Summer 2012

19 Aug 2012
Sticky Post By Posted in Kazakh Minority, Kazakhstan, Landscape Photography, Summer 2012 With 6 Comments Permalink

Kazakhstan May 16 2012

Sticky Post By On August 19, 2012 With 6 Comments

I wake up to Jalabad’s fishing friend knocking at the door at 5:30.

Already having been up for 30 minutes, after hearing Jalabad’s phone ring over and over, I roll my loaded bike up to the door and greet him.

He makes an attempt to wake Jalabad but neither of them stir, so there are no goodbyes.

We walk to the road and wait in front of a little shop.

The first bus has no room for the bike and bags.

The second bus does.

His friend instructs where I am to get off at. Balhash, approximately 130km North.

The Russian drivers instruct me to sit in the first row, behind the current driver.

Within a few minutes, the driver pulls out a cd case. I notice his hands, wearing some pretty metal driving gloves…mesh and leather. His balding head and some mean lookin’ sunglasses.

By the look of the cd cover, I’m expecting some Norwegian metal.

If you know me personally, you may know I have a bit of passion for metal. I’ve been away from home awhile, and anything small, even if it’s not the type of metal I would prefer…it brings a nice warm feeling of familiarity to me.

I sit in my seat…thinking, “wow, I’m riding a bus through the Kazakhstan Steppe, with my bike in luggage listening to some intense metal…life is crazy”.

When we arrive to Balhash, there is some confusion of where I’m trying to go.

They think I’m continuing on, so after unloading, they load me back up. I hand them my map in the bus and after about a half kilometer, they realize I need to be let off now. I’m given an offer for a free ride to Astana…but I politely decline. My bus ride was free and the driver introduces himself, then I, with a thank you over a hand shake.

In Balhash around noon and I try to get directions to try to get to a small “town” North of the lake. I ask one man and he gives me directions, not in English, in Russian…but I make do at this point and can understand.

As I head in the direction…he pulls up in a car and tells me there is no road and I need to go back to Almaty and then come up from the East side. Okay, this is possible…could be very possible.

I go to a shop to buy supplies and tell them where I’m going, to see about their response. They seem to be familiar with the name and just kind of nod a “yes” and smile.

I go to another shop to do the same test. Same response.

So I decide to head out.

There are no signs to the road and it leads North and then towards the East.

Friendly Russians pass me in their cars. One stopping and asking, “Adventure”? I respond with yes. He hands be a big bottle of “Kvas” and a cold Vitamin C and tells me, “gift”. Holy shit, thanks!

I continue on and soon I can see the lake and there is no traffic except some local vehicles.

There is a headwind and at one point it catches my toilet paper on the front rack and before I know it I have 4 meters of white TP trailing behind me. I jump off with a few choice swear words and salvage what I can.

Only 2 small villages and about every 20 meters some sort of shed/shack that has some electrical facility. There seems to be some areas for growing plants as well, perhaps 3 or 4. I’m now questioning if this is going to turn into a service road of sorts.

After about 24 kilometers into this crappy headwind I see some abandoned concrete apartment buildings and offices ahead.

I can see, and hear, some construction going on. Trucks loaded with concrete and I can see a few people in a shell of a 5 story concrete building. Appearing to be very Chinese, I can see that they are taking down the old bricks and stacking them to be reused.

With a little more pedaling, I can see that this appears to be an old Soviet military base/testing area. Continue a little further on the crumbling road…and then…pass the base…and then…AND…THEN…

…THIS…

Here the road would be considered in “great condition”.

The temperature is in the low 40’s (C), being swarmed by mosquitoes and flies, and…and…hundreds of empty vodka bottles.

I sit on the side, in the sand, sweating…and think about what I could be getting into.

No traffic, no people…oh wait…a massive olive green military truck passes with 2 Russians…no water (a salt water lake), possibly at least 5 days without water/food, headwind, empty vodka bottles: drunks?, eaten by mosquitoes and flies, LOTS AND LOTS OF SAND.

Okay, maybe that guy was right about no roads…be smart Ellen, turn back. Screw your pride, love your life.

I turn back.

I’m waved down by a couple truck drivers that are curious of what I’m doing and after stumbling over my broken Russian I move on. I’ve got a hell of a tailwind and I’m pedaling over 30km/h.

About 5km up a car comes up to me. A man and woman, Kazakh. They insist to come back to where they are working and they will drive me to town. I can stay at their home for the night. They look about my age and decent folks. I insist it’s not a problem, I can do this…but they are very very insistent on me spending time with them

They are at the old military base breaking down the walls and salvaging the bricks.

We have a bit of a picnic, with 2 other men that are working with them.

One is a bit older and he makes me laugh, the other is a sex pest in the making. Asking me for kisses…peering at me behind corners asking for more kisses. No dude, you aren’t getting any kisses.

So, after some work…and the older dude getting shit faced on vodka…we head back.

In the car, I’m in between both men and the older one on my left is really truck and accidentally grabs me a couple of times. As he is really excited to be talking to me. He means well…I just laugh.

The OTHER dude gives me that handshake with the wiggling middle finger in the palm. I pull away and look at him sternly and let him know I do not appreciate it at all. No more games with this shit…I’m tired of it.

We have to pull over to let oldie vomit.

Arriving to a classic Communist apartment block, we go inside.

Wow, it’s very nice and has really warm feeling about it. The couple’s son arrives and he can speak a little English.

We have dinner and then I retire to the room with the tv. Mr kissy is in there and asks me for a massage. “No.” or rather “nyet”. He begins to beg and I ignore him with my constant “nyet”.

He finally gives up and actually apologizes to me. It’s time for sleep.

02 Aug 2012
Sticky Post By Posted in Scary Moments, Summer 2012, Tajikistan, video With 14 Comments Permalink

Pamirs v2.0 – and a little about my bonehead move.

Sticky Post By On August 2, 2012 With 14 Comments

After my first attempt into the Pamirs, and a return to Dushanbe during the fighting…I will be going back out in 1 day…hopefully.

In the meantime, here is a little bit of what I’ve already gone through:

The 22nd, the day the KGB boss was killed and started the fighting…I pulled a bonehead move.

I came to a river. I knew Chris (a guy I had ridden with for 3 days) had crossed it so I figured I could too.

The second push in the brown muddy water, waves went over my front panniers and the tire wasn’t touching the bottom. I’m not sure how long this went on but the water was over my waist as I’m screaming trying to push the bike back up on the bank.

I was desperately trying to keep the bar bag above water – camera. There was a helicopter over me (because of the murder) and I’m hoping some of the miners will come to my rescue. There are a few men watching from the hill as I scream at the top of my lungs for help.

I think…I’m not really sure what happened or I tried to do, but I tried to take the bar bag off to throw on the bank but instead the bike is whipped and pushed on top of me and I’m taken down with water under my armpits, water rushing over my entire bike, and I’m carried nearly 2 meters before crashing against the stones. My bike is on top of me, I’m almost completely submerged. I think my adrenaline gave me a moment of superhuman strength…as my bike is pushed across my body, the current taking it further, I crawl out and pull my bike out too.

It’s a grey fog, I’m not sure how I got out, what actually happened…but I’m alive and the only thing I lost was the tupperware container full of food and my book. I remember seeing the bin go down the river followed by a book…as I was pulling the bike out. There were some pressed wildflowers from Kyrgyzstan I had planned on giving to my gramma.

Earlier that day, a boy had been launching rocks off the ledge at me as I tried to repair the snapped bolt on my racks. I had washed my hair, and my clothes…and now…I was soaking wet from muddy waters.

(The day before, at a homestay, an older Tajik woman had insisted I take a bath. I was naked in her tub, while she poured warm water over my body…she helping wash my back. Yeah…only this gal would have stories of spongebaths from new Tajik lady friends!)

A mining truck came down to take me across the flooded river. We loaded the wet gear into the truck and we crossed. The water going over the massive wheels. I’m holding on in the truck, thinking it’s about to tip over in certain areas.

At the top, I unload my bags to dry and let it all out…

Then a jeep of Russian mechanics drove me up a pass of massive rocks…Chris had to push his bike for 3 hours…the path was unrideable.

That evening, arriving at the following city, it was raining and too dark to continue on. I slept in an old outdoor bazaar, on top of the stall tables where the produce is usually sold. Up to this point, I had at least one pass a day, sometimes 2…and tomorrow I would be tackling a big boy…

I had to push my bike for 2 days up the pass from hell towards Kala-i Kumb…body bruised, cut, banged. Ego damaged…breaking into tears every now and again. It rained so the first day was pushing through a few cm’s of mud. Also, the screw on my seat tube was stripped so my saddle would slowly drop in.

At the end of the second day, some backpackers I had met in Samarkand stopped on the road to see if I was okay. As soon as Maria asked me, “Are you okay?”…tears started flowing. It had been the first person to express what had happened to me. Maria and Max tried to get me in their jeep and the next one to come along…but no room. I thanked them anyhow and they donated a bag of snacks and bread.

That evening I would stay with a family up the pass that owned a cafe. A French mountaineer would alert me of the current situation with the fighting and the rebels.

Chilling with Grandpa! He is wearing a traditional hat that the Uzbek minorities wear. There are a lot of Uzbeks, and Kyrgzy, that reside in Tajikistan.

Riding down the pass…a group of boys launched apple cores and rocks at me. 20 meters later a group of boys come up to me in the road trying to talk and then start throwing sticks and rocks at me….I go absolute ape shit. I leave my bike in the middle of the road, pick up the biggest rock I can and start screaming, “I’m going to bash you fucking skulls in you fucking mother fuckers!” and chase them down the street and begin down the steps through homes. EVERYONE comes out to the street and I’m explaining to the men what they had done. I climb onto my bike, tears streaming down my face to find myself in Kala-i Kumb.

I stayed there, along with 9 other cyclists…where 8 of us took cars back to the capital after 3 days of waiting out the fighting in the Pamirs.

Of course, a bike in a car always gets damaged. For the past few days I’ve been trying to repair a snapped plunger on my stove and my Brooks saddle looks like a dog chewed on it. All from a 10 hour car ride back to the capital, Dushanbe.

I’ve been able to find a replacement pump for the stove, a replacement screw for my seat tube, and my body is nearly healed. Let’s try this again!!!

There are rumors of what is going on. Some say borders are closed, cities are shut down, fighting continues. No one can get the story straight, or accurate.

I promise to come back to the beginning of this story…of the Pamirs…after the Pamirs….

See you on the other side!

30 Jul 2012
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Kazakhstan May 14, 15…Gone Fishin’ (Continued)

Sticky Post By On July 30, 2012 With No Comments

I wake up in the early morning and the couple is still sleeping.

Around 11 they wake up and Jalabad heads out.

I spend the day with the girl, as she does laundry and other stuff around the apartment. She tells me how she gets so bored at home and how here husband just leaves for the day.

We talk about possibly going to Astana. A tentative plan is to take a bus to Balhash, leave my bike at her gramma’s and then go to Astana for a few days. Why not?

My plans were to leave today, as Jalabad said he would drive me further. I’m getting a little impatient because I want to get back on the road and out of this depressing situation. Also, I don’t want massages offered to me with out the offer.

I do feel sorry for the wife, she seems so sad and in such an awful situation.

Around 3 Jalabad returns home with his fishing buddy and I say, “I have to leave.” They begin to show concern and telling me about “banditos”. And how I’ll get raped on the route to Balhash. They promise to get me on a bus the next morning. Okay, whatever…whatever.

Once I agree to this Jalabad and his friend step out, leaving me in front of the television with some movies. The wife telling me to nap. I take up the offer.

Later, she joins me in the living area to continue watching some Russian dubbed movie. The hilarious thing about Russian dubbed movies is there is the same man…just reading the script with no voice inflection – completely monotone. For men and women actors.

The electric goes out for a little while.

Eventually Jalabad returns home and he and I sit in the kitchen for a little while together. He explains to me that his wife is a little weird in the head, stating the age difference of about 48 years. He has been married previously, wife and kids living in Almaty. I’m not sure how accurate this translation is, but it seemed there may have been some documents preventing him from seeing them.

Again, we have boiled chicken, onions, and pasta. Of course, with white bread with mayo and ketchup on it.

I reside to the living room and they continue their evening marijuana smoking. Jalabad later shows me the “plants” he is trying to grow…and I have to break him the bad news but I don’t think that is marijuana.

Later, brushing my teeth, I bust the faucet and have to call them in, holding the tap. If I were to let go the water would spray straight to the ceiling. They both work on it and can’t fix it, but I arrive with some zip ties and the problem is solved.

Falling asleep around 10, I’m left undisturbed throughout the night.

11 Jul 2012
Sticky Post By Posted in Kazakhstan, Photography, Photos, Summer 2012 With 1 Comment Permalink

Kazakhstan May 14, 15…Gone Fishin

Sticky Post By On July 11, 2012 With 1 Comment

Breaking down camp well before 6 am, I pass through a small town. Picking up minimal supplies, like candy, along with some ice cream for breakfast.

It’s been close to a week since my last shower and I saw a gas station/truck stop that seemed to offer something of the sort. But, it either wasn’t open that early or just not open at all.

I ride through the barren steppe with a headwind until about 11 when a blue, 2 door Lada pulls up next to me.

There are two men in front, a bit older, and they are extremely friendly and waving at me. Asking me where I’m from and they are even happier to hear I’m an American. We wave goodbye and they move ahead.

They stop about 200 meters ahead.

I’m greeted by two men and an old tiny Kazakhstan flag. They seem so excited to meet me and so welcoming I can’t help smiling during the entire conversation.

He tells me they are going fishing in Lake Balhash and I am invited to come along. Them miming that I’ll throw my bike on the car and we’ll all go together. It’s only 11am but, if you’ve been following this journey for awhile now, you know I rarely turn down offers of any sort. Well, I do turn down the offers for sex…

One man tells me his wife is in the back of the car and this is the confirmation that I shouldn’t have too many problems.

He pops the trunk of the tiny 2 door Lada and there is a tiny girl sitting in the back with reflective aviator sunglasses on. We exchange “hellos”…she doesn’t look Kazakh or Russian, but she does appear to be very young. As she moves around in the area of the hatchback, for me to put my bags in the back, I catch a glimpse of her eyes behind the sunglasses.

Holy F*$K! What am I getting into?

Her eyes are nearly swollen shut and the skin dark purple. It’s the worst black eyes I’ve ever seen and I try not to look too much. I cringe from sympathy pains as I throw my bags into the back, being engulfed by the smell of fish.

They tell me to sit in the passenger seat by I insist on sitting in the back with the wife.

We head off the road and throw sand tracks within just a few minutes. I’m trying to settle my nerves, as I’m having flashbacks of the perverted police officer in the Gobi. Okay, these people aren’t intoxicated, friendly, and it’s daylight. I’m trying to make mental notes of the tracks just in case I have to make a run for it. We are heading East, further and further from the main road but I can keep my orientation by the power lines and the city to the South along the lake.

We pass wild horses through the sand, listening to Hip Hop being blasted through the Lada. I’m forced into the front seat, as a guest. The heater is also blasting on me.

At one point Jalabad, the driver, jumps out and then jumps back in with a small bouquet of wild flowers. For me? Yes. Okay, this is uncomfortable, what about your wife?

It’s about a 15 minute ride through the sand until we arrive at a tiny shack on the banks of a sparkling turquoise lake. We get out of the car and my senses are filled with the smell of salt and dried fish…and the sun beating down on me.

There is an old man at the shack and a very old aluminum boat.

The two men from the car and the wife begin preparing the boat. It’s slid off the trailer and we begin leaving the bank, the 4 of us.

My seat is an old 2×4 set across the front. The driver picks up speed and I’m bouncing all over the place, attempting to secure my camera.

We arrive to the first net in the middle of the lake. As the men begin pulling the net to grab the fish, the wife is in the back scooping out the water that leaks in.

The men toss fish from the front to the back, barely missing my head and hers.

We continue checking nets for about the next 2 hours. The leak is peaceful, and calm, and curious birds all along the way. There are fish I’d never seen before. I watch the wife, behind my sunglasses, sticking her finger in the eye of one of the fish. Not as cruelty, but I saw it as a curiosity, a playfulness.

The driver of the Lada and boat…the leader. His name is “Jalabad”.

Fishing partner and wife.

We come back in and dock the boat. There is a jeep there with one police officer and 2 other men. They are talking to the old man that lives in the fishing shack. The men from the boat join in and I can tell the conversation is about me.

The wife and I go sit in the Lada and wait for the men. As we are completely ignored. A giant bee flies into the car and startles her from her sleep. It’s hot in the sun…I want to go, I want to get out of the sun.

As we are speeding through the sand, I am invited for tea. I’m in the front seat, with the wife squeezed between us. Wife gets a smile across her face and she puts in extra effort with the invite to come to her home.

The first thought to my mind is, “If my presence will keep him from beating the shit out of her…well, I ‘ll go.” If she were to be punched a few more times, she would probably lose the eyeball. But, here I am making assumptions.

What I do notice is both eyes are black, the worst one being her right eye, and her husband is right handed…along with a big ring on it. She also has dozens of scratches all over her face and neck. This is just weird, men usually don’t beat and scratch women.

(I wish I could remember her name.)

After unloading the bike and gear, Jalabad leaves to get rid of the fish and I spend time with the wife. She makes me Nestle hot chocolate and adds a shit ton of extra sugar.

She walks into the kitchen with her hand covering her eye and signals to me not to look. I give a hand signal to dismiss, it’s not my business and I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable.

We sit in the kitchen, the apartment empty except for a few necessities. A new fridge, washer/dryer, and in the living room a bed, 2 chairs, a tv, and countless DVDs. Their bedroom closed off.

Within 15 minutes we are scribbling on paper and drawing photos to communicate. Also using a Russian English dictionary we are able to get simple questions and answers across. She had quit covering her eye and tells me it was Russian girls in Balhash. She is actually half Korean and half Russian, 20 years old and Jalabad is 46, his second marriage and has 2 children.

Jalabad returns home and we have dinner together. Boiled chicken, pasta, and onions…all boiled together. Of course with bread, topped with mayonaise and ketchup. Not my choice but my hosts insist it’s delicious…I’ll say differently.

They escort me to the living room, throw some awful American movie in the DVD player with a hilarious Russian overdub. It’s just a man translating the movie…he does it all…like reading from a script. I’m mostly entertained by the Russian Sprite commercials.

I’m under the impression I will be getting a ride tomorrow, so I settle in for the night and not think too much about my next step.

Jalabad and his wife are in the other room. Finally, I smell marijuana and realize they are getting high. Whatever, none of my business.

It’s getting very late and they enter the room. They have an idea and I’m pulled into the kitchen. Jalabad makes a sketch of me getting bathed by his wife. Um, no thanks…I can pour water over myself and don’t need creep fest 2012. I thank them for the offer, laughing, and say I’m okay.

I’m in bed half asleep, in the living room and I can hear the wife go to bed. Jalabad is switching off the lights and I’m very aware of what may happen next. I’m lying with my face to the wall and the lights are off. Within a few seconds, I have hands rubbing my legs…I turn over and see Jalabad kneeling at the foot of my bed and I kick him away simultaneously.

Damn Sex Pests, everywhere!

To be continued…

09 Jul 2012
Sticky Post By Posted in Kazakhstan, Photos, Summer 2012 With 3 Comments Permalink

Kazakhstan May 13 2012

Sticky Post By On July 9, 2012 With 3 Comments

I hit 20,000km around 10am, here.

The South East edge of lake Balhash around noon. It’s been baby animal season in Central Asia for the past few months.

I had had an early lunch in the town and had been passed by a motorcycle. It had honked at me while passing. Then as I was hunting down lunch, I had taken a double look because I could of sworn it was a woman.

After lunch I’m riding and she passes me and I see her braid hanging out the back of her helmet. God damn I want a motorbike…I bet she is one rad chick.

Nap time. I’m visited by a couple police officers to check on me…along with about a half a dozen of truck drivers and other randoms. I love the bus stops here, besides offering shade and somewhere to sleep, I get to enjoy some nice art and design…from one of my favorite art periods.

The day is spent pushing along the edge of the lake. I’m beginning to see shops on the side of the road selling “pыба” – fish. I can smell the salt from each little shack as I ride by. It’s a nice smoky flavor but I don’t stop to buy any because I’m not sure what standard prices are and I’m not sure how to store it in my bike bags.
There are some hills to the West of the lake that I push my bike behind for camp. It’s about a kilometer from a truck stop that I can see some people and trucks. The mosquitoes are gradually getting worse and worse and I have to constantly shake my whole body while setting up my tent to prevent getting eaten alive. There is no cooking in this area, unless the wind is strong or on the side of the road, where they don’t seem to be that bad. That’s the advantage to the wind of the Steppe, if it’s slight, it will keep the mosquitoes from swarming and there are nasty little flies that also like to go up my nose and in my ears.

06 Jul 2012
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Kazakhstan May 12 2012

Sticky Post By On July 6, 2012 With No Comments

I ride through a “town” in the late afternoon and take notice of the local wells. As I walk towards a pump, I ask a woman for some water. She takes my bottle in and fill it up. Riding further on, past all the buses, the trucks, and the truck drivers washing up from the well water…I stop to fill all my bottles up.
By the looks of the trucks and buses, I have a feeling this may be the last stop for awhile. I debate on eating but decide to continue on.

As I ride out of the truck stop, a big rig pulls over and the driver is filming me riding. He is smiling, waving, and encouraging me to continue riding past him. I do as the director says and he passes me later with a friendly honk.

An abandoned “kofe” on the outskirts of the truck stop…the only life I saw were donkeys hiding in the shade.

Within a few kilometers, I find myself in the Steppe. The headwind picks up just a little, but not too bad yet. But the lack of life…is…well…stunning. I’m beginning to question if I’m headed into a desert…AGAIN! As you know, I notoriously have problems with desert dwellers.

As I begin the final climb up onto the Steppe, it’s getting warm and I’m hungry. I think I can continue on without a bite to eat but I finally give in to resting in a bus stop and cooking some pasta. The wind has picked up and there is a small village about 3 kilometers away.

As I begin to set up my stove a car pulls up. There is a Russian driver and a Kazakh man in the back seat. The passenger stays in the car and we make small talk through the window. After the basics, he offers me a cigarette. No thanks. Then gum. He really wants me to have the gum.

He knows I’m preparing to cook something and the next thing that comes out the window is 1000 dollar note. Whoa!? Really? He’s very, very insistent I take it. I actually didn’t know how much it was until after he left because it was folded up and I just put it in my pocket. After 3 days in Kazakhstan, I have more money than I started with.

Then I’m offered his cell phone to call my mother in the US. I tell him she’s sleeping but thanks so much for the offer. He seems harmless enough, and his driver is pretty jovial. We continue to chit chat for a little longer then he goes on his way.

I have another visitor a little later and he’s just making sure I’m okay. He returns about 15 minutes later with an ice cold 1L Pepsi. He tells me that there is a “magazine” in town where I can get something to eat. I can’t be bothered. The Pepsi had been opened, with a sip. I try not to think about germs and enjoy my Pepsi with my hot pot of pasta.

The full stomach and wonderful kindness of strangers motivates me to continue up and over onto the Steppe. It’s still a little hot and the sun is beating down.

As I’m nearly up there, I see a truck driver give me a hand signal of a “snake”…a WW motion. Shit, I know exactly what this means…up and down up and down. And with a headwind, it means I’ll be putting in work even going down.

Near sunset I make it onto the Steppe. I’m in awe of how far I can see…am I seeing the curvature of the Earth?

I begin to hunt for camp and there is nothing to hide me from the road. I’m not really fearful of truck drivers as I have gotten encouragement from all of them. More smiles, thumbs up, and waves than China! These guys are fairly harmless.

I push off about 500 meters from the road and I am beginning to notice the mosquitos. My lazy self makes an attempt to sleep without the tent. After about an hour and near dark, I jump up choosing a few words to come out of my mouth and throw the tent up. Christ, the mosquitoes! …And it will only get worse.

This photo shows a curvature in the opposite direction because of lens distortion…and I’m limited with photo editing software right now.

04 Jul 2012
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Kazakhstan May 11 2012

Sticky Post By On July 4, 2012 With 4 Comments

One thing I love about Central Asia is the Soviet art work, found on the town signs and bus stops.

In retrospect, this little strip of restaurants, “kofe”s, and “magazines” will be the second to last stop before heading into the Steppe. Everyone is so friendly and waving to me. The wind is still strong and I can hear the aluminum roofs creaking and cracking. This family is very insistent on having my company, waving me over and inviting me for tea, naan, and “cmetana”. I can only stay for a short time as I have to try and make up time from the day before. After about a half an hour I say my thanks, show my gratitude, and move on.

I get back into a nice green area, little traffic, and the trees block the wind so it’s no problem.

1st flat, repair

2nd flat. . A wonderful babushka comes over to chat me up. She’s wonderful and I explain my problem. A shepherd comes over later and observes me, a nice fella.
Upon closer inspection I see I’ve blown out my first tire of tour. I was able to put about 12,000km on this tire, which is pretty damn good in my opinion. I’m wondering if the blizzard helped destroy it. I patch it with some duct tape, hoping it will work.
3rd flat, and I’m on the edge of the Steppe. I take shade and take care of the matter. I chuck the tube and the tire and put on my MTB 2.1 knobbies that I know will kill some of my progress. Trying not to think too much about and reassuring myself I can find a new one in Almaty.

Self-portrait after tire repair.

I pull off the road to make camp. No tent as the weather is great. I hear a shepherd whistling and a dog, so I stay still and hope they pass without seeing me. I begin to notice mosquitoes in the area, and it’s not too bad by wrapping myself up in my silk bag liner. “zzzZZzzz” “zzzZzzz” next to my ears.

02 Jul 2012
Sticky Post By Posted in Kazakhstan, Sex Pests, Summer 2012 With 2 Comments Permalink

Welcome to Ka Zak Kuh Stan May 10 2012

Sticky Post By On July 2, 2012 With 2 Comments

I’m writing this from a guesthouse in Samarkand, Uzbekistan. After having breakfast with 1 backpacker, 2 motorbike riders, and 2 other cyclists…we all used similar words to describe this country noted for it’s “hospitality”. Things like, “over-rated”, “disappointed”, “a waste of time”, “not worth it”. We aren’t really sure why everyone goes into Kazakhstan with hopes, and leaves shaking their heads. All cyclists and motorbike riders note on the friendliness of the Russians, which was so true for me as well…but for the “amazing hospitality of Kazakhs”…I didn’t find it so much nor have many other travelers. Okay, maybe I’m over exaggerating…I did have a lot of nice things happen when I’m on the side of the road and general friendliness…but NOTHING compared to Uzbekistan or other places I’ve traveled.

Who is in charge of this propaganda? As a solo woman, I would advise any other woman to be extremely, EXTREMELY cautious in this country. The Kazakhs will shit talk the Russians but I received nothing but friendliness and generosity from these minorities throughout the country. I always knew if I had problems, to just wave down a Russian truck driver or bus driver.

Granted…I did have some really great moments in Kazakhstan…and did meet a fair share of wonderful people.

Okay, so onto the first part of Kazakhstan, Bishkek to Balhash (to the North along the great Kazakh Steppe).

May 10
I leave Bishkek on the 10th and head for the border. I’ve decided to ride for a couple weeks as my generous host in Almaty is on vacation and thought to kill some time before heading to the city. It’s only about 15km to the border and the crossing is not a real problem at all. In retrospect, a breeze compared to Kazakhstan to Uzbekistan.
There is a Finnish family driving across, they work at the Embassy in Almaty. They even offer me a ride.

In my, “I’m tired of this shit” way, I am swarmed by truck drivers at the booth for my stamp and I give attitude to the a-hole that cuts in front of me. If you had found me 4 years ago in China, I would have been standing there for 5 hours letting people push ahead…but I don’t put up with that shit any longer.

The other drivers here my tone and English and insist I’m next. The basic questions come along…although not about children or husband. Just, “Where did I come from?” , “How many kilometers?” ,“Where am I going?”

As I begin to leave the station, I even get pats on the backs and signs/words of encouragement. I’m thinking, “Kazakhstan is going to be great.”

I’m not ripped off exchanging money either.

It’s not too hot and there seems to be a breeze. Within a few kilometers after passing the border I’m in flat countryside and I can see some mountain ranges in the far distance.
As soon as I begin to ride West I am hit with one of the worst side winds ever. I am reminded of the time in Inner Mongolia when I was riding with Jason. To test the force of the wind, he pee’d with his back to the wind and the stream must have nearly reached the other side of the road. This wind may even be worse. I can’t ride because it’s gusts and I’m being blown out into traffic. I get off to attempt to walk it and I can barely keep the bike upright and close to being blown over.

I’m beat so quickly and I pull over along some trees to see if I can wait it out.

A station wagon pulls over with one driver and no passengers. He offers to put the bike in the back, or something like that. No, I wave him off politely.

The car comes back about 10 minutes later with a passenger. The passenger exits and comes over to me and squats next to me.
Basic questions, name, husband, baby, country…

The wind is blowing strong and he is telling me that I have to be careful with the trees. Then he is saying something about his home. Okay? Am I being invited for a homestay? Then I catch him winking at the driver during this conversation. No, this isn’t going to work and I’m put on guard immediately. I may not understand the language but I understand men, I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday.
Then I have him wrapping his arms around me as if I’m cold from the wind, and it’s not concern…it’s just a basic sex pest that has some effed idea of me because I’m a white, Western/American woman, without a man around.

I push him off.

More winking to the driver and some stuff I don’t understand. I express over and over, now with impatience, that I don’t understand Russian and to speak English.

Then I have him shoving his hands up the back of my shirt. That’s enough. I push him off and get up. He continues speaking Russian and I continue with “I don’t understand, English!” Well, he manages to get some English out with screaming, “Sex Sex Sex!!!” at me.

It’s time to get out of there. There are no cordial goodbyes, he just gets in the car laughing with his buddy and they drive off to the town ahead.

I only make about 35km in Kazakhstan before I call it the day and decide to find a place to sleep. It will be impossible to set up my tent in this wind and I know the wind generally gets worse later in the day. So, I sleep in here.

There is a beautiful sunset as I can see the mountain ranges to the South. The unfortunate part about sleeping under the road is that there is a late wake-up call from the sun and I don’t realize that the next morning that the wind isn’t so bad because now I’m in a wind tunnel. On the road around 9:30, the view from my tunnel.

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Studio Address: Front Street Artist Studios

 

 

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