The SolarCycle Diaries: 3 riders. 12,000 miles. 1 cause.

We’ve had to stay in a few one horse towns over the past few weeks and in a few of them it appears that even the horse has made a break for freedom. It tends to be in these sorts of quiet places that ‘facts’ emerge. Facts come in all shapes and sizes. Mine, for example, don’t always stand up to rigorous cross examination and on occasion have been found to be a distant cousin of the real fact. This however, should never stop a good fact from being used as all tabloid journalists know. Susie recently came up with a great fact in just such a horseless town and it was even a real fact! She has been reading a brilliant book (http://www.withouthotair.com/) on renewable energy that puts the key issues in numbers rather than the sweeping statements we often read or hear about. On the subject of wind farms, one of the many objections to proposed projects has been that they are a danger to bird life. In Denmark, deaths of birds from wind farms in 2001 were estimated to be 30,000 birds. Although this is clearly far from ideal the number of birds killed by cars in the same year was 1,000,000.  Birds killed by cats in the UK (the work has not been done in Denmark) in 2001 was estimated to be 55,000,000! Nasty, nasty cats!

It has been an eventful time since leaving Tashkent and we’ve now also been giving any passing cats a wide bearth. After many bone jarring miles, countless punctures from smashed vodka bottles (6 in one hour) and some impressive mountain passes we made it to Kyrgyzstan and a town called Osh. The Kyrgyz customs officials took great delight in telling us about the wolves which apparently still prowl the hills in packs and going on what the insects of Central Asia have done to us recently, they will be a force to be reckoned with. Jamie has a foot the size of a small ham and Susie looks like a new born kitten with an eye swollen shut, both the result of bee stings.

Kyrgyzstan is an interesting country on a number of fronts. The Kyrgyz Republic, to use its proper name, isn’t a great word for those lovers of vowels. It is hilly, -very hilly in fact. A guidebook I was flicking through described 94% of the country as mountainous and the average elevation is 2,750m. That is over twice the height of Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in the UK. They are a traditionally nomadic people who love their horses. National sports include a cross between rugby and polo where teams fight over the headless carcass of a goat. Other sports include horseback wrestling and chasing girls on horseback in an attempt to kiss them (if the man is unsuccessful the lady is allowed to beat the man with her horsewhip,- the ladies also get the better horse and a head start!).

To sweep a woman off her feet takes on a different meaning in this part of the world. Although apparently illegal since 1991, ‘bride-napping’ is the traditional way a young man finds a bride and we’ve been told the custom is once again on the upswing. Its a way of ‘reasserting national identity’ and with the rising costs of weddings, a sound way of slashing wedding costs! Bizarrely parents of the kidnapped girl generally consent to the process although it is normally staged in present times. The Kyrgyz people also have a saying that is perhaps at odds with what we are used to and custom has it that, ‘tears on the wedding day bodes for a happy marriage’!

Although Kyrgyzstan is a predominantly Muslim country, it appears to be a far cry from many of the other Islamic parts of the world we have been through. Islam was adopted relatively late and they seem to have limited their version of Islam to what they could fit in their saddlebags. Vodka flows freely and although we haven’t been affected by it yet, drunkeness can be a real problem we’re told. The women also seem to go in for tight tops and firmly believe less is more when it comes to dressing. I’m not sure the Taliban a bit further to the south would necessarily approve.

Having had various visa related delays that have put us about 4 days behind schedule I have had to leave Jamie and Susie in Osh. Getting back from Kashgar in time to catch my flight home was not going to be possible so I have had to head up to Bishkek, the capital. There is only one road to Bishkek which closes regularly due to mudslides and avalanches. Hans and Ayesha, who looked after us amazingly in Tashkent and who spent several years in Kyrgyzstan called to say the road was closed due to mud slides. I only had one option and that was to jump on a Air Kyrgyzstan plane which I was a little apprehensive about given the stories I’d heard. The plane was clearly much older than I was and we didn’t seem to clear the mountains by much. I have since found out and was not shocked to learn that there is no local airline in Kygyzstan which can operate in the EU as none comply with EU safety regulations!

One thing my time spent in Osh airport allowed me to do was flick through the weekly regional paper written in english. There was a great story about the President of Kazakhstan visiting a rural town. A local history professor was quoted as telling the president, ‘ the people always vote for you, we think there is no need to hold presidential elections in the future. You should always lead Kazakhstan. It is necessary to adopt amendments to the constitution’. Based on this the ruling party are proposing legislation allowing the President to remain in power for life, an interesting slant on democracy! Other stories included the eagle hunting competition at the Osh Hippodrome and the rising trend in Tajikistan migrant workers divorcing their wives by the legally binding texting of the word ‘talok’ 3 times.

Jamie and Susie have now made it to the Chinese border and should be able to give a full update from Kashgar, media blackout permitting!

Having joined up with Jamie and Susie again at the start of the month in Uzbekistan it seems little has changed since I left them in Egypt. We are having visa issues, we are being chased by dogs (although Uzbek dogs luckily seem only faintly interested in this particular game) and we’re told the border ahead is closed. This time the land crossing into Kyrgyzstan is apparently shut due to a foot and mouth outbreak and has been for some weeks so there might well be more fun and games in store for us next week.

Having sorted out various visa issues in Tashkent (and thanks to the small army involved in that little saga!), we retraced our steps to the magnificent city of Bukhara in the west of the country, which is the first large town after the Turkmenistan border. Burkara is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and has been famous as a centre of trade, scholarship, culture and religion for over 5,000 years. Aside from buying some grapes and paying for a room for the night we did little to add to this reputation.

Leaving town we were flanked by the first of many tens of miles of cotton fields which have lined the pot-holed roads for the past week or so. Uzbekistan is the world’s second largest producer of cotton, know as white gold in Soviet times, and it has been a key factor in the demise of the Aral Sea. Uzbekistan is one of only 2 double landlocked countries in the world (a country entirely surrounded by landlocked countries- the other is Liechtenstein) and much of the country is desert. Cotton needs large quantities of water to grow and during the 60’s the Soviets started diverting the rivers that fed the Aral Sea into vast irrigation schemes. Since those days the Aral Sea has been shrinking and the scale of the environmental catastrophe has been growing. It is now less than 10% of its size in 1960 and is 5 times as salty which has killed many of the fish. These fish were once caught by boats which are now rusting carcasses nearly 100 miles from the original shore line in places. To compound the issue an island in the middle of the sea was used as a military testing site in Soviet times and stories now abound of dumped nuclear waste, weapons and rusting barrels of anthrax (and other delights) being revealed by the falling waters. Once we heard all this we found there was a renewed spring in our step as we pedalled in the opposite direction.

Continuing east and fuelled by vast amounts of melon and meat of questionable source we arrived in Samarkand, one of the oldest inhabited cities in the world and another favourite of the chaps at UNESCO. It has some incredible architecture and the Registan, a collection of three madrasahs (medieval Muslim clergy academies) are definite contenders for some of the most impressive buildings I’ve ever seen. ‘Registan’ apparently means ’sandy place’ in Persian which is understandable given its a pretty dry country. However, legend has it the sand was brought in to soak up the blood from the public executions that took place up until the early 1900s. Its the kind of place where you take notice of the signs telling you not to walk on the grass.

Samarkand is in a key strategic trade location and was a crucial point linking trade between China and the world to the West in days of old. Accordingly it has seen its fair share of dust-ups over time. Alexander the Great first muscled in on the act in about 330 BC and it seems various nasty blokes with sharp beards and even sharper swords loved nothing better than to roll up in town for a few rounds with who ever happened to be in the hot seat. From all accounts Genghis Khan is one of many on a long list of people who wouldn’t be welcomed back in a hurry.

Samarkand is also firmly on the backpacker route and is one of the few places we have been through that has been. The hostel itself was historic in that certainly the bathrooms seemed to date from the early part of the city’s 2,750 year old history. There were some colourful characters including a bearded communist Norwegian intent on committing the perfect fish related crime, a couple of Irish lads whose habit of making derogatory remarks about people they didn’t like in Irish backfired when the Frenchman they were discussing in colourful terms round the table turned out to be Irish! Jamie was also lucky to leave unscathed as two young ladies from Japan and France seemed intent on each taking a bit of him with them on their travels….

We leave Tashkent tomorrow morning for the hill country and, we hope, Kyrgyzstan. It will be very sad to say goodbye to Hans and Ayesha, who work and live in Tashkent with their two lovely kids. They have been kindness personified and have looked after us incredibly well. Susie’s parents fly out this evening to tour the region and will be dropping off some goodies tonight. Predictably, the new bra and knickers Susie had asked her Mum to bring out have already been worn by half the London Fire Brigade (nothing to do with Susie’s Mum I might add!). My brother in law once described Susie as a doormouse who is a magnet for anecdotes, I would have to agree.

Our main concerns with Turkey centered around stories of rabid dogs roaming the country ready to attack. To a lesser extent we were worried about potential language problems having finally moved out of Arabic speaking countries. Luckily our mime actions for things like food and sleeping arangements didn’t need much improvement. Saying that, we still hadn’t (haven’t!) found a good mime for ‘do you have a spare inner tube?’

Of course, having been given a Turkish/English dictionary (by some very friendly local English students) and having a supply of ‘anti dog’ stones meant that neither were a problem. Instead, our main problem turned out to be the road conditions. We also developed a bit of grudge with the selection of food available, but to be fair, the food was plentiful as ever, and perfectly fine. 

In fact, within the first hour of cycling into Turkey we had found proper green grass to lie on which set us up for a good impression straight away. Unfortunately, we also encountered our first bad road and kebab. On retrospect this should have given us some indication of what was to follow.

A typical day in Turkey started with boiled eggs, tomato, cucumber, strong cheese, salami, olives and tea. At first this combo seemed to provide a good start to the day. As the days passed we found this breakfast rather too rich but it comes as standard and is hard to avoid. When we camped and prepared breakfast ourselves it was much the same as the shops seemed to only stock eggs, tomato, cucumber, strong cheese, salami, olives and tea. Out in middle earth it was Elven bread all round.

We would start early as the temperature was high and we had long distances to cover. I’m sure the roads weren’t as awful as I remember. I can think of many stretches of perfectly ok roads. It turns out that we had managed to pick all the roads that were getting resurfaced so all I really remember is having my rear pummeled by my saddle, all day, every day.

After the first 30km of pummeling we’d pull into a convenient garage. The huge number of garages was astounding. Every couple of km there would be another garage. They would also stock cold drinks, snacks and have chilled water machines where we would refill our bottles. This meant we didn’t need to carry too much food or water around with us, lightening the load somewhat. The garage attendant would offer us seating and ask about the bikes. Before long he would appear with tea whether we had asked for it or not. When the third cup of tea arrived we would generally make tracks. The prospect of another 30km on those roads wasn’t appealing but the amount of sugar in my tea was enough to make me leave before my teeth fell out.

30 km of avoiding potholes and trying to find the smoothest path through any gravelly terrain would inevitably result in a puncture. My puncture would occur in the middle of nowhere, no shade, no water, no help. After fixing the puncture or changing the inner tube I would look up, sweat dripping from my forehead, to find Susie lazing in the sun improving her tan. Susie’s puncture (Note: first puncture) happened outside a garage that also changed tyres. Within seconds there was a crowd of willing volunteers to help, typical. The locals were friendly as ever, apart from a couple of kids towards the Iranian border who took to throwing stones and sticks. One even ran over half a field to get close enough to throw his stick at us. The little sh*t.

Stopping at a little town for lunch we would try to find somewhere for food. There seemed to be only four types of store in Turkey, corner shops, phone shops, internet cafes and a kebab shops. Picking one of the many kebab shops we’d sit down and have a cold drink. There would hardly ever be a menu so using our dictionary or mime we would find try to discern what food was available. Rice?. Soup?. Macaroni?. Hamburger?. The waiter would shake his head so we’d settle for two kebabs. Then one of us would do a chicken dance or bleet like a sheep to show which sort of kebab we wanted. After the kebab, tea would follow.

After a suitable rest and letting some of the heat of the day pass we would get back on the road for another 30km. The wind was fairly erratic and would change direction daily. We were lucky enough to have it on our backs for most of the time which made a welcome relief from the roads. The terrain in Turkey ranged from flat and arid, on the plains in the south, to mountainous and green, by lake Van and north toward mount Arafat. This provided us with some impressive backdrops and places to stop for snacks and a swim.

If we were not somewhere nice to stop we would stop at a garage. More tea. Then maybe a game of avoid the potholes. When not out of the saddle to get respite from the jarring saddle, avoiding the potholes really did turn into a bit of a game. Like one of the original hand held digital games, move one right…two left… back one to the right… stay straight… jump - unfortunately that wasn’t a move i had the ability to perform with the panniers attached and would end up crashing down the hole or off the road. At times, this new pastime was a little dangerous as the traffic was always fairly close. Dodging left and right wasn’t always the best policy. Apart from numerous punctures and internal bleeding we didn’t have any mishaps.

At each stop it would be into another garage for fizzy drinks and snacks before the tea was brought out. The attendant would ask lots of questions. It was so kind of them to bring out tea we wouldn’t have the heart to mention that we’d already drunk 30 cups of tea that day and slowly sip the teeth dissolving liquid. 

The long distances from town to town meant that the final stretch of 30 km would be covered at the end of the day. Temperatures would have dropped and the numbness in my rear meant that the ride was fairly smooth.

Reaching our destination we’d try to find a cheap hotel that had a bathroom. (Believe it of not we found some hotels with no bathroom’s at all). We would shower and change, then go out for food. Internet cafe, phone shop, internet cafe, corner shop, internet cafe, then as luck would have it a kebab shop.  We would then start the miming again and try to find something in the restaurant that wasn’t a kebab. After consuming two kebabs and numerous cups of tea we would return to the hotel. On occasion we would find a fruit vendor and stock up on our vitamins.

Back to the room and maybe a game of scrabble on the phone before bed and try to mentally prepare for breakfast of boiled  eggs, tomato, cucumber, strong cheese, salami, olives and tea.

Our original route for Syria led us north-east through the desert. Finding that temperatures often reached 50 degrees in the Syrian desert and following the relative 30 degree ’chill’ of the Jordanian mountains, this was quickly revised.  Our new route took us northwards with a swerve into Lebanon.

It turns out that this left us with only 4 days of cycling in Syria. Since we spent so much time in Damascus sorting out visa problems and took time out to visit castles and the like, we spent over 50% of our time in Syria not cycling.

Therefore I thought it would be a good chance to give you an insight into one of our days off.

A typical day off in Syria started pretty much the same time as a typical day cycling. The bonus being that we could get half hour longer in bed, an hour if we were lucky.

If we are not camping then we often have to wake up hotel staff in order to unlock the doors to let us out, generally missing breakfast. With the extra time we were able to take full advantage of the hotel breakfast. Hotels that provide buffet breakfasts soon regret their offer as I return for my 6th plate of food and third cup of coffee!

Having a decent breakfast certainly makes my mornings better, not in the respect that I’m full and content (although that certainly helps) but that Susie will have had a couple of cups of coffee and will actually function. Without her coffee in the morning she will inevitably turn into the bad Gollum and is best avoided. It’s amazing what a coffee will do for Susie, you can see her face brighten as it passes her lips. Couple this with some paper and a pen for list making, then add a map to the equation and she’s positively brimming with enthusiasm for the day ahead.

Consulting the new list made over breakfast, the programme for the rest of the day will typically include either a visit to an amazing site of interest, an embassy to sort out visa’s or an internet cafe to get lots of administration done. Sometimes, all of the above.

On days off it is a welcome change to put on clothes not used for cycling. Not having my bits squashed into two pairs of cycling shorts (and generally an outer pair of shorts) all day is certainly something to look forward to. However, clean clothes can sometimes be an issue. On occasion we have both had to wear our ’solarcycle’ t-shirts because they’re the only clean items of clothing left. Although one of us has always managed to find something to stop us looking like twins. Even if it is a shawl to cover the t-shirt. I look particularly dashing with a shawl!

Cycling on a day off is always a last resort, we are supposed to be resting. After the previous few days on the bike I don’t even want to go near the bike let alone get on it. The traffic in Damascus was very busy with no real rules. Unless a traffic officer is present at the lights they are usually ignored. Hence, walking is the prefered means of transport on days off. If there is an embassy that’s too far to walk then a taxi would be hailed. This wasn’t always a safe option either, taxi drivers tended to be some of the worst offenders for flouting any senblance of highway code. They try to chat to us, smoke and talk on their mobile at the same time,  never have seat belts and your lucky if the door closes properly.

In Damascus we visited a magnificent mosque, (Susie dressed as a Jedi), wandered the old town and Christian quarter and I visited the National museum. All of these sites occupied a few hours but inevitably my mind wandered back to the thought of food. We had a guide book to the city so consulted it to specifically locate restaurants that gave out generous portions.

Belly full, content and usually happy to be out of the heat of the day, Susie would get her list out again, and maybe the map.  Cross things off and add new items while we let our lunch digest.

Afterwards we would walk through one of the many covered streets bustling with people and shops and full of colourful fabrics, spices, food stalls and cigarettes. If we passed an ice cream or fruit smoothie stall there was often more consumption to be done.

The long hot Damascene afternoons we generally spent at the internet cafe, where hours would disappear checking e-mails, uploading photo’s, posting to this site, researching topography, finding embassy addresses and dispairing at visa requirements.

Eventually, though, my body would tell me it was refuelling time again.

I must point out that Susie spends more time infront of the computer than I do. This is something I am very grateful for. Some of the slow connections and uploading times for photo’s get on my nerves. And when the computers inevitably crash…

I will often escape to do other things before returning to drag her off. The suggestion of dinner usually works!

More food and plenty of it. In Syria I found the food was very much the same as in previous countries. More often than not we would get chicken, rice, salad and bread.

The bread in Syria wasn’t my favourite, like a savoury pancake, too thin with no substance. We did find some different things on the menu such as ’cheaps tasticals’ and brain but neither of us had the guts to try them.

One thing that Syria did do very well was smoothie stalls. We took full advantage and often grabbed a fruit smoothie to replace the lack of vegetables with dinner.

On a typical day off we are normally be back on the road the next day. After dinner we tend to head to bed early to get to sleep for the next day.

In Damascus we had a few days waiting for visa’s so we could stay up past our normal bedtime of 10pm. This led to a rare visit to, what appeared to be, the only pub in the city. A stall with a couple of chairs!

When not getting tipsy on three beers we either wandered through the covered markets, still going strong, or make a quick stop off for another smoothie/ice cream before we would head back to the hotel. Susie would grab her pen and paper to start a new to do list and I would muse on the days events and whether I should have tried the cheaps tasticals.

And…. collapse.

What a couple of weeks.

I am writing this, though, from the sanctuary of a friend’s in Tashkent, Uzbekistan. Have just had coffee and toast and am sitting in my pajamas considering the notion of not leaving the house all day.

Bliss.

Certainly makes a change from the pandemonium that was Turkmenistan…

Following the Uzbeki visa mess up, which saw our details sent to Kazakhstan and three, painful visits to the embassy, we finally left Ashgabat mid-afternoon escorted by our cycling guide, Zhenya (Eugine) and his brother, Vitteli. Both ex-professional cyclists and lovely guys.

Though there was a headwind, the roads were wide, flat and even. We stopped at an old mosque about 25k out of town and children showed us how to get sacred water from a well. Gophers distracted us from the pedalling and mountains to our right cast beautiful shadows across the valley floor. Though Vitteli turned back 65k out of town, we continued on, stopping at a roadside tea house where a local man insisted on buying our drinks. The owners smiled and waved as we departed into the sunset.

Sadly, this idyll was not to last.

The wonderful owners, though kind and welcoming, were not all that great at distances. Zhenya had asked where the next tea house was so that we could camp there and get some dinner. They had explained it was only 10k.

It was not.

35k later, in the pitch black, the road now merely a few pot holes vaguely held together by a smattering of tarmac, we stopped by a man fixing his car. As we did so, swarms of mosquitos descended upon us, bitting every single uncovered part of our bodies. Cars beeped wildly as they encountered the scene. The three lights we had between us barely enough to highlight our location to the insane motorists carrerring past.

The man explained that the next tea house was still another 30k away but that there was a truck stop 3k down a track where we could eat and rest. We continued down it. Plunging into the craters which predominated the ravaged pathway, chased by dogs and praying that he was right.

Fortunately, this time the information was correct. We found a cafe and ordered the entire menu (Zhenya adding 15 sugars to his first cup of tea - such was his exhaustion) and pitched our tents outside. We settled in to a patchy nights rest amongst the sounds of the trucks and truckers surrounding us.

The next day we awoke marginally refreshed and set out for what is probably the most disheartening cycling experience we have yet endured. Though we arose at 6, by 11 we had gone a mere 30km. The potholes had taken their toll on Zhenya’s bike and his derailleur had serated off. He deftly removed it and put the chain back. He was able to continue but now in only one gear.

The wind had also risen to a beating strength. We tried to use each others slipstreams to maximise speed but at best this was 15km an hour and - when I was in front - about 12.

The rest of the day is really a blur. We were all struggling against the gale force gusts, in pain from the constant jarring and exhausted from the night before. There were some small mercies - cycling behind a truck for 10 kilometres, a tea house with freshly baked pasties and the wind dying down in the evening - but largely it wasn’t  the best of fun. It was rounded off when one of the spokes pulled entirely through Jamie’s wheel rim, cracking and buckling it.

Bugg*r!

The next day was more of the same. Luckily the wind had died a little but it was still a long hard slog. We had 150k to cover and were slowed by several punctures. A stop at a lovely fish restaurant broke the journey (the fact that the restuarant had a shower in the loo which we could surrepticiously steal was a mini highlight) but it was again dusk as we pulled into town.

Zhenya was visably sagging. The day was not to end there though. As a result of previous visa based contortions there was to be no rest. It was back up to Ashgabat on the night train to be at the Kyrgyz embassy early in the morning.

Left luggage could not take our bikes so a mission was on to get one of Vittali’s friends to look after them. He came in the nick of time to rescue us and bundled them into a van. We had then a brief few minutes to grab some food and get on the train. Though we had been told there were no sleeping carriages left, somehow, Zhenya managed to rustle one up and we gratefully collapsed into a deep slumber.

The following morning we hopped into a cab across town (the driver ripped us off) to the Kyrgyz embassy.

It was closed.

The consulate was out.

ARGH!

Trying not to panic we set in for a bit of a wait and - using the old eye lash batting technique - finally managed to get seen when he turned up a couple of hours later.

Krygyz visas finally in hand we were all set to return to Mary (the town we had left our bikes) and get a good nights sleep….

Sadly first we had to sort out issues with our tour company.

In case I haven’t already explained. In Turkmenistan, unless you get a transit visa you must have a tour (we couldn’t get transit visas as you pick them up in Tehran which we had insufficient time to do on our Iranian visas).

We had organised ours with a tour company that had a cycling guide but it was still really expensive. We had also used this company to sort out our Uzbeki visas. They had sent the details to the wrong place meaning that we had to return to the embassy once they had been transfered from Kazakhstan. Additionally, they had confirmed to us that we could cross the border to Uzbekistan on a day we couldn’t. All in all the mix ups meant we were forced to stay in Turkmenistan two days longer than expected.

They wanted us to pay for the delay.

We didn’t want to.

There was a bit of a stand-off.

The stand-off lasted 4 hours.

We didn’t start our journey back to Mary until 4.30. A  four hour trip by bus. Back over the horrifically bumpy road we had just come down.

It was after 9 when we were finally able to collect our bikes. And unfortunately, Vitteli’s very kind friend lived the otherside of town.

Once again we found ourselves in the pitch black, cycling down potholed streets with cars zooming alongside, getting winded as we landed in the deep cracks in the road.

We finally got to our hotel at 10.30.

Trying to maintain a semblance of normality on this whole expedition, I then spent 2 hours hand washing my clothes so I didn’t have to wear those already drenched in sweat and covered in mud.

I nodded off sometime before 1am before the alarm went at 6. The terrible headwinds meant that cycling in the early morning was to be vital if we were to get to the border on time.

At 7.30 Jamie and I were ready to hit the road.

Zhenya was not.

His back brakes had gone at some point as well as his chain and so we watched the wind increase through blurry eyes as he worked on repairing his bike.

At around 9 we finally got away to begin another arduous day across the desert.

Thankfully this side of Mary the roads improved. We had melon with some lovely stall holders who would accept payment, were given Snickers by an old lady and stopped at a tea house where the kind owner gave us a room to sleep in.

Though tiring, the day was a pleasant one. The only downside being that our late departure meant we had not gone as far as hoped.

There was still 140k to the border and we needed to be there before it closed at 6pm the following day. Of this 140k, 125k was desert with no break for the wind and all but one settlement.

It would be another early start.

Before we had gone 20k, Zhenya got the first puncture. A few later, another spoke on Jamie’s wheel went.

At 60k we saw a cafe. We asked Zhenya to check if it was the last place we could buy supplies.

He returned explaining that the town was further ahead.

It was. But it had no tea house, shop or inhabitants…

We were in the desert. There was no water.

ARGH!

We have been cycling for quite a while now and make sure of certain things. Mainly where we can get food, water and shelter.

Already we had had some wranglings with our tour company but we were by this point even more frustrated.

Though Zhenya was a lovely guy his English was very broken, meaning that he often had trouble understanding exactly what we were asking.

He had been asked to do the job for his cycling skills but had never guided before. Not a problem at all if the tour company had actually given him a) information about the route b) basic information on guiding or c) a map…. They really had landed him in it.

Regardless we were tired and a bit frustrated that he hadn’t double  checked as we would given the circumstances.

Fortunately, some 30k later we came across a railway station where the staff kindly gave us tea and bread. It would see us through to Turkmenabat.

We had been asking all day to confirm the location of the border. If we weren’t going to make it by 6, we would have to get a bus.

It would not be ideal but it would be better than spending another day in Turkmenistan. The tour company had made it clear that any extra time must be paid for. We had no intention of spending any more money with them, even if it meant we would need to miss a couple of kilometres by bike.

Zhenya asked several people and assured us it was 10, maybe 15 kilometres from Turkmenabat.

At 5pm, once again shattered and following a blistering race against time we arrived.

Except we hadn’t.

This was merely a police checkpoint. The border was another 26k.

ARGH!

We started to hitch.

Zhenya was totally confused.

We tried to explain, again, that we had to leave by 6.

There was much kerfuffle.

Eventually a car was located that could fit us and the bikes in.

We might still make it.

Then the tour company got involved.

25 minutes later we still had not moved.

At 5.40 we were bundled in.

We told Zhenya not to worry about us and made a mad dash to the border. We knew we were likely to miss it but by this point, simply wanted to get away from the company that had caused problems at every turn.

Just after 6 we arrived.

7 soldiers guarded the gate and the lights were off.

No amount of newly applied mascara was going to get us across.

We watched the sunset and pottered to a nearby cafe were we had tea, food and asked to sleep. The lovely old lady who ran the place looked after us and told us we could get across to Uzbekistan at 8am.

Finally getting some rest, we got a call from Zhenya.

The company had told him he had to come and find us. The poor guy. He had tried to cycle the rest of the way but his wheel had buckled half way and he had been forced to walk for miles.

He turned up about 11 with nothing left to give.

The following morning we gave him some spokes so that he could try to fix the wheel to get home, made our goodbyes and headed across.

Such relief to finally escape such a stressful and exhausting experience.

Thankfully Uzbekistan has been anything but. It was only 97k to Bukhara and - though I was so shattered that Jamie had to help me by taking the wind and the heavy bags - we got there without too much issue.

Bukhara is stunning, the surrounding area green and the people wonderful.

Even more wonderful was the fact that it contained my friend’s Mum.

Just before we left England she mentioned that she would be on holiday there on the 4th September. Our itinerary had us roughly in the same place but I was only vaguely hopeful that we would actually manage to meet up. Amazingly we did.

I was so happy to see her. She is such a fantastic lady. And also bore chocolate, whisky and toilet roll!

She had spied a pretty hotel earlier that day and took us there. It was cheap enough and right by the central lake. We joined her later for a delicious meal and too much wine.

Fantastic.

We also bumped into Ben, a motor cyclist we had passed along the route and some Dutch cyclists. We stayed up late knowing we finally had a day off.

And that almost brings me to how I am lounging around in my pajamas.

We have one final visa to organise (please let it be the last…), need to pick up Iain and have friend’s in Uzbekistan’s capital, Tashkent. For those reasons we hopped on another night train and got here yesterday.

We have been fed incredible food, given amazing hospitality and told we can stay as long as we need to organise. Hans and Ayesha, our fantastic hosts, may be regretting that. It really is nice here…

Anyway, the plan is to get our passports notarised tmrw so we can travel without them and then get them to the Chinese embassy. After Iain arrives we will head back to Bukhara to pick up on the journey.

Both Jamie and I are knackered (which will please Iain whose recent training has mostly involved ‘carb-loading’) and a bit under the weather so having four days of rest could not come at a better time.

It also gives me a chance to have a play with this site and sort out the maps, stats, solar info. etc. So any tips or suggestions on ways we can improve it will be gratefully recieved.

Right now though - I might just have another cup of tea.

xxx