Silk Road Mountain Race - Day 12

August 23, 2023

Ak-Talaa to Koshoy - 68 Miles

Start 5:16 AM Finish 7:52 PM

Total Duration 14:36

Moving Time 8:34

Stopped Time 6:02

Ascent 5,782'

Descent 8,589'

Slept at 4,110' elevation (tent)

Race Total 1,033 Miles

Details at: https://ridewithgps.com/trips/132325574

https://srmr2023.maprogress.com

It was pitch dark in the field outside of Ak-Talaa, and at 4 AM Matt's alarm began clamoring. He quickly shut it off and a few moments passed. "Should we get up?", Matt questioned. A few minutes went by. "Ugh.", I responded. I hated these early morning starts. "We should probably get going.", He suggested. "I guess you're right.", I acknowledged. Packing up in the blackness was slow, lethargic, and systematic. I used my brightest headlamp beam and tried to keep things organized. It was a crisp 41°F and I was wearing my bibs, leg-warmers, jersey, gilet and jacket. I was at 7,000' elevation and my tent was damp from condensation. Fortunately we hadn't been disturbed.

I had heard from Tom Last night when I finally got service. He had sent me the directions to the Guest House Urmat in Djong-Alysh, where he had stayed. I could have enjoyed a warm shower and slept indoors on a rug. Tom had even mentioned a store that sold cold beer. His last text was just before midnight. I was now about two hours behind him, and wouldn't see him again until the finish in Cholpon Ata.

I was starting to run out of supplies including wet wipes, chamois butter packets, and electrolyte tablets. The race was nearly over. This morning I relished having a tree to lean my bike against while packing. I had everything strapped in place and was ready to go, when I realized my sunglasses were missing. Arrrgh! I had left them in my tent, which was now crammed into a compression bag and strapped to my front fork. They were probably now mangled. I cursed as I unstrapped, unpacked, and then rolled open my tent on the ground. I unzipped the entrance and fished around until I found them. Once again a temple had dislodged at the hinge, and I was able to snap it back into place. Oakley sunglasses were amazing.

I mounted my bike at 5:16 AM and cycled the gravel track back out to the road. I took a right on the tarmac towards the small village of Mantyshiver. Here I took a right and crossed over the Cѳѳk River into the small hamlet of Kyzyl-Djobo. The Cѳѳk forked here, and I began following the Çıgış (Eastern) Karakol River upstream. It was now twilight and I rode through the tiny village of Kara-Mojnok. I passed a mosque with a green and white tiled dome and minaret. There were verdant pastures to either side of the road with a large jagged mountain range ahead in the distance. At 6:12 AM, as the sun was rising, I crossed underneath a welcome gate for Djong-Alysh. The red steel frame featured a tunduk at it's crest. Everything was still closed in the village, and I took a left on M-065.

Matt was hungry and stopped to make himself some breakfast. I continued ahead without him, and wouldn't see him again until the end of the race. Instead of staying on M-065, the course veered away from the pavement and onto a chunky gravel track. I was surrounded by grass fields, and crossed a small dried-up stream. I stopped for a moment to eat a package of refried beans and to lube my chain. Shortly thereafter I got confused at a fence and gate. I turned around and retraced the track several times, but my GPS and phone map were insistent. I let myself through the welded rebar gate, into what I believe was a cemetery. I was completely perplexed and a passing motorist motioned that I needed to go around. I eventually got myself straightened out and back on course, as snow-capped mountains loomed in the distance.

I seemed to be getting further away from the river, and the path was in poor condition. I slowly pedaled my way to the edge of the fields, as the clouds and early morning haze began to clear. I wound my way alongside the grass, and the two-track finally returned. I overshot a turn, and quickly realized my error. I rode by some farm structures, and finally returned to the river. I took a right and was once again on gravel M-065 aka the Komsomol-Karakol Pass Road. The pastures came to an end and I found myself surrounded by alpine grass littered with brown and white boulders. Occasionally I'd pass a remote farm structure. Sometimes the track would meander away from the river and then later return, as I made my way up into the valley.

The sun was still low on the horizon, and the air was cool whenever I pedaled through the shade. A slight breeze from up in the mountains was pushing against me, and I regretted not starting with another layer. There was a wide rushing stream to my left, and finding water wouldn't be a problem today.

At 7:54 AM my Wahoo displayed the segment's eighth and final elevation profile. It showed a massive climb ahead, with orange and red bands that indicated steep grades. The ascent would involve a 4,081' elevation gain over the next thirteen miles. It estimated two hours to reach the peak, but the journey would take twice as long.

Kegeti Pass is part of the Kyrgyz Ala-Too ridge, and is featured in several bike-packing documentaries. I had heard about it firsthand from Chris and Conan, whom had both competed in last year's Silk Road Mountain Race. The story of their shake-out ride was unforgettable. They had pedaled from Bishkek and headed up into the valley. When they got to the landslide area, Chris turned around. Conan, however, scaled up the side of one of the rockslides using one of his bike pedals as a mountaineering pick. I knew that Kegeti would be substantial, and I hoped that I was prepared. Though, for some reason I had it backwards. I thought that the north side was the more difficult. I would be approaching it from the south.

I continued along chunky gravel M-065 following the Çıgış Karakol River upstream. I crossed a small feeder stream, and stopped to filter two liters of water. I was now at 8,369'. At 9:09 AM I came to the junction with M-006, and I took a right. I was now following the Keget River heading north. The road surface was loose gravel, and I noticed cement markers spaced every hundred meters on the left.

As I pedaled further up into the valley, the river meandered below through a gorge to my left. I was surrounded by short grass and boulders. A male and female pair of bike-packers were descending as I was hike-a-biking a steep section. The sun was bright, and I stopped to remove my leg-warmers, gilet, and jacket. I donned my arm protectors and lathered myself with sunscreen. The road was starting to become littered with rockslide debris. Down near the stream I noticed marmots playing in the grass.

I was getting hot from climbing, and the front of my jersey was now completely unzipped. The mountain air felt refreshing. At 10:15 AM I came to a pair of switchbacks where I climbed further above the river. A little while later I came to a second zigzag as I scaled even higher up the steep slope.

Dark clouds moved in, and the sun soon disappeared. It was starting to get chilly. Two bike-packer guys passed me coming down from the pass, and didn't stop. I came to a landslide area at 11:36 AM and dismounted. The baby head-sized chunky rocks were difficult to navigate in my sandals, and I carefully made my way across.

The small river was still to my left as the valley began to narrow. At 11:30 AM the track hair-pinned to the left and I crossed the rocky stream on foot. I was now on the west side of the valley and a steep set of switchbacks began. It was littered with rocks, and I began hike-a-biking.

I still couldn't see the top of the pass, and had no idea where I was going. I met another bike-packer coming down the hill who stopped for a moment. I asked if he had seen the other racers, and he surmised they were now at the summit. He warned there was an avalanche area ahead, and that it would be difficult. He assured me that I would have a much easier time on the other side. Yesterday he had been met with cold with sleet, and had managed to find a guesthouse for the night.

The last of the series of switchbacks hair-pinned back towards the stream, which was now a trickle. I was at much higher altitude, and could see a narrow plank for a crossing in the distance. I looked back across the valley and now understood where I was going. At 11:44 AM I could finally see the summit. I had a long ridiculous slog ahead of me, and the clouds were getting darker.

Fifteen minutes later I came to the landslide area. The road had been obliterated, with a humongous mountain of ruble in its place. There were various footpaths that navigated upwards across the scree. The track I chose was too steep to push my bike, and I dropped my panniers and handlebar bag to the ground. From here it would be a slow back-and-forth effort to reach the summit. As I began pushing my bike I realized that, without my bags, my bike weight was now similar to the other racers. I'd advance my bike a hundred foot distance, until I'd achieved a reasonable goal. Then I'd walk back down to fetch my bags. Sometimes I'd leap frog and continue further with my bags, navigating the best route forward. I would then follow with my bike. I was completely exposed atop the sheer mountainside and refused to give into vertigo. With steep pitches and loose gravel, the mountain tussled back. My efforts were rewarded with Snickers and water breaks. My pace was so snaillike that my Wahoo logged most of this struggle as 'Stopped Time'.

I could see racers on the other side of the valley far below. Little did they know what laid in store. Later when they arrived at the wall of gravel and loose rock, I watched them contemplate their predicament. Arnaud (cap 16, France) eventually caught up to me and passed at 12:15 PM. It was a slow, humbling, and treacherous challenge. It was my conviction, and I knew from experience, that any complex and difficult undertaking could be accomplished by breaking it down into small manageable parts. Slowly but surely I would eventually reach the top. I was still hike-a-biking up through the labyrinth of loose landslide debris when Moritz (cap 74, Germany) caught up to me at 1:17 PM.

I thrust my bike up a total of fifteen maze-like switchbacks through a jumble of loose avalanche scree to reach the peak. Sharp pieces of gravel lodged in my sandals tormenting the bottoms of my feet, and I'd have to stop to remove them. Freezing cold wind was now blowing in my face. I had re-donned my jacket and gilet, but had nothing on my legs. Gautier (cap 213A France) and Romain (cap 213B France) were closing in from below. Behind them was Feras (cap 37, Germany). The landscape was harsh, forlorn, and lifeless.

At 2:08 PM I finally summited 12,303' Kegeti Pass. The last mile, ascending 1,100' through landslides, had taken a bruising two hours. I had begun nine hours ago, and had only travelled twenty-eight miles. It seemed like a storm was imminent, and I wasted no time to document the peak with a selfie and begin my descent. Nearby patches of snow had collected in the folds of the ubiquitous gravel. Chilling ice fields clung to the peaks above. Looking north, a splendid panorama unfurled beneath me. A long sinuous track snaked deep down into the valley below.

The north side was ridable, and at long last I mounted my bike. No more hike-a-biking! It was going to be an exhilarating and well-deserved descent. That said, the surface was rugged and bumpy. I would need to take it slow for fear of rupturing my rear tube. Up at the top it was a chilly 37°F, and I was wearing my short-finger gloves and hadn't bothered with my leg-warmers. My hands and legs were freezing.

A series of four sweeping switchbacks, over a mile in length, plummeted me 768' in elevation. There I was met with a landslide area where I had to hike-a-bike. At least the push wasn't uphill. The gravel track continued with a negative eight percent grade as it meandered towards the source of the Kegeti River, which at this point was just a trickle. I crossed it twice to complete a hairpin turn. I was still above the tree-line, and the surrounding barren landscape consisted of sparse grass, gray dirt, rocks, and gravel. Silhouetted peaks replete with alpine glaciers and protruding rock formations towered above. Blue sky and sunshine were struggling to pry through the low-hanging gray clouds.

Six more switchbacks plunged me another thousand feet and I crossed the rocky stream bed once again. After more twists and turns I again traversed the stream where five additional switchbacks ensued. I flew down five more zigzags and then began riding alongside the bubbling whitewater river. I was now at 9878' elevation, and crossed a small bridge over a sparkling tributary. At 3 PM I crossed a bridge over the Kegeti River, and entered Kyrgyzstan's Chüy Region.

Scrub and small trees slowly began to emerge as I descended further into the valley. M-006 on the north side of the pass was called the Kegety - Vostochny Karakol Road. I crossed back to the east side of the cascading stream and flew down another series of switchbacks. Spruce and fir trees were now appearing, and the surrounding untouched beauty was breathtaking. Once I descended below the tree line, it was some of the most splendid terrain I’d experienced in all of Kyrgyzstan. The trees became forested, and the downhill was stunning. The whitewater river added to the enchantment. It was now 54°F and getting warmer.

The thrill of the descent was matched only by the visual spectacle unfolding at every turn. The mountainous terrain offered a dynamic tapestry, where I witnessed the interplay of light and shadow on the landscape. The downhill became a dance with gravity, an intimate connection with the land, as I navigated switchbacks and curves with a sense of freedom.

The chunky descent remained incredibly choppy. At one point I tried to charge my phone, but ended up losing power because of all my braking. I couldn't let myself fully rip because of the rear tube. In addition, the bottoms of my feet and hands were tender. The road then hair-pinned to the left where I crossed another bridge. Here, the road surface dramatically improved, and now seemed easily accessible to motor vehicles. I passed farm structures and then crossed another feeder stream. The gravel road meandered up and down alongside the sinuous stream through the Kegeti Gorge. The white frothy river was now to my right.

The valley widened as I crossed back over the river to the east side. I passed farm structures and traversed the raging whitewater once again. I had descended 5,577' and was now at 6,726' elevation. I rode across the river once again and enjoyed three more switchbacks before crossing the stream yet again. The road had become wider, and there were now grass pastures besides me. I spied a yurt and farm structures on the other side of the river, and then buildings appeared on my side. Larger structures were now across the stream as I came to a junction with another dirt road. Here I was met with more structures. It was now much warmer, and I stopped to remove my jacket and gilet.

M-006 at this point was called Central Street, and for a short while I got stuck behind a slow moving truck hauling cattle. I eventually took a right and once again crossed the river. I was now on Dachnaya Street, which was still M-006. The Kegeti River merged with the Kol-Tѳp and at 4PM I rode through the hamlet of Dachi Kegeti, while passing more farm structures. I crossed the stream once again on a bridge to the west side. Pavement began as I rode alongside cultivated fields and pastures.

At 4:40 PM I took a right and crossed the river for the last time. The sun had emerged but there were still gray clouds. I rode into Kegeti Village on Zhumasheva Street. The town had a population of only 3,004, and it stood at 4,045' elevation. From the top of the pass I had descended a whopping 8,258', and had racked up fifty-five miles for the day. Arnaud (cap 16, France) and Moritz (cap 74, Germany) were sitting on the front stoop of the Jumaşeva Street Magazin when I pulled in. I purchased a quart of Budweiser and a bag of corn chips before collapsing on the porch alongside them. They offered me half a round of bread and part of a salami sausage. Arnaud had gotten a pinch flat on his rear tire coming down the mountain, and was busy with the repair. Folks from the magazin had helped him find a container of water to locate the leak. I was skeptical that his sticker patch would hold. There was Internet service, and I was able to update my socials and reply to messages. I reached out to Tom, and checked my AirTags. I could see that my bike box was still in Bishkek, and that my backpack was now in Cholpon Ata. I was only forty miles from Bishkek, where I'd be flying out in just a few days. I hadn't showered since day two and my clothing was absolutely filthy.

I stepped back inside the magazin and asked the woman behind the counter to charge my phone. In addition, I purchased five more Snickers bars, water, and a bottle of iced tea. I flipped my map panel to the final section. There were a hundred and sixty miles remaining with 18,225' of climbing. Section eight began with a series of bonus climbs. It then culminated with Kok-Ayrik Pass, after which I would descend to Lake Iskul and finish in Cholpon Ata.

It had been a nice stop sitting there on the porch, and I headed out of Kegeti Village before the others. I had initially wanted to visit Burana Tower in the nearby town of Tokmok. The large minaret was built in the 11th century, and was one of the oldest architectural constructions in Central Asia. It was only six miles off course, but it closed at 7PM and there wasn't enough time.

The Chüy valley is the most fertile and densely populated region of Kyrgyzstan. I was riding parallel to the mountain range from where I had just come. Another mountain range could be seen to the north in Kazakhstan. The valley was filled with farming and small villages, and I was now sharing the paved road with motor traffic.

I rode through the hamlet of Sovetshoe and had descended to 3,589' elevation, the lowest point I’d been the entire race. I turned right on Moldo-Asan street and headed back up the hill towards the mountains. The road then swerved left running east and parallel to the valley. Children came running out to say "Hello!" and some said "Goodbye!". One boy said, "Hello! What the fuck!", and I didn’t respond.

The next village was Kara Oi and then came Akchaluu, where I took an uphill right on Ctalbekova street. I continued stair-stepping south and then east. Next I rode through the small village of Sultan. There were apple trees lining the road with ripe fruit dangling from the branches. Conan had shared photos of the fruit he had foraged last year, and I'm known for my fondness of treats growing alongside the road. Arnaud passed me as I stood there enjoying the small red apples. The sun was low and behind me, casting a long shadow.

At 7:17 PM I meandered my way through a cattle drive spanning the width of the road. I entered the town of Koshoy, and stopped at Magazin Azim for a bottle of Sultan lemon iced tea and a Boss ice cream bar. I sat out front on the tiled patio floor and was brought a pillow to sit on. An friendly local guy showed up with his wife on a motor scooter, and he started up a conversation. I explained that I was from New York and was participating in a race around Kyrgyzstan. I mentioned that I had just just ridden over Kegeti Pass, and I showed him my map. He told me that cars didn’t go that way. He asked me how I was feeding myself, and if I was just going magazin to magazin, and I replied, "Yes". He veered the conversation to politics and asked whether I liked Biden or Trump or if I preferred Obama over Biden. I disclosed that I'd never met anyone from Kyrgyzstan in New York, and he told me there was a Kyrgyz population in Chicago. Apparently the migration route was by way of Mexico.

I was exhausted and could barely stand up to continue. I wanted to catch up with Arnaud, but the day was coming to an end. At 7:40 PM I rode down into the Shamshy River Valley and noticed a stealth camping spot behind bushes and trees. There was a nearby farm, and I would visible from the hill above the valley. But it would soon be dark.

At the bottom of the hill I took a right on a small gravel track that led towards the farm. Shrubbery and bramble buffered the main road and I found a grass clearing where I would be concealed from the gravel path. I set up my tent and backed it in against the bushes. My bike was then sandwiched between my tent and the hedge. It was dusk when I crawled into my tent.