“Just choose one, Moseman…both will you lead you somewhere”. At a crossroads where I don’t have a legal permit to be, only 2 buses passing a day, 1 liter of water remaining, eating emergency food rations, and extended time at that altitude was causing horrendous physical effects, I was predicting my demise…you don’t have time to sit at a crossroads examining the paths to see which seems to show a history of more travel or kicking dirt around trying to forsee what will be at the end of each road. It’s not about the path we choose in life, it’s about making a choice and then cycling through with conviction, passion, dedication, free thought, and open heart. It’s not what route you choose that matters, it’s how you live through the journey that you felt was the “right”one at that moment. People say they are “lost”, no, they aren’t…they have chosen not to choose…they haven’t yet begun their journey. How can you be lost in life when you aren’t even living? This ain’t the gospel…just the inner-ramblings of a long-distance-lunatic-cyclist on a saga with skies in the eyes and a fiery heart that rules my journey.
Guess what ya’ll?! I’ve decided to hunker down in late winter/early spring to write the book. Yes…it’s ready to be spilled and chapters written that never graced this blog.
Hours spent sitting along the banks of Namucuo, the highest alpine lake on Earth, watching the current bring the most crystal clear water to my feet. Complete silence except for a single heartbeat, the pulsing of my own blood, and the water gently rolling and crashing to accompany the beat of my own rhythm. No one around for as far as eyes could see, small schools of fish coming to the surface, massive black ravens along the bank tending to themselves, and thousands of insects silently skimming across the lake. The waters and skies merging into one along the horizon, unable to differentiate between earth and the heavens. We are one and at the mercy of it all.
On January 21 2014 I board an airplane for Dhaka. From there I will be working on another self-funded project. During my off days of working I plan on doing some motorbike trips around the country on a local bike. At this present moment, I don’t want to give away too much information but the planning is in the works.
There is a new print listed on Etsy and all profits will help go to the funding of this trip. A perfect holiday gift for anyone that’s lived on the road, or needs inspiration for 2014. I just can’t bare to do another Kicstarter at this moment, or rather, save it for something I’ve got brewing up on the back burner.
Happy holidays everyone, and I hope to get the rest of the Uzbek writing completed as I anxiously await my new China Work Visa. It’s been a very consuming process. Special love and thanks to those that have helped me with it, whether mailing items or allowing me floor space to sleep as I had to exit China to resolve the matter. New strict regulations. I guess if it was easy to obtain, everyone would have one. And of course, why should I expect anything “easy” or simple, ever.
We get to the Exit Entry Bureau, I receive my passport and the boys get their stamps, a day before expiration.
It’s around 9:30 and we won’t be on the road until close to noon. Why? Let me share the story…
So, we have our stuff and we are ready to go. They wave us on and say something along of the lines of “go ride”. (Did you just hear the needle skip across the record too?)
No. This is not what is going to happen today. We begin discussing it through broken English and they tell us there are no empty trucks. Okay, I’ve lost my shit once before in China with authorities…it’s about to be my second.
In retrospect, it kind of weirded out the boys…and I DO NOT SUGGEST YOU DO THIS unless you’ve lived in China long enough to know the games. People always scream at each here, there is no shame…husband to wife, local to official…whatever. I know there is ALWAYS something that can be done.
I raise my voice, borderline shouting…okay, maybe I was shouting…in Chinese. Explaining how the guy up the mountains said we could get a ride back and now we are stuck. We didn’t know the rules, as they are new…blah blah blah…and then I storm out of the Bureau and let some tears roll down my face. A crying foreign girl usually helps the matter too.
The offer one bike to be put on the back of an unhitched big rig. No way in hell.
After 3 hours we finally paid a pick up truck to get us there. The officials even helped us get his price down. He wanted close to $150 USD but we got him a little under a $100. Those officials were trying their best to help us…and not to get ripped off.
Thank you Chinese officials…and foreigners…be careful when shouting at them. It’s a fine line and you really need to know what you are doing.
While loading the bikes in the back of the pick up truck, which is much safer than a truck…Lucas shows me something horrifying. His top tube had been against something in the truck and had been shaved away. As a member of the “Church of Steel”…I gasp looking at the aluminum shaved down. I drop the F bomb…dear god. It’s bad.
We are on the road by noon…we are racing the clock.
The roads are clear, considering we are ahead of all the trucks. The roads are still somewhat flooded and nearly a half dozen times all the passengers give a “Yae!!!” or “Whooo!” after successfully making the crossings. My jaw hurt from gritting so hard and the stress.
We make it to the border in about 4 hours. This is amazing. It was worth every penny.
I see my flirtatious buddy from the day before, but he’s not really as friendly as the previous day.
Riding through the border, I hit my 19,000th km. Of course this is an under approximation as my previous computer broke. I’m excited…this is my first ride over a border crossing. Exciting! There are a few border/passport checks and 7km later we are in Kyrgyzstan!
Black market exchange rate sucks.
Everything is muddy and slushy. It’s bleak. Trucks pulled over everywhere. Trailers spotted on the hillsides, selling SIM cards and food. We see a lot of snow ahead. A lot.
It’s going to be a short day of riding, with only a few hours left. We go on.
At Nura, about 3km from the border, all…let me say again…ALL the trucks are putting chains on their tires. They keep giving us hand signals of an “X” and pointing up to the pass. The tarmac still looks pretty damn good, and dry, and we just assume they don’t realize that we know what we are doing.
Ha! (Take note because we will be back in Nura in 3 days).
Within just a few kilometers this is our road conditions.
We are going up a mountain and I lose site of the boys around the corners. At a straight away, the traffic has been backed up. No traffic can pass. But what worries me is the boys are on the side of the road, bikes thrown over the ice walls, talking to locals. I see them looking at the bikes. Shit, what’s happened.
I push up and Lucas’ front left pannier had been ripped off by a passing truck. The truck did not stop. It’s just the clips that have been ripped. The brain child I am…I give them zip ties later to make the repairs and share the knowledge with them that these pieces can be ordered off the Ortlieb site. Yeah…German engineering.
We make it up the first tiny mountain and decide to call it the day. The sun is setting and we just want to set up camp. I boil up the water for noodles and the day is done, in Kyrgyzstan. With only one shitty thing happening today.
Day 6: Kashgar to Sary-Tash (w/NESW by Bike) – March 30 2012 May 4th, 2012WanderCyclist
We wake up fairly well rested and in good spirits. Lucas demonstrates a skill I would NEVER do. Running my bag along a filthy “lu-guan” floor. No way. Notice the socks on the stove. Imagine the smell. Lucas…you smell! But I still love you guys.
Packed up and we ride a quarter of kilometer to the border crossing. We are waved in. Everything from this point…begins to fall apart.
Guard: Where are your Exit stamps?
Us: That’s what we are here for.
Guard looks over the Passports, gives a big sigh, sits back in his chair. Crosses his arms…looks at his with disappointment.
Guard: You have broken Chinese law, the fine is 1000 Euros.
This is said with a stone cold face. The three of us look at each other, dumbfounded…and with a twinkle of fear in our eyes.
Guard: I’m just joking.
After some phone calls we are told that we were supposed to get our Exit stamp in Wuqia, 160km BACK! What?! We didn’t know this. Of course we didn’t…it’s been new since January 2012.
There is some begging and pleading. Please, is there anything we can do. There is nothing. They are border control, they can not do anything in regards to the Exit Entry Bureau.
We are instructed to take our bikes and bags back to Wuqia. We ask if we can leave the bikes/bags there and just go without. He says, “no, everything must be inspected.”
He tells me that we can take a truck back to town.
Me: But how are we to get back. All the trucks will be full.
Guard: No, there will be plenty of empty trucks. There will be some. I have called them and they are waiting your arrival.
Oh, on top of this. It’s Thursday morning. The border is closed on weekends and will be closing EARLY ON FRIDAY because of a holiday. We literally have 24 hours to get there, get back, and get through. Because of the road conditions, it takes a truck a full day to cover this mileage.
I put my bike in the back of the truck with a Han driver. There is no where to tie it to, nothing. In the center of the truck there is about a meter drop where additional things can be stored. The driver is rushing me and I set my bike on it’s side, fully loaded. Hoping the weight will keep it still. BUT, if the bike were to slide a meter it will drop into this pit…and probably…just probably…end my ride. I take a deep breath, say my “oh mani padme hum” and jump out.
The trick to loading a bike in a big rig, is to get it as close to the front as possible. The back of the truck bounces around too much. Two memorable times of hitching with Brandon was once in a dump truck. Dear god, poor Guy sat in the back holding onto both bikes. I swore he must of lost a 1/4 of his hearing. The second time was going into TAR…and the bikes were strapped on top of a mountain of coal. Yes. A massive truck of coal.
So I head into town first…screaming at the boys out the window “load it as close to the front as possible!”
We don’t have a meeting place set except the Exit Entry Bureau. We have no cell phone contact.
It’s early so the roads are dry and not yet washed out. My driver is a pain in the ass and realizes I can speak Mandarin. Then he talks about money…then I pretend not to speak Chinese.
His partner breaks down and we pull over. I’ve been clenching my teeth the entire time thinking over and over in my head how much my bike has slid around.
I get out and demand to get in the back. He waves me away as he works on his cronies truck.
Driver: It’s nothing, it’s okay.
Me: No! I want to look at.
Driver: Oh it’s nothing. It’s nothing.
Me: NO!!!! If my bike falls into that it’s broken. Mei banfa!!! (Which translates to “no method”).
He huffs and puffs and walks around back and opens the truck…we gasp simultaneously.
The bike has slid all the way to the back and bottles and my fuel tank for my stove are everywhere.
Shit.
He goes back to work and I unload my bags and set them in the drop for cushioning. Then I lie the bike on top and use my bungees to strap her in nice and snug. If he hadn’t stop and I hadn’t demanded…I would of been…it would of been over.
I get to the Exit Entry Bureau in about 6 hours. I get my stamp. I’m looking at my Entry and Exit stamp. It’s been 366 days since entering China. I think it’s time for me to get out.
They know I’m waiting for the guys and I sit inside for about 2 hours chatting up the officials. They all speak near perfect Mandarin, which is a nice change after not being able to speak Uyghur.
The Bureau closes. I wait outside. The sunsets…I wait more for the boys. I haven’t seen any trucks come down and so I assume there must be bad road conditions. What am I to do. I sit and wait until nearly 9:30 and then ride to town.
I go back to the restaurant we all ate at and try to eat slowly. But I’m starving.
Return outside and I sit on the curb near the restaurant. If those boys have any sense…they’ll come here.
Nearly 11 pm and I hear my name being shouted with a beautiful French accent. We are reunited with smiles on our faces and breaths of relief.
The boys eat their dinner and we head to a hotel. I’m able to haggle the price down based on the condition of the room. Wuqia is another place where foreigners have a real difficult time finding a place to stay. I also have the boys use their id’s because the Bureau is holding onto my Passport because I have an Exit stamp but still in China.
We have showers, complain about not having internet, yet excited we may actually make it to Kyrgyzstan the next day.
*Please scroll down about 6 entries to find the information on Exit/Entry of China via this crossing.
Day 5: Kashgar to Sary-Tash (w/NESW by Bike) – March 29 2012 May 2nd, 2012WanderCyclist
March 28th 2012 – PLEASE NOTE THE DATE AND THESE POSTS ARE OF THE PAST.
Good Morning!
The day starts off well. Matt is feeling better and the roads are still paved, for a little while. The weather gets pretty damn warm during the day too.
We stop for lunch on the side of a little river. I, “Auntie”, cooks for the group. That’s the woman’s job, right? After eating we have a delightful visitor.
In just a few kilometers we will lose tarmac…this will be just the very (easy) beginning to a horrific ending.
Traffic
Later in the day, the ice melt causes all the roads to become mud. Thick, slushy mud. We are either pushing our bikes through 4cm of mud or slipping on snow and ice. As the sun begins to set, we know we are going to have everything freezing back on us.
The descent into the border town. Roads here are in exceptional condition. The boys bikes are caked with mud, mine not so. Thank you Soma Saga…I love you.
We make it to the border right before sunset. Kyrgyzstan! Tomorrow…or so we think…
The border town is shit. There is no where to buy supplies. We all decided to go to bed after finding some naan to eat. Nothing wrong with a little hunger, knowing we are out of China tomorrow…again, or so we think.
Sleep well, as the room is flooded with the smell of wet socks and boots. Damn it Lucas…I wish you had done laundry…Bangkok to Bishkek without a single piece laundered. You stink!
*If you enjoy reading and looking at my photos, I hope you’ll take a moment to view my Kickstarter campaign. If you can’t pledge, I understand…perhaps just spread the word. I, and all the people I photograph and speak with, thank you.
We had to end early on Day 2 because Matt had fallen through the snow and had soaking wet feet. The road was flooded out and all bikes had to be pushed off road through about 2′ of snow. Matt going first, he fell into the water under and Lucas and I managed to just take a little dip.
Saving time and reserving some warmth in the tent, we all cuddled up in the boys tents. Oh god, the smell…never, in my life. We didn’t sleep very well…sardines in a cold stinky can.
But then morning arrives…
Poor Matt, is still ill. The boys spent a half an hour digging the stakes out of the ground and I spent the time digging my poor stove out of the frozen sand. Sucked.
This will be the last of tarmac…for a very very very long time.
We head on and it’s freezing. All the water from the day before is frozen. I cross the ice first, bust my…um…lady parts on my top tube. I alert the boys to what I’ve done…after I crawl out from under my bike and across the ice.
Then…not 15 minutes later as I’m pushing across some more ice, I slip and smack down on both knees. I’ll feel that for days…more like a week. ‘F you ice!
Turned out the be the wrong way, so we are fortunate enough to turn around and go back over the ice. This time I don’t bust my vah-gine.
My favorite part of the day…break time. And look at me…showing off my Spanish skills! Oh, sister…paleeeeeeeeeeese…shut up! I’m eating these jelly orange slices (candy) that Brandon and I were addicted to last summer. The brothers didn’t love them as much as I (and Brandon) do.
We finish up the day having good fun.
Then trying to find supplies in this shit hole of a town. Where this local tries to rip us off letting us sleep in his extra room. Instead, we go back to the restaurant for an extra bowl of noodles and set up camp in the dark on the the outskirts of town.
Riding solo has advantages, so does as a team. I work more when I’m solo…I laugh more when I’m with others. Perhaps stay a bit more sane with company too.
Day 3: Kashgar to Sary-Tash (with NESW by Bike) April 28th, 2012WanderCyclist
March 24 2012
Our dinner together, in Kashgar Xinjiang, as the next morning “Team Windbraker Carrots” would be leaving for Kyrgyzstan.
This gives you a view of a traditional tea house in Kashgar and along the Silk Road. When I’m traveling by myself, it can be very uncomfortable walking into a restaurant of 20+ men and there I am…a solo foreign woman walking in. Talk about making the record skip…it sends the damn vinyl off the turntable into the wall.
“Everybody’s Watching.” April 11th, 2012WanderCyclist
March 24 2012
Our dinner together, in Kashgar Xinjiang, as the next morning “Team Windbraker Carrots” would be leaving for Kyrgyzstan.
This gives you a view of a traditional tea house in Kashgar and along the Silk Road. When I’m traveling by myself, it can be very uncomfortable walking into a restaurant of 20+ men and there I am…a solo foreign woman walking in. Talk about making the record skip…it sends the damn vinyl off the turntable into the wall.
“Everybody’s Watching.” April 11th, 2012WanderCyclist
