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<\/a>The main road going through Kazarman. You may encounter about as many drunkards as cars (with possibly a drunk driver in it) on it.<\/p><\/div>\n
Dinner in Kazarman. A really weird grandiose restaurant with private dining rooms and huge tables for tens of guests – but we were the absolutely only customers that evening.<\/p><\/div>\n We intruded upon the restaurant setting up for a small banquet<\/p><\/div>\n How we’re holding everything together (the zip-ties and cord held, not the metal reinforcement-repair that broke after 50km of washboard path. The screw-head in the middle lower part of the picture broke – very stupid – this is however what maintains the trailer on the bike – so actually pretty serious.<\/p><\/div>\n After another night\u2019s rest at our guesthouse, C\u00e9dric and I set off for the mountains. Just as we were making our way out of the city that Sunday morning (and warding off two dogs with a handful of rocks), we heard a loud engine revving behind us. Slightly confused by the sight unfolding a few hundred meters behind us, we watched a way-too-many-decades-old Lada (a soviet\/Russian brand of car) reach a top speed, attempt to make a sharp turn, then doors flying open as it crashed into a 3m ditch. Stunned, we watched a man stagger out and realized that there had been a drunk driver at the wheel \u2013 this was our sign to get the hell out of town before anything else happened. Just as we were making our way up the first hill out of the city, the weather quickly deteriorated, and we were caught in a shower. Continuing, we slowly rolled through Kekerim and attracted the attention of nearly every dog in the village, so C\u00e9dric was happy to continue practicing his stone throwing (with a much better result: 2 hits! Local dogs are much bigger though!). As the day went on, storms and showers rolled over us and we were happy to find a spot to camp near a river. Here, as we were warned by passing cyclists, there would be a lot of curious children to watch us set up our camp for the night. Just as we made our way down to the river, the kids from the nearby yurts made a human roadblock and showed us the way to the designated camping spot for cyclists and kindly filled up our water containers at the nearest source.<\/p>\n A Kyrgyz breakfast in Kazarman. Our guest-house was really awesome and an absolute relieve after days of dust and vibrations.<\/p><\/div>\n C\u00e9dric once told me that it never rains in Kyrgyzstan. The poncho was reopened again for the first time since April (Barlow in the Australian Alps)<\/p><\/div>\n Velvety hills<\/p><\/div>\n Views once the rain started to clear<\/p><\/div>\n Nice picture (except all the kgs of mud stuck in the wheels, trailer, frame, etc.)<\/p><\/div>\n A fun-sized roadblock. Children stop us on our route on almost a daily basis to check out the bike, give waves, and scream hello. Cedric usually has to shake hands with every single male of the village (not matter what age or size)<\/p><\/div>\n The next morning, after entertaining some kids while we packed up, C\u00e9dric and I set off for the Kaldaman Pass, just 20km away but 1000m higher. Throughout the morning, we took breaks to see the mountainous landscape evolve around us. Unlike the day before, when all the mountains were shrouded in rain clouds, we could see far into the valleys and where we cycled from. Around 1pm, after a final push to the top, we were able to make a slow descent down into the Fergana valley. Once again, the landscape changed drastically, with the hills becoming dry and autumnal, and the first forests in weeks. We found a campsite next to a river and were greeted by a local man who kindly showed up where to find a hidden water spring. He also offered (via gesture) to have us camp next to his house, but we couldn\u2019t be bothered to drag our bike uphill.<\/p>\n She’s sizing up the bike<\/p><\/div>\n Where we came from<\/p><\/div>\n Another pass down!<\/p><\/div>\n Making the slow descent<\/p><\/div>\n Encouraged by tales of smooth pavement down the road, C\u00e9dric and I set off on the last few kilometers of this rough track. Although dirt tracks never bothered us before, this 400km stretch brought us to our limits. For C\u00e9dric, it reminded him of his few weeks riding through sand and loose gravel in Zimbabwe (with a lot more elevation, but a better climate though, and approximately the same pace), where he could only inch along the road, happy to cover 40km in a day. For me, I was constantly annoyed by the sheer speed of the drivers going down these roads (which in turn, deteriorates the road even more) and their eagerness to wave, honk, and give a thumb\u2019s up whenever they passed. Every time a car went by, it would kick up a huge cloud of dust for us to inhale while the people inside the car didn\u2019t think too much about us besides having a picture of us on their phone. Both locals and tourists alike were guilty of this, although tourists would more often understand my gestures for \u2018slowww downnn!\u2019 A few kilometers from asphalt, a front spoke broke in the nipple and we were unable to repair it because we of course didn\u2019t pack spoke nipples with us. Luckily, we ride on large sturdy rims and the front wheel could go on with one less spoke. Once we hit asphalt in the afternoon, C\u00e9dric and I glided into Jalal-Abad and found a guesthouse for the night. In the evening, we wandered around the local bazaar looking for spare spoke parts \u2013 this required using google translate, pictures, and asking multiple people where we could buy a bike wheel (a gross approximation, but it worked out in the end).<\/p>\n We basically went up all that mountain to be back at the same altitude on the other side – 90km of switch-backs, but only 20km away as the crow flies, and it took us 2 days.<\/p><\/div>\n What we thought was the beginning of asphalt…<\/p><\/div>\n …wasn’t…<\/p><\/div>\n … and we broke a spoke about a kilometer after the pavement stopped.<\/p><\/div>\n Leaving the mountains for now, still searching for asphalt.<\/p><\/div>\n Roadworks (or not, we are not quite sure what was going on in the center) in Jalal-Abad (there was definitely some asphalt – at some point)<\/p><\/div>\n The next morning, C\u00e9dric and I decided to forgo all sensible reason and cycle the 100 kilometers to Osh, Kyrgyzstan\u2019s second largest city. Now that we were in the Fergama Valley, all lush greenery had turned into dry, amber-colored grass and didn\u2019t seem very inviting for a night camping. With the altitude now 2000m lower, the temperatures are also a lot higher. We made our way along the busy two-lane highway, using our mirrors often because of erratic Kyrgyz driving. I liken it to those YouTube videos of Russian dashboard cameras, where you watch and think, \u2018No\u2026 they\u2019re not going to do that, they\u2019re not going to do that, <\/em>OMG they just did it!\u2019 The road (highway) was sporadically painted with white lines, which seemed like were more of a suggestion than rule. Every chance they got, Kyrgyz drivers would pass the slower car and the road would sometimes turn into three lanes instead of two. With the mirror, the noisy engines and a large unpaved shoulder, we could manage the 6h ride, but happy to know that the road to Tajikistan and in the Pamirs is a lot quieter. Late in the day, exhausted, we cycled into Osh and found some respite at our guesthouse.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/a><\/a><\/a><\/a><\/a><\/a><\/a><\/a><\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/a><\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/a><\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/a><\/a><\/a><\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/a>