Pamir Highway, part 3 – Murghab to Osh

Murghab to Osh

9 days, 415km

We were seven, then six, eight, six again, then ten.

But to begin with we were seven cycling out from the steampunk town of Murghab. Sophie, Oli, Ruth, Dosh, Stephan, Jamie and I.

We make a social bunch. Cooking dinner together, eating lunch. Sharing pots and pans, spices and ingredients. Washing up together. We build fires to cook on, and sit around a little longer in evenings before the plummeting temperature drives us in to our tents.

Getting going in the morning takes a long time. I’m out the tent earlier than most, but usually spot Oli wandering about hunting for fuel. The others tend to emerge once the sun has hit the tent, and/or they’ve judged the kettle has been on long enough to chance a cup of tea. Rounds of tea and coffee are made as breakfast is cooked up.  Then another cuppa before we go.

We ride at our own paces, often Jamie and I will be out front, sometimes joined by Oli. We practice some slip-streaming into the afternoon headwinds. Other times we chat to the others as we ride, the slower paces making for more contemplative conversations.

Unable to resist, Jamie and I suggest tweaks to our friend’s setups, seat heights, packing systems, riding positions. They take it in good humour, encouraging us on by taking our advice. I try to restrain myself for fear of being presumptuous and annoying. What do I know anyway? Anything I know I’ve picked up through proximity and absorption from Jamie.

One morning we wake to find our water filter has frozen overnight. It’s been below freezing for a few nights and we just didn’t think to keep it inside the tent. It’s likely broken, though we can’t know for sure. It’s a bit of a disaster, though for now our friends generously help us out.

We ride up the biggest pass so far, probably the highest of the trip – 4655m. The last 5km of the 30km climb are rough road and the final few hairpins very steep. The air is thin. The wind is brutal.
We (I) have a little dance at the top. I suspect the altitude and the exertion has made me giddy, or maybe I’m just happy.

I’m certainly happy. These mountains have shifted something in me, I feel strong. I don’t doubt myself.
I can cycle up mountains.

We head to the village of Karikol, next to the high altitude crater lake of the same name.

As we draw close I turn and ask, how long since we left Murghab?

There’s a large army barracks on the edge of town, clearly abandoned, windows broken. The other buildings we can see look bleak, unfinished, abandoned.

Has anyone read the news? Did the apocalypse come while we were away? Are we in a movie now?

Six cyclists in the wilderness. Can they fend for themselves in the zombie apocalypse…?

We spot some people waving. They don’t look like zombies, I think it’s ok.

We spend the next day by the lake. We find a grassy spot and lie out in the sun, snoozing, reading, munching and snoozing again. The lake is turquoise blue, and framed by snow capped mountains. We watch and admire the different hues that both take on as the light and weather change through the day.

Some of the different moods of the beautiful, high altitude lake of Karakul, Tajikistan

25 Likes, 2 Comments – Maria (@mariamazyoung) on Instagram: “Some of the different moods of the beautiful, high altitude lake of Karakul, Tajikistan”

David and Esther, a friendly American/Australian couple cycling east, happen upon us as we’re faffing the next morning.

Our last night in Tajikistan is spent huddling round a fire next to the border fence to China, which we’ve been following for a while now. The next morning the stream has frozen solid.

There’s a not insubstantial climb to get out of Tajikistan, which only seems fitting. A few flakes of snow flutter down as we wait at the top.

The border is a bit weird. There’s a volleyball court. There’s a lot of Marco Polo sheep horns decorating the building, the signposts and piled in the corner. The border guards act strangely. As we leave Tajikistan a couple of guards come out with their rifles and take aim at a squeaking marmot on the hill above us. They don’t shoot, we’re glad, we’ve become very fond of the huge orange marmots.

Between Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan there’s an amazing 20km stretch of no-man’s land. Green and rolling hills, not unlike Scotland, but at several thousand metres altitude.

We enter Kyrgyzstan without incident, and we roll – mostly downhill – towards Sary Tash. The valley widens out and suddenly there are yurts spotting the landscape and horses galloping across the plains.

We stop to watch a herd, with the magnificent backdrop of snow capped mountains, merging with the clouds above.

Hello Kyrgyzstan.

The road merges with another going to Sary Tash, and it has traffic on it. It’s an unpleasant and jarring shock.

We part with David and Esther on the outskirts of town planning to ride in different directions, but we swap details and hope that we might catch them somewhere on the road.

Leaving Sary Tash there’s a decent climb almost straight off the bat. We all make our way up at our own speeds, winding our way up the switches and rest at the top waiting to regroup.

Our six becomes ten when we’re surprised by more English cyclists.

Adam and Tim aka Total Bike Forever are a pair of musicians cycling east making music as they go. I understand their panniers are packed with synths, and they collaborate with local musicians on the way.

Jade and Jim are cycling fanatics (and that’s coming from the partner of Jamie Smith) who decided to cycle to China. When they missed the opportunity to get their Chinese visa they decided to keep going anyway. Jim is another cycle mechanic, but keeps it quieter than our Jamie.

With the new people there’s a change in dynamic again.

The four of them cycle pretty fast, and when Jim sprints past me going up the next hill I feel my nerves jangling, my place in the heirarchy loosening, my competitive streak sharpening.

They make me doubt myself.

Having only so recently felt so proud of how strong we are/I am I now need to power up to keep up with them. It seems vitally important that I keep up.

I catch all this going on in my mind, and wonder at it all. When did I become this person? When did feeling good about what I can do become reliant on what the people around me can (or can’t) do? I’m not sure I like this me.

I find I’m emotionally vulnerable too now the dynamic has changed. Like in the schoolyard I worry that we’re not as popular as the new interesting kids.
Sigh. Does nothing ever change?

But, the new interesting kids are in fact interesting, and good fun. The following evenings are long, sitting round the campfire or drinking beer on the pavement, listening to music and sharing stories and general silliness.

But more people mean breakfasts and pack up are drawn out even further than before.

On the penultimate day Jamie’s tyres start to make worrying signs that they’ve had enough. He’s developed an extreme wobble, especially at speed. The tyre is very worn and has begun to bulge in more and more places. We’ve been riding these same semi-slick tyres for 10000km and we’re frankly surprised they’ve got us this far. We have new tyres waiting in Osh.

There’s one last big climb before Osh, and a prolonged breakfast make us late in tackling it. Completely unexpectedly it is really hot as we climb. Expecting a headwind, I hadn’t even thought to worry about the heat. So we sweat our way up the 20km climb, pausing briefly midway for some shade while Oli is coerced on to a donkey by some kids.

I’ve been nursing a bad mood for 18km of the climb, knowing I should let it go but not quite able to. I’m listening to some tunes a friend gave us before we left when a song plays that I’ve never heard before.
It lifts my spirits.

Something in the lyrics touches the root of my bad mood – looking outside of myself for validation, comparing myself to others and being too concerned by what others think of me.

I’d forgotten my mantra:
Don’t take yourself seriously.

Inner man – Dub ReVolutioN! meets Ras Bruno

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After the climb, and a stop for lunch, Jamie and I belt towards Osh in a couple of hours, and like that – with little fanfare – the Pamir Highway is compete.

It has been epic. It has been so hard but the riding had just been amazing. Always changing, never the same for long.
It’s shown me how strong I can be in the right conditions, but always willing to give me the occasional slap when I get ahead of myself. It’s given me faith in myself and what we can do.
The riding, the temperature, the altitude have taken their toll on our bodies and bikes. We all look a little ravished. I’m weary, but happy.

We all go out for dinner later to celebrate, gorging on beer and meat like savages. Francois comes too.

We spend a couple of days in Osh, recuperating, planning, drinking coffee, eating cakes, drinking beer and just being together before Jamie and I make the first breakaway, setting out on our own – across the mountains – towards Bishkek.

I’ll miss the group, I know. Riding together, especially in these remote and trying landscapes, forges a strong bond.

But Jamie and I can feel the restlessness fluttering and we need to remember, or discover, what it is like to ride just the two of us again. It won’t be the same as before, we are not the same as before. Tajikistan, the Pamirs and our friends have left their marks.