose gravel and a sharp rock cut straight into my rear sidewall. My panniers and handlebar bag had to be stripped from my bike so that I could flip it upside down and lean it against a tree. Tom helped me with the plug attempt to no avail. I'd have to insert a tube. This was my first incident with a sidewall tear or a major puncture running tubeless. I removed the tire from the wheel and emptied the milky sealant. In preparation for the race I'd packed Tubolito inner tubes to save space and weight. They were unlike standard butyl tubes and I'd never used one. They're bright orange, and have the thickness and feel of plastic pool floats. Chris had recommended them and they packed super tiny. One hopes never to use spare parts while bikepacking. It was now dark, and the procedure had to be done by headlamp. Tom continued forth and was planning to ride a few more miles and then camp. Christian passed me and didn't stop. He had dealt with so much worse. A motorist then pulled over and offered me a ride up the pass. Another guy later came by on a donkey. I had no experience with Tubolitos and didn't know if it would hold. Tom had recommended that I pump it to high pressure. Forty five minutes later I loaded up my bike and continued up the hill in the dark, passing the Kichi Ak-Kolot hiking area.

I finally reached where Tom had set up on the left side of the road. The stream was nearby down a steep hill. Tom's rule of thumb was to always camp near a stream. He asked if I needed any water and I foolishly declined. I should have given him my filtering bladder, but figured that I was just a few hours ride from CP 3. I set up my tent while Tom cooked dinner. Matt passed, just as I was climbing into my tent. I'd ridden sixteen miles and climbed 2,896' since the magazin stop. I was now at the base of the switchbacks up to Moldo Ashuu Pass.