The Silk Road: Mashhad to Osh

To ride the Silk Road is to follow in the shadow of a ghost. Only remnants remain from a bygone era, its legacy scattered along an array of diverse landscapes. On many occasions I would be riding through the desert and stumble across the ruins of a caravanserai, now being blown gently by the sandy wind of the dry land…

Camels have also been replaced by friendly motorcyclists on smooth tarmac who are all too keen to share fresh watermelon with a passing cyclist…

 

The term ‘Silk Road’ was actually coined by a nineteenth century German geographer, and both romanticised and popularised through hundreds of years of European literature. There is also no such thing as a single ‘Silk Road, but rather a fragile network of shifting intercontinental caravan tracks that threaded between China and Europe. In this way the route was similar to the Ho Chi Minh Trail during the Vietnamese War, but rather than American napalm and carpet bombing it was the ebb and flow of empires, wars and technologies that determined the road. On my journey east I’ve wandered in and out of the historic route many times, and will continue to do so until its main eastern terminus of Chinese Xi’an. However it has been the road taken between the Iranian and Kyrgyzstan cities of Mashhad and Osh that I was able to stick closely to the trading route for the majority of the time…

I was jumping for joy after reaching Mary following a tough desert ride in Turkmenistan…

…although it wasn’t until reaching the Uzbekistan city of Bukhara with friends that we were able to do some R&R after the Turkmen Dash…

I eagerly anticipated my ride along this historic route, visiting such cities as Merv, Bukhara, Samarkand and Osh. The destination of Samarkand has always conjured up evocative images of the Silk Road, and I have dreamt of visiting the city for over the past decade. As I cycled towards the city the poem ‘The Golden Journey to Samarkand’ was trapped in my mind: ‘For lust of knowing what should not be known / We take the Golden Road to Samarkand’.

However, previous British cyclers (just before being deported from Uzbekistan) had rebranded Samarkand as Samarbland due to its now sterile atmosphere. Similarly, I was soon to discover that my best moments on the Silk Road were not to be had at the sights but through friendly encounters with the Turkmen, Uzbek and Kyrgyz peoples. After travelling so long my time is no longer defined by the destinations travelled, but by the people I happen to meet along the way.

I met with two Spanish friends Zigor and Maria for the ride across Turkmenistan, and it was fantastic to join forces on the road. As well as having people to draw motivation from in the long desert roads (Zigor proved to be the king at setting the pace through the long stretches of desert), they also ride with a lot more luggage… in the evenings I enjoyed three course meals, with such luxuries as Spanish olive oil, Himalayan salt, roasted Italian coffee, and dried Spanish mushrooms and tomatoes! To have a read of Maria and Zigor’s Turkmenistan post please click here, and keep an eye on this blog for an upcoming film of our dash…

The Garagum Desert was a formidable challenge to overcome, and it was an incredible experience to camp within its sand dunes under the stars! We had many stretches of road with over 100km with nowhere to get water, so we relied on truck drivers to relieve the effects of the harsh environment!

The Turkmen people were incredible beautiful and hospitable. The women all dress in vibrant dresses and almost everyone have rows of sparkling gold teeth. In the evenings when we would reach a village to camp we even had locals fighting over who would host us, and nearly everyone would toot their horn in support or call out a friendly hello. It was a very special experience to be with so many friendly people despite the hard cycling, and it was a shame to have to leave after such a short time.

In the desert sometimes the only shade that could be found was under a parked truck…

I have already written about being hit by a tractor at the Iranian/Turkmenistan border, but it wasn’t until Bukhara where I was able to get the necessary welding done at a bicycle bazaar…

And the newly welded Wilson was all too keen to get back on the road after checking out Central Asia’s oldest mosque…

To reach the Fergana Valley I had to traverse the formidable obstacle of the Kamchik Mountain Pass, reaching the height of 2267 metres. It was a superb climb with stunning views of the Tian Shan Mountains, with the winding river valley getting smaller below me at each struggling switchback. The pass is the only link with Tashkent to the populous and industrious Fergana Valley, so together with loads of military checkpoints I was accompanied by innumerable trucks slowly climbing beside me. I was able to grab seven of these trucks, surfing my way along the road until a police officer would sound his siren or make a yell to let go! It was by far the most trucks I have ever clung to in one day or single climb, and I was stoked to have the extra help as I weaved between the potholes and chocked back the fumes.

Once in the Fergana Valley I made a return to the classroom to meet some inquisitive kids…

Along the Silk Road I’ve had many social situations where the vodka culture has been a real struggle to cope with; I’m definitely feeling the closeness of Russia to the north. It was funny having lunch with some lads who even after I showed them my various medication pills for nausea and diarrhoea they still insisted on a round. The next day I also struggled in vain… so when I explained I don’t enjoy shots of vodka they ordered ‘pivo’, and then to my horror proceeded to put salt in my beer! Needless to say I was then ordered to chug the salty beer down! I later met a dodgy character on my last day in Uzbekistan, who drunkenly drove off wearing my sunglasses, expecting me to simply ride on to the border. Luckily they weren’t worth much but I arrogantly demanded them back through the police, and hours later settled for a cash payment which was enough to purchase new ones in a Kyrgyz bazaar. Once again the effects of vodka were all but clear.

In Uzbekistan tourists are required to register at selected hotels within every 72 hours, or face heavy fines and/or deportation. It was very frustrating being forced to cycle over 100km into headwind in order to reach a hotel to ‘register’ with the Uzbekistan police. I soon adjusted to a routine of having to stay in families’ homes or camp for two nights, and then on the third evening reach a hotel to register with the police. I resented so much being forced to pay for a room when I could be out under the stars or having a much more authentic and meaningful experience within a villagers home! Frustratingly, at the Kyrgyzstan border the guards did not even ask to check my registration slips…

Despite having to deal with this ridiculous state bureaucracy, I found that individual policemen were always up for a chat…

In the Fergana Valley I was lucky enough to escape the heat and stay with some friends in their mountain retreat. Swimming in the river, getting flogged at Russia’s version of monopoly, and eating BBQs non-stop for three days was one of my favourite experiences in Uzbekistan… and all due to a random encounter at a Namangan internet café.

Over the past thousand kilometers I have been plagued by illness. Ever since travelling in India many years ago I get traveller’s diarrhoea each time I venture into Asia. The stomach cramps, loss of appetite, nausea and persistent runs make the riding a real struggle, especially when tackling those long ascents. One of my goals while here in Bishkek is finding re-hydration solutions in a chemist, but despite the runs I’m still very much enjoyed the ride through the fascinating remains of the Silk Road…

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