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Kazakhstan May 12 2012

I ride through a “town” in the late afternoon and take notice of the local wells. As I walk towards a pump, I ask a woman for some water. She takes my bottle in and fill it up. Riding further on, past all the buses, the trucks, and the truck drivers washing up from the well water…I stop to fill all my bottles up.
By the looks of the trucks and buses, I have a feeling this may be the last stop for awhile. I debate on eating but decide to continue on.

As I ride out of the truck stop, a big rig pulls over and the driver is filming me riding. He is smiling, waving, and encouraging me to continue riding past him. I do as the director says and he passes me later with a friendly honk.

An abandoned “kofe” on the outskirts of the truck stop…the only life I saw were donkeys hiding in the shade.

Within a few kilometers, I find myself in the Steppe. The headwind picks up just a little, but not too bad yet. But the lack of life…is…well…stunning. I’m beginning to question if I’m headed into a desert…AGAIN! As you know, I notoriously have problems with desert dwellers.

As I begin the final climb up onto the Steppe, it’s getting warm and I’m hungry. I think I can continue on without a bite to eat but I finally give in to resting in a bus stop and cooking some pasta. The wind has picked up and there is a small village about 3 kilometers away.

As I begin to set up my stove a car pulls up. There is a Russian driver and a Kazakh man in the back seat. The passenger stays in the car and we make small talk through the window. After the basics, he offers me a cigarette. No thanks. Then gum. He really wants me to have the gum.

He knows I’m preparing to cook something and the next thing that comes out the window is 1000 dollar note. Whoa!? Really? He’s very, very insistent I take it. I actually didn’t know how much it was until after he left because it was folded up and I just put it in my pocket. After 3 days in Kazakhstan, I have more money than I started with.

Then I’m offered his cell phone to call my mother in the US. I tell him she’s sleeping but thanks so much for the offer. He seems harmless enough, and his driver is pretty jovial. We continue to chit chat for a little longer then he goes on his way.

I have another visitor a little later and he’s just making sure I’m okay. He returns about 15 minutes later with an ice cold 1L Pepsi. He tells me that there is a “magazine” in town where I can get something to eat. I can’t be bothered. The Pepsi had been opened, with a sip. I try not to think about germs and enjoy my Pepsi with my hot pot of pasta.

The full stomach and wonderful kindness of strangers motivates me to continue up and over onto the Steppe. It’s still a little hot and the sun is beating down.

As I’m nearly up there, I see a truck driver give me a hand signal of a “snake”…a WW motion. Shit, I know exactly what this means…up and down up and down. And with a headwind, it means I’ll be putting in work even going down.

Near sunset I make it onto the Steppe. I’m in awe of how far I can see…am I seeing the curvature of the Earth?

I begin to hunt for camp and there is nothing to hide me from the road. I’m not really fearful of truck drivers as I have gotten encouragement from all of them. More smiles, thumbs up, and waves than China! These guys are fairly harmless.

I push off about 500 meters from the road and I am beginning to notice the mosquitos. My lazy self makes an attempt to sleep without the tent. After about an hour and near dark, I jump up choosing a few words to come out of my mouth and throw the tent up. Christ, the mosquitoes! …And it will only get worse.

This photo shows a curvature in the opposite direction because of lens distortion…and I’m limited with photo editing software right now.

Kazakhstan May 11 2012

One thing I love about Central Asia is the Soviet art work, found on the town signs and bus stops.

In retrospect, this little strip of restaurants, “kofe”s, and “magazines” will be the second to last stop before heading into the Steppe. Everyone is so friendly and waving to me. The wind is still strong and I can hear the aluminum roofs creaking and cracking. This family is very insistent on having my company, waving me over and inviting me for tea, naan, and “cmetana”. I can only stay for a short time as I have to try and make up time from the day before. After about a half an hour I say my thanks, show my gratitude, and move on.

I get back into a nice green area, little traffic, and the trees block the wind so it’s no problem.

1st flat, repair

2nd flat. . A wonderful babushka comes over to chat me up. She’s wonderful and I explain my problem. A shepherd comes over later and observes me, a nice fella.
Upon closer inspection I see I’ve blown out my first tire of tour. I was able to put about 12,000km on this tire, which is pretty damn good in my opinion. I’m wondering if the blizzard helped destroy it. I patch it with some duct tape, hoping it will work.
3rd flat, and I’m on the edge of the Steppe. I take shade and take care of the matter. I chuck the tube and the tire and put on my MTB 2.1 knobbies that I know will kill some of my progress. Trying not to think too much about and reassuring myself I can find a new one in Almaty.

Self-portrait after tire repair.

I pull off the road to make camp. No tent as the weather is great. I hear a shepherd whistling and a dog, so I stay still and hope they pass without seeing me. I begin to notice mosquitoes in the area, and it’s not too bad by wrapping myself up in my silk bag liner. “zzzZZzzz” “zzzZzzz” next to my ears.

Welcome to Ka Zak Kuh Stan May 10 2012

I’m writing this from a guesthouse in Samarkand, Uzbekistan. After having breakfast with 1 backpacker, 2 motorbike riders, and 2 other cyclists…we all used similar words to describe this country noted for it’s “hospitality”. Things like, “over-rated”, “disappointed”, “a waste of time”, “not worth it”. We aren’t really sure why everyone goes into Kazakhstan with hopes, and leaves shaking their heads. All cyclists and motorbike riders note on the friendliness of the Russians, which was so true for me as well…but for the “amazing hospitality of Kazakhs”…I didn’t find it so much nor have many other travelers. Okay, maybe I’m over exaggerating…I did have a lot of nice things happen when I’m on the side of the road and general friendliness…but NOTHING compared to Uzbekistan or other places I’ve traveled.

Who is in charge of this propaganda? As a solo woman, I would advise any other woman to be extremely, EXTREMELY cautious in this country. The Kazakhs will shit talk the Russians but I received nothing but friendliness and generosity from these minorities throughout the country. I always knew if I had problems, to just wave down a Russian truck driver or bus driver.

Granted…I did have some really great moments in Kazakhstan…and did meet a fair share of wonderful people.

Okay, so onto the first part of Kazakhstan, Bishkek to Balhash (to the North along the great Kazakh Steppe).

May 10
I leave Bishkek on the 10th and head for the border. I’ve decided to ride for a couple weeks as my generous host in Almaty is on vacation and thought to kill some time before heading to the city. It’s only about 15km to the border and the crossing is not a real problem at all. In retrospect, a breeze compared to Kazakhstan to Uzbekistan.
There is a Finnish family driving across, they work at the Embassy in Almaty. They even offer me a ride.

In my, “I’m tired of this shit” way, I am swarmed by truck drivers at the booth for my stamp and I give attitude to the a-hole that cuts in front of me. If you had found me 4 years ago in China, I would have been standing there for 5 hours letting people push ahead…but I don’t put up with that shit any longer.

The other drivers here my tone and English and insist I’m next. The basic questions come along…although not about children or husband. Just, “Where did I come from?” , “How many kilometers?” ,“Where am I going?”

As I begin to leave the station, I even get pats on the backs and signs/words of encouragement. I’m thinking, “Kazakhstan is going to be great.”

I’m not ripped off exchanging money either.

It’s not too hot and there seems to be a breeze. Within a few kilometers after passing the border I’m in flat countryside and I can see some mountain ranges in the far distance.
As soon as I begin to ride West I am hit with one of the worst side winds ever. I am reminded of the time in Inner Mongolia when I was riding with Jason. To test the force of the wind, he pee’d with his back to the wind and the stream must have nearly reached the other side of the road. This wind may even be worse. I can’t ride because it’s gusts and I’m being blown out into traffic. I get off to attempt to walk it and I can barely keep the bike upright and close to being blown over.

I’m beat so quickly and I pull over along some trees to see if I can wait it out.

A station wagon pulls over with one driver and no passengers. He offers to put the bike in the back, or something like that. No, I wave him off politely.

The car comes back about 10 minutes later with a passenger. The passenger exits and comes over to me and squats next to me.
Basic questions, name, husband, baby, country…

The wind is blowing strong and he is telling me that I have to be careful with the trees. Then he is saying something about his home. Okay? Am I being invited for a homestay? Then I catch him winking at the driver during this conversation. No, this isn’t going to work and I’m put on guard immediately. I may not understand the language but I understand men, I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday.
Then I have him wrapping his arms around me as if I’m cold from the wind, and it’s not concern…it’s just a basic sex pest that has some effed idea of me because I’m a white, Western/American woman, without a man around.

I push him off.

More winking to the driver and some stuff I don’t understand. I express over and over, now with impatience, that I don’t understand Russian and to speak English.

Then I have him shoving his hands up the back of my shirt. That’s enough. I push him off and get up. He continues speaking Russian and I continue with “I don’t understand, English!” Well, he manages to get some English out with screaming, “Sex Sex Sex!!!” at me.

It’s time to get out of there. There are no cordial goodbyes, he just gets in the car laughing with his buddy and they drive off to the town ahead.

I only make about 35km in Kazakhstan before I call it the day and decide to find a place to sleep. It will be impossible to set up my tent in this wind and I know the wind generally gets worse later in the day. So, I sleep in here.

There is a beautiful sunset as I can see the mountain ranges to the South. The unfortunate part about sleeping under the road is that there is a late wake-up call from the sun and I don’t realize that the next morning that the wind isn’t so bad because now I’m in a wind tunnel. On the road around 9:30, the view from my tunnel.

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 25 2012 Osh to Bishkek (part vii)

I hadn’t eaten any breakfast this day…and after pushing my bike up this steep pass, the last 3 km…I had to stop and cook something. A little macaroni and TVP.

View from where I came from, at the top of the pass.

Ahead.

The descent…

…how was your ride to work?

April 24 2012 Osh to Bishkek (part vi)

Another awesome camp…great sleep, feeling awesome.

I take a half day, with doing laundry and washing myself next to the river. The water is ice cold so I would boil some water or let it sit in the sun for awhile.

Then I begin the ascent to the first pass.

Honey.
I distinctly remember this route of Honey too. About a kilometer up, there were two dogs neck deep in a thawing horse. I figured they were too occupied to bother me…but of course within a few meters of passing they’ve given up their taste for frosty horse for a much better looking meal.

I’ve had enough. I get off my bike, throw it down and starting running at them barking. Top of my lungs, screaming and barking. It got rid of them.

77% of an incline?! I must be a complete beast!

View looking South before setting up camp. It has gotten a bit chilly at this point.