Brooks Saddle Archives - Wander Cyclist | A Bicycle Adventure in Asia

16 Dec 2022

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist Posted in Brooks Saddle, Kyrgyzstan, Silk Road Mountain Race With No Comments Permalink

Silk Road Mountain Race 2022: The Preparation

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist On December 16, 2022 With No Comments

THE WHY

From 2010 to 2012, I rode my bike around China and Central Asia as a solo cyclist. I had ridden on a Brooks saddle, and since that initial adventure, Brooks England has reached out to me regarding writing for their publications and audience. These writings were about bike riding, fear, or empowerment as a woman. It’s challenging to find a single label for how I travel or what I do, as my endeavors involve adventure, human rights, women’s issues, and photography. I like to consider myself just a very curious troublemaker. The good kind, of course.

Self-portrait on the southern shores of Namucuo, the second-highest lake in the world. September 1, 2011 Tibetan Autonomous Region

Brooks England asked me to be the photographer for the inaugural Silk Road Mountain Race in Kyrgyzstan. As Bikepacking.com stated: “The Silk Road Mountain Race is a fixed route, unsupported, single-stage cycling race through the Tian Shan mountains of Kyrgyzstan. It will follow gravel, single and double track, and old soviet roads that have long been forgotten and fallen into disrepair.” It would be a 1000-mile race with 85,000 feet of climbing.

Irkeshtam Pass Kyrgyzstan April 1, 2012. A horrible blizzard would sweep through in just a few hours after this photo.

I toured through Central Asia in 2012, as I was ending that two-year-long bicycle tour. Kyrgyzstan, I knew NOTHING about bike races let alone ultra-endurance races. Besides needing my photography skills, I had a lot of experience with the people, culture, and lands of Central Asia. Therefore, I was given the task of dealing with logistics and supporting our expedition team which would consist of three other people.

When arriving at Shanghai Pudong airport to make the flight to Bishkek via Urumqi, I saw a couple of guys with bike bags. What are the chances that these guys are going to the race, I made an awkward introduction. One of the guys would end up being Jeff Liu of Factory Five and assisted in the route and race creation that year. Jeff would end up designing my titanium frame which would be a three-year-long build until I raced it last summer in Kyrgyzstan.

It had been six years since my last visit to Kyrgyzstan and felt like it had remained in a time capsule, especially compared to the rapid pace of life in China. It felt great to be back in Central Asia and in the cycling world. There was a part of me that felt like I was missing something, and that was my bike. But I had my crew. Cyril Chermin, Jay, and Nurjamal as our translator and fixer.

The four of us were given a Russian buhanka (van) to document the race while also serving as a support vehicle. “What happens stays in the van”. I could write up this story for pages but I’m here to tell you about my race experience last year. There were a few moments in 2018 that did motivate me to race one day.

There was the initial interview with Jay Petervary. I heard a hum and excitement about “JP”. I feigned that I knew, but really had no idea of the legend. As I was interviewing him, with off-the-cuff questions, I felt my mood mirror his and couldn’t quit matching his smile and enthusiasm. I understood his passion, drive, and wanderlust. “Wait, I’m kind of like this guy too. The good kind of “crazy”. You can see that film and interview here!

During the entire race, the Brooks England crew pondered over who would race in the future. From the start line, I saw that I belonged out there. As a long-distance touring cyclist, my brain is wired to find a pace and hold it. Also, my outdoor skills and years of adventuring around China as a solo woman had prepared me for nearly anything. I knew how to take care of myself in the most remote areas, acclimate to extreme temperatures and weather, and protect myself from the most unpredictable animal out there. The human.

Maybe it was because it was the first Silk Road Mountain Race, but I witnessed a lot of mistakes that could have been prevented by experience or just understanding the region. I’m not fast or strong, but my skills in remote regions and my ability to remain calm is my strong suit. Determined, resilient, tenacious, and highly competitive with myself.

At one of the checkpoints along the shores of Issy-Kul, Jeff Liu let me ride his bike around and holy shit, that was it. That was the moment I knew that one day I was going to race. The cold against my face, the heartbeat rising to deal with the altitude and freedom. The intense feeling of freedom.

The community was also a reason I wanted to race. I witnessed racers creating lifelong friendships with comradery and understanding that’s hard to find. Having lived in China, up to that point, for 10 years and all my solo travels, I longed for that. I wanted community. I wanted friends that “get it”. It seemed this exposure to ultra-racing would change my life like it has so many others. Even though I didn’t race, I still made friendships during that adventure I still have today.

I would take the titanium frame home from Shanghai just a few months before Covid changed all of our lives and trajectory. During January and February of 2020, I was in east Tibet working on a long-term photography project and would have to leave because the country was being shut down and I was getting stuck.

At a loss, again. I felt lost, again. A similar feeling to what instigated that two-year-long bicycle tour. I had lost my reasons, or at least I couldn’t return to the regions where they were. Everything I had worked towards and planned on was taken away while the entire trajectory of my life changed. I had planned to spend my future in Tibet.

Bike rides can fix that!

Because of delivering photographs, I had “met” a lot of racers from the first Silk Road. One amazing human was Jesse Blough. After communicating via Instagram about bike stuff, I would arrive in October of 2021 to participate in my first ultra, the Big Lonely. The race took place from Bend, Oregon, and would total around 300 miles.

I survived and finished. Including riding and hiking through the snow over the last mountain pass to pull up on the position. The woman I had passed during the night was Alissa. We spent some time riding together and got to chatting. We had a lot in common and it was super cool to meet someone from a similar background of riding, and age.

Of the 38 riders, 12 finished and 8 were women. An astonishing statistic along with 90% of the women that started, would finish.

That was another step to seeing if I wanted to pursue SRMR (Silk Road Mountain Race). The community is stellar and remains in contact with Jesse, fellow racers, and even Erich the event photographer. That race in Bend opened up more connections in the area, and when I struggled with my brakes a few days before SRMR 2022, Julia with Chariot Bike Shop in Bend and Erich sent a video helping me swap out my brake pads. I mean, seriously?! Bikes bring amazing people into my life.

The Big Lonely race 2021 Photo: Erich Weidenkeller

THE HOW

Training started in November before the application even went live for SRMR 2022. I trained until June when I would have to pack up the bike and make the final decision on gear. Training included A LOT of weightlifting and strengthening. I have a long list of injuries and for the first time, my back pain ceased. That one was picked up when trying to cross a river with my bike in Tajikistan. A daily reminder not to be stupid and be careful of water crossings.

There were also two weeks in Seattle during the middle of the winter where I was getting my NOLS Wilderness First Responder. I was determined not to be a liability while also being able to help others should they need it.

In January, I took a short bike trip out to Arizona with my partner, Nick. I tackled the Hangover bike trail in Sedona for the second time and left my ego at the top. Those Arizona double black diamonds will surely knock someone’s confidence off a ledge. That trip ended with me crying and swearing I was giving up bicycles forever.

During June I would spend a few weeks in Utah and Colorado riding singletrack on my full-suspension mountain bike with my brother.

“Lord of the Rings Shit”- Christopher Moseman

Chris and I tried to summit Mt. Elbert, a 14’er in Leadville Colorado but we hit snow so close to the top. It would have been both of the first 14’ers with a bike. I really wanted that first to be shared with him. We went to Camp Hale, where the Tibetans were trained in the early 1950s to fight against the People’s Liberation Army. Again, more snow but it was so special to be there and go up to the Kokomo Pass.

Kokomo Pass and praying for Tibetans all over the world.

Later I would venture down to southern Utah alone, climb and descend the Spinal Tap trail, and felt like my bike handling skills, and speed had drastically improved. Just a few months before I was going to sell all my bikes and just turn away. But mountain biking becomes more fun the more you shred and less hammer.

While out west, I was able to summit my first North American 14’er with my bike and plenty of pushing my bike through snow and up rocks. I also got to finally meet Lauren Brownlee for dinner. Although we both raced in the Big Lonely, we didn’t get to meet in person until last summer.

Leading up to then, I had done some shorter gravel rides, including a few days on the Rock Star gravel route in Virginia and sections of Sheltowee single-track trails with my partner. The Sheltowee is one of the gorgeous areas in the region, but the trails don’t see a lot of traffic. So, there were plenty of moments of hike a bike or wanting to sit down and sob out of frustration.

Brooks England had contacted me regarding gear sponsorship and as their SRMR ambassador. They had enjoyed my endeavors over the last decade and how I pursued a fulfilling life of adventure as a solo woman in Asia while balancing life and the mission of helping. They hadn’t had a female ambassador during one of their races and this would be the year. Because this would be my third time in the country, most people figured I would at least finish.

It felt like it was an excellent opportunity to give a different “voice” to the world of cycling and said, “yes”. For someone who has a career and mission not connected to bikes while being transparent with struggles that many of us can relate to, it felt like a good opportunity. “Bicycles saved my life” but also was the tool for me to find a more meaningful life with immense purpose. To find a route of servitude to others.

I’ve been around long enough to know that sponsorship will not make me rich and famous. I saw it as a potential platform to talk about important things to me and should be to any traveler. Especially those traveling slowly across foreign borders and living within different cultures and religions.

There had been plans to get out to Kyrgyzstan at least a month before the race, with the hope of finally riding the Pamir Highway in Tajikistan. In 2012, during my two yearlong tour, I arrived in the capital of Dushanbe with hopes of returning to China by the Pamir Highway. A few days into my route, and while I was close to dying in a river crossing, a civil war had broken out in the eastern regions, and the country closed its borders and the roads that would get me close to the China border.

Headed for the Pamirs. Tajikistan 2012 Photo: Chris-Alexandre

Yet again, the borders were closed because of unrest. Nothing new or surprising, and I would make do with routes through Kyrgyzstan.

After fine-tuning my “Baby Yak” for months with Jubal in Chillicothe, I arrived in Bishkek with my bike around 4 am on July 11^th. I returned to the Sakura Guesthouse, where I had stayed in 2012. I sat outside and waited about 2 hours for sunrise not to disrupt the hosts.

THE ARRIVAL

Once in the guesthouse jet lagged, I began tearing apart my luggage and putting my bike together. The excitement was real, and I couldn’t wait to ride my bike in Kyrgyzstan again after ten years!

It was also planned to meet with Nurjamal and her production team to do some videos for Brooks England. We were to start at 4:30 am the following day. We had stayed in touch since working together on the Brooks Media team in 2018 and when they requested some video footage, I couldn’t think of a better place and crew.

Introducing Baby Yak

My bike is called “Baby Yak” or pronounced “Yak chook” in Tibetan because it was initially built and developed for this SRMR and to ride around eastern Tibet, where I had traversed for the last decade. Both Tibetan and Central Asian, as well as Native American shamanistic beliefs, are strong on animal symbols that are referred to as totem animals or “power animals.” In Tibetan legend, wild yak is said to be “stars” living in heaven, and the yak is always imagined to be a safeguarding god.

If you enjoyed this, please consider buying me a moment to create.

05 Mar 2014

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist Posted in Brooks Saddle, Publication With 2 Comments Permalink

The Brooks Bugle 2014

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist On March 5, 2014 With 2 Comments

I have a bit of exciting news for all of you.

During the first week in Dhaka, as I was preparing for the adventure over the next 3 weeks, Brooks England requested I write an essay for their annual publication The Brooks Bugle. At a coffee shop, under a dupatta and snuggled into a bright batik shalwar kameez, I pecked out a piece that felt as if I released a part of my soul into the universe. It felt good to write, like this, again. It felt great to relive those experiences but at the same time reminding myself who I am and what I stand for.

The Brooks Bugle is a publication of 150,000 and distributed through shops, subscribers, and each saddle and bag sold throughout 2014 will include one. I’m so humbled by the response to this piece. It was almost 4 years ago I embarked on this physical journey, and it’s been an emotional one since.

I am not sponsored by Brooks and it was a delight and honor to be asked because of my previous accomplishments. I’ve added the text below this blog post to make it easier to read.

Currently going through these files from last month, I have a couple of stories that I feel are just incomplete. This is why I’m not sharing them publicly. Sitting here in awe of the people I shared life with in one of the most horrible conditions I’ve ever seen. I’m using all my possible resources to try and find funding to continue this very important work. I’ll be privately emailing folks soon, with a few limited edition prints available in hopes to raise funds to continue this work. This really gives me a punch in the pride, but I have limited options right now. There were so many of you that donated generously to my Kickstarter because you believed in the work I was doing, and this current body of work is equally important. There were so many of you that didn’t want a reward, you just wanted to see me succeed, you wanted to see the faces that meant something to me. My eye and technique has developed so much over the past few years and I feel like that the stories I am trying to tell need to be told. Humbly yours, forever – Moseman.

(Now we read the news about supposed terrorists looming through Xinjiang. There is no proof yet that Uyghurs were responsible but it’s already been publicized that they are at fault. You can bet I won’t be wearing headscarves around China any time soon.)

Meet Shabana. She’s an adolescent living in the slums of Dhaka. I went with her to her home where she showed me a photo of her future husband. When leaving Dhaka, I did not get to say goodbye to her because she now works in the garment industry. Her mother was a cook and cleaner where I was staying, so the message has been passed along that I will return and hopefully get to see her again. Shabana was my Bengali teacher for the first week in Bangladesh.

When talking to with young women, and recent brides, it’s not the arranged marriage that sits wrong with me. It’s not my place as a white Western woman to try and change the culture and tradition. What saddens me is that there is no support or therapy for these young women when they fall into depression and confusion after being put into a strange household, a young husband, and strange parent in laws.

There are nearly 3999 other images I want to share, but I chose this one because she’s a young lady I saw over a course of a few days and I have a bit of an emotional attachment to. She braided/plaited my hair horribly a few times, with me nearly falling asleep in her sweet arms when combing her fingers through my dry, ratty hair.

If you’d like to be taken off the mailing list as well, please don’t hesitate to email me at [email protected]. I’m a thick skinned gal and can handle it. Also I know how these days we are bombarded with emails.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————–

Text from The Brooks Bugle:

A horizon of 360 degrees, the most vivid and rich blue skies you only dream of and at times standing on my tippy toes thinking I might actually be able to pluck a cloud from the heavens. Days would pass with seeing exactly 2 buses and if I were lucky a few lorries and a half a dozen motorbikes pimped out with neon colors and a speaker loaded on the back pumping American hip hop. Washboard roads and sometimes jeep tracks that cut through the plateau in the general direction I think I want to traverse. Locals have lined stones along the edge of the roads in hopes to prevent the tourism industry loaded into Land Rovers from ruining this desolate, dry, arid, and vacant space.

My feet sore from walking, inspecting the soles being worn down in the heels and at times catching my feet dragging. The sun is boiling my skin and I have every millimeter covered except my face and the two top knuckles of my fingers. If I get out of the sun I freeze.

I have no detailed maps, just some crap tourist map of China, as I never had intent of crossing into the Tibetan Autonomous Region. My riding partner of six weeks, that I had randomly met in Litang, and I had a very heated, abrupt, and emotional break up in a the middle of a yak field days after crossing over. Along with the absence of maps there was also no fuel for my alcohol stove as we had come to rely on his gas burner. I would NEVER find myself to not be self sufficient again.

Every night in my camp, marking the weeks since I had a shower, I would examine my feet noticing they are turning more and more blueish. My fingernails are pulling away from the bed, my ears are constantly ringing along with the constant “thud” of my heartbeat felt within my ear canal and all over my head. Lying down in my tent with the inability to sleep, hungry, I wonder if this is what it feels to be buried alive. At times I genuinely feel like I am going insane and even avoid nomads because I do not want to alert them of the mad woman on a bicycle.

This was the time of my life. These weeks and the months leading up to it would mark a major transformation of who I was and who I am today. Realizing how damn insignificant I am in this world, as Eleanor, as a human, and how we all are at the complete mercy of nature. There is no fresh water on the plateau, hail storms can give you a twenty minute warning and beat the hell out of you. Snapping tent poles because of the cold wind blasting at you and there is no wind shield at 5400 meters. Pouring cold water into your instant noodles while you set up your bed for the night hoping they will be soft for consumption in a few minutes. I had to eat as my 6′ frame was already down to 53 kgs a few weeks before and I know it was probably much lower at this point. Looking at my hands I could see the veins, tendons, and bones protruding more than ever before. Catching a glimpse of my hip bones in the tent at night, sometimes I wondered how I even had any strength to carry on during the days. There was NO option.

I have never felt so free in my entire life. People ask if I was lonely these days and I honestly can say the fullness I carried in my heart kept me company every second. If I looked hard enough along the horizon I could spot a nomad and a young child…or a shepherd woman perched on a cliff watching over her flock of sheep. Finding a nomad gypsy camp and witnessing an outrageous Shaman ritual or spending the morning helping a family of 10 children prepare for a journey to a local market. Life is full of richness and fleeting moments of pure bliss, but you have to keep moving forward, keep taking risks, keep placing yourself out of your comfort zone to encounter these seconds that make up an entire journey…of life.

With no maps, fear of water supply, I must trust myself because I have no one to help me through this. When you stand on a slight rolling hill on the plateau and you can see hundreds of kilometers ahead with no site of human life, you have to convince yourself there is no other option but to go forward. I’m not going to lie. It was tough. It was one of the most emotionally demanding experiences of my life but I managed to enjoy every second of it too.

This part of my tour of 26,000 kilometers is one of a few where it was more than just cycling. It was about self discovery, learning lessons of life, and becoming an emotionally and mentally stronger person. Moments that are brought to mind to get me through the days, where I find myself back in society a little over a year after pausing my tour. I say “pause” because I will never feel that it has concluded.

I watch our society want, and at times, expect immediate gratification and results. Summiting passes sometimes takes days and a whole lot of patience. One reason I cycle alone is because I really enjoy the ride up. I probably take a lot more breaks on the roadside than most and where I can stare out into the beauty of the world and time seems to lose all meaning. There is nowhere to be, no one to meet, no agenda. I’ll get to the top when I’m ready…there is no rush for me and the hours spent on the side of the road thinking and having revelations about life that I will not remember to the next day is what a lot of my tour was about.

Now it’s very evident this is also how I approach life. At 34 my photography career is just beginning to be something I can call a profession and rely on it completely for income. I received my first camera at 14 and was accepted into a program at 19. As you can see, I’m not a kind of person that gives up and I remind myself it’s about developing a stable and reliable grounding. What person can summit a 5040meter pass without weeks of training leading up to it?

There are too often times we can’t foresee or predict the outcome from our actions. We must have faith that something ahead will peak out and our hopes and dreams will be exceeded. Holding a steady pace and carrying on while remaining to have hope will take us far. Expectations? I carry none. Adding that to a load varying between 60-80kgs at time could be very very hefty. I’d prefer to be surprised when I summit that mountain that lies distant within my site.

When I feel like life is just spiraling out of hand and the switchbacks never seem to cease I put myself back on the saddle and return to the mindset that got me through those years navigating around Asia. I continue to take risks, while trusting myself and knowing there are also millions of people in this world that would be more than happy to help you if they can. Reminding myself I am at the mercy of nature but it will be left up to my own strength and will power to survive, or rather, excel.

Life sure is like a very very long bicycle ride. I have no idea what the destination is but I sure am enjoying the journey…wherever it leads.

19 Jan 2012

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist Posted in Brooks Saddle, Lost, Nima, Photos, Scary Moments, Tibet, U-Tsang, Western China With 2 Comments Permalink

Near Nima, Tibet (U-Tsang) September 2011

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist On January 19, 2012 With 2 Comments

I heard a crack the day before while riding. The bike didn’t stop and didn’t really notice anything different – so I continued on.

The previous night I had stayed with a Tibetan family in a very very small village. This morning she filled my bottles with tea and sent me off with a plastic bag of tsampa!

A few hours of riding there was another loud “crack” and I immediately felt my new Brooks saddle change under my booty.

I had just thrown out my old Selle Italia saddle and replaced it with a beautiful double rail Brooks B72 in Xining. This gorgeous beauty only had about 1000km on.

Dismounting and without skipping a beat I look directly at the double rails of the saddle. Both broken…snapped right behind the saddle clamp. Shit.

Really? I’m literally in the middle of nowhere. YES. LITERALLY!

There is no point in shouting or crying and actually maintain a very cool and collected demeanor. Gently setting Nelly on her side, I step a meter back and think about this situation.

This is exactly the point where I set the bike down and what I also had to decide on – which road?

First things first. I take out the multi-tool and skootch the saddle forward so the jagged breaks are in the seat clamp. This will hopefully get me somewhere for a shitty weld. I’ll have to take my weight off the saddle while riding, especially over this terrain. It will prove to also be the noisiest saddle ever.

I plop down in the fork of the road, feeling a little proud of myself for resolving this problem so quickly and not a peep of frustration coming from me.

Looking ahead, which road should I take. Again, the only map I have is a horrible tourist map of China with only main roads shown. It doesn’t even have Chinese written on it.

After gulping down some tea…wait…does this tea make me even thirstier? What is with this Tibetan tea?…and eating some tsampa I stand up and examine the road to the right.

It heads into the hills. There is a good chance it actually heads more Northeast, where at this point I want Northwest. I walk about a quarter of a kilometer down the road, closely…CLOSELY…examining the path. How fresh do the tracks look? Are there jeep tracks or just motorcycle tracks? How is the gravel thrown about?

After looking down near 16,000km of tarmac, gravel roads, cow paths, fields, I feel extremely competent of road judging skills.

I walk off the road to cross to the road to the left. Ahead, I can see that the road is pretty damaged from ice melt run off. This part of the road becomes about 3 meters wide from automobiles and motorcycles veering off the road and even another road has been made to the left. Further beyond, the road seems to wrap to the West around some large stones.

This road shows slightly more signs of travel BUT I notice multipele sets, and obvious, jeep and truck tracks. Yes, this is the choice.

(I want to state that the Brooks saddle was repaired by Brooks for free. If you use a Brooks B72 you MUST use an old style seat post or a “seat sandwich”.)