Silk Road Mountain Race - Day 11

August 22, 2023

Kichi Ak-Kolot to Ak-Talaa - 68 Miles

Start 6:33 AM Finish 9:30 PM

Total Duration 14:57

Moving Time 8:44

Stopped Time 6:14

Ascent 5,785'

Descent 7,959'

Slept at 7,000' elevation (tent)

Race Total 965 Miles

Details at: https://ridewithgps.com/trips/132672598

https://srmr2023.maprogress.com

I slept well camped alongside M-082 with Tom, near the Kichi Ak-Kolot hiking area. There was no motor traffic during the night and it got chilly, but not freezing. I slept in my Merino wool tights and down slippers, but didn’t need my down jacket. I'd gone to bed at 11 PM and Tom had wanted to start at 3 AM. I prefer getting up with the sunrise, but those are the breaks when riding with someone else. I woke up several times thinking that Tom was up, and at 5:30 AM I finally heard him stirring. He cooked himself breakfast while I packed and ate a Snickers. I was still carrying refried beans, some cheese and a jar of peanut butter.

I was exhausted and my big treat this morning was a relatively fresh pair of socks. I believe I'd only worn them once before, or maybe twice. I applied chamois butter to my feet bottoms and between my legs. It was extremely dry here, and my lips were chapped. Tom and I both relished not having to pack wet tents. Tom said that he could tell that I'd lost weight, and he mentioned the lines on my face. Moritz (cap 74, Germany) passed while we were still getting ready, and I forgot to lube my chain.

The sun had risen and there were dark gray clouds in the sky. I mounted my bike and immediately started climbing. It was 52°F and I was wearing my bib, leg-warmers, jersey, Merino wool under-layer, and gilet. The grade was five percent on hard packed dirt with not too much loose gravel. The road continued alongside the stream for a half mile and then hair-pinned right, where the switchbacks began.

Tom estimated that we were three hours from CP 3, which was the reason I had stopped and camped with him last night. My rear tire repair had cost me an hour, and most of that time was waisted trying to retrieve and pack tools because my fingers no longer functioned. After I had completed the repair it took me the longest most frustrating time trying to fasten my pump nozzle back to it's base, so that I could clip it back onto my bike.

This morning's climb involved a series of nine switchbacks, through dirt, scrub, and the occasional spruce. I slowly trucked up the hill and passed Matt (cap 72, UK) whom had also camped on the side of M-082, and was still packing. It took me two hours to ascend 2,218' over a distance of seven miles with a 6.3% average grade and a 12.4% maximum. At 8:43 AM I finally summited 10,978' Moldo Ashuu Pass, and took a selfie with Tom. I was now atop the Moldo Too range and enjoyed stunning views of the switchbacks and valley below. Up on top there were no longer any trees, resulting in smooth grassy rolling terrain. There were cows grazing along with the occasional yurt. A black car passed heading in the other direction. It was now hazy, and I had a seven mile ride to the lake and yurt camp ahead.

The sun eventually came out, and thirty minutes later I spotted Song-Kul Lake in the distance. Song-Kul, literally means 'following lake', and it's the second largest lake in Kyrgyzstan. With an area of a hundred and four square miles it's the country's largest freshwater body of water. Ancient petroglyphs can be found on the southern side near the yurt camps. The sky this morning was still mostly cloudy.

There were several camps located along the lake and my navigation track had come to an end. There wasn't a sign for CP 3 or any indication where to go among the dozens of yurts. Tom suggested that we continue to the next camp, and we kept pedaling across the grass and then back onto the gravel road. It didn't seem right to me, so I stopped and took out my brevet card where checkpoint coordinates had been printed. I entered them into Google Maps and my gut feeling was confirmed, so we turned around and headed back. We leaned our bikes against one of the yurts and began walking around looking for the checkpoint. The sprawling camp was empty and all of the tourists were ostensibly out on an excursion. We eventually found a SRMR banner but the checkpoint was elsewhere. Precious time was being squandered. By this time Matt had arrived, and he was also walking around looking for the checkpoint. We finally found the correct yurt and a race official eventually appeared. Eleven racers had stayed here last night and I got the sense that it had been a good party. I’d shown up late and had missed it. I signed the register and was now in position seventy-two. Matt was upset that the checkpoint had been so difficult to find, and he had words with the official.

Atop the dining tables were baskets of bread, bowls of butter and jam, and plates full of cookies and candy. In addition to hot food, there were beverages and candy bars for sale. I enjoyed a mug of tea, and immediately guzzled a large bottle of iced tea to quench my thirst. I ordered two bowls of porridge and two helpings of scrambled eggs. I brought my devices next door to the adjoining yurt for charging.

At long last I finally got my tracker back! Nils had located it at a home in Ak-Muz, not far from the magazin where Quentin and I had stopped on day five. The family had claimed that their little boy had found it, and they wanted a three hundred Som reward (about four dollars US). Nils thought their story was suspicious. I later watched my tracker's movements on the MAProgress site, and it had obviously been taken from my bike at the magazin. The carabiner was now missing so I cut two pieces of parachute cord and used water knots, the most secure that I know, to double secure it to my saddle.

I flipped to paper map section seven, and opened it on my Wahoo. After this only one race section remained. I had ridden 981 miles and only had 260 to go. There were two major climbs ahead; Kegeti Pass and Kok-Ayrik. The elevation profile for map section seven indicated a somewhat flat stroll across the plateau today with a couple of bumps and two asphalt sections that led to Kegeti. My plan was to make it to the base of Kegeti, and then tackle that tomorrow. There was no phone service at Song-Kul, only satellite radio. The camp featured a large bathroom area that included outhouses and showers. A quick scrub would have been exhilarating, but I needed to keep moving. I tried to use an outhouse, but was unsuccessful.

There were small containers of water for sale, and I paid a hefty price to refill my bottles. A case of large containers arrived right after I'd finished. I also replenished my Snickers supply. The clouds disappeared and sunshine returned. I removed my leg warmers, wool under-layer, and gilet, and I lathered myself with sunscreen before leaving. In addition I jettisoned my cheese and peanut butter, as I didn't want to lug the extra weight over Kegeti.

Tom and I rode away from the yurt camp together, and started pedaling around to the north side of the lake on a dirt and grassy double-track. Parts of the track had been washed out and I had to cut through the grass. Some of the grass riding felt smooth like velvet. There were storm clouds to the north and occasional thunder claps could be heard in the distance.

I was riding a large arc around the lake, and the track would cut away from the water and then return. The double-track became a grass and dirt single-track path. I rode up and down the smooth rolling hills, and had to hike-a-bike several of the steep climbs. The descents needed to be handled carefully because I now had a tube in my rear tire. Tom also had a tube in his rear tire, and he was out of spares. From one of the peaks I could see the yurt camp far across the lake in the distance. I returned to the water's edge and rode across a gravel beach. There were small waves rippling across the blue-gray water. Cows were grazing nearby.

After a distance of nineteen miles I left the lake and headed north. It was 1:36 PM, and I began climbing a long hill on single-track. I was enjoying a tailwind, and there were grasshoppers jumping to either side of the path. I pushed my bike up the hill, as the sun went in and out of the clouds. Occasionally I'd feel a raindrop. I was surrounded by grass pastures and at one point rode through a flock of sheep and goats. I continued climbing. At 2:24 PM I summited 11,155' Tuz-Ashuu Pass, and documented the sign. I hadn't realized that I'd be climbing another pass today. Little did I know there was much more to come.

An incredibly steep 2,421' descent followed, into a gorgeous rugged barren valley brimming with brown, pink, and green painted hills. A ginormous range towered behind in the distance. Clouds had returned and backpackers passed me hiking up from the valley. I rode across a small stream and Arnaud (cap 16, France) overtook me before the next climb.

Thirty minutes later I was down in the valley and I crossed the Kelemçi River on a wooden log-decked bridge supported by a pair of steel beams. The large diameter logs were rotted and coming loose. Cows were munching on lush green grass nearby in the pasture. There were nearby houses and a corral. I was now at 8,096' and following the Kelemçi downstream.

The Kelemçi forked into the Çaararça River which I began following upstream on a grass path strewn with large rocks. The narrow valley was dotted with grass and scrub. The track wasn't well defined and I had to pick the best route forward across rocks or through the stream. The clouds ahead had once again turned dark. My feet were in agony, and I stopped to soak them in the cool stream. Tom continued ahead without me. He had arranged a guesthouse in Djong-Alysh and told me to contact him for directions when I got service.

After my soak, the trail began a steep climb through pink dirt to the right of the stream. It was a chunky single-track littered with boulders that I had to carefully hike-a-bike. There were precipitous ten and twenty foot drops from the trail's edge into the stream. I had to carry my bike across ruts and underneath scruffy branches. At some of the more precarious instances I weighed whether to remove my bags and transport them separately. The path slowly climbed up and away from the small river.

The steep trail was both pitched and slanted as I pushed by bike forward across loose gravel and scree. My loaded bicycle was unwieldy, and maintaining balance on uneven surfaces was a constant battle. The sharp inclines demanded precise control, forcing me to meticulously calculate every move to prevent toppling over or losing control. The mental toll of anticipating each obstacle, coupled with the physical strain, was overwhelming.

I was pushing my bike forward when I felt an urgent stomach pang. I swiftly set my bike on the ground and removed my jersey. My bib straps had to be rapidly unfastened from my shoulders before I could lower the bibs around my ankles and squat. I was in the middle of nowhere, and for the second time in the race I had explosive diarrhea. Fortunately the stream was nearby, and I could clean myself in the cold mountain water. I was soon back on my way.

The hike-a-bike proceeded slowly and my feet were in pain. Every time the single-track leveled out I'd try to ride, only to go about ten feet, dismount, and then start pushing again. I was getting higher and further above the river below, and then I had a second bout of diarrhea. It erupted quickly and I went on the hillside in the middle of the path. The stream was now several hundred feet below. I didn't have enough toilet paper or wipes to clean myself, and had no other choice but to make my way down the steep hill bit by bit across the loose rocks and dirt with my bib shorts around my ankles. I finally reached the stream, removed my socks, and waded out into the water in my sandals. I chose a different route back up the hill that was equally steep and rocky. Matt still hadn't caught up, but I knew he wasn't far behind.

The sun had returned and I was still following the Çaararça River. I eventually found myself back alongside the water, and spotted a small bridge ahead in the distance. At 4:57 PM I crossed over the stream on a narrow but sturdy bridge with a steel deck and metal railings. I was disheartened to realize that the track had changed direction and I would no longer be following the river. The course proceeded straight up the north side of the valley wall, and I'd be pushing my heavy bike. A steep set of switchbacks began, and I stopped at a hairpin curve to eat a Snickers. By this time Tom was most likely an hour ahead of me if not further. I had had no idea that today would be this difficult, and once again it looked like I'd be camping tonight.

I meticulously pushed my bike out of the valley and then began following the spine of a ridge that ran along the Утер River to the west. I had no idea where I was going or when this goat path hike-a-bike would end. Every time it leveled out I'd mount my bike and try to ride, only to have to dismount and keep walking. It was a futile expense of energy, and I had precious little remaining. At one point there was a ferocious headwind and I was barely making any progress. I was frustrated and upset.

I eventually crossed the small Утер and began pushing my bike up towards what I believed to be the pass. I could see a dirt track on the other side of the valley to the west. It led to a grass peak at the far end of the valley where I was ostensibly going. Far below there were a few yurts alongside the stream. The sun came back out, and I heard claps of thunder in the distance.

Matt was catching up and eventually passed me. It was getting cold, and I donned my gilet and jacket. Hail stones began raining down on me and slamming into my helmet. I was completely exposed there on the hillside. At the top of the pass, I could see an empty vehicle which became my focal point. The hail soon ended.

The last part of the ascent was ridiculously steep, and it was worse than the Soviet Road or Fleecer Ridge. I would heave my bike forward, only for it to roll back. I was so close to the top and had made so much progress. It had become too steep to change my strategy. If I had unclipped my bags to carry up separately, they'd most likely roll down the hill. I was frustrated and started screaming obscenities at the top of my lungs. By this time Matt had already reached the summit, and he graciously came down to help pull my bike up the last bit.

I summited 9,984' Char-Archa Pass at 6:59 PM, and took a selfie with Matt. I had only pedaled forty-seven miles and was still thirty miles from the guesthouse in Djong-Alysh. It was 43°F, and getting dark with more storm clouds on the horizon. A rainbow appeared above the valley below as a glimmer of hope.

Down below in the distance I could see paved highway ЭМ-18, and it was a steep three and a half mile 1,648' descent to get there. The average grade was -7.5% and involved a number of switchbacks. Once again I had to be cautious for fear of bursting my Tubolito inner-tube. I was losing daylight and there was intermittent drizzle. At long last I joined the highway and was once again on pavement. Here I could finally achieve some distance. I was sharing the highway with motor traffic and I was cold and wet from the rain. There's a competitive or peer pressure nature to cycling with others, and I was resisting the fact that I was freezing. I kept pedaling fast and didn't stop.

I finally pulled over in a construction area and leaned my bike against a bulldozer while I donned my leg-warmers, Merino wool under layer, and poncho. It was now dark and a near half moon had appeared in the sky. To avoid motor traffic I began riding on an unfinished gravel lane.

At 8:15 PM I stopped at the Ak-Chiy Prodovol'stvennyy Dorozhnyy Magazin. There were motorists and locals out front, and I was somewhat apprehensive to leave my bike outside in the dark. I desperately needed the warm cozy atmosphere as well as the hydration and food for sale. I guzzled two bottles of iced tea and chomped on a wheel of bread. Benjamin (cap 18 Germany) pulled in while Matt and I were still there. The proprietor's wife had prepared dinner for her kids, and they were seated at a table in the small shop. I wanted what they were eating and toyed with a financial proposal. The father returned before we left, and stared quizzically at the three strange cyclists in his shop.

When I left the magazin I was still fifteen miles from Djong-Alysh, and I continued riding in the gravel lane under construction to stay clear of motor vehicle traffic. The course eventually left ЭМ-18 and I took a left. I was now riding on a small asphalt road not far from the Vostochnyy Suyok River, and here there was minimal motor traffic.

It was now 9:30 PM and pitch dark. We were passing the dim glows from scattered houses in the village of Ak-Talaa (White Field), and were looking for a place to stealth camp before we got to the next village. We spotted a field to the right, and walked over to give it a look. We found a flat spot alongside a gravel track near some trees that would give us cover. We began setting up our tents in the dark, and had a tree to lean our bikes against. Matt's tent was much larger than mine.

As soon as our tents had been erected a car stopped out on the road across the field. We quickly extinguished our headlamps and tried to be clandestine. A man got out of his vehicle and began walking towards us. The ruse was up, and we turned our lights back on. I approached the man and offered my hand. It resulted in a firm invigorating handshake. Matt and I had been caught trying to stealth camp on his land, but he didn't mind. We didn't speak one another's language. It was clear that we were just passing through. He was friendly and welcoming, and eventually let us be. That said, when I'm stealth camping, it always unnerves me to go to sleep when someone knows where I'm at.

Today the goat path had broken me, and I had hit the proverbial wall. I hadn't expected the difficulty, and I hadn't seen it coming. It upset me, frustrated me, and I just wanted the race to be over. I decided that from here on out, if I had a serious mechanical or injury I'd be calling it quits. The plan was to get up at 4 AM for an early start to Kegeti.