out …
On 1 January 2018 we sold up and
left our lives behind in the UK to
ride round-the-world. By the time
we reached the Channel Tunnel, we
were soaking wet, cold and somehow
managed to set fire to our luggage. It
got worse … fast. Turns out January
wasn’t a good time to ride in Europe.
We blasted our way through France as
Storm Eleanor hit the French coast.
We nearly flew off the motorway in
130 kilometre per hour winds, rode
for a month through continuous rain
and ice, broke down in Slovakia, ran
out of fuel, hitchhiked, snapped our
exhaust, the chain sliced the remote
preload adjuster, we had to wait three
weeks for new parts as it snowed
heavier every day and ended up rid-
ing through -15 degrees Celsius just to
escape.
But we had our sights firmly set
on the legendary Silk Road and no
amount of wind, rain or fire was
going to stop us. There isn’t a specif-
ic route to follow. The Silk Road is
more of a network that links China
to Europe over three main routes
through the north, south and south-
west.
We chose the northern route
through the Stans of Central Asia
because it’s the most rugged and
wonderous. It carves its way through
the Tian Shan and Pamir mountains,
Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan,
Afghanistan and Uzbekistan and cuts
through everything from desolate
deserts to magnificent mountains,
vast plains and lush pastures. The
nomads in this region were trading
goods and linking cities before the
official Silk Road even began, making
it the birthplace and heart of the Silk
Road. There was nothing we wanted
more than to escape the cold and
chase the road from Azerbaijan to
Mongolia - well, other than to stop
breaking down and a bit of sun.
As Brits, we weren’t allowed to
ride through Iran without a guide,
TRAVERSE 68
Turkmenistan wouldn’t give us a visa
in time and our Uzbekistan visa was
expiring. So, we jumped on the boat
from Azerbaijan to Kazakhstan and
darted north to the tip of Uzbekistan
to start our adventure in the Stans.
Two days after crossing the border
we were sat huddled under the XT
for precious shade as vultures circled
overhead. We hadn’t seen a petrol
station since leaving Kazakhstan.
Luckily, we strapped water bottles
filled with fuel to our bike ready for
Uzbekistan’s notorious fuel shortages.
But we were down to our last fuel bot-
tle, out of water and shattered. The
north west of Uzbekistan is pure arid
desert, desolate, baron and baking
hot. The roads are peppered with
rim-wrecking pot holes, which shake
our bike to pieces and it’s slow going.
No fuel, no water, caked in sweat
and dust - but we weren’t worried
because we knew what was coming
next. Right on cue, a friendly Uz-
bek truck driver trundled to a stop