The previous night, there was another thunderstorm including strong winds and lightning. There was minimal hail and would of slept outside of the tent but could see the weather changing before sunset. Lightning frightens me just a smidgen, just hoping not to get hit as I’m next to the biggest chunk of steel within 5 kilometers and higher than the weather station heading back down into the plateau. Considering the weather, and a bit of cold nipping at my toes, I sleep fairly well. It was the eve of my 33rd birthday. Sleeping in, as I can hear a bit of rain speckle against my tent.
I step out from my tent and this is my view back down into the valley that I’m supposed to be on. Honestly I couldn’t have asked for a better campsite, a better place to recognize another year passing and the place to start with new.
As I stand looking down into the glorious plateau I see an Eagle flying overhead. He hovers above me for what seems like minutes and then swoops down. It’s as if he dancing for me. Watching him swoop and swing and flow through the sky, I see the similarities in the two of us. Two lonesome souls, enjoying the beauty of the mountains, the warmth of the sun, the emotion that comes when you really REALLY acknowledgement of living life the way you WANT to. There have been moments like these that I wish I had someone to share it with but today…the depth it sat with me, it would of been pointless to have someone around. I soaked in the moment, tracing the bird in the sky and knowing we are both lonesome hunters. Chasing while never having a predictable path; onlookers may see us as confused or lost at times but we are very aware of what we are searching for. (You can see a film on the Media page that includes footage from the Eagle.)
I ride down from the ridges to the weather station. The rain begins to blow in so I sit out under an awning for about an hour waiting out the wind and hail. Hail hurts, by the way. It hurts a lot when riding and I did it in Tibet and I avoid it if I can.
When I get down to the plateau and the route I was supposed to take, there is a valley of fresh streams and rolling hills. I don’t get very far until I hit the edge of storm clouds.
The storm passes and I move on…taking my time to not catch up with it again. The day turns into a gorgeous cool day with bright blue skies. The terrain switches up every now and again, and I continue having to cross streams and ice melt. Nothing major and keeps it exciting. There is a brief moment where I have some stones and rocks along some water but for the most part I have nice packed down jeep tracks. At times I can go nearly 35km/hour and it feels great. I watch my shirt flapping in the breeze by the looks of my shadow to my front right.
I pass a few groups of yurts, some wave and others just come out to hold down their dog. It’s been one of the best day of riding since the Tibetan plateau. At one point I pick up so much speed down a single track, I come to a dip in the track and slam my crotch up against the head tube when braking. I collapse to the ground moaning and groaning. If I had been a man I may have lost the whole unit; I can feel immediate swelling and know it’s going to be black and blue in just a few hours. No tears, just a lot of rolling around on my back with my hands holding onto my crotch.
I pass an abandoned shop and two dogs come out to greet me. Two big dogs…big hairy, shaggy shepherd type of dogs. They come right up to me, wagging their tails, and sniff all around me. There is no one around. We talk for a little while and I even bend over to pet them. This is the first! Dogs that want to hang out. With both dogs standing in front of me of the tracks, they turn around to look at me as if they are waiting to lead me. The two dogs lead me for a half a kilometer, one stops and the other leads me for another kilometer. He stops and goes to the side and I see that he watches me as I move along on my own.
Coming to a river crossing, that I don’t remember hearing about in my directions, I come to a dead standstill. The road on the other side is nearly non-existent with a steep incline and now questioning the entire route. It’s as if the tracks just stop to the water.
There is a yurt on my side with a woman gathering water from the river. I’m not sure if it’s even a river…but it’s high. I walk with the bike a quarter of a kilometer downstream in hopes to find a crossable area. I’m able to get across with the water skimming along the bottom of my panniers. If it had been much higher it wouldn’t have been possible. Most notable was the speed – nothing in comparison to what I would find in Tajikistan.
After crossing and getting to the other side, I push my bike up the steep bank and find one of the worst conditions of roads I have ever seen. It’s turned into loose gravel and nearly no trace of human travel. For the next 2 hours I have to push my bike up and up and up with more than often the road crumbling off ledges. I slip under the bike at least twice. I continue to take out my map and check because there is a river running to my left, to the North and it doesn’t seem to be following the road according to the map.
I’m really beginning to feel like I’m lost. Really. Honestly. The road continues to get higher, the sky darker, and the road is nearly nothing. I’m tired of slipping in the gravel and if there isn’t gravel the road has deep crevices where it’s beginning to erode and within a few years will be in the river rushing 40 meters below me.
There is the sense of panic beginning to take over me. I only have enough water for the evening and early morning. I pull over…I should just stop. I drop my bike down and look ahead, then behind, and I begin to cry hard with “Where the FUCK AM I?!?!?!?! WHAT THE FUCK AM I GOING TO DO?!?!” After 15 seconds I shake myself and remind myself, “Ellen, you are wasting valuable water, there is nothing you can do right now…get a grip, quit wasting water and energy…eat, go to bed, figure it out tomorrow.” This would be the first, and last time, I would weep for fear of being lost. Even when I was traversing through Tibet without a real map, I never had this feeling. There is something about mountains that freak me out a bit more than open plains and plateaus. Also, there is something very different between Tibetans and Kazakhs.
I would make camp here, as the photo is looking back from where I came from. The pasta I would make would end up being too salty and most of it chucked because of being inedible. Definitely one of the worst meals I have prepared myself during tour. Debating on drinking my water supply, I took most of it down except for a small liter. Hopefully, I would find something tomorrow and if not, I guess I could go back to the river crossing and collect more water.
Today was one hell of a day, a whole mixed bag of emotions. Welcome to the first day of 33, Moseman.
