Silk Road Mountain Race - Day 8 • 41°2'33" N 75°4'25" E to Dzhergetal

Silk Road Mountain Race - Day 8
August 19, 2023
41°2'33" N 75°4'25" E to Dzhergetal - 72 Miles
Start 7:20 AM Finish 8:37 PM
Total Duration 13:16
Moving Time 8:51
Stopped Time 4:26
Ascent 4,768' 
Descent 7,381'
Slept at 6,781' elevation (house - floor)
Race Total 740 Miles

I slept surprisingly well last night, camped in a grass pasture down an embankment from M-071. It had taken me awhile to doze off. My right thigh was convulsing in pain. My left knee was bloody and battered. And my right shoulder and left elbow ached. In addition, my legs were shivering from the cold, despite wearing my wool tights and rain pants. The rain pants were caked with dried mud which was now scattered throughout my silk liner and sleeping bag. In the middle of the night I had to go outside to urinate, and the stars above were brilliant. I woke up with the light at 6 AM. My dreams had been intense, involving friends a world away in New York. I regained consciousness after sleep and was like, 'Oh yeah. This is where I am. This is what I’ve got to do today'. Benjamin (cap 18, Germany), Dmitri (cap 29, Kyrgyzstan), and Sam (cap, 97 UK) passed me while I was still in the tent. The bottoms of my feet were severely chapped and I soothed them by rubbing ointment into the dried bloody cracks. Before departing I treated myself to water with an electrolyte tablet and a Fishermans Friend lozenge.

Last night I'd suffered a bad crash while off-course and without a tracker. Perhaps it wasn't wise to be riding at night. I couldn't wear my glasses which made navigation difficult. My dynamo headlight wasn't bright off-road, especially when climbing. The dirt and gravel surface was difficult to read. I'd slept at 9,360' elevation, and it was in the mid-thirties this morning while packing. I rolled up my frost-covered tent and knew it would be drenched this evening when I unpacked it. I was in the Akbent River valley surrounded by rolling grass hills with the snow-capped Gory Dzhamantau range to the south. I could see farm buildings and yurts to the west, and early morning smoke wafted from one of the chimneys. I later learned that Ride with GPS had captioned my site 'Tent place, water available from small stream'. I had done well in my predicament. Last night I had once again imagined myself to be pedaling through a dark forest, but there were no trees or bushes here. This morning two cows wandered over to watch me pack. Kyrgyzstan had no fences and animals roamed freely. I felt comfortable camping alongside the road here, and there were very few places in the US where I would do such.

Quentin (cap 89, Belgium) and Dries (cap 32, Belgium) passed me as I finished packing. Once again there was nothing in the pasture to lean my bike against, which made packing difficult. I would stand my bike while trying to steady it. Fully-loaded it was unwieldy and the front wheel would pivot, testing what little strength I had. I would curse my bike every time this happened. Last night I had hoped to reach Beatov, where I could stay in the hotel Gostinitsa Konorchok. I hadn’t taken a shower since day two in Lipenka. My clothing and equipment were filthy. Today was Saturday, August 19 and my eighth day in the race. A week ago at this time I had been in Karakol at the hostel getting ready to start. It had been a brutal adventure and it was far from over. 

I was wearing the cleaner of my two pairs of socks, my bib, leg-warmers, Merino wool under-layer, gilet, and jacket. I knew I'd be climbing so I wore my short-finger gloves. My fingertips were freezing, but the rest of my body was comfortable. My right thigh hurt and my handlebars were still crooked from the crash. I was beginning Mels Pass, the last climb on the final part of segment five to Beatov. There were wild flowers alongside the road including magenta-colored wild thyme and crimson Plume Thistles. After two miles a car passed me, and the switchbacks began.

I eventually reached a stretch where the road was bathed in sunlight, and my poor frozen fingers began to thaw. I caught up with Quentin and Dries whom had stopped for a smoke. Quentin had phone service. His tracker hadn't been working properly and his friends were concerned. I later stopped again to unzip my layers and eat a Snickers. The long climb continued and I pulled over to remove my Merino wool under-layer. I kept ascending and paused to take off my jacket. I passed Benjamin (cap 18, Germany) who was suffering from stomach flu. He had vomited yesterday and was out of water. I had also finished the last of my water. As I was talking to him I quickly consumed another Snickers.

After two hours of pedaling I reached the summit of 11,089' Mels Pass. There was an striking monument with large white inverted V's to represent mountains, along with a red and yellow sun with rays. I documented my bike in front of the monument and then took a selfie with Quentin. I had ridden seven miles and climbed eighteen hundred feet on seven percent grade. I enjoyed a two mile dip and then ascended 10,702' Borülu Pass. A ramshackle wooden gate had been strewn across the road, ostensibly to control livestock. It was the first such gate I'd seen in Kyrgyzstan. M-071 then cut through the summit and vast plains appeared below in the distance.

A dramatic downhill on switchbacks ensued with stunning views of the outwash plains to the north. My handlebar was still crooked and I didn't have suspension, so I took it easy. Quentin, Benjamin, and Dries all passed me. The descent was a whopping twenty-two hundred feet. At the bottom of the hill I crossed a dried up river bed. The road straightened out and I was at 8,500' where it was much warmer. 

I came to a series of beautiful craggily rock formations with titled bands and striations. In front of them sat a group of tombs. Quentin had stopped to admire the setting, and I paused there as well. The closest three mausoleums were intact and the doors were all facing the road. They resembled sand castles that were slowly dissolving. A pair of bike-packers passed me going in the other direction. They had quite a climb ahead. I then began to see farm houses and structures. I crossed the dried-up Tepek River and noticed another enormous necropolis to the west. Dozens of cupolas and arched facades were tightly clustered like a small city. The tombs seemed larger from a distance.

Pastures and cultivated fields emerged to both sides of the road as I continued my descent into the village of Tepek. The road then elbowed to the left, and I was three miles from Baetov. I noticed that I had phone service, and began receiving text messages and emails from concerned friends. I uploaded my stats and tried to charge my phone whenever I was going more than ten miles an hour. The washboards were driving me crazy. Dictating messages was fruitless, and I almost crashed. In addition, my left leg-warmer kept sliding down my calf. I was welcomed with an asphalt surface as I entered Baetov, population 10,682. It had taken three hours to pedal twenty-eight miles.

M-071 dog-legged to the left where I spotted a ❤️ Baetov sign. I stopped for my obligatory documentation ritual. Across the street I spotted Marna Apandish Honest Kitchen and three racer's bikes were out front, Quentin, Dries, and Dmitrii (cap 29, Kyrgyzstan). Dmitrii was leaving as I arrived, and Quentin and Dries were inside at a table. I sat at the next table, and ordered two plates of lagman and a liter of Coke. I plugged my devices into a power strip on the floor next to the soda cooler, and then used the bathroom to clean myself. I uploaded to social media to let friends know that I was OK, and that my tracker was missing. A friend had congratulated me for being in position #26, which reflected the speed at which my tracker was moving. It was obvious to followers that something was off, and attentive friends were concerned. I heard from Nelson who reported that my tracker had been found and would be waiting for me at CP 3. 

I was now at 6,400' elevation and it was sunny and hot. I went outside and unfurled my tent, tarp, and air mattress to dry on a fence in the bright sun while I ate. I peeled down to shorts, donned my arm protectors, and lathered myself with sunscreen. Quentin had run an errand and returned with a bottle of Corona. I hadn't relished a cold beer in over a week since Karakol, and quickly ran across the street to the supermarket for three bottles. In addition I purchased three liters of water and toilet paper. Kyrgyz toilet paper isn't coiled around a cardboard tube like in the US. It's a solid roll of paper. I spooled off a two-day supply and left the remainder in the restaurant. Quentin and Dries mentioned getting ice cream on the way out of town. I stopped at a magazin for more Snickers, and withdrew 15,000 Som from an ATM. 

I flipped my paper map and loaded the next segment on my Wahoo. I was now on section six heading to Son Kul. I'd pedaled six hundred and ninety-six miles and had four hundred and seventy-six remaining. I had seven more days. The race finished next Saturday at midnight, and it seemed like I'd be getting there a few days early. Sofiane had finished the race in first position this morning at 1 AM. The destination for section six was CP 3 at Son-Kul Lake. As the crow flies via M-072 and M-082, Son-Kul was only fifty-four miles to the north. But the course looped far to the west through Kazarman for a total distance of two hundred and sixteen miles. The elevation gain on this section was 27,175', and the profile looked like a saw blade with three additional large spikes. It would probably take two and a half days to pedal.

I was now on M-074, aka the Kol-Dobo-Baetov highway. Between here and Kazarman there would be a large bump and then Pereval Akkyl Pass. Today's goal was to make it over the first climb and then do as much of the pass as possible. We rode out of Baetov on asphalt and it was supposed to be tarmac for the first eighteen miles. It quickly turned to gravel and washboard. I was heading southwest and the descent continued for a few more miles. I passed another necropolis and there were tombs near the road. Their cornices were beginning to crumble, but the pointed arched windows and entryways were still intact. I then began a gentle thirteen hundred foot climb for the next ten miles. The road then turned sharply to the north and a steep descent began. Quentin and Dries both had front suspension and they flew down the hill. I had to take it easy. 

The washboards were intense and I was trying to ride the smoothest parts. My wrists were taking a pounding and I habitually shook my hands to relieve them. I rode underneath the Kara-Burgon welcome gate, and atop stood a tunduk and the Kyrgyz flag. The sun was blazing and it was blistering hot. I crossed over the dried up Jaman Davan-Suu River, and then passed another city of the dead. It was an enormous necropolis with perhaps a hundred elaborate tombs surrounded by metal gates. All of the structures faced the same direction, and some of the tombs were painted with diamond patterns. The roofs were donned with metallic crescent moons and stars.

I then began to follow the Jaman Davan-Suu River. I was now at 6881' and it was 82°F. I continued heading northwest passing cultivated fields. The road turned left, then right, and then right again, as I rode into Kara-Burgon. Here we stopped at a magazin for a well-deserved break. I still had ice cream on my mind, and got myself a Barzhan strawberry ice cream bar along with a Sultan lemon iced tea. We sat in the shade out front with a local man. There was a bench where we could relax. Quentin lived in nearby Tajikistan and was able to communicate with the man in Russian. My ice cream had almost melted by the time I unwrapped it. I quickly devoured it and Dries bought me a second one. Local women were shopping inside. It was 3:39 PM and I was getting tired. I had only pedaled forty-six miles. 

I continued cycling northwest and descending, passing extraordinary rock formations to my right. I then came to the confluence of where the Jaman Davan-Suu River joined the Ala-Buga River. I was now at 5632' elevation, the lowest I'd been since Lipenka on night two. The road then jutted southwest. There were chalky bluffs to the left and the bare river bed was to the right. This area was cultivated, and deciduous trees and bushes had been planted alongside the road. It was nice, for once, to be riding in the shade. For a stretch the right side of the road was lined with Russian olive trees, which had ostensibly been sown as windbreaks. Beyond that lay grass pastures. To my left I admired gorgeous rock formations that looked like tree bark.

I crossed the dried Ak-Sry River and then began to follow it towards Konorchok. I passed what appeared to be a fortress ruin and then another necropolis. As we entered the village a half dozen children ran out onto the road to give us high fives. It was 5 PM and we were parched. We stopped at a store where I enjoyed a bottle of Sultan peach iced tea and another ice cream. Quentin had purchased a large bag of corn bugles which we devoured. We sat in the shade where I had phone service and could call a friend. 

I had been riding with crooked handlebars all day. My Allen wrench set was buried in my rear pannier, and I still hadn't found a moment to retrieve it. As a unicyclist I was adept at errant handlebars. I just needed to change my perspective. There's an annual event in Brooklyn called Bike Kill, where many of the mutant bikes have crooked handlebars. 

I rode right past and missed the Shyrdak Bek Fortress ruins. The clay adobe citadel had been constructed during the 10th-12th centuries and had been surrounded by a moat. The site had been on my itinerary, but there weren't any signs and it wasn't indicated on my map. I then crossed another dried-up stream and rode through the town of Osoviahim. Every time a car passed, I'd be enveloped by a dust cloud and would have to lift my buff.

I crossed another parched stream bed and the course began to climb on rough, gut-rattling washboard. The right shoulder seemed like the smoothest path forward. I was having a rough go of it and Dries sarcastically asked how my ass was doing. 'Not good!', I replied. There were gorgeous rocks formations to the left that looked like a giant oak tree stump. I wasn't able to fully enjoy the spectacular surroundings because I needed to focus on the road surface. Power lines ran through the valley alongside both sides of gravel M-074. Dusk was approaching and the shadows started to lengthen and extenuate the texture of the gorgeous topography. The fields of grass were golden.

It was staring to get dark as we pulled into the small village of Dzhergetal. I had only gone seventy-two miles and had wanted to ride at least eighty. There were two men standing in front of the first house we came to. Quentin was able to speak Russian, and started up a conversation. He seemed to believe they would extend an invitation for us to stay with them. Kyrgyz were known for their hospitality. I was interested in finding a magazin and taking a break. There wouldn't be daylight for much longer. Dries caught up, and the two of us rode to the magazin. We both wanted do ride another ten miles for the day. The magazin was ostensibly located at the top of a hill. The front of the building was under construction, and there were no signs or indications of a store. It was confusing, and a large dog started barking at me as I walked around the building. Once I figured my way inside, I purchased a bottle of peach iced tea and a bag of corn bugles. Dries and I sat on a bench in front of the building and enjoyed the crescent moon as it was rising to the west. Quentin then arrived and shared that we'd been invited to stay with a family. It was now dark and I was tired, and I succumbed. 

We rode back down the hill and walked our bikes into a courtyard. I leaned my bike against a wall and unstrapped my sleeping bag and collected everything that I'd need for the night. The husband and wife had moved furniture and created a large space in their living room. A large mat had been placed on the floor along with bedding. I didn't want to be sleeping in the middle, and quickly claimed the right side. The couple invited us for tea, and Quentin did all of the translating. First things first we lined up in the courtyard to wash our hands. The man poured water out of a kettle, and handed us a bar of soap. We were then led into the kitchen and sat on a bench across from the couple. The table was full of goodies and we relished salad with cucumbers and tomatoes, baked apple crisp, and bread (nan) with marmalade and butter. The couple's kitchen had a refrigerator, stove, modern cabinets, and appliances. They were obviously well-off. 

It was nice not having to set up my tent, and it was much warmer inside. I plugged in my devices and took a sleeping pill before going to bed. Quentin set the alarm for 3:30 AM. I was accustomed to sleeping in a tent by myself, and waking up with the sunrise. It was awkward changing into my underwear in front of the others. The pit toilet was out back and I hoped that I wouldn't need to use it during the night.

Campsite back on course (after getting lost and crashing)

Plume Thistle

Me and Quentin atop 11,089' Mels Pass

One of the only cattle gates I saw in Kyrgyzstan

10,702' Borülu Pass before Beatov

Necropolis outside of Tepek

Roadside mausoleum outside of Tepek

Welcome to Baetov

Marna Apandish Honest Kitchen in Baetov

Double order of Laghman

First beers of the race!

Drying out the wet gear

Following Quentin ad Dries out of Baetov

Roadside mausoleum

Quentin enjoying a roadside treat with a local

Locals shopping inside the magazine

Quentin and Dries taking a break

Miles and miles of washboard

Quentin, Dries and I enjoying local hospitality in Dzhergetal

Local hospitality in Dzhergetal

Our hosts in Dzhergetal

Map / Elevation Profile


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Silk Road Mountain Race - Day 2 • outside of Enilchek to Lipenka

Other Tour Logs