Uzbekistan, Part 2: Tashkent to Nurata (June 13th-June 18th 2012)

I could of bee lined straight to Samarkand but I decided to head to Bukhara via the Nurata mountains. After researching online, it seemed there were some guesthouses along the small road to the south of the lake that were noted on a tourist site.

Uzbekistan is getting HOT and this is the time I notice I have difficulties photographing in this intense lighting. It hasn’t been like this since Tibet, yet I’m always feeling like I’m melting. After looking through these photos a near year and half later, my face looks like a lobster. Even with sunscreen and a hat there was no way to avoid it.

On June 13th I would leave Tashkent. (I’m going to zip through a lot of this as my memories are fading fast and I don’t believe I was journaling much more these days).

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There was nothing exceptional the first day except getting out of the city and traffic. Uzbekistan is full of police checkpoints, I believe more so than Kyrgyzstan. The day begins to end and I’ve found myself on a somewhat quiet and easy road. I spot a cafe behind some trees and it looks fairly empty. It’s a little early for dinner but I just figure I’ll eat and then head on to find a place to camp for the evening. Although I’m still on the outskirts of the city, I’m a little worried about finding a good spot.

I roll into the cafe and there is an older man and woman, that my assumption is they are the owners. I’m correct and they wave me over to sit anywhere I’d like sit. I take a seat at a table and I’m served naan, tea, and I don’t remember what my meal was. Eating slowly, I notice there a few other young women working there that take some curiosity of me and the men ignore me or leave me be. It feels comfortable and safe.

When I pay the check they ask me where I will be sleeping. Of course I tell them I don’t know and I have a tent. They tell me no, and that I will be sleeping inside the cafe tonight. I leave my bike outside, take my expensive items inside and sit at the kitchen table with 3 women. We try to make small talk as they prepare food for the guests. The cafe becomes fairly busy and as the sun sets I’m shown to my own room where I’ll be sleeping. As I make myself comfortable, after bringing my bike inside, I’m served a bowl of plov, naan, and water. It’s a bit of a noisy evening as I can hear chatter outside into the early morning but it’s still a  comfortable sleep. Because my bike is not in my room, there is always a bit of paranoia looming over me because it’s not in my site. I just go with it…

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I would head out right after sunrise and I waved goodbye to a woman doing the early morning sweeping. It’s already getting warm and I can remember almost exactly how that rising sunshine felt on me that morning.

Continuing on I would get slightly lost on the 14th. I had entered a city and trying to follow the map to skim along the Kazakhstan border and get closer to the Nurata mountains.

At noon I remember getting so hot and pulling over for a cold liter of Coca Cola. I believe I visited nearly 2 shops before finding one that was ice cold. Pulling over to the side of the road in the shade I would drink it down while applying sunscreen and eating some peanut butter on naan. After about an hour of putzing around I tried to find this small road. It turned into a single lane and all of a sudden it felt like I was pedaling over sand. Is my tire flat?…

I’m under the blazing sun, no clouds in sight, and there are grain and cotton fields stretching kilometers in all directions. There are some homes but everyone has taken cover out the sun. To check my tires I set my foot down and I feel it sink into the tarmac…you have got to be kidding me!? I’m riding on melting roads.

After making a half a dozen attempts to find this small road to the mountains, I turn around losing 30 kms and a lot of energy. It could just be looping and I’m not sure where this is going so I head back and just stay on a main route.

Exiting the city I pass by some vacant buildings and a bazaar.

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I am on a pretty secluded road at this point and a little concerned where I actually am. Maybe my map reading skills aren’t that exceptional…although I do pretty well in China. Maybe it’s not so much as “wander cyclist” as it is some other form. Honestly, I just kind of go in the general direction I’m supposed to be going and I’ll figure out on the way. Perhaps it’s mostly because I hate planning, it’s the most boring part I think. I don’t like reading websites, tourist books, any of that. I just have a general goal and I enjoy figuring it out in the moment. Ooops, have I let a secret out?

It seems Uzbekistan is going to be the country where I try to find shade constantly. Whenever I see an opportunity after cycling for an hour. I take it. I lied down in this grass for nearly 3 hours with maybe a half dozen cars passing me. I’m  not sure what I contemplated, speculated, or dreamed about…but I’m pretty sure it was good. I still clearly remember that spot and the sound the water made in the canal.

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After that refreshing lounge I stop to get some biscuits and some water. Sitting in a bus stop next to a police checkpoint, I have some visitors. A friendly bunch, seemingly innocent enough. The little English they can speak, and the little Russian I can…we have a good time.

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At sunset I would roll into a cafe, more like a truck stop, and hang out with these amazing people. I was also given a place to sleep.

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Now it’s the morning of June 15th. Just after a few hours of riding on a barely two lane country road it’s break time. This sun and heat is killing me or it’s because of all the time off I had in Kazakhstan…or maybe…I’m close to hitting the end of my tour. I think a lot are playing a part here. I’m not really sure what was going through my head around these days but I’m pretty sure it all stemmed from ending my wedding engagement that previous January and finalizing the break up between he and I in April after the Kyrgyzstan blizzard. There were times I would have tears rolling down my face while riding…hell, 2 years later I still had to hold back a few tears walking the streets here in Shanghai. When I tell people I burned my life to the ground and I’m currently rebuilding, I really mean it. There are no regrets, but…well, on with the story.

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And then I stop for some naan…of course…my tour was all about photography, sitting on the side of the road thinking about life, and eating.

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I load up on supplies in this town as I’m almost on the small road that skirts along the northern edge of the Nurata mountains.

I’m drinking more water than I can carry. I can’t keep up. Through these villages I see everyone carrying either empty buckets or buckets of water. Is it so hot that everyone walks around with a bucket of water to carry? Am I absolutely insane for being out here right now. I’m getting concerned about water so I pull into a village and look for water. Someone points me down a village road and I come home to a well, without a cover.

Peering down, it’s about a meter drop in and I’m trying to figure out how to do this. An older woman approaches me and I ask her how to get the water. She gives me a slight smile and moves along and jumps right in the hole. Asks for my water bottles and fills them up. She smiles as she hands me each bottle. Wow…did I really just witness this woman half my height and twice my age just pull a total Teenage Mutant Ninja move…I was humored for the remainder of the day with that site.

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Stopping for ice cream a couple hours later I meet this fella that can speak some English. We sit on the stoop and I buy another ice cream and talk with him for about an hour. He says he’s never seen any other foreigners along this road and it’s summer vacation for him right now. I believe the store keeper was his uncle and his family urged him out of the house to practice his English. In retrospect, he reminds me of my dear Uyghur “brother” Akbar in Korla.

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As I finally see the edge of the Nurata mountains I see a watering station where a few trucks are pulling over to. A driver turns the water on in this massive concrete structure and there are 2 faucets on both sides. The men are drinking the water…so I fill up one bottle with the water to use to cook. I also use this opportunity to wash my face, hands, and feet. The salt is caking my shirt stiff.

Heading west, the sun is beginning to set and there is no one or anything in site. I eventually see these lines of trees heading off the road and into the mountains. I imagine there must be some sort of irrigation for these trees to be in the middle of the desert. As I get closer I see homes.

I eventually reach where a few dirt tracks are heading south into the mountains and the lake is to the north. There is a woman holding a baby on the left side of the road speaking to a man on the right side. There are some children around her and I see about a dozen women along a small pond doing laundry, chatting, and drinking a white liquid out of bowls.

Slowing down to see what the opportunities are here but also playing it cool, I stop to take off my sunglasses and put on my eyeglasses. The woman approaches me urgently with a smile and hands me a bowl of the white stuff. It’s cool, it tastes like milk but with maybe some sort of herbs I can’t differentiate from. I’m not a culinary expert but it’s some sort of chilled dairy drink that’s absolutely delicious. She gives me another with a smile. The women are all laughing and talking louder and hooting at us.

They ask me the basic questions and within a few minutes I’m walking along a broken gravel path to her home to stay the night.

We eat, we talk, we watch a little television in the main room. There is about a dozen of us and one younger man brings back a bag of ice cream for all of us. The food was delicious and after every meal like this all I can do is try to prevent myself from passing out. I answer their questions the best to my ability and I’m in awe of the family unit. The main woman explains to me who everyone is and how they are related. I believe her husband is a professor in Tashkent. Her small child is ill, it seems to running a fever. There were a few moments when all the eyes were on me because the infant really to a liking to me. All smiles and she even held my hand at one point.

Yes, it melted my heart a little. Going months, years, without intimate moments it’s these fleeting seconds that remind me of who I really am. At 34 I’m not really sold on the idea of motherhood for myself, but I remember Uzbekistan had a very lasting impression on me. All the women and children; it was there I realized that if I were to have children, it was going to be like these women out here. Their children never lead their sides and they all take care of each others offspring when in need. Of course all mothers love their children…but there was something different in Uzbekistan. Perhaps it’s the difficult environment, many fathers are absent because of work, and the fact these women are working throughout the day taking care of the home…and at least a couple of children.

I can’t remember her name exactly but it was something like Magdelene, but it is written in a notebook at home in the States. She lived in this large home with her father, her brother and his wife, and the children. Her mother had died a few years before as she showed me her portrait hanging in one of the rooms.

She signaled to me it was time for bed and we exited the home. The two children and she began to prepare the bed outside. Oh my goodness…you can’t believe my excitement of sleeping on this platform bed in a warm Uzbekistan desert night and staring straight up into the heavens. If you’ve ever been in the desert, or out of a city at night, you have a 360 degree horizon of star speckled black’ness. It’s one of the things in life I live for.

I sleep on the edge next to my bike, with the mother next to me, her infant and the two children. We are all on the platform together with barely 4 inches between us. This may have been one of the loveliest nights of my entire tour.

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I do not see myself as special, or exceptional, or anything of that sort. My time in Tibet was when I realized how insignificant I am in this entire world and how my life is such a speck on the map. But when a woman shares her bed, with me, and her family…maybe there is something about me that sets me apart from the herds.

We wake up at sunrise with the sun blazing down on us.

Of course I don’t leave until about 11 after hanging out with them. I watch the naan being prepared and cooked. They send me off with 6 naan, water, and apricots. Of all the places I want to return to on my route, is to this woman. She wrote in my journal a note in Uzbek that I had translated later. It basically was wishing me safe travels and that she was happy to meet me and that she hopes I never forget her and the children. I’ve met many many people along the ways but there is about a dozen of older women that my heart yearns to visit again.

Today, a year and a half later after this story has taken place, in the real world I have people talk to me about feeling a connection. But a real “connection” is with someone where it crosses over language. Where you can sit next to a person, and rely on true feelings, emotions, intuitions, and your gut tells you about a person. I think my time in China and on tour has allowed me to “feel” people like I never have before. More than just a judge of character, but really “see” what they are all about within juts a few moments. When you have to move past words and language, and completely trust your instincts.

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Morning of June 16th are the previous photos and head further West. Supposedly there are guest houses along the way and I debate about taking a small road north towards the lake. But after my experience with “lakes” in Kazakhstan, I decide not to because of the heat and lack of drinking water. It’s dry and hot out here.

Around 4pm I find a sign to a guesthouse and take it. It takes some asking people and a grueling 20 minutes pushing my bike up into the mountains. Let me just cut this story straight but it was a horrible rip off. So badly that I made a complaint to the company that advertises. This is the only time I’ve ever did something like this because I was furious. It probably wouldn’t have been such a big deal if the woman’s sun didn’t keep me up at night trying to talk to me and then sleeping on the same platform bed with me, texting into the night, and horrendous dog barking throughout the night. I’m embarrassed to even say how much money they took me for. Enough that would of last me for weeks in China…WEEKS. The complaint also had to do with the fact that even though I’m a western woman, I was insulted that they thought it was appropriate for a young man in his 20’s to sleep so close to me.

Anyways…it was cute place and I enjoyed watching the neighbors get apricots from their trees. One man would climb up and shake the branches while 3-4 women stood underneath catching them into a sheet.

Morning of June 17th. I do everything I can to get shade and enough water. There is only one stop, with one shop, between the guesthouse of the previous night and the next town I will stay at.

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I come into a town near sunset and on the edge of town is about a dozen men sitting on the east side of a bus station. One gets up and waves me over. I’m greeted with smiles and waves. He buys me a water and ice cream. Then he buys me another ice cream. After 15 minutes of shootin’ the breeze with these hooligans and watching them heckle this local woman driving a motorcycle, that kept stalling out,  I’m walking back to the man man’s house.

This was dinner.

blog-29 After dinner and right before the sky turns black, I snuggle onto my “kurpa” outside the house with the rest of the family. There are a few meters between me and the rest of the family but it was a very easy going and non-obtrusive homestay. It seems that these moments always appear after a horrible situation.

The next morning, June 18th,  I leave after the man escorting me out to the main road. I ride out just as the sun is peeking over the horizon. Around 10 am I pass this dead dinosaur in the road. I’m reminded to never sleep in the desert without a tent. The lizard must of been 3 feet including tail and a good 4 inch girth. I’m also spotting white spiders with a bright orange back.

At 10am I arrive in Nurata and look for a place to buy water. As I’m sitting outside a shop a young girl tells me to come inside, out of the sun. I end up staying the day with the women in the back yard. The two sisters work on embroidery and the mother is making apricot preserves. We all take a nap inside a dark room around 2 to 4 and then carry on with the rest of the day.

I would stay the night with them. The sisters and I would sit outside along the main street watching traffic and passer-bys listening to my iPod. The mother at one point wanted me to stay with her, in the room with her husband. He had come home later in the day and by now he was intoxicated. The mother’s demeanor had changed from the joking jovial woman earlier to something that seemed like fear. There was some sort of exchange with the mother and daughters and the two sisters and their cousin won me for the evening.

The four of us lined up along the platform on the back porch and giggled into the night.

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You know what? If you haven’t caught on…I LOVE being a woman, alone, on a bike. Yes, there are dangers I have to be cautious of. Some have had the audacity to say I’m setting myself up for some of the things that have happened to me. But through these years wandering around Asia have taught me so much what it means to be a woman…not for myself, but experiencing the lives of others. Never have a I wished to be a man…maybe I wouldn’t have had the courage to do what I’ve done.

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Assey Plateau – Kazakhstan June 6 2012 (Part III) Final

I woke up sore and hungry…and not to mention thirsty. I slept okay for the most part, as there were no storms but still had a bit of panic sitting in my gut.

It’s one of those mornings where I pull myself out of my bag and climb out of the tent apprehensively…wondering what the hell am I doing with my life.

Standing outside barefoot  knowing the heat is about to start pounding down,  I debate of what choice to make. I use my camera lenses to attempt to see into the mountains ahead. There are no signs of a road going down the plateau and there actually seems to be something going over the range and ridges. According to the map I should NOT be doing this. I was given directions that I should be passing a home, the only home on the plateau, and was given a DVD from the cyclist to deliver. The DVD had films of previous cyclists that had done this route. This house has not been spotted yet and I’m pretty sure I’ve veered off route – again.
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I plop my heavy bum down on the ground, alternating my view from my feet to the mountains. Slowly turning my head around the terrain…this is usually when I give a big exhale of air and tell myself to get my lazy self up and get my shit together. Slipping on my new sandals that I’ve already begin to tear because of walking through the broken terrain, I take a walk to the road to see what lies up ahead.

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Within just a couple of yards it begins a descent and even without the bike I begin to slip in the tiny rocks on the red clay earth. It’s dry, it’s broken, and I have no idea how I’m going to make it but it’s what I should do. My gut tells me to carry on…the road must lead SOMEWHERE. Or whatever this is, it’s hard to describe it as a road at all, but rather some poor excuse for jeep tracks. I’m going to have to go slow and push the bike for the most part. Most importantly I have to get going because the summer heat is going to boil me alive.

I begin the day around 11:00 and ride for a short bit, with a bit of walking and slipping, and within 15 minutes I spot the small house. It’s leveled out terrain with some trees and flowing water around it. Lying my bike down, I deliver the disc with a smile…hoping for an invite in, at least for some water and breakfast. I haven’t had a bite to eat and I’m running low on water. He looks at me in confusion, with my horrible explanation in Russian. It’s not worth it and I continue on.

As I’m leaving his home and yard area, there is water flowing under some trees. I see some animals around and I question the cleanliness of it. It seems stagnant in areas and I pass it.

The terrain is still holding it’s level but the trees immediately disappeared and I’m surrounding by red clay and cliffs…and it’s getting HOT.

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This route confirms that it’s much more difficult going down than going up. There are spots I have to get off the bike because braking doesn’t work and all it does is slide me down the road with the back wheel trying to go faster than the front, causing minor spin outs. Either I’m sliding on my bike or I’m holding onto my bike walking her down and slipping nearly the entire way down. Of course I remain calm, not a peep from my mouth, cool as a cucumber…knowing I have to do this and there is no point in throwing tantrums or cursing.

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Traveling solo teaches you, and you come to realize, that outward expression of emotions is only for the benefit? of others that surround you. There is no reason to curse, or scream, or even laugh…when you area all A L O N E…AND NO ONE KNOWS WHERE YOU ARE…let alone hear a peep that comes out of your mouth. Don’t get me wrong, I still get a mad woman cackle of laughter every now and again, and of course a few tears here and there, but I see it as more of a release of emotions for stability.

I’m able to ride a whopping 2-3 kilometers up a slight incline to find myself on another type of road conditions. Things are beginning to look a bit more hopeful. I see a small abandoned house and an old sign signifying a resort or hotel. It’s obviously no longer used, or no one is home. I take a break to take a look at from where I’ve come from. There are storms clouds that are beginning to roll in and I’m so thankful as the overcast will cut down on the heat.

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After years on the road and in the sun, I’ve started to become very aware of how much of my skin is exposed. You’ll probably notice through images from the beginning to the end that I begin to wear more clothes, even in hotter climates. It was in Tibet that I learned that I actually stay cooler with clothes covering my skin. I also prefer not to show much skin to locals, as a single woman. I’m of the camp where when it comes to covering, the more the better. You can’t ever go wrong with that choice.

After a brief rest looking at the past I begin to carry on to the future. What I ride into becomes glorious. I can’t believe my eyes…so much that I have to sit and stare into whats to come. A descending plateau, a lake ahead, and amazing road conditions for me to pick up great speed. Knowing that I’m going to be riding with a shit eating grin down the entire way, I take my time to have a little snack and breathe.

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And a little bicycle and girl pin-up photo for you folks.
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I descend fast, hard, and with a smile the entire time. It’s less than 5km then it levels out and I’ve encountered some of the worst terrain to get through…even worse than Tibet. It’s rough, it’s tough, and I even tumble a few times. I bust my bottom at least a few times from my feet slipping out from under me and the bike nearly coming down upon me.

The most fearful moment is when I’m walking the bike along the “road” that is breaking off and there is a 2 meter drop off. I debate how to walk her by as I think I’ll have more control on her right side. As I’m right handed I usually always walk the bike on the left side. So I move over to the right, very precariously, and begin to walk past the ledge. The bike slips because of the incline and before I know it the bike is on top of me with the wheels just a few cm from the edge.

Holding onto the bike I crawl out from under her and drag her on the side to get enough space to lift her back up to safety. The problem is my feet are slipping in the fine gravel and can’t find my footing. This goes on for nearly five minutes knowing that the bike CAN NOT slip off the road. With a few huffs and puffs and a heave and a ho…we are both up. Although I’m sweating much more profusely than her.

It’s the moments after these moments where I smile…sometimes just from within. It’s these treacherous and challenging moments that I can say, “look what I did…on my own”. It’s the challenges throughout this entire tour that has brought joy to me, made my heart fuller, and a reminder that I am a “warrior”. (A name Chris Alexandre would give me). Yes, I cried for a few seconds yesterday when I thought I may be lost, just 24 hours earlier…but then pull my self up and my bike to say, “Look at what I can do!!!”

It must be at least 10km of this terrain before I can begin the final descent to the lake.

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Well folks, that’s it. In retrospect, this was the last great ride of my tour. The last great few days of solitude, thinking, feeling, and looking at myself and finally realizing what I’ve accomplished. There was something about this route that embedded who I’ve become and who I finally am. It was a pivotal point in my tour, my exploration, and the finalization of seeing the love for myself.

It was a moment to make peace of an ended relationship; to realize I’m strong enough to carry on alone.

It was a moment to be thankful for the people in my life that have helped make this whole thing possible.

It was a moment to let go of so much of the past and know what ever the future carries for me, I can overcome it…anything.

It took me over a year to write this entry because it carries such strong emotions, many that I still have difficulty expressing. It’s strange what a few days alone, with a bike, can do for the soul.

If you haven’t seen it, this is a short film I put together of my time out there, featuring a song from Cat Power. The music I was listening to during this ride was the Kings of Leon…I had enough albums to keep quite entertained for the few days. I would enter Uzbekistan on June 9th 2012.

Assey Plateau, Kazakhstan June 2012 from Moseman on Vimeo.

Assey Plateau – Kazakhstan June 3-4 2012 (Part I)

I had left off the story after cycling to Lake Balkhash…and then took a bus back to Almaty because I decided to not try and die on the desert steppe next to a salt lake. In Almaty, I stayed with a fellow American that had lived there for quite awhile. Through “warmshowers”, I had met another fellow that helped me find a nice bike shop for repairs and plan for a little trip to the Assey Plateau. On the “Media” page you can watch the video entitled “Assey Plateau” of footage I took during these few days.

The first attempt (May 31), I had ridden for a day from Almaty. While riding around the city I had been having difficulties with punctures. From what I could see, it looked like the spokes were coming through and tearing open the tubes from the bottom. What was even unfortunate was the patches didn’t seem to hold.

Puncture #1 was right at a turnoff to head towards the plateau. This little guy INSISTED on helping me. No, I do not promote child labor.
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I make pretty good time after this puncture; a bit of rolling hills and then a little bit of down. Did make an ice cream stop and purchased some naan and other miscellany snacks to take to the plateau.

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Puncture #2. Well, I couldn’t repair it and blew off 4 patches before deciding to throw everything in the back of a car and pay $30 to get back to Almaty. It was very evident my spokes were eating my tubes. I now only had 1 tube left…and the sun is setting.

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After fussing with the bike and adding two cheap rubber rim strip tape and lining the rim with electrical tape x2, I head back out on June 3rd. Two days before my 33rd birthday. I had promised myself to spend my birthday the way I enjoy the most, alone in some amazing place.

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I take the bus about 20km before I had turned back the previous time. The weather is ominous…no rain, yet.

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There is about 30km from the bus station until the unmarked turnoff to the plateau. I only knew where it was by the mileage and the landmarks that were given to me by one of the Almaty pilots, Taz, that lives in the capital.

I am now on a nearly single land country road with minimal homes and some shepherds. By the looks of the road and the direction, I may be at the base of the mountains by nightfall. I collect water from a fresh spring and try to find a place to sleep for the night before the rain comes down.

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You’ll notice I am only carrying two panniers, as I had left a lot of my gear back in Almaty. There is no reason to carry double the weight for only a few days.
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The route at this point seems very similar to a National Park in the States. The trees begin to enclose around the road; the road begins to incline and become more narrow. It begins to sprinkle and because of the weather it’s getting dark much earlier than I had expected. To my surprise, I find a campsite next to large stream and a rock cliff. It will be my only campsite of my entire tour. I am usually very apprehensive about camping next to water because of the noise. Not so much about flash flooding, but because I can’t hear visitors over the sound of the rapidly moving water. But I take it anyhow. It’s beginning to thunder and lightening and decided I’d rather be dry for the night. This was actually one of the first lighting storms I camped in. It lit up the entire sky and the thunder bounced around the mountains.

June 4 2012
Morning, when everything is beginning to dry.
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A view of the water I camped next to. I slept to the left of it. It’s a morning of spotty rain mixed with warm sunshine when the clouds part. I have faith it will clear up.
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A look ahead.
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There is only about 15km of broken tarmac before I hit loose gravel and rocks. I was warned that the condition of the road would become pretty tough. Unfortunately the incline on the loose gravel caused me to get off and push. Little would I know that because of the lack of roads, I would be doing a lot of pushing. Descending the plateau, it would be more like slipping and crawling out from under my bike as it slips off trails. This would become one of the toughest terrains yet, but one of my most memorable experiences. It’s really one of the last times I felt so damn free and alive. There is something about being alone on a plateau, anywhere in the world, that really makes you realize how fortunate you are to be there, and living.
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One of the most common questions I get when giving public talks or even discussing this trip, is “What do you do when you get bored?” Like I’ve stated before, I’m not really sure if I know what “bored” feels like. I can do almost anything to keep myself entertained. As a child I used to get in so much trouble for day dreaming in school. Well, I’ve kept up the habit and if I could become a professional at sitting and dreaming, well…you get it. The plateau is a short ride and I took extra time to just really enjoy being out there alone, with less of a load than I usually carry.

Right before noon, I am higher than the tree line and everything opens up. The ascent up to the plateau really begins, the clouds part, and the warm sun is beating down on me. I see pastures, rolling hills, yurts, shepherds, livestock, and the tops of snow topped peaks. I am getting anxious of what waits for me at the top…it brings back memories of the previous summer that I spent in Kham, Tibet.

I’m greeted by a nice shepherd and a young boy. They must of seen me coming as they rode down the hillside to say, “Hello”. They were quite happy to hear I was an American, and not a Russian.

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From the looks of the map I only go up this one pass and I’ve arrived to the plateau. The map is an old Russian map and the “roads” are questionable once I get to the top of the pass.

During the ride up the pass I come by a herd of horses. I walk over to not spook any of them and snap a few photos. They begin to move but a few actually approach me and start checking me out. I have a couple get closer than a meter to me. At the top of the pass I spot some pretty adorable cows and horses; awarding them with the “cutest cows of tour”. They approach me like the horses but even more odd they FOLLOW ME on my bike! Over the past couple of months I’ve noticed I am having less problems with animals. I’m wondering if they sense something about me…perhaps I am becoming more like them than I can imagine. I no longer spook animals and they look and approach out of curiosity. Wondering what has changed that allows animals to feel safe and comfortable around me. I feel no different but obviously something has changed that animals and I have some sort of connection.

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Making it to the top of the pass and now it’s just full, luscious, green plateau that lies ahead. Of course doing what I love to do, and do best, sit and enjoy the moment. Realize how fortunate I am to be seeing and living such a gorgeous moment. A moment that I could never describe in words on a blog. Perhaps that is why I haven’t written about this ride yet; it was just such a great few days that writing it down could never do it justice.

I hit a point where I have to make a choice on route. To my right, East-Southeast, there is a weather station that heads towards the mountain ridge. My map is questionable with this and I never heard anything on directions with the weather station. It is marked on the map. If I were to head towards the weather station, I would probably have to go over the ridge and head a little South.
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To the the left, or rather, directly in front of me facing East-Northeast is an open plateau with jeep tracks. The route to the weather station does have a road so I choose the road.

There is a road that leads up to the weather station but then disappears. I am then left with a deep jeep tracks in the rich black soil up towards the ridge. I’m really not sure if I’m going the right direction but continue on. It’s beautiful up here and what a place to spend the eve of my birthday. I’m feeling so amazing, refreshed, and really back to me…I take some time to celebrate the past year.
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The road and tracks disappear and I look back. I can see a half a dozen motorbikes followed by a jeep take a different route from the weather station. Up over some hills, with great speed, and then back down in the valley I had already passed. I will push on.

I push my bike for 3 kilometers through pasture, with occasional stones that may have been a driveway. Arriving to the base of the ridge I now know there is no passing it. There are remnants of a yurt camp, and it looks like people bring their Land Rovers up here to wash them in the ice melt. Leaving my bike behind, and camera, I climb half way up the ridge to take a look around. Take a deep breath, after catching it, and reassure myself it’s okay and I need to head back. There is no way going over the ridge and it’s been awhile since any Land Rover or motorbike has attempted over the ridge.

Walk down, pick up the bike, and backtrack. I usually HATE THIS…but this time it was down and had quite a beautiful world to look out at. There is a storm blowing in so I decide to set up camp and call it an early night. At the altitude, I know it’s going to be chilly and I want to be sure everything is set, and put away, before the storm comes in. I cook some pasta and add some delicious taco flavouring sent all the way in from Mom. It’s a fine fine meal.

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The sunset is breathtaking…perhaps the best I’ve seen since being in Tibet. Actually, the whole experience reminds me of Tibet. Maybe this is what is causing all these feelings and happiness. Guessing which routes to take, dodging storms, a little hail here and there, occasional nomads…simple life. It’s places like these that I always say, “I could die here and be happy.” Perhaps that sounds a bit macabre…but until you’ve been somewhere physically, mentally, and emotionally where you can sit down and say, “Wow…this is…”. There are no words to describe it. I can’t type anything here to explain what it’s like.

It’s been a hell of a way to say farewell to 33 and beginning 34.

April 26 2012, Osh to Bishkek (Final)

The day before I had had a nasty headwind along with some rain and it was getting cold.

I remember hanging out at one of the gas stations and the attendants were very curious of me. One could speak a bit of English and he couldn’t understand why anyone would want to ride their bike all the way to Bishkek. I was offered vodka as I was leaving, but politely declined explaining I can’t ride my bike if I am drunk.

Across the street from the gas station I had eaten an early dinner, making the record skip a couple of beats as I walked in. I purchased 5 “comcas” on the way out, thinking how the pastry looked so delicious. In my mind it was a nice sweet treat but it’s just a lamb filled pocket.

On the evening of the 25th I camped at the base of the last pass. It was a pleasant and quite place over the hill. I remember looking out my tent after dark and I could see dozens of lights coming up and down…it reminded me of a twinkling Christmas tree.

I wake up a bit later than I had anticipated yet I’m packed and on the road by 10…and when I say late, I mean about 3 hours.

Refreshments for sale.

What we have here are bottles of fermented horse milk, perhaps some yogurts, and these hard balls of sour cheese.

With 2 short breaks I make it up the pass in about 4 hours. A very big surprise to me.

I received a lot of support and encouragement from all the truck drivers up the pass. Even a few waving me to truck surf…which I have still yet to do.

There is a tunnel at the pass, which I was aware of.

I have to wait about 10 minutes as there are 3 herdsmen and 3 dozen horses coming through the tunnel. As I follow the last truck in, a man begins screaming, “Gas Gas Gas”.

Assuming that he is referencing the fumes, I kind of give him a look and expression of having no choice. Then I disappear into the tunnel.

Going slow, as it’s barely enough room for two lanes of traffic…it may be one of the worst pot holed roads I’ve cycled. It’s wet, dark, and dank…and a couple kilometers long. Tunnels are not my favorite but I’m always able to come through. (What about this “Tunnel of Death” into Tajikistan?!)

When I finally exit I have another man wave me over and comes over to me and expresses that I can’t cycle on because of my head condition.

So I do my tunnel test…I shake my head left and right a few times.

Whooooooooooooo, yep, I’m high!

It’s beginning to sprinkle on the other side so after a 15 minute rest I bundle up and begin descending.

The headwind is pretty bad which keeps me from going at top speeds.

At one point I pass an adorable Russian truck driver. He must of been in his early twenties, blonde hair and blue eyes…dressed like a my punk rock friends from Richmond. He’s so adorable…and maybe it’s been too long in Asia…I can’t bare to look at him and can feel myself blushing as I rush by him…with him giving me a big smile and waving at me.

Most of the descent is through the mountains and with the rain trying to arrive…I make an attempt to arrive in Bishkek.

I do 140+km to arrive in Bishkek in the early evening.

So, dear readers, I have now gotten you to Bishkek where my next entries will be Kazakhstan. As I’m currently in Uzbekistan headed for Tajikistan.

Look at this Old Maid

It’s been awhile since I’ve treated you with one of my rants…so here we go.

So, I usually lie about my age. Especially in Central Asia where people marry younger and begin having their dozen children at a much younger age than in China.

I’m 26. Sometimes I’m honest, it really depends on who I’m speaking with. I’m a 26 year old English teacher.

But, when the passport is exposed…well…that’s when shit breaks loose.

I’ve been warned of the police in Uzbekistan but haven’t had anything more than friendliness, pats on the back, and “are you married”/”where’s your friend?”/etc…but the first question usually is…”Do you have a baby?”

I always laugh and make body language that I can’t ride a bike being pregnant. And where am I going to put my baby? Or, in Central Asia, my BABIES?!

Having a friend and having a baby are both very sensitive topics for me right now…and well, it’s ALWAYS DISCUSSED.

NO! I HAVE NO FRIENDS!!! I’m alone…what’s the big effin deal?! Get over it.

Why is it a sensitive topic?

Well, shit…maybe I would enjoy company but I don’t have it. At nearly 22,000km…I’m growing weary of my thoughts and entertainment. I wonder what I was thinking about 2 years ago at 2000km. Hmmmm, I’ll have to go figure that one out. I was probably trying to figure out what the hell I was doing on a bike in the middle of China with no idea what the hell I was doing.

NO! I HAVE NO BABIES!!! I don’t want babies, I don’t need babies…I’m an old maid. Get over it.

Why is this a sensitive topic?

Because I’m GAWD DAMN TIRED OF IT!!! Get off my 33 year old, free livin’, life lovin’, shit stirrin’ ass, already! I’m tired of it. Society everywhere wants women to settle down and birth. Little girls are given dolls to play with so we can be good mommies. Social conditioning?

Maybe this is a reason for all the mental health issues, such as depression. People have let society convince them that have to have kids, but somewhere in their soul, it wasn’t right for them. But they didn’t realize they had a choice to choose.

I love kids, don’t get me wrong. But I’m allowed to choose what kind of life I want and I choose to be a selfish old maid. You chose to have kids, I’ve chosen not to.

Yeah, times a tickin’ and if I don’t get on it (um, literally speaking I suppose) I guess everything will shrivel up and die.

People give me weird looks when I respond with, “There is always adoption.”

Before I get a shit storm of emails about how I offend you or whatever you want to say. Let me first state, very frankly…that I have medical issues dealing with my reproductive organs. I don’t even know if I can have kids. So why set myself up for disappointment?

Also, I just don’t have the money to support another life. I live on $2/day…a kid is going to cost a lot more than that.

Who’s going to take care of me when I’m old? Well, thanks for asking…Japan’s robot technology is just for this reason. They have a growing problem of not enough people to take care of the elderly. So, instead of paying for a college tuition, I’ll buy my own personal robot.

So at the Bridge games my friends can say, “I have 10 grandchildren.”

“I have a robot.”

Back to the story at hand…

So, the last police checkpoint as I’m headed into Bukhara.

I’m waved over and asked to see my Passport.

“Excuse me madame, passport? Where are you from?”

“America.”

“Ohhhh USA?!” (Not a lot of Americans visit this part of the world…tons of Europeans though)

As he examines my passport he shouts to the other guard at the booth about how I am American. He walks over.

“Friend?” Number 2 hand sign.

“No.” Number 1 hand sign.

Body language of shrugging shoulders with a “why” expression?

“No friends” – spoken in Russian.

Then I watch the first one point to my birth year on my passport, the others eyes follow his finger. They both look up at me.

“Baby?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Tourist, no baby.” – spoken in Russian

Then they all take turns giving me hand signals of how many children they each have. It’s a whole production. Well, congratu-fuckin-lations. Can I go now?

“Husband?”

“Yes, in America.”

Body language and a few word of why he isn’t here.

“No time.”

Okay, enough with the interview Coppers, let me get on with this already. Why…oh why…do you spend my time asking me these questions?

—-

Uzbekistan, near Aydar Lake, close to 43 degrees Celsius, and just hitting 21,000km. Where would I put my baby?

Maybe in here?

April 22 2012: Osh to Bishkek (Part iv)

Great thing I had a good view to start my day off, because I ripped my tent floor, about 3cm. Luckily, I have some special tape for tent/gear repair. I guess, traveling like this has really made me refrain my tantrums. When you try to conserve energy and no one is to hear you swear anyways…usually all I give out is an inside voice “damn it” followed by a big sigh maybe then followed by, “you’re such a sausage/idiot/dumbass” or some other self-deprecating insult.

It’s getting hot. I’ve descended from the mountains and nearing the reservoir. Nothing like melting in the sun, in a graveyard. But a pretty awesome graveyard.(I hate photographing in this bright light, ruins nearly everything.)

Today was fun. I had 2 boys on single speed bikes escort me up a mountain. They even waited for me when I was filling my fuel tank for cooking. They couldn’t have been more than 10 years old. It’s always fun to have some innocent kids making sure I’m safe. No communication, they just wanted to ride with me. This is the same hill/mountain that had a trailer from a truck, broken and shattered down the side. I bet that was fun for the driver! Speed kills, folks.

Bike is modeling in the direction I came from.

Camping on the lake. I had to set up away from the 2 rotting cows on the side of the hill. When I see fresh water like this, I always get a bit bummed not having a buddy around. I don’t know, it’s not the same hanging out in a lake/river alone.

April 21 2012: Osh to Bishkek (Part iii)

Morning camp:

I slept like a baby, on top of a fresh green bed of clover. It’s one of those bright mornings with the sun blaring down on me. Of course, the sunshine reminds me of waking up when I was touring with Brandon. Seeing his scraggly face peeking out of his tent wearing sunglasses. Yes…he was wearing his sunglasses in “bed”. That dude still cracks me up.

It’s going to be a warm day, but I’m well rested and fairly well fed.

Look, it’s the Kyrgyz and Uzbek border! Don’t cross over that dirt mound, you’d be breaking laws.

After this mind numbing stretch that borders Uzbekistan. I begin to ascend over some mountains towards the reservoir North of Kara-Kul.


This is proof to my brother that I’m not hanging out with “savages”. Christopher, they DO HAVE HOUSES here!

The sun is setting and it looks like a bit more up and up. It’s a winding mountain road…and the scenery is pretty pleasant.

I decide to stop and set up camp. I like to end a little early when I can to enjoy the scenery and have some thinking time.


Day 4: Kashgar to Sary-Tash with NESWbyBike (arrive to the China/Kyrgyz border)

March 28th 2012 – PLEASE NOTE THE DATE AND THESE POSTS ARE OF THE PAST.

Good Morning!

The day starts off well. Matt is feeling better and the roads are still paved, for a little while. The weather gets pretty damn warm during the day too.

We stop for lunch on the side of a little river. I, “Auntie”, cooks for the group. That’s the woman’s job, right? After eating we have a delightful visitor.

In just a few kilometers we will lose tarmac…this will be just the very (easy) beginning to a horrific ending.

Traffic

Later in the day, the ice melt causes all the roads to become mud. Thick, slushy mud. We are either pushing our bikes through 4cm of mud or slipping on snow and ice. As the sun begins to set, we know we are going to have everything freezing back on us.

The descent into the border town. Roads here are in exceptional condition. The boys bikes are caked with mud, mine not so. Thank you Soma Saga…I love you.

We make it to the border right before sunset. Kyrgyzstan! Tomorrow…or so we think…

The border town is shit. There is no where to buy supplies. We all decided to go to bed after finding some naan to eat. Nothing wrong with a little hunger, knowing we are out of China tomorrow…again, or so we think.

Sleep well, as the room is flooded with the smell of wet socks and boots. Damn it Lucas…I wish you had done laundry…Bangkok to Bishkek without a single piece laundered. You stink!

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Day 3: Kashgar to Sary-Tash (with NESW by Bike)

March 27th 2012

We had to end early on Day 2 because Matt had fallen through the snow and had soaking wet feet. The road was flooded out and all bikes had to be pushed off road through about 2′ of snow. Matt going first, he fell into the water under and Lucas and I managed to just take a little dip.

Saving time and reserving some warmth in the tent, we all cuddled up in the boys tents. Oh god, the smell…never, in my life. We didn’t sleep very well…sardines in a cold stinky can.

But then morning arrives…

Poor Matt, is still ill. The boys spent a half an hour digging the stakes out of the ground and I spent the time digging my poor stove out of the frozen sand. Sucked.

This will be the last of tarmac…for a very very very long time.

We head on and it’s freezing. All the water from the day before is frozen. I cross the ice first, bust my…um…lady parts on my top tube. I alert the boys to what I’ve done…after I crawl out from under my bike and across the ice.

Then…not 15 minutes later as I’m pushing across some more ice, I slip and smack down on both knees. I’ll feel that for days…more like a week. ‘F you ice!

Turned out the be the wrong way, so we are fortunate enough to turn around and go back over the ice. This time I don’t bust my vah-gine.

My favorite part of the day…break time. And look at me…showing off my Spanish skills! Oh, sister…paleeeeeeeeeeese…shut up! I’m eating these jelly orange slices (candy) that Brandon and I were addicted to last summer. The brothers didn’t love them as much as I (and Brandon) do.

We finish up the day having good fun.

Then trying to find supplies in this shit hole of a town. Where this local tries to rip us off letting us sleep in his extra room. Instead, we go back to the restaurant for an extra bowl of noodles and set up camp in the dark on the the outskirts of town.

Riding solo has advantages, so does as a team. I work more when I’m solo…I laugh more when I’m with others. Perhaps stay a bit more sane with company too.

March 25, 2012 – Day 1 of Kashgar to Sary-Tash


The newly united, and temporary, Team Windbraker Carrots.
Left to Right, “Captain”, “Supervisor”, and “Auntie” (later to be renamed to “Ice Face”).

It was a short, uneventful day. The roads in good condition and friendly folks along the way. We began the steady incline to the border.

I think one of the greatest things about being a cyclo (a person who uses a bike to tour/travel) is the fellow cyclos you meet. I’ve made so many friends from all over the world. After spending nearly 2 weeks with the Belgium brothers, I’ve come to love Brussels and have learned A LOT about Belgium. Granted, I already knew about the beer…but the price is nothing compared to those swank beer boutiques in NYC.

They would tell me about Belgium and ask me questions about the States. A lot of the info taken from movies and pop culture. It was good to have to opportunity to state Hollywood is a bunch of bullshit. Sharing cultures is amazing when traveling by 2 wheels.

Now I have 2 new little brothers and a home in Brussels! How rad…if I don’t say so myself.

The friends you make touring will last a lifetime. Also, you may even learn another language and culture. “merci gaste!”

I would love to hear from you!