Background
The Pamir highway, aka the M41, is the second highest transcontinental highway in the world. The road was constructed partly in the 19th century (during the Great Game), and partly in 1930s by the Soviet Union.
File:Pamir Highway Route.jpg – Wikipedia
public domain in the United States because it is a work prepared by an officer or employee of the United States Government as part of that person’s official duties under the terms of Title 17, Chapter 1, Section 105 of the US Code .Note: This only applies to original works of the Federal Government and not to the work of any individual U.S.
Construction and maintenance levels vary substantially along the highway. The road is heavily damaged in most of its length by erosion, earthquakes, landslides, and avalanches.
It runs from Dushanbe, in Tajikistan, south through the mountains along the Panj river, the border with Afghanistan. At Khorog the main road runs east while the alternate route continues along the border through the Wakhan valley. They join near the village of Alichur, and continue across the border to Osh in Kyrgyzstan.
The road is falling apart, the mountains remote. Much of the road is over 3000m and the passes climb to 4655m, the peaks themselves tower over 6000m.
One of the classic high altitude bicycle rides, the Pamir Highway is on many cycle tourist’s bucket list.
Anticipation
I’ve been afraid of the Pamir Highway since before we set off on this journey.
It was on the itinerary from the beginning. Jamie knew he wanted to do it and I knew it better not think too much about it.
However it’s been there in background every time I’ve struggled up a hill. “If this is hard how are you going to cope in the Pamirs?”
Like everything on this trip, I hoped I’d be ready for it when the time came.
Dushanbe to Khorog
(500km, 8 days)
There are two options to cycle from Dushanbe. To summarise: the southern route is a better road surface but busier, the northern harder and more scenic.
Having had some time off the bike in Uzbekistan I’d hoped and assumed I’d have a little more time to work up to the hard terrain of Tajikistan. But after careful consideration (reading one article) there was no real choice, ready or not we’d be taking the beautiful but difficult northern road.
My consolation was an article comparing the two which claimed that the northern route would be harder than anything else on the M41.
Well, I suppose it would be good to find out early whether I’m up to it.
From our first few days riding out from Dushanbe.
20 Likes, 3 Comments – Maria (@mariamazyoung) on Instagram: “From our first few days riding out from Dushanbe.”
The cycle is slow, slow, slow.
We didn’t account for how slow it would be – we’d heard people suggesting 50-60km per day is good, but assumed that we’d manage more than that.
Barely.
65km and we are exhausted, even when we aren’t doing a massive climb. The road undulates along the river valley, upstream so we’re always climbing a bit. The road surfaces deteriorate 100km after Dushanbe and the ‘good road’ doesn’t start again till 60km from Khorog. The rest is anything from deep sand, rocks, gravel, potted concrete with some broken asphalt thrown in for good measure. There’s a section, several kilometres long which is crafted from smooth, loose goose-egg sized stones fetched from the river bed. Completely agonising to cycle across, especially on our treadless skinny tyres. (More on this to come)
Despite this the ride is glorious. The pace allows me time to marvel at the towering mountains soaring above on both sides. The roadside is dotted again with wildflowers – I realise how much I missed them in the desert.
For the first few days riding on this terrain I’m surprised and pleased to find my legs are coping and my mood is joyful.
Even the big climb doesn’t deter me. After 4km of gentle warm up we start up the 30km climb.
Bee-eaters and hoopoes flit across the road, lining up on the electrical line for a rest and then off again as we pass. We catch sight of a woodpecker too, with his signature flash of red.
The road continues to wind up through little hamlets. One like an oasis, tree lined, beautifully kept gardens. Later little farming communities. They are collecting hay on the hillsides, some pastures stretching up along the crevices of the mountains, now polkadotted with hay bales.
The climb is long and slow. The road surface is a trial. We rest at 10km for a snack, 15km to do some pannier faffing, 20km for a breather and finally break for lunch after 22km. It’s too hot and we are hurting after 5.5 hours grinding bumpily up the road. We’re averaging about 7.5km/ hour. There’s no shade up here now though, above the tree line, so we string up the blanket and snooze beside a burbling stream.
It is stunning, and I ache, and I’m happy. I’m planning a trip back on a mountain bike. Maybe for my 40th.
We climb the last 8km to the 3252m summit. By the last couple of turns my boundless joy is finding it’s bounds and I’m ready to stop climbing. It’s the highest pass so far, and it feels it.
Panoramic views across the landscape. We can see forever. We spot hints of single track that have Jamie salivating.
The wind blows at the top and we huddle in the bus shelter (we don’t know why there’s bus shelters dotted up the road, I’m certain there are no buses) to eat a celebratory biscuit. There is not a soul to be seen.
There are signs warning us that there are landmines though, reminding us that it’s not always been a peaceful place.
We don’t celebrate long, too cold. We start the descent. It’s steep and bouncy all the way down. Both hands and legs begin to cramp, standing up on the pedals and holding tight to the brakes. We stop often to allow the brakes to cool off and the hands to relax. At least we can get our aching bums off the saddle.
Some of the roads are vertigo inducing, high up a very steep mountain side. Each turn showing a different mountain face. We see more snowy peaks, and even some snow in a crevase below us.
We pass a couple of tiny habitations, semi permanent tents. Maybe just up here in the summer months, these roads are impassable late in the year. Children come out demanding chocolate and shouting at us angrily when we dont stop.
Lavender blooms at the side of the road, which surprises me.
Some crazy switchbacks launch us back down to the river where we decide to make camp rather than take on the last 10km to the town. We get a wash in the river – two days in a row – before dinner. Afterwards we lie out looking at the stars framed by the silhouettes of the epic mountains on every side.
The following day is harder, emotionally.
The last of the descent is rattely but fine. We meet a new river, clearly a glacier run off, that incredible luminous turquoise colour which is such a delight. It leads us the rest of the way in to the town of Kuali Khum.
We find the “well stocked” supermarket, and remember that all things are relative. The carefully planned meal list goes out the door and we stock up on things with no idea what they will become. A veg shop a few doors along makes me feel better about our haul.
We make our way out of town, my bike significantly heavier and feeling sluggish. I have to stop and check I don’t have a flat, but no, just heavy. The road returns to it’s undulations along the river, a different river now, this one torrential and grey with sediment.
I found myself strangely irritated that we are following this river upstream, having so recently come over the watershed. I’m also sorry we have this murky river instead of the luscious blue one.
I have to remind myself that this has happened before. I focus on coping with a big day, in this case yesterday’s climb, and then feel flat and emotional and struggle all through the next day instead.
I’m also feeling that we need to push on. Khorog is still 240km from Kuali Khum – which we’d usually do in two days. With this road surface who knows how long, but we’re keen to get to Khorog to regroup and then start on the ‘real’ pamir highway.
I pull off in the shade for a rest and acknowledge all these things to Jamie. He consoles me and feeds me and we get back on the road. The next few hours are a little easier.
I realise with a start that the landscape I’m looking at on the other side of the river is Afghanistan. I give it much more attention than I had been previously. Little hamlets with buildings skimmed or built out of clay or mud. Beautifully cultivated strips of land amongst them and sometimes high up on the cliff faces. Because they – like us – are hemmed in by enormous mountains. There’s a matching track on the Afghan side, more rugged looking. We spot people whizzing along on mopeds.
Afghanistan looks greener.
We stop in the shade of some trees by the side of the road , in the company of some inquisitive cows. A snooze and some food and a little talk to myself and my temperament is a little restored.
I remember this is meant to be hard, it’s a notoriously difficult route.
We carry on, both a little reluctantly i feel. Jamie doesn’t say so but I think he’s finding it hard today too.
We’ve seen a camping spot marked on the map which we decide to head for. It’s 17km away which should be fine… It is fine but they are hard kilometres again. The road is busier than the previous so we have to be more careful as we meander across the road trying to find the smoothest, easiest surfaces. The last couple of km are particularly tough. Steep sections, narrow sections, hairpins with sheer drops to the river on one side. Deep sand at times too, possibly the most terrifying as the bike takes on a mind of its own.
We make it finally, the first flat spot for 10km at least, otherwise I would have demanded that we stop earlier. My resilience has deteriorated again…
The campspot looks over at a little settlement on the Afghan side, a dozen houses clinging to the mountainside. It’s beautiful, especially as the darkness sweeps in and the lights twinkle on.
Weary and aching we set up camp and cook dinner, having to change track as I discover that all the tomatoes have turned to mush from all the bouncing, despite being cushioned in amongst my clothes. I haven’t investigated the state of my clothes yet.
I’m very happy to go to bed tonight and I’ll be having a word with myself about my attitude for tomorrow.
It seems to work, the following morning my mood is better but my energy low. By the end of the day I have a new litany of aches – lower back, hips, elbow…
We acknowledge that the road surfaces mean we have to reconsider what a reasonable daily distance is. We reckon about half our usual mileage is about right.
On the seventh day we meet a friendly Swiss cyclist while Jamie has his bum out. I’d suggested that Jamie not point his bare bum at Afghanistan, Sotheby might not like it, so he turns around just as the cyclist rides down the hill towards us. Luckily he finds it hilarious.
Shortly after we met another bunch of cyclists who tell us that our friends from Dushanbe are not too far ahead. We pick up our pace a little and find them around lunchtime snoozing by the river.
Sophie, Ruth, Oli, Dosh and Francois had joined forces around Kuali Khum, and had been making their way together since then. They generously encompass us in their midst and we ride together in various formations for some time to come…
Introducing Marmotley Crew…
Sophie has been doing a tour of central Asia after spending some time working in Russia. She speaks Russian, (German, French, English, Spanish too) which is a godsend. Incredibly kind and generous to a fault. Her panniers are always open – literally and metaphorically – by the time we reach Osh she had become everyone’s breakfast sponsor, doling out the dried fruit which she’s been carrying by the kilo since Dushanbe.
Francois is a French velopirate riding the world until he doesn’t. He rides with a box strapped to the back on his bike, crammed with stuff. It’s fascinating to cycle behind him to see what’s lodged on the back – seating, tent, hammock, beer, flags… He can move it fast when he wants, despite his rather French drinking and smoking habits. In Dushanbe he was the first to greet us in a huge group of cyclists and immediately invited us to join. With a mischevious twinkle in his eye he will make a gathering happen wherever he is .
Oli has a smile for everyone, and seems to make everyone smile. Another bringer-together of people he is an avid fire builder, collecting wood, coal and yak dung all day in order to build a blaze later on. Most people would become a liability with the extra bits and pieces hanging off the back of the bike, but Oli is seen soaring down mountains with “look mum no hands!” to check that the bike is balanced properly. He’s also known to come flying back down a hill towards you, brandishing a camera. He’s also a fine cook, undetered by growing numbers of people to cater for.
Ruth also weilds a camera, more subtly perhaps. She strikes up conversations with everyone, inspiring or encouraging them to share their stories and open themselves to her. She remembers the names of everyone they’ve stayed with and has a good word to say about everyone. I’ve never seen her without a smile. I’ve heard that she once gave a man on the tube a scowl.
Dosh – a Swedish-passport-holding-English-sounding-Pole – is the experienced bike tourer of the group. He’s touring central Asia now, but finished a two year world tour last year. He’s funny and quiet and kind, and sometimes seems amused by the rest of us. Without meaning to we all turn to him and ask where are we going? where are we going to eat? where’s the next water?
Riding with seven takes a lot of time.
A quick break will soon become a lengthy stop as people gather, chat, faff and then get going again.
On our second day riding together Jamie and I are out front as we hit about 20km. We decide we should wait to let the others catch up, being new to the group not wanting to get the pace wrong. We sit down, eat a biscuit or two. Dosh appears. We have a chat. Francois arrives next brandishing a paint can which he starts to fashion in to a stove. The others arrive soon after and settle down to have a break. It is probably an hour later before we set off again.
I leave Jamie chatting about bikes and take the opportunity to sprint on a beautiful stretch of good road. We realise it’s possible to untether a bit in a group. When it’s just the two of us we stay within eyesight, matching our paces, but in a bigger group we can stretch our legs – or dawdle – and enjoy a bit of solitary time. (More on this later)
We regroup and enjoy a sprint in to Khorog and find our way to the Pamir lodge, up an uncomfortably steep hill. We cook and eat curry together strung out on a bench like a sweaty, ratty version of the last supper.
Unrelatedly, I spend the next two days scurrying to the loos with a bad stomach, a common complaint from the cycling community in Tajikistan. As a result I can’t report much about the sights of Khorog.
Francois, his tajik visa running out and a lone pirate at heart, sets out a day earlier than the rest.
Everyone else tinkers with bikes, eats Indian food and debates routes before we finally gather ourselves together and set out on the next stage of the journey.
***