had a puncture, snapped spokes and
a serious fuelling problem (thanks
Uzbekistan). We had nearly 650
kilometres ahead of us before Osh,
Kyrgyzstan on a bike that was literally
falling to pieces. Luckily, we’d been
riding with two Frenchmen, Didier
and Franck. Didier took Franck’s lug-
gage so Alissa could jump on the back
of Franck’s bike. Together, we started
the mad ride to Kyrgyzstan.
The road started to fall apart be-
neath us. It flitted between valleys,
sharp cliff edges and jagged rocks.
The mountain passes worsened as
Tajikistan threw everything it could
at us, refusing to let us leave. A huge
sandstorm started to brew in the dis-
tance. We tucked in, zipped up and
braved the stinging sand while crawl-
ing at 15kph as our bikes swayed in
the road. The sand finished biting
our skin, the road started to climb
again and we found ourselves in the
middle of a snowstorm two hours lat-
er. It worsened every second, frost-
ing our visors, obscuring our view
and forcing us to stay in a perpetual
slow slog.
Tired, cold and with sand and
snow in our pockets, we took shel-
ter in a local’s home by the majestic
Karakul Lake. We rested and pre-
pared for our final push to the border
TRAVERSE 72
with Kyrgyzstan. But Tajikistan’s Silk
Road stretch wasn’t over, and it wasn’t
going to let us go that easily.
I snatched the front brake and
headed straight for a cliff edge to
avoid a crater in the road. I wasn’t
quick enough. The front wheel dived
in and I waited for the inevitable
crunch from the rear. The frame
cracked, the rear tyre smacked into
the plastic undertray and the sub-
frame snapped.
The high mountain pass between
Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan is no-man’s
land. Neither country took owner-
ship and left it to fester into a muddy,
slushy mountain pass (thanks to all