*Routes*
There are three routes from Khorog. The main Pamir Highway, the M41, goes east through the mountains and is mostly paved. The Wakhan corridor runs south then along the border with Afghanistan and is mostly not. The Shakdara valley cuts between the two. They all converge a little before the village of Alichur. (210km, 225km, 345km respectively)
Francois has gone ahead on the lesser known Shakdara route sending messages back with tempting words like ‘paradise’ and ‘good roads’. Sophie, Ruth and Oli are convinced by his words and decide to follow.
Jamie and Dosh have their hearts set on the Wakhan corridor, and where Jamie goes I go.
The Wakhan is a longer route, but as we’re a little faster than the others we hope that we might meet up somewhere on the road.
Khorog to Murghab
445km, 9 days
Dosh, Jamie and I set off slowly, I’m not fully recovered from my stomach bug but I feel ready and obliged to leave after a couple of days off.
I haven’t eaten much for a few days. When I do eat I need to lie down for a while. I’m pretty empty now I guess.
I’m surprised my legs are still managing ok though. I’m getting up the hills, I don’t seem to be trailing behind. I’m glad when things settle down (to some extent) a few days later.
We’ve agreed to take things slowly, Dosh has had altitude sickness before, and – unrelatedly – a collapsed lung. We are all ultra-aware of symptoms. I’ve never been this high, and don’t really know what to expect. I’m quietly relieved to be led by Dosh, knowing that Jamie and I can be a bit gung-ho left to our own devices.
The first few days we’re climbing slowly towards Iskashim. We are disappointed to discover that the Afghan-Tajik market has been closed down. They used to run a market on no-mans land that, by giving up your passport to a guard on entering, you could go and wander around.
It gets colder as we climb. We are prepared for it to only get colder from here.
We arrive in Iskashim and attempt to stock up on food for what could be more than seven days. There isn’t much to be found I terms of supplies further on, so we are told. It’s hard to find anything particularly inspirational to cook but we do our best.
Dosh and I carry most of the food and the bikes feel incredibly heavy as we climb out of town. I’ve rearranged my bags in order to accommodate the extra food, and the bike feels strange.
As a trio we fall in to an easy pattern. Dosh is very easy to travel with.
We all cycle at our own pace usually, regrouping around meals or as an excuse to have a rest at the top of a hill. We consult eachother on what’s coming up, where to stock up on food and water – but are happy to let Dosh take the lead on what he thinks is possible.
Although theoretically we can camp anywhere finding a spot to camp isn’t always a breeze. The wind howls and there’s not a lot of shelter. Water appears, apparently from nowhere. We assume some glacial melt somewhere out of sight. Once evening Jamie has to do some emergency landscaping, digging a channel to divert the water away from the tent.
Generally we cook and eat together. I tend to start cooking on the evening while Jamie puts up the tent so it seems sensible to include Dosh in that too. Once the tents are set up Dosh will come and set up his wee stool next to me, fire up his stove and help out. We make a good team, and it’s more than twice as easy with two people, two pots and two stoves. Highlights included fried paprika potatoes with squash curry and egg fried noodles with vegetable stir fry.
Our daily distances plummet again. Partly purposeful, trying to keep effort reasonably low too counteract the difficult environment. The days seem much shorter too, night draws in quickly, and the cold doesn’t encourage us out of the tent in the morning as early as the heat did.
A few days in we take half a day off to visit the Bibi Fatima spring. The spring is high up on the mountain, high above the local fortress. We, thankfully, decide to leave the bikes at a homestay and take a taxi up to the spring.
It is a crazy, crazy climb that has me holding tight to the door handles. We meet a car coming down and our driver pulls the car up on to the verge, we’re tilting wildly and we all unconsciously lean over to try and counter balance, then he manoeuvres back down.
The view back down the valley is extraordinary. A patchwork of fields at the foot of huge mountains, and nestled behind that glacier covered peaks.
Women and men are seperated going in to the spring. I stood around shyly with a dozen Tajik women waiting to go in. Once inside they encompass me in their midst without being overbearing. I feel surprisingly comfortable there amongst these naked women, who seemed neither proud nor ashamed of their bodies. Women in the UK just don’t get naked together and on the rare occasion that we do there is so much judgement against ourselves and others. Or maybe that’s just me…
It feels good. The spring is fed in to a cavern nestled between the building we’d come through and the mountain wall. The water refreshingly hot, perfect for weary cyclist muscles.
In the spring itself there is a little cave through which a couple of the women clamber. It takes a lot of flexibility to climb in. Apparently it’s some kind of fertility cave, if you dive and collect a certain type of stone from inside you’ll get pregnant (who knew?!?). They explain to me – through mime – and look hopefully at me but they don’t force the issue.
I’ll admit I’m curious, but by the time I’m ready to investigate the women are leaving and I really don’t want to get stuck. Well, abstinance is safer I guess.
Outside, Jamie, Dosh and I have a few beers which may be unwise. The steps to the spring already have me feeling a little breathless, the altitude is going to start kicking in more and the signs of altitude sickness are similar to a hangover so I hear…
Predictably the following morning I have a little headache. Beer or altitude?
We’re heading to Langar, 40km away. The road is gravel most of the way. It’s tough, and sometimes disheartening. We can’t ride together, you need room to pick out a path and be ready to change direction suddenly.
The bumping is not helping my head.
It’s Sunday today. People are out harvesting the wheat, it seems like a family affair. We hear drumming as we pass through the villages.
Jamie tears off ahead for a while which irritates me for a bit. Show off.
But I put some music on and keep my head down and we get through it.
It’s amusing that we’re now pleased that we’ve ridden 10km. 20km. The air is certainly thinner up here and by the end of the day my lungs ache. (2875m altitude)
The following morning starts with a bit of bike faff and a trip to the shop to replenish our food stocks, and sweets, to last us four days or so. We then tackle the first steep and tricky climb. Hairpins leading out of the town and up 250m or so. Kids run out and offer to push. I decline, but both Jamie and Dosh partake. I’m sorry after seeing them overtake me laughing. The kids are rewarded with a handful of sweets for their effort. I reward myself with a sweet and some short-lived moral superiority.
The road continues to be a bastard. Loose rocks, sand and gravel up steep hills.
I’m swearing a lot. There’s a moment, as I climb a bend and see Jamie disappearing round another bend way in the distance, I think something unworthy and mean, my bike hits the gravel and grinds to a stop – again – it keels over with the extra weight – again.
I roar.
My meanness transforms to rage momentarily and I really want to throw the bike over the edge.
I remember instantly another hill, another country, long ago, where I felt the same rage, the same temptation. I remember too that I got up that hill. So I remount, I find a spot where I can get some traction again and I pedal on.
I remind myself, don’t climb hills and think mean thoughts.
We stop to filter water which takes longer than it should. It’s midday and we haven’t covered 10km yet.
But soon the road gets less steep and at the surface mostly better.
The mountains in Afghanistan get more and more spectacular. We’re now seeing the famous and dramatic Hindu Kush mountains. Glaciers peek out from almost every crevice, snow capped peaks. The landscape mostly plantless, except for small pockets fed by the glacier melt. Sometimes cultivated, the vibrant colours jumping out across the valley.
The changing light through the day was fascinating, the sharp peaks and gullies catching the light or thrown in to shadow.
We realise that we’re not going to make 40km today, and pull off on a flat spot with a stream nearby.
The view is wonderful but it’s cold. All the warm clothes come out, the thermals, downies, hats are pulled on quickly. (Altitude 3560m)
The next morning the first 10km are a relative breeze. Some fast(ish) downhill and some smooth(ish) road. We stop for a snack and a spot of washing after an hour of riding.
The river is now much narrower, and turquoise instead of brown. It looks like an easy spot to nip over to Afghanistan if you wanted to.
Setting off again the road gets sandier, steeper, harder. The next 15km are a struggle and one sandy hill has me almost in tears of frustration.
We see camels at the river.
The lunch spot we’ve been aiming for is blissful. Lush grass, babbling river. We have a good lunch and relax a bit before filling up to capacity with water. This is the last water spot for the day, apparently.
Jamie insists on carrying the extra.
Dosh goes ahead, assuming we’ll catch him quickly. But a couple of kilometres in my gears stop working. I stop and discover the shifter box has come off and, disaster, the screw has fallen out. It must have rattled free. I start searching in the sandy road, following my tracks back. Jamie rides, I walk. We don’t find it, unsurprisingly.
We use electrical tape to reattach it.
The last 15km are hard. We’re weary already and the road is thick with sand, interspersed with washboards. There’s a couple of steep loose climbs that have us pushing the bikes. Jamie’s struggling with the extra weight of water, but won’t let me carry any.
A few more kilometres of sand and we finally see Dosh. It’s a windy plain but he’s found a decent sized rock that we’ll be able to cook behind.
I attempt and fail to make fish cakes. I’d been wondering what to do with the powdered mashed potato we’d accidentally bought instead of semolina (we discovered our mistake while eating sweet mashed potato for breakfast) and had got a bit set on the idea. Points for trying I guess. The result is tasty, just a mess.
Note to self: cooking experiments are best attempted out of the wind, at lower altitude.
Did you know that water boils at a lower temperature at altitude, which means it takes ages to cook anything?
It’s even colder than last night, so we head to bed as soon as we can. (Altitude: 3800m)
The big Khargush pass looms the following morning.
We start the climb. It’s 15km or so and only 450m which isn’t much considering. But we’re already at 3800m and it gets harder the higher we go.
The sky is an unbelievable deep blue.
The pass is taking us inland, looking back towards Afghanistan we bid it goodbye. The mountains, snows peaked , are magnificent in the distance. It’s possible we’re even seeing Pakistan beyond.
We continue up. At the top of the Khargush pass (4306m) is a green lake, quite stunning. As the clouds roll over the water turns navy blue, turquoise, green. The surrounding mountains look dramatic and eery in the changing light.
We take the obligatory selfie but the wind is fierce so we carry on, looking for a spot to shelter for lunch. The top section of the descent is fun, it’s envigorating to get some speed after so much crawling, but we have to hold back a bit – the road surface changes suddenly, rocks appear out of nowhere, sand banks ready to cause a skid if not a tumble.
We spy a green area among all the barren rock. It’s full of donkeys. We decide to take shelter there for lunch. We find a spot out of the wind and entertain ourselves watching a dozen donkeys, one tiny newborn, go about their business. They come and check us out, clearly suspicious of Jamie’s laden bicycle.
“Tsk. Coming over here, taking our jobs…”
There’s also marmots, big ones, marmotting about. They squeak the alarm call as we pass, diving down their holes for shelter. They’re soon back again.
While we’re eating lunch two young boys in balaclavas turn up, jump on a donkey each and start herding them away.
After lunch we tackle the rest of the descent. There is a lot of sand and a lot of washboard. There are a few fun sections, a couple of hairy fast turns, but mostly it’s hard, bouncy work.
There are more lakes, with a halo of white around their shore. Salt.
I’ve got a furious headache, aggravated by every bounce of the washboard. It starts to make me feel queasy. I suspect delayed effects of the altitude. Eventually I have to stop and take some painkillers.
We finally meet the main m41, the official pamir highway.
It’s smooth asphalt. It feels soft in comparison.
We whizz a few kilometres just for the fun, then turn back to find a campspot. Dosh is a way behind and we don’t want to go too far, not knowing how long he’ll be.
He’s not long, though he’s also been suffering from an altitude headache.
It’s cold again though so we crawl of to bed by 8.
I loved today, it was just glorious.
Sleep: 3800m
Some more spectacular moments from the Wakhan valley. The road follows the border with Afghanistan, then up and over the Kargush pass at 4300m before rejoining the Pamir Highway proper. Not a bit of asphalt in sight – sand, gravel and washboards #whoneedsasphaltanyway
34 Likes, 7 Comments – Maria (@mariamazyoung) on Instagram: “Some more spectacular moments from the Wakhan valley. The road follows the border with Afghanistan,…”
The following morning we’re joined by a French cycle tourist called Stephan. He’s doing the Dushanbe to Osh section then flying home, he’s in a bit of a hurry but happy to ride with us for a coupe of days.
The asphalt is glorious. Barely able to contain ourselves we sprint the 20km to Alichur. The final descent is thrilling and we enter the town grinning.
We’d toyed with the idea of stopping in Alichur over night, but change our minds once we see the town. There’s not much to occupy us and Murghab is not too far away. We (second-) breakfast, hunt down a shop, use the bin (we’re carrying about a kilo bye rubbish by now), restock on biscuits and sweets, fill up on water from the village pump and head out of town. There is a little mobile signal for the first time in a while, and we try to work out where Sophie, Ruth and Oli might be. The messages we get from are outdated and a bit garbled. We decide they must be a way ahead of us by now.
The valley is wide and soon we have a marvellous tailwind propelling us forward. The kilometres are speeding by. Jamie and I are enjoying our slick tyres again, which for days have been giving us grief in the deep sand.
We see yurt villages in the distance.
By the time we stop for lunch we’ve done more kilometres than we’ve done in any day of the last week or so. The wind continues to pick up and we find a hole in the ground to shelter. Two beautiful dogs join us for lunch.
We’re not sure how far we expect to get today, aware that we could, at a push, make it all the way to Murghab. We keep saying, let’s see where we are in an hour…
It’s not all easy, the altitude makes any slight climb hard work. Because all our recent climbs have been so slow they haven’t had us so out of breath. These climbs, attempted at speed, have me panting all the way.
It’s also cold. Any short stop requires more layers.
We go over another +4000m pass barely noticing the moment: the gentle incline, the asphalt and the tailwind make it almost easy.
As always the scenery is stunning. The mountains are not so high here – relatively – but each peak changes in colour and texture. Some look like they’re growing, some look like huge pieces of burr walnut, some like giant mounds of pink sawdust.
15km away from Murghab we pass a gorgeous campspot. We’ve all been thinking about a hot shower and beer so are torn. We decide by tossing a coin, beer it is. There are a couple of steep climbs and then an incredible descent with views across the green and blue river plain to Murghab.
We roll in to the Pamir Hotel just before the towns electricity is turned on for the night. We’ve cycled 129km.
We get a message from our friends that they stayed in Alichur for the night.
We stay in Murghab for a day and try to make a bit of a recovery. The Wakhan has taken its toll on us physically.
Murghab is a strange place. It seems to be a place for passing through, which is what I assume it mainly is – a town to stock up on the way somewhere else. We settle on the word “post-apocalyptic” to describe it.
The electricity is on from 7.30pm to 11pm. The bazaar is a line of beaten up shipping containers, mostly windowless, mostly bare. There are vegetables though, which we buy up greedily.
There is one shipping container which provides us with a few surprising goods, a new USB C phone cable, electrical tape, moisturiser… Thanks Francois for that tip off.
Otherwise the town feels pretty hard.
Piles of scrap metal in the middle of the roads.
We make a detour to the tourist information. We find it finally, a door painted “Tour-ist Info-rma-tion”. It’s locked.
The nicest spot we discover is behind the bazaar, an icecream shop. We sit out eating icecream, ignoring the sound of the generator, before heading back to the hotel.
The guys arrive from Alichur in the evening, and we have a great time catching up with them over dinner and a beer. We convince them to ride on with us in the morning.
The crew is reunited (with a replacement French man).
Cycling the Wakhan corridor with our new friend Dosh. The roads are hard but the views spectacular.
30 Likes, 8 Comments – Maria (@mariamazyoung) on Instagram: “Cycling the Wakhan corridor with our new friend Dosh. The roads are hard but the views spectacular.”