Silk Road Mountain Race - Day 7 • Key-Aygyr to 41°2'33" N 75°4'25" E

Silk Road Mountain Race - Day 7
August 18, 2023
Key-Aygyr to 41°2'33" N 75°4'25" E - 104 Miles
Start 7:30 AM Finish 10:05 PM
Total Duration 14:29
Moving Time 11:22
Stopped Time 3:07
Ascent 4,933'
Descent 6,748'
Slept at 9,360' elevation (tent)
Race Total 668 Miles
Details at: https://ridewithgps.com/trips/131809710

https://srmr2023.maprogress.com/

I slept miserably last night and woke this morning to drizzle. I was at 11,190' elevation atop a desolate plateau, and had erected my tent on clumps of grass and gravel alongside M-076. It had been pitch dark due to cloud cover and a new moon. Unbeknownst to me, I had set up right next to a marmot tunnel. It was below freezing, and I slept in my Merino wool leg warmers, rain pants, wool socks, down socks, heavy Merino wool top, and down jacket with the hood cinched around my head. I was enveloped within my silk liner and down sleeping bag. My thighs started shivering, and I was out of layers. Eventually I managed to fall asleep. I awoke before dawn with an acute case of the runs, and squirmed out of my sleep system and left the tent as fast as I could. I ran out onto the gravel in my down socks and squatted. The diarrhea was explosive. I eventually cleaned myself and returned to the tent, only to have to run back out. There were clumps of white toilet paper everywhere, and I nearly exhausted my supply. I used wipes to clean myself, and these were now almost gone. In addition, I had a limited supply of water. In the morning I took an Imodium and spread Lucas Papaw ointment and chamois butter on the bottoms of my extremely chapped feet. It was starting to sprinkle.

Rain first thing meant that I needed to pack quickly before my tent got drenched. I was wearing my rain poncho, a pair of dry socks, waterproof socks, rain pants, bib without the suspenders (in case I got sick again), my heavy wool under-layer, gilet, jacket, and long-finger gloves. I collected all of the soiled toilet paper and stuffed it into a grocery bag before leaving, hoping that no one had passed and seen the sorry state of things. There had been nothing to lean my bike against here on the barren plain. I had charged my Wahoo, headlamp, and iPod nano, and gave my phone a tiny bit of charge before departing. I hadn't topped my battery pack since Naryn and was trying to conserve power. It was gray, and the sun seemed like it was trying to break through the clouds. I was surrounded by an endless expanse with no signs of people, animals, or anything. Far to the east stood a mountain range.

I continued forward on dirt and pebble M-076, alongside the dried-up Ak-Say River. The road intersected barren tributaries and the gravel bed crossings no longer confused me in daylight. It would have killed me to ride a century last night. The drizzle eventually subsided, and I stowed my poncho. Miles of brutal washboards ensued. I once had a summer job doing demolition with a jack-hammer. This road surface had the same jarring effect on my poor hands, wrists, arms, elbows and shoulders. I had no front suspension to absorb the shock and the washboard went on forever. I tried avoiding the worst sections by alternating between the right shoulder and left, whichever was smoothest. It was slow riding, foggy, and gray. I was surrounded by clumps of grass and gravel as far as the eye could see. Far ahead in the distance I could see Oscar.

I wondered whether I had gotten sick from the kurt or the the food at CP 1. I was dehydrated and had very little water. Nelson had warned us that there would be no water on this section, and I was concerned about hydration. On past tours through the desert I've stopped passing motorists. Racers were technically not allowed to ask for help. It had to be offered. Nonetheless, I flagged down the first and only car I saw, and they offered me a liter. This put me back over three liters which would last me for at least a day. One of my bikepacking super-powers is that I'm a camel.

After ninety minutes of riding I spotted a guard tower in the distance. It stood on a hilltop to the south. I was now pedaling alongside a barbed wire border fence with China. Dark gray clouds had formed, and it started to rain. I put on my rain poncho and continued southwest towards Torugart. The key to riding in the rain is to not get cold. The temperature was in the mid-thirties and I was wet underneath from sweat. The trick was to keep the cold water out and retain a temperature balance. Getting too hot would just bring more sweat.

The road had filled with puddles and the hard-packed dirt had turned to peanut butter mud. The viscous sludge was sticking to my tires, forks, and down tube. Every time I put my foot down my sandals became caked with mud, and I was no longer able to clip to my pedals. It was brutal, but I was warm. I was listening to a jamming Duane Train episode from August 2020 and continuing forward. At 10 AM I made a left turn. The map indicated that I had passed by Kek-Aygr, but I saw nothing. I was at 11,680' elevation.

I stopped to take a photo of my bike in front of the border fence. T shaped wooden posts that looked like old telegraph poles stood eight feet high and were spaced every ten feet. Considerable strands of barbed wire were strung in rows spaced six inches apart. Mirroring setups had been erected on both the Kyrgyz and Chinese sides with a six foot no man's land in between. Small animals could scurry across and I would have been able to throw a rock into China. If I had somehow managed to sneak across, there were no roads or anything on the other side. Back in June I had taken a similar photo of my Surly in front of the US/Mexico border, out in the middle of the California desert. I spotted another guard tower, which I believe were unmanned.

After ninety minutes of pedaling through rain, mud, and brown puddles the precipitation began to abate. My faint shadow began to appear, and I stopped to remove my poncho. I put on my short finger gloves, brushed my teeth, and sucked on a Fisherman's friend. Aside from the road, border fence, and utility poles there was absolutely nothing here, as far as my eyes could see. I would think while riding that I saw a structure ahead, and then when I got there I'd find that it was a bush. Even bushes were rare here. I was alive and well, and still in the race. I'd been in sixty-sixth position at CP 2 which I felt good about. I was just missing my tracker. If it was theory one, I might never see it again. If it was the second theory, I'd see it again at CP 3. I was continuing forward in cloak mode. Nobody could see where I was.

I passed Oscar off to the side of the road squatting. Maybe the food at CP 2 had been the culprit. The sky was gray and misty, and the pesky marmots were bold out here. The sand, gravel, and peanut butter mud made for difficult riding. A mile out of Torugart I was met with a vicious headwind. At 12:21 PM I could see the port of entry ahead. Fencing surrounded buildings, guard towers, and security cameras, and I noticed trucks lined up on Chinese side. M-076 continued straight towards the Chinese side of the border. I should have followed the course, which proceeded down an embankment and across a dried up river bed. It seemed easier to stay on the level track and follow the border fence around to the structures on the Kyrgyz side. I ended up going a half mile out of my way, and the border fence area was littered with garbage. There were so many obstructions that I had to hike-a-bike. The debris had been tossed across the fence by the Chinese. The buildings on the Chinese side were brand new with shiny blue roofs, while the Kyrgyz side was shabby. It was windy and a large storm was brewing.

The gas station in Torugart was closed, as Nelson had said it would be. I pulled in regardless to see if I could find water. There was a nearby cluster of cargo containers, and a man motioned me over. To my surprise there was a meal wagon, and he invited me in. My sandals, socks, and rain pants were caked with mud, and I stripped down before entering. It was cold, rainy, and windy, and a bad storm was coming. Inside it was warm, comfy, and filled with the aroma of food cooking. I couldn't believe my luck. There was a sink for me to wash my hands. A jug above supplied the water and a bucket below collected it. To the left was a small living space, and a dining area stood to the right. A table lined with two benches sat atop a raised platform. The table supports were short, with just enough space for my legs to extend beneath. I later sat side-saddle with my feet on the floor. The benches were decorated with colorful textiles, and atop the tablecloth sat utensils, condiments, and a container of stale bread. It would have been fun to be here with others. On the stove were Manti (beef dumplings) and dumpling soup with red peppers and onions. The meal wagon wasn't a model of hygiene and, despite having been sick this morning, I ordered both. To drink I was offered a kettle of tea and a two-liter bottle of Coke. I gobbled the food as fast as I could, but was unable to finish it. The man serving me seemed surprised that I left the remaining Coke behind. There had been an electrical outlet and my phone was charged ten percent. I didn't have cell service, but later heard that the guys working there were using the MAPprogress app and knew when racers were coming. I was lucky to have been spotted. My server told me that he also worked as a taxi driver out of Naryn. He warned me that the rain would be bad for the next six miles. As I was leaving I spotted Oscar. His rear axle had broken on the washboard, and I told him about the meal wagon and taxi driver.

I was now on paved two-lane ЭМ-11 aka Uluu-Jibek-jolu-keçesu (The Great Silk Road Highway) that went all the way to Naryn. I noticed dozens of green buses that had traveled from Bishkek, and were now returning empty. It was drizzling and I was wearing my poncho and rain pants. I was delighted to be back on asphalt. No more peanut butter mud or washboards. I circled around Chatyr Kol lake and reached 11,769' elevation. ЭМ-11 bypassed Tash Rabat, a 15th-century Silk Road stone caravanserai that I regretted not being able to visit. I crossed the Kararasu River, and the highway curved to the right as I began my decent. I had ridden forty-nine miles and had been on the road for seven and a half hours

I found a stick on the side of the road and stopped to scrape off some of the mud. I enjoyed a long straight downhill where I charged my phone with the dynamo. I was going fifteen miles an hour and caught up with a guy on horseback. Another man who was riding a donkey tried to race me, but he couldn’t keep up. A large German Shepherd chased me, and I outran him. Eighteen-wheelers with Chinese characters passed me going in both directions. To my right stood rock formations and the silhouettes of mountains through the haze. After thirty miles on the highway the rain finally stopped.

The sun slowly appeared along with blue sky and puffy clouds. I stopped at 3:30 PM to remove my rain pants, waterproof socks, and Merino wool under-layer. I was still scraping mud and could once again clip into my pedals. I was met with a headwind, which had become the norm while descending from a plateau. I passed a man selling bottles of Kymyz (fermented mare's milk) on the side of the road. I wasn't interested and didn't stop. I crossed the Kargantaş River and my gears were still shifting poorly. I paused to lean my bike against a guardrail where I cleaned my chain and derailleur. As I was getting ready to depart a friendly man appeared on horseback. A huge mountain range towered behind him to the west. I had descended to 10,500'.

I crossed the dried-up Kızılkyungey River and came to a military checkpoint. A gate was closed across the highway ahead, and I passed queued trucks and motor vehicles. I slowly rode around the gate and waved to the officials. I'm accustomed to riding around gates. Street closures for construction and special events don't generally apply to cyclists. I continued along two-lane ЭМ-11 and, after about a mile, a semi-truck pulled up alongside me honking his horn. He motioned that I needed to go back to the checkpoint. I acted like I didn't know what he was talking about and continued. I figured there really wasn't much he could do. I could easily outmaneuver his rig. He slowed down and again pulled up next to me, pointing back to the checkpoint. "Yeah, yeah", I motioned back. He drove on down the road, and I figured it was over. But I was wrong. He stopped his truck ahead in the distance, and jumped out of the cab. I cut over to the opposing traffic lane as he came running towards me. A pedestrian can easily outmaneuver a loaded cyclist. The truck driver lunged at me and tackled me to the ground. I was clipped in, and couldn't brace my fall, scraping my left elbow and left knee. A large hole was torn through my leg-warmers. The truck driver then came over to where I was lying and extended his hand to help me up. I bent my head down and made a prayer gesture with my hands. I was in the wrong, and was sorry. By this time officers in a car had caught up, along with another on bicycle. I motioned to everyone with my prayer gesture and head down. Then I commenced my mile and a half ride of shame back to the checkpoint. I resumed my prayer pose and apologized to the officials. If I'd been in the US or in New York, there probably would have been a humiliating consequence for my insubordination, but not here. I lined up for the window to show my passport. I gave a friendly motion to a guy in line who was wearing a Brooklyn cap. My name was checked off a list that Nelson had submitted, and then I could go. The officials and truck drivers in line were interested in my bike. They wanted to know how much it had cost. I tried explaining that, as bicycles went, it wasn't expensive. I complained about it's weight, and nobody would except my offer to try lifting it. The Kyrgyz were rule sticklers, but friendly. They didn't need to subjugate like so many officials in the US. I bet their strict adherence to rules came from the Russians. I would need a new pair of leg-warmers, and my poor left knee had been ripped open again. This same knee had been badly scraped back in June on a sandy alley in El Paso.

After the checkpoint I continued back to where I had been stopped, and then I began to climb. Two tiny bumps were indicated ahead on my elevation profile, and it was so much easier on asphalt. The difference between this morning and the afternoon was astounding. The day had started cold, gray, and rainy with washboards, loose gravel, and mud. It had taken five hours to pedal the first thirty miles to Torugart. Now I had blue skies, my belly was full, and I was averaging ten miles an hour. I summited the first bump, descended, and then climbed 10,761' Akbeyit Pass. Six miles after the crest I passed through a small collection of houses and buildings called Ak-Beit. I enjoyed a long downhill into the Kara-Koyon (Black Rabbit) River valley. I had descended to 9,400'. I'd never seen so many free roaming horses in my life.

At 6:15 PM I came to the intersection where I'd be exiting highway ЭМ-11. As I was making the left-hand turn a bus tried to overtake me in the passing lane. He honked his horn and seemed agitated that I wasn't riding on the shoulder. He then pulled over, ostensibly to have words with me, but I had already made the turn and kept going. I hate making left-hand turns amidst motor vehicles, and it seemed like I was upsetting everybody today. I was now on M-071, which was hard-packed dirt, and similar to what I’d ridden this morning. Fortunately it was dry. That said, it was bumpy. I later heard that one of the racers had slept inside a culvert underneath ЭМ-11 at the intersection of M-071.

I caught up with Quentin who gave me the latest news. Last night he had run into Filippo (cap 39, Italy), whom had broke his derailleur on Jukku. Filippo had traveled back to a bike shop in Bishkek and then returned thirty-six hours later. He was trying to get back into the race. Last night Filippo, Quentin, and I had more or less slept in the same area. Quentin had seen my tent this morning. Filippo had passed Veera who was way behind. Quentin had started early this morning and had missed most of the rain and mud. Filippo and Quentin had also eaten at the food wagon. He had seen Oscar in a taxi at the military checkpoint, where I had gotten in trouble. Unlike my mud-covered bike, Quentin's was clean.

The road condition was decent and the grade was four percent. My goal was to make it to Baetov, where I could sleep in a guesthouse, get a warm meal, and take a shower. I passed Quentin, and was able to climb 11,122' Kulak pass in ninety minutes. I enjoyed a fantastic downhill surrounded by lush green grass. I passed stunning craggily brown rock formations, and the road got chunkier as I descended towards the Kolkagar River crossing. It was 8:15 PM and the sun was was setting behind the hills. I had one more climb before Baetov.

I continued ahead towards the next bump, which would be larger. It had gotten dark and I was wearing my headlamp in addition to the dynamo powered headlight. My prescription sunglasses were clipped to my helmet. A large waxing crescent moon magically appeared at the moment I caught up to racer Neil Armstrong. I hadn't seen the moon in days. At the convergence of the Kolkagar and Akbent Rivers. I began climbing and thought this was the second pass. My Wahoo kept beeping, but I was in a narrow valley and believed it had lost satellite contact. Every time I needed to check the map on my phone I would have to stop and don my glasses. I ended up climbing up the wrong pass and had gone way off course. Neil had been following me and I felt terrible having to confide that I had led him astray.

I began following Neil down the hill. It was dark and my lights were focused on the path. I mis-calculated the road surface and hit a large pile of soft dirt that I thought was hard. I flipped over my handlebars. It happened so quickly and it seemed like my right thigh went 'through' my handlebars. I ended up in the dirt. My right shoulder had taken the brunt of the impact. My thigh was writhing in pain as I laid there staring up at the twinkling stars. Here I was, lost in the mountains of Kyrgyzstan without a tracker. Neil was now far ahead and who knew how frequently this road was used. It was 9 PM and I slowly collected myself. My phone had been ripped from the Quad Lock mount. I still had my prescription sunglasses, iPod, and EarPods. I slowly stood my bike and remounted it. My thigh was in incredible pain and it hurt to pump the pedals. I did as much coasting as possible.

I had gone three miles off course for a round trip of six. My handlebars were now crooked, and my thigh was injured. The revised plan was to get back on course and find a place to camp. I eventually discovered that I had lost the course at the convergence of the Kolkagar and Akbent Rivers. I had taken a left at a fork where I should have gone right.

Once back on course I passed a group of farm structures and yurts underneath the starlight. A mile down the road I found a flat grassy area alongside the Akbent River. It was difficult setting up and kneeling down into my tent with the thigh pain, but it felt wonderful to finally get inside my sleeping bag. I had finished at 10PM and was at 9,360' elevation. I had ridden a hundred and three miles, and it had been an eventful day.