travel 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.

27 Oct 2014

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist Posted in Tibet Walk 2014 With 2 Comments Permalink

4-year old Tibetan girl sings me a song with a little dance.

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist On October 27, 2014 With 2 Comments

It had been 9 days since a signal on my phone and I had just completed a trek onto the plateau and was without food and water for 36 hours. This was a safe place to be, a “xiaomaibu”, which is basically a convenient store. The owner, and her father, told me to stay the night there. After the most delicious bowl of instant noodles and some water this little girl and I were playing non-stop for a few hours. We sat outside on a pile of dirt with her teddy bears having “tea time”. She climbed on top of massive bushes for me where I then had to clean the prickly things out of her shoes. I got countless hugs and snuggles and even a couple of kisses. In the morning she taught me how to eat my Tibetan fried dough in the tea, correctly.

Her father kept telling her I didn’t understand what she said, but the two of us made do and I had a glorious evening with an angel that dwells on the roof of the world.

10 Aug 2014

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist Posted in China, Gettin' Lost, I don't give up - EVER!, Inner Ramblings, Landscape Photography, Lost, Photography, Photos, Scary Moments, Solitude, Soma Saga, Tibet, U-Tsang, Western China With 2 Comments Permalink

Choose to live.

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist On August 10, 2014 With 2 Comments

“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.

31 Jul 2014

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist Posted in Inner Ramblings With 2 Comments Permalink

A Revolution

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist On July 31, 2014 With 2 Comments

Modern day society has no place for those of us who have no desire to be leaders and refuse to be simply led. There are a few places left on this earth that allows us curious wanderers and rejects of the world to be free and live anonymously to learn and develop our true self and accept one’s purest form of identity. We can only have one perfect relationship in life, and that’s with ourself, once we’ve learn to accept and love all our imperfections. Not enough love in the world these days, folks…to all my fellow loners, misfits, and dreamers…it’s time for a revolution of consciousness.

I turned 35 last month…I started my journey a month shy of being 31, as I was still 30…which is also a very special year.

Taken from http://thezodiac.com/jungnutshell.htm

Second Half Of The Journey
Then, around the age of 35, we slowly begin experiencing a subtle, but nagging sense of restlessness and unease. By now, our psychic basements, that Jung called “the shadow,” are stuffed pretty full and the contents of our neglected basements are now starting to demand a wee bit of our attention.

If we continue ignoring the pleas of our psychic basements – then, our basements have a tendency to get musty and nasty.

So then, between the ages of 35-45, we typically experience what’s called the “midlife crisis.” Symptoms of the midlife crisis are that we have grown tired, listless, and restless. We wonder if “this” is all that life is about.

If all goes well (and that’s a big if) during our midlife crisis, we then spend the rest of our lives on a new journey of “growing down” and reclaiming all the valuable stuff that we’d previously hidden away in the deepest part of our psychic basements.

Jung: “When the king grows old and needs renewing, a kind of planetary bath is instituted – a bath into which all the planets pour their ‘influences.’ This expresses the idea that the ‘dominant,’ grown feeble with age, needs the support and influence of those subsidiary lights to fortify and renew it.” from the “Mysterium Coniuntionis” CW 14, C.G. Jung

Yep! “The soul is its own source of unfolding.” It really is simple, you know.

Also from Heraclitus: “You will not find the boundaries of soul by traveling in any direction, so deep is the measure of it.”

14 Apr 2014

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist Posted in Book, Photography, Photos, Tibet, Tibetan Portraits, Uyghur Portraits, Western China, Xinjiang With 4 Comments Permalink

Tibet and Xinjiang

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist On April 14, 2014 With 4 Comments

Until Friday, April 18th 2014, I am making a newly published eBook available for free! It’s an electronic version of “Life on the Tibetan Plateau”. This e-version has an added bonus of the text that was printed in the Brooks Bugle.

You can download from here: Life on the Tibetan Plateau

Also, last week a collection of 139 Uyghur photographs were published into an eBook as well. You can download by visiting: Uyghur

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.

23 Dec 2013

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist Posted in Central Asia, Photography, Photos, Photos of Bike, Photos of Eleanor, Uzbekistan With 8 Comments Permalink

Uzbekistan, Part 2: Tashkent to Nurata (June 13th-June 18th 2012)

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist On December 23, 2013 With 8 Comments

I could of bee lined straight to Samarkand but I decided to head to Bukhara via the Nurata mountains. After researching online, it seemed there were some guesthouses along the small road to the south of the lake that were noted on a tourist site.

Uzbekistan is getting HOT and this is the time I notice I have difficulties photographing in this intense lighting. It hasn’t been like this since Tibet, yet I’m always feeling like I’m melting. After looking through these photos a near year and half later, my face looks like a lobster. Even with sunscreen and a hat there was no way to avoid it.

On June 13th I would leave Tashkent. (I’m going to zip through a lot of this as my memories are fading fast and I don’t believe I was journaling much more these days).

There was nothing exceptional the first day except getting out of the city and traffic. Uzbekistan is full of police checkpoints, I believe more so than Kyrgyzstan. The day begins to end and I’ve found myself on a somewhat quiet and easy road. I spot a cafe behind some trees and it looks fairly empty. It’s a little early for dinner but I just figure I’ll eat and then head on to find a place to camp for the evening. Although I’m still on the outskirts of the city, I’m a little worried about finding a good spot.

I roll into the cafe and there is an older man and woman, that my assumption is they are the owners. I’m correct and they wave me over to sit anywhere I’d like sit. I take a seat at a table and I’m served naan, tea, and I don’t remember what my meal was. Eating slowly, I notice there a few other young women working there that take some curiosity of me and the men ignore me or leave me be. It feels comfortable and safe.

When I pay the check they ask me where I will be sleeping. Of course I tell them I don’t know and I have a tent. They tell me no, and that I will be sleeping inside the cafe tonight. I leave my bike outside, take my expensive items inside and sit at the kitchen table with 3 women. We try to make small talk as they prepare food for the guests. The cafe becomes fairly busy and as the sun sets I’m shown to my own room where I’ll be sleeping. As I make myself comfortable, after bringing my bike inside, I’m served a bowl of plov, naan, and water. It’s a bit of a noisy evening as I can hear chatter outside into the early morning but it’s still a comfortable sleep. Because my bike is not in my room, there is always a bit of paranoia looming over me because it’s not in my site. I just go with it…

I would head out right after sunrise and I waved goodbye to a woman doing the early morning sweeping. It’s already getting warm and I can remember almost exactly how that rising sunshine felt on me that morning.

Continuing on I would get slightly lost on the 14th. I had entered a city and trying to follow the map to skim along the Kazakhstan border and get closer to the Nurata mountains.

At noon I remember getting so hot and pulling over for a cold liter of Coca Cola. I believe I visited nearly 2 shops before finding one that was ice cold. Pulling over to the side of the road in the shade I would drink it down while applying sunscreen and eating some peanut butter on naan. After about an hour of putzing around I tried to find this small road. It turned into a single lane and all of a sudden it felt like I was pedaling over sand. Is my tire flat?…

I’m under the blazing sun, no clouds in sight, and there are grain and cotton fields stretching kilometers in all directions. There are some homes but everyone has taken cover out the sun. To check my tires I set my foot down and I feel it sink into the tarmac…you have got to be kidding me!? I’m riding on melting roads.

After making a half a dozen attempts to find this small road to the mountains, I turn around losing 30 kms and a lot of energy. It could just be looping and I’m not sure where this is going so I head back and just stay on a main route.

Exiting the city I pass by some vacant buildings and a bazaar.

I am on a pretty secluded road at this point and a little concerned where I actually am. Maybe my map reading skills aren’t that exceptional…although I do pretty well in China. Maybe it’s not so much as “wander cyclist” as it is some other form. Honestly, I just kind of go in the general direction I’m supposed to be going and I’ll figure out on the way. Perhaps it’s mostly because I hate planning, it’s the most boring part I think. I don’t like reading websites, tourist books, any of that. I just have a general goal and I enjoy figuring it out in the moment. Ooops, have I let a secret out?

It seems Uzbekistan is going to be the country where I try to find shade constantly. Whenever I see an opportunity after cycling for an hour. I take it. I lied down in this grass for nearly 3 hours with maybe a half dozen cars passing me. I’m not sure what I contemplated, speculated, or dreamed about…but I’m pretty sure it was good. I still clearly remember that spot and the sound the water made in the canal.

After that refreshing lounge I stop to get some biscuits and some water. Sitting in a bus stop next to a police checkpoint, I have some visitors. A friendly bunch, seemingly innocent enough. The little English they can speak, and the little Russian I can…we have a good time.

At sunset I would roll into a cafe, more like a truck stop, and hang out with these amazing people. I was also given a place to sleep.

Now it’s the morning of June 15th. Just after a few hours of riding on a barely two lane country road it’s break time. This sun and heat is killing me or it’s because of all the time off I had in Kazakhstan…or maybe…I’m close to hitting the end of my tour. I think a lot are playing a part here. I’m not really sure what was going through my head around these days but I’m pretty sure it all stemmed from ending my wedding engagement that previous January and finalizing the break up between he and I in April after the Kyrgyzstan blizzard. There were times I would have tears rolling down my face while riding…hell, 2 years later I still had to hold back a few tears walking the streets here in Shanghai. When I tell people I burned my life to the ground and I’m currently rebuilding, I really mean it. There are no regrets, but…well, on with the story.

And then I stop for some naan…of course…my tour was all about photography, sitting on the side of the road thinking about life, and eating.

I load up on supplies in this town as I’m almost on the small road that skirts along the northern edge of the Nurata mountains.

I’m drinking more water than I can carry. I can’t keep up. Through these villages I see everyone carrying either empty buckets or buckets of water. Is it so hot that everyone walks around with a bucket of water to carry? Am I absolutely insane for being out here right now. I’m getting concerned about water so I pull into a village and look for water. Someone points me down a village road and I come home to a well, without a cover.

Peering down, it’s about a meter drop in and I’m trying to figure out how to do this. An older woman approaches me and I ask her how to get the water. She gives me a slight smile and moves along and jumps right in the hole. Asks for my water bottles and fills them up. She smiles as she hands me each bottle. Wow…did I really just witness this woman half my height and twice my age just pull a total Teenage Mutant Ninja move…I was humored for the remainder of the day with that site.

Stopping for ice cream a couple hours later I meet this fella that can speak some English. We sit on the stoop and I buy another ice cream and talk with him for about an hour. He says he’s never seen any other foreigners along this road and it’s summer vacation for him right now. I believe the store keeper was his uncle and his family urged him out of the house to practice his English. In retrospect, he reminds me of my dear Uyghur “brother” Akbar in Korla.

As I finally see the edge of the Nurata mountains I see a watering station where a few trucks are pulling over to. A driver turns the water on in this massive concrete structure and there are 2 faucets on both sides. The men are drinking the water…so I fill up one bottle with the water to use to cook. I also use this opportunity to wash my face, hands, and feet. The salt is caking my shirt stiff.

Heading west, the sun is beginning to set and there is no one or anything in site. I eventually see these lines of trees heading off the road and into the mountains. I imagine there must be some sort of irrigation for these trees to be in the middle of the desert. As I get closer I see homes.

I eventually reach where a few dirt tracks are heading south into the mountains and the lake is to the north. There is a woman holding a baby on the left side of the road speaking to a man on the right side. There are some children around her and I see about a dozen women along a small pond doing laundry, chatting, and drinking a white liquid out of bowls.

Slowing down to see what the opportunities are here but also playing it cool, I stop to take off my sunglasses and put on my eyeglasses. The woman approaches me urgently with a smile and hands me a bowl of the white stuff. It’s cool, it tastes like milk but with maybe some sort of herbs I can’t differentiate from. I’m not a culinary expert but it’s some sort of chilled dairy drink that’s absolutely delicious. She gives me another with a smile. The women are all laughing and talking louder and hooting at us.

They ask me the basic questions and within a few minutes I’m walking along a broken gravel path to her home to stay the night.

We eat, we talk, we watch a little television in the main room. There is about a dozen of us and one younger man brings back a bag of ice cream for all of us. The food was delicious and after every meal like this all I can do is try to prevent myself from passing out. I answer their questions the best to my ability and I’m in awe of the family unit. The main woman explains to me who everyone is and how they are related. I believe her husband is a professor in Tashkent. Her small child is ill, it seems to running a fever. There were a few moments when all the eyes were on me because the infant really to a liking to me. All smiles and she even held my hand at one point.

Yes, it melted my heart a little. Going months, years, without intimate moments it’s these fleeting seconds that remind me of who I really am. At 34 I’m not really sold on the idea of motherhood for myself, but I remember Uzbekistan had a very lasting impression on me. All the women and children; it was there I realized that if I were to have children, it was going to be like these women out here. Their children never lead their sides and they all take care of each others offspring when in need. Of course all mothers love their children…but there was something different in Uzbekistan. Perhaps it’s the difficult environment, many fathers are absent because of work, and the fact these women are working throughout the day taking care of the home…and at least a couple of children.

I can’t remember her name exactly but it was something like Magdelene, but it is written in a notebook at home in the States. She lived in this large home with her father, her brother and his wife, and the children. Her mother had died a few years before as she showed me her portrait hanging in one of the rooms.

She signaled to me it was time for bed and we exited the home. The two children and she began to prepare the bed outside. Oh my goodness…you can’t believe my excitement of sleeping on this platform bed in a warm Uzbekistan desert night and staring straight up into the heavens. If you’ve ever been in the desert, or out of a city at night, you have a 360 degree horizon of star speckled black’ness. It’s one of the things in life I live for.

I sleep on the edge next to my bike, with the mother next to me, her infant and the two children. We are all on the platform together with barely 4 inches between us. This may have been one of the loveliest nights of my entire tour.

I do not see myself as special, or exceptional, or anything of that sort. My time in Tibet was when I realized how insignificant I am in this entire world and how my life is such a speck on the map. But when a woman shares her bed, with me, and her family…maybe there is something about me that sets me apart from the herds.

We wake up at sunrise with the sun blazing down on us.

Of course I don’t leave until about 11 after hanging out with them. I watch the naan being prepared and cooked. They send me off with 6 naan, water, and apricots. Of all the places I want to return to on my route, is to this woman. She wrote in my journal a note in Uzbek that I had translated later. It basically was wishing me safe travels and that she was happy to meet me and that she hopes I never forget her and the children. I’ve met many many people along the ways but there is about a dozen of older women that my heart yearns to visit again.

Today, a year and a half later after this story has taken place, in the real world I have people talk to me about feeling a connection. But a real “connection” is with someone where it crosses over language. Where you can sit next to a person, and rely on true feelings, emotions, intuitions, and your gut tells you about a person. I think my time in China and on tour has allowed me to “feel” people like I never have before. More than just a judge of character, but really “see” what they are all about within juts a few moments. When you have to move past words and language, and completely trust your instincts.

Morning of June 16th are the previous photos and head further West. Supposedly there are guest houses along the way and I debate about taking a small road north towards the lake. But after my experience with “lakes” in Kazakhstan, I decide not to because of the heat and lack of drinking water. It’s dry and hot out here.

Around 4pm I find a sign to a guesthouse and take it. It takes some asking people and a grueling 20 minutes pushing my bike up into the mountains. Let me just cut this story straight but it was a horrible rip off. So badly that I made a complaint to the company that advertises. This is the only time I’ve ever did something like this because I was furious. It probably wouldn’t have been such a big deal if the woman’s sun didn’t keep me up at night trying to talk to me and then sleeping on the same platform bed with me, texting into the night, and horrendous dog barking throughout the night. I’m embarrassed to even say how much money they took me for. Enough that would of last me for weeks in China…WEEKS. The complaint also had to do with the fact that even though I’m a western woman, I was insulted that they thought it was appropriate for a young man in his 20’s to sleep so close to me.

Anyways…it was cute place and I enjoyed watching the neighbors get apricots from their trees. One man would climb up and shake the branches while 3-4 women stood underneath catching them into a sheet.

Morning of June 17th. I do everything I can to get shade and enough water. There is only one stop, with one shop, between the guesthouse of the previous night and the next town I will stay at.

I hung out in there for a little while. A boy had escorted me out of the previous town with the one shop, on his bike. He was sweet. I told him he should go back because there was nothing out here. Most of the kids I play along with and their racing games. His bike looked like it was about to fall apart so my biggest concern was he going to far and having a problem with the bike.

I come into a town near sunset and on the edge of town is about a dozen men sitting on the east side of a bus station. One gets up and waves me over. I’m greeted with smiles and waves. He buys me a water and ice cream. Then he buys me another ice cream. After 15 minutes of shootin’ the breeze with these hooligans and watching them heckle this local woman driving a motorcycle, that kept stalling out, I’m walking back to the man man’s house.

This was dinner.

After dinner and right before the sky turns black, I snuggle onto my “kurpa” outside the house with the rest of the family. There are a few meters between me and the rest of the family but it was a very easy going and non-obtrusive homestay. It seems that these moments always appear after a horrible situation.

The next morning, June 18th, I leave after the man escorting me out to the main road. I ride out just as the sun is peeking over the horizon. Around 10 am I pass this dead dinosaur in the road. I’m reminded to never sleep in the desert without a tent. The lizard must of been 3 feet including tail and a good 4 inch girth. I’m also spotting white spiders with a bright orange back.

At 10am I arrive in Nurata and look for a place to buy water. As I’m sitting outside a shop a young girl tells me to come inside, out of the sun. I end up staying the day with the women in the back yard. The two sisters work on embroidery and the mother is making apricot preserves. We all take a nap inside a dark room around 2 to 4 and then carry on with the rest of the day.

I would stay the night with them. The sisters and I would sit outside along the main street watching traffic and passer-bys listening to my iPod. The mother at one point wanted me to stay with her, in the room with her husband. He had come home later in the day and by now he was intoxicated. The mother’s demeanor had changed from the joking jovial woman earlier to something that seemed like fear. There was some sort of exchange with the mother and daughters and the two sisters and their cousin won me for the evening.

The four of us lined up along the platform on the back porch and giggled into the night.

You know what? If you haven’t caught on…I LOVE being a woman, alone, on a bike. Yes, there are dangers I have to be cautious of. Some have had the audacity to say I’m setting myself up for some of the things that have happened to me. But through these years wandering around Asia have taught me so much what it means to be a woman…not for myself, but experiencing the lives of others. Never have a I wished to be a man…maybe I wouldn’t have had the courage to do what I’ve done.

03 Dec 2013

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist Posted in Central Asia, Kazakhstan, Photos, Uzbekistan With 4 Comments Permalink

Uzbekistan, Part 1 (June 8th-June 13th 2012)

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist On December 3, 2013 With 4 Comments

June 8^th 2012 I would leave Kazakhstan and take a bus to the border of Uzbekistan. I had spent a month obtaining 3 Visas: Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, and the Kyrgyzstan to return to China (which I wouldn’t have to use because of new Visa regulations).

The previous night I had dinner with a cyclist I had befriend via Warmshowers who was a pilot with Astana and a few of his friends and co-pilots. Something strange happened that evening that would just add onto to the drama dealing with the opposite sex.

It was a dinner party and although it was in a “safe” area I still stick to my rules of drinking alcohol. Before I continue that I will share a few things that I stick to while traveling. I NEVER drink in public. I specifically NEVER drink around locals…unless it’s a watered down beer in China at lunch time when I’m trying to get a calorie consumption up. Hostels may be a different occasion, and that is far and few between. I’ve been known to lock myself up in a room to enjoy a bottle of a wine but I do not frequent watering holes and I never take up any offers of social drinking. The first few months of my tour I had a HORRIBLE event because I went to dinner with 3 guys that got extremely intoxicated and my sober self was locked in a truck stop room and threatened for 4 hours until he finally made his move.

Anyhow. I was tired and had a long day of travel ahead of me so I left the dinner table as people were leaving and others way to too intoxicated to deal with. After lying down on the couch, going to sleep…a little while I wake up with the lights off and someone sucking on my ear. Being woken from a slumber and groggy, I push the head away from me and roll over and shove my head in the couch cushions. At this point, nothing surprises me anymore and it’s just better to be firm and continue on.

The next morning I’m so ready to get the hell out of there. The cyclist host escorts me to the bus station where his Kazakh/Mongolian roomate and wife are meeting us at the station to help me buy the ticket and load up my gear. Of course there are difficulties because it being a bike but thankfully I have a local to help me.

Being rushed for time, I wasn’t able to stop by the 1 ATM in Kazakhstan that accepted my China Bank card. I stopped by a half dozen on the way to the station trying to find an ATM to withdrawl cash. I knew I should of done it earlier and my host is hassling me with his machismo. I finally put my foot down, especially after the previous night, and demand he quit speaking to me the way he does. No tolerance today for this stuff.

I load up my bike and gear, never mention the incident of the previous night, give hugs goodbye and get on that bus.

There is a vivid memory of the movie on the bus. It was a TV Drama in Kazakh and I remember there was a domestic disturbance. A man eventually killed his wife because he beat her so badly. The entire bus was drawn to the show. I couldn’t even stand to look. Welcome to Central Asia…in a month I would say, “Uzbekistan…where they treat their donkies better than their wives.” Have you ever seen a man reprimand his donkey on the roads in Uzbekistan?

I would get to the border crossing and get off the bus. It’s hot, dry, sandy, yet not as hectic as I had anticipated.

Pushing my bike up to the Exit building, I would leave my bike outside and go in to get my Exit. Stamp…and through no man’s land. Deep breath…about to enter a new country that I know very little about but know the Exit/Entry inspections can be a real hassle.

I go through the first inspection, precariously getting my bike through the little closets the inspectors sit in. Then through a parking lot and into another line with about 50 Uzbeks in line. I’m waved ahead of all of them and helped into the next building with my loaded bike.

The form is in Russian and Kazakh…um….what? Luckily a young man approaches me and helps me fill out all my forms and gets me to the next inspection.

So, six months earlier when I returned to Shanghai for 6 weeks after Tibet I had accidentally washed my passport in hot water in the washing machine. Of all places, Uzbekistan is the place they caught onto the “damaged” passport. Come on, I’m on a bike, of course it’s going to be damaged, right? Flashing my smile and working my lady like demeanor I get my stamp and move on.

I’ve removed and replaced my panniers about a dozen times within the entire Exit/Entry process and this final one the entire room of security and police are all smiles asking me about myself. I’ve got my stamp and I can calm my nerves a little bit. I load up my bags for the final time for the day with a smile and even enjoy the chit chat.

The fellow that assisted me with my form walks out with me and we are speaking. As we are exiting, coming from the opposite direction is an officer with a semi-automatic mega gun pulling a woman by her hand. She’s screaming at him. In her other hand is a small child crying, being dragged along. She breaks free and the officer grabs her again. I see this happen a few times and we cross paths he’s got his arm gripped onto her as she tries to break free, screaming at him at the top of her lungs with the child continuing to cry in fear. Where the hell am I…

Women selling wares and foods all along the small town road I avoid the children asking for money. I go into a small cafe and get a basic lunch. There is a woman there, that has been living in New York, that is originally from this town. She’s confused why anyone would want to visit Uzbekistan. Why any woman would want to ride her bike around the world. It was nice to have some moments of English and a bit of grounding conversation. She’s able to translate to the cafe.

I get up to pay my bill and the cafe owner waves his hand as if to say “no”. I’m confused. The woman translates to me that the lunch is free. I smile humbly and thank him, thank his wife, thank their children and thank the woman I had just met. Now on to Tashkent.

I cycle from the border to arrive in Tashken later in the afternoonand I had an idea of two guesthouses. I stop to drink an ice cold Coca Cola on the edge of town. In the city center I stop again for another Coca Cola…they taste too delicious. I’m never a soda drinker but there is something about the sugar and salts that give me a little of what I need to keep going. Besides this, I need to stop and think about the next move. Cities always throw a wrench in plans and I can always expect a few hours to find a place to stay.

The first internet cafe I spot, I stop to look up guesthouses. Finding them on Google Maps, I write down the location and ask the attendents how to get there. Also just a few emails are sent out.

I’ll arrive to the guest house that is nearly empty and still the only cyclist. This would be the LAST major city in Central Asia that I would be the only cyclist. All up to this point I rarely stayed in proper hostels or guesthouses. I had only crossed the paths of about 6 foreign cyclists since May of 2010. Rarely even seeing other foreigners at all.

While in Tashkent I would spend a week working out some financial issues and also my Kickstarter campaign had been successful which, thanks to all of you, I was able to continue on. Also planning my route through Uzbekistan while picking up some supplies for the next week or so.

My rear brakes would be replaced. The first set of brake replacements, and the only, for the entire tour.

I would spend time in the bazaars and just meandering around the city, avoiding the heat as much as I could during the day.

Naan seller…how I love naan. All the carbs a lady could ask for.

About 25 USD…yeah, its a total pain to carry Uzbek money and you MUST buy it on the “black market”. It’s actually the easiest just to use USD as everything is quoted in American currency anyhow. Oh the power of the US Dollar.

Towards the last days there, I would meet two Italians on motorbikes that had just completed the Pamirs. They were quite kind to me and we chatted for a few hours. One even let me sit on his bike after I had admitted I was ready to pick up the power between my legs. A lot of cyclists complain about the attitude of folks on motorbikes but it seems they love a doe eyed young lady that wants to know as much about the bikes and techniques they have mastered.

I would leave Tashkent on Jun13^th and head towards the Nurata mountains.

Yes, the last place I left you all, dear readers was in Kazakhstan. I’m currently working on my new Chinese Work Visa…as I was in Shanghai for the last month, and even have a new quaint bungalow, so I thought I’d try to catch you all up. Keep your eyes open for an announcement of a project I have planned for late winter.

03 Nov 2013

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist Posted in Photography With No Comments Permalink

Going Solo: A Two Wheeled Photo Journey Across Asia

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist On November 3, 2013 With No Comments

I was so fortunate last month to have a piece about my photography published on PBS NewsHour but the following weekend a feature came out on the Nikon website. We have been working on it for a few months and, if I say so myself, is probably the best written piece thus far. I couldn’t be more pleased with being labeled a photojournalist.

https://www.nikonusa.com/en/Learn-And-Explore/Article/hjbkuyyd/going-solo-a-two-wheel-photo-journey-across-asia.html

It’s been a busy month and I’m updating this blog, now and in the future, from Shanghai. Yes, I made it “home”.

23 May 2013

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist Posted in News, Photography, Photos, Publication, Uyghur, Western China, Xinjiang With 3 Comments Permalink

Uighur work published online in The Atlantic

Sticky Post By WanderCyclist On May 23, 2013 With 3 Comments

CLICK HERE to be directed to The Atlantic

Three years ago I set out on a journey and exploration of myself and China. Now I sit here, seeing the greater purpose of my life, direction, and vision. It was never just a bike ride for me…it was something so much more.