Silk Road Mountain Race - Day 6

August 17, 2023

Bosogo to Key-Aygyr - 90 Miles

Start 6:47 AM Finish 10:26 PM

Total Duration 15:38

Moving Time 10:49

Stopped Time 4:50

Ascent 5,895'

Descent 5,269'

Slept at 11,190' elevation (tent)

Race Total 564 Miles

Details at: https://ridewithgps.com/trips/131809691

https://srmr2023.maprogress.com/

I slept well in the immense pasture alongside gravel M-076. I had camped at the base of the climb to Kel-Suu and felt re-energized after having turned in early and gotten a full night's sleep. There was frost on the grass when I got up. Cattle could be seen munching grass in the distance, but none had bothered me during the night. Dries (Cap 32 Belgium) was slowly making his way up the road and passed me.

I hauled my gear back over to the steel utility pole where I had leaned my bike. Having something to support my bike while packing made all the difference. The most difficult part was always strapping my sleep system to the front fork. I departed just before Dmitriy (Cap 208A) caught up to me.

It was chilly and I started off in my bib, leg-warmers, jersey, merino wool under-layer, gilet, and jacket. There was no need for my winter under-layer or long-finger gloves as I'd be generating heat on the climb. Bright early morning sunlight filtered through hazy gray clouds.

The climb up to the plateau was a seventeen hundred foot elevation gain over four and a half miles. The average grade was eight percent. Before the race I had trained on a gravel road at Mount Beacon, north of New York City. Beacon's elevation gain was eleven hundred feet and I would do seven or eight reps. Here there were a total of six switchbacks with a maximum grade of fifteen percent. It took me ninety minutes to reach the top, and I rode the entire climb without hike-a-biking. The stream had diminished to a trickle, and power lines were still to my left. I passed a sign advising that I was entering a border control area.

At the top of the climb I encountered a military post with a barrier across the road. A tiny white hut stood atop a berm to the side. I wheeled my bike up to the window and presented my passport. There was nothing here - no parked vehicle, no tied horse, nothing. I felt sorry for the officer who had to sit here in the middle of nowhere. It obviously got cold at night.

I was at 11,006' elevation and atop another plateau in the central Kyrgyz highlands. I was above the tree-line and the surrounding rounded hills were covered with olive-colored grass. I came to a vast expanse with hundreds of cattle in the distance. I noticed a man on horseback, several dogs, and a white van parked in front of a yurt. There was a small stream to my left. A few minutes later I passed another large herd of cattle alongside a yurt.

Just before 9 AM I came to the Kyndy Border Post. I encountered several two story buildings and a watchtower. The road gate was open and I passed another tiny white border checkpoint. I didn't see a soul. This was ostensibly where the border officials slept and ate. Again, I saw no motor vehicles or animals.

I came to the junction with gravel M-086 and noticed an enormous herd of cattle driven by a man on horseback. I was pedaling on rolling hills with a dirt and gravel washboard surface. It was barren and chilly, with gray clouds above. At 10:35 AM I crossed a wooden decked bridge over the Ak-Say River. The wide river basin was mostly gravel and devoid of water. Temporary bridge structures lay to side of road ostensibly for use during flooding. A piece of cement culvert sat in the distance. I had descended to 10,175' elevation.

At 10:51 AM I encountered a stopped car and two racers ahead. Two young boys were standing on the side of road selling something, and it seemed like the motorist was asking directions. The racers didn't stop, and by the time I arrived it was just me and the boys. I could see their small hut behind them, about a half mile in the distance. They had a small cart and were holding a bag of little white balls that resembled snowball cookies. I asked to try one and took a nibble. It was hard and intensely salty. It tasted like goats cheese. The cheeseballs were called Kurt and they've fed Central Asian herders since the Middle Ages. Soured milk from either a cow, sheep, goat, or mare is transformed by straining the liquid into soft curds. Small balls are then shaped and left in the sun to harden. I didn't know if or when these boys had ever washed their hands and I was taking a risk. Many of the racers were only eating packaged foods for fear of getting sick. The kurt was way too salty for me to purchase. I gave the boy a twenty Som note, about twenty five cents US. It was too much and he tried to offer me more kurt. I politely declined, gesturing that I'd just wanted to try it. I asked to take their photo and the younger brother laughed as the older boy made a silly face. I bid them salām and rode away.

The vast barren landscape continued. It was still chilly, cloudy, and gray. A guard tower stood in the distance. I'd been pedaling for four and a half hours. It was 11 AM and after thirty-four miles I took a left on the 4x4 road to Kel Suu. Here I began climbing again. A half an hour later I rode down towards a stream crossing and came to a small bridge that crossed a narrow gorge. Three workers were painting the guardrails yellow and one was sweeping the wooden deck. I was literally in the in the middle of nowhere. Their motor vehicle was parked atop the approach on the other side.

I was climbing again with a stream to my right. I was running low on water and thought about stopping, but knew I'd soon be at CP2. The vast empty landscape was magnificent. Occasionally I'd see a group of horses gathered around the stream. I was still gradually ascending. At 1 PM and after forty-four miles and six hours of pedaling, I had reached 11,604' elevation. I could see the vast Kel-Suu Lake basin ahead in the distance. I then began my descent. I came to a road fork and noticed yurt camps in the distance. Behind the camps towered the ginormous Kakshaal Too mountain range. The snow-capped jagged formations gave me goosebumps. They were magical and straight out of a fairy tale. Unfortunately it was mostly obscured by cloud cover. Kel-Suu Lake was largely empty.

I entered the yurt camp and reached CP2 at 1:17 PM. There were three bikes parked out front when I arrived (Quentin, Oscar, and Dmitriy). While it was cold, barren, and gray outside, inside the yurt was warm, colorful, and brimming with laughter and treats. Vibrantly patterned Krgyz textiles decorated the interior, lined with vivid tassels. The wooden support struts were painted red. A group of Belgian tourists were gathered around a large U-shaped table. At the head of the table sat a Russian woman who was a race official in charge of stamping brevet cards. I wasted no time and got mine stamped before Quentin. I was in sixty-sixth position. Quentin had spent the night on the plateau and had overslept this morning. He had forgotten to set his alarm.

I removed my jacket and gilet and began guzzling water and tea. Behind where I was seated stood a blazing wood stove. I served myself pastries and cookies smothered with rich Kyrgyz butter and jam. I asked for a meal and was brought a dish of pasta and a large bowl of soup. I spoke with Nils, one of the race photographers, whom had heard about my missing tracker. He was confident that he could find it, as long as it hadn't been turned off. He said that if I'd like to wait, he could have it returned to me here in twenty-four hours. I needed to keep moving and asked that it be brought to CP3.

Quentin had another theory about what had happened to my tracker. For a few years he had been living in neighboring Tajikistan, and mentioned that young boys would often remove things from a bike. It's not that they were thieves, but more out of sense of innocent curiosity. The trackers looked like little walkie-talkies. Mine had been clipped to my saddle and would have been at eye-level to the boys whom had swarmed over our bikes yesterday at the magazin in Ak-Muz.

I ordered two more rounds of lunch at six hundred Soms each. It was a steep price, but I was days from the nearest magazin or restaurant. Local women were doing the cooking in a neighboring yurt. One of their smiling young boys was inside our yurt enjoying the attention. On my third course, Veera walked in. She had passed my tent last night and had slept on the plateau.

I flipped my paper map and loaded the next section on my Wahoo. I was now on map section five and halfway through the eight course segments. Before leaving I purchased five more Snickers bars. Before the race, Jono had told me about the massive consumption of Snickers bars and I hadn't believed him. I was literally living on Snickers out here. It was incredible how unhealthy my diet could be, while pushing my body to such an extreme. Large bottles of water had been placed in front of the yurt, where I could refill. There was reportedly no water between here and Baetov.

The next segment began with the Old Soviet Road, a steep notorious hike-a-bike. Being that my rig was so heavy, I left before the others to get a head start. A race organizer pointed the direction towards one of the basin walls across an enormous grass meadow.

I began the hike-a-bike at 2:43 PM. It was ridiculously steep and reminded me of Cristo Rey in Mexico and Fleecer Ridge on the Divide. It was ten steps forward and then take a break. At least I didn't have to lug my bike perpendicular like I did on Fleecer. I was getting hot and removed my leg-warmers, gilet, and jacket. After I had gone a few hundred feet I noticed Quentin and Andrei starting below. A few steps forward and then take a break. Quentin and Andrei soon caught up to me. Oscar and Dmitriy then appeared below. I used any excuse to take a rest. I took photos of the extraordinary valley behind me, drank water, and ate Snickers bars. This was once the boundary between the Soviet Union and China. Strands of barbed wire and old wooden posts lay to either side of the track. One of the racers had plastered a GAY'SOKAY sticker on one of the posts. Oscar and Dmitriy had caught up to me along with Niel (cap 82, UK). Niel had lost a day because of a mechanical. He had left the course at Naryn and traveled back to Bishkek and back. He bragged that he had coached Neil (cap 79), whom I had summited Juku with. Quentin and Andrei had made it to a switchback above. Since everyone else had taken a breather at the switchback, I treated myself to a sit-down when I got there. The racers ahead of me were now out of sight, and Veera was beginning the climb below. It took me an hour and forty-five minutes to climb eleven hundred feet, essentially one Beacon Mountain. I had covered only a mile distance at an average twenty-five percent grade. I summited at 4:27 PM and saw Veera far down below slowly making her way up.

Participants had been promised a lovely single-track descent on the other side. It would’ve been fun on full suspension with a lighter load, but I had to take it slow. The racers ahead were long gone. The track disappeared at the bottom, and I had to hike-a-bike through thick grass and narrow streams. And then I began climbing again on single-track. The panorama was stunning at the top, and I felt like I was on top of the world. The sky was gray and at one point it began to drizzle. The rain was short-lived and I eventually began descending into a wide valley. At 6:28 PM I passed an old military base that was now being used as a cattle corral. I could see a road in the distance, which I finally reached and took a left.

Because I had studied all of the map sections individually and hadn't looked at the course as a whole, I didn't realize until after the race that I had made a loop to Kel-Suu. I was back on the same road where I had been this morning. In fact, I later saw on MAProgress that Jono, having spent the night at Kel-Suu, had been directly in front of me when I was talking to the boys selling kurt.

It was 6:30 PM and I was back on M-076. Compared to all the hike-bike and single track, the dirt and gravel road was smooth sailing. After six miles on the road, I stopped at a pole where I could lean my bike and take a pause. I had ridden sixty-eight miles and, despite the slight headwind, my goal was to now ride a century. I was surrounded by vast plains filled with short scraggly grass and dirt. There was a huge range of snow-capped mountains to the west, and power lines continued alongside the highway. The sun was starting to set as I passed an abandoned military base with guard towers.

I was slowly climbing and following the dried up Ak-Say River bed upstream. My headlamp was strapped to my forehead in addition to my dynamo powered headlight. There was a bright concentrated beam in front of me, but everything around me had turned dark. I was crossing gravel dried up stream beds the same consistency as the road surface, and it was confusing in the pitch black. It had gotten so dark that, at several times, I thought I was riding under tree cover. There were no trees here.

I was no longer wearing my prescription sunglasses, which were now clipped my helmet. Every time I needed to navigate I'd have to stop and unclip them. I was frequently getting confused and finding myself off course. At one point I was riding atop a raised viaduct, which would abruptly end. I ended up at a concrete abutment and knew that I was way off route. Rather than backtrack I decided to follow the dried river bed back to the course. Once back on track I tried to make my way forward. It seemed like I could see racers' taillights ahead in the distance. I thought I could see a headlight behind as well.

I later realized that the course had veered away from M-076, ostensibly because of flood damage. I had tried to navigate in the black of night. No wonder I had gotten so confused. My GPS tracks show tremendous zig-zagging.

I had really wanted to ride a century, but told myself that if I got lost one more time I'd stop and set up camp. I crossed the Ak-Say River gravel bed and once again got off course. I had hit my limit, and started looking for a place to camp. I found a nice surface with more grass than gravel. It was pitch dark and I noticed an animal's eyes staring back at me, reflecting from my headlight about fifty feet away. It was probably a marmot, but it seemed larger. I tried making scary animal noises to frighten it. Then I decided to pedal another mile down the road. I had climbed a thousand feet was in a vast remote plain. I found a spot that wasn't completely gravel and set up camp adjacent to the road.