Gentle Intro to Kyrgyz Bikepacking

Two points is not two points, I will explain it later', this ominous quote by Lebron James sparked a flurry of memes for NBA fans back in 2018. Now, standing at 3600 meters above sea level, I was looking at the pass that was only two kilometers away, but to me this was as unreachable as if it was 2000k away. "2 kilometers is not 2 kilometers", I was repeating as some sort of mantra to myself. At this point, the onslaught of emotions that had occurred in the previous couple of hours has mostly subsided and there was a only a blissful state of emptiness. Empty of fears, empty of doubts, empty of sorrow and pain. Normally, I would gratefully welcome this state as the perfect conclusion of a big effort. At this moment, however, the job was far from over.

To understand how ended up in this sort of mess, I need to rewind the tape back 24 hours to the start. Fly Sofia-Istanbul, fly Istanbul - Bishkek, sleep 3 hours. Land at 4am, purchase sim, download local version of uber, navigate through the hordes of scam taxi drivers - the dreaded but somehow endearing drill of arriving in an Asian country, only this time I was all by myself. 40min taxi to center, try to sleep, go to 24hr restaurant. 24hr restaurant was closed between 6 and 7am because they clean the place. Run back to the same taxi, go to another 24hr restaurant. Order what would be the last normal meal without meat in a while, drink a gallon of black tea, crank out some final features for metodika.app.

Get a taxi to the bike rental place, bags and water totally do not fit the frame, some janky moves are necessary to fit my stuff on the bike. Leave with the bike, avoid death on the roads going out of Bishkek. Realize the bike was heavy as fuck, and the three hours of sleep left me with little to no juice in the legs. Bike rental lady recommended a more scenic and quiet route for getting out of Bishkek. Big mistake - it added 25k and 1k meters of elevation gain.

I enter the mountains, rush to get as high as possible before the sun sets. End up at only 1800m elevation, way off from the 2500 I had planned. Start to set up camp, get ambushed by the gnarliest swarm of moscitos, panic, repack everything in 2min, and start biking onwards. Second attempt at camping at 1900m, no moscitos, my gas cannister had fallen due to the hasty repacking (this would be the start of a long series of things falling off and/or apart). Realize I had no cell coverage, didnt warn my family I am about lose it, get upset that they will get upset, sit down and cry. Go back two kilometers to retrieve the gas cannister. On the way back, I see a robber's mask , thrown on a rock near my camp (was it there when I passed by previosuly, or was there some heist getaway while I was away??), slight panic starts to set in, but I am too cooked to repack again and run away.

Crash in my tent, fever dreams for two hours and then an unshakable coma till 8am. Sleeping for two hours after sunrise was a clear indication I was not in a good shape but not much to be done about it at this point.

Started riding at 9am, task for the day was to climb 30km to the top of Kegety pass at 3800m and then go down as far as possible on the other side. Cycling was hard almost from the get go. At 2500m I was already getting short on breath. At 3150m I was so beaten up that I pulled a block of Parmesan cheese to chew on in hopes of lifting my spirits. At the same time, I met the first person in almost 24 hours. A swiss guy was descending the pass in the opposite direction. For him the brutal Tian Shan traverse was almost over, with only 100k left to Bishkek and the worst behind him. His jolly spirits were in contrast of my decrepit state. His depiction of what was ahead of me sunk me even deeper into despair.

From there on, things got really interesting. Until this point, riding was hard but was early enough in the day and I had some semblance of freshness in me. Now, the road was rough, elevation was serious, and it was already past noon. I was doing mental calculations if I could make it to the top of the pass and do the dangerous descent afterwards before nightfall. I most definitely would have been panicking at this point if I had the energy to do so. Rather, it was more like a dull worry that did not have enough fuel to grow into a proper freakout

Gradually the worry transformed into a remarkable state of sadness. Many years ago I went to climb the highest peak in Bulgaria with a ex girlfriend of mine. The weather sucked, the climb was long, and the final section was sketchy for inexperienced climbers. My ex was scared and tired and wanted to go back down. I was majorly pissed and disappointed. This memory, deeply burried for years, suddenly surfaced out of nowhere. There was I now - scared and tired, wanting to go back down. I showed no mercy to her back then, and there was no one to show mercy to me now. Kliment, from latin - merciful - and here I was a traitor to my name - no mercy for her, no mercy for my friends, my family, no mercy for myself. I cried big ugly tears, growled at the mountains to the amusement of noone. I cried for me, cried for my family, my girlfriend my dog, I sent voice messages that could not be delivered.

Usually the cathartic moment comes at the end of story but unfortunately I still had plenty to climb. The sorrow subsided and I was greeted by the blissful emptiness of the mind that can only be achieved after a big effort, big meditation, or a big dose of mushrooms. I would normally welcome the state of non-attachment but at this time it was at odds with the objective of my physical survival. Somehow I was still pushing, but not out of ambition, not out of fear or joy - simply because there was not much else to do.

At 3600m above sea level - 2kilometers from the the pass - I could clearly the end of the climb and the small path that was snaking its way up the mountain. The resting breaks were even more frequent and I started to sit down every time. The stillness in my head felt so delightful. At this point I starting dozing off for a few seconds at a time. I guess they were couple of seconds but might have been minutes. I was snapping awake with as much panic my body was able to muster. I would push 100m, sit down, pant heavily, pass out for a couple of seconds, and then get up again. I remember praying that I dont fall asleep while I push the bike on the narrow treachorous path, tumbling several hundred meters down the mountain like a ragdoll.

This is when I saw a small distant point making its way up the mountain. It was moving too fast to be a bike or horse rider. Eventually I made it out to be a guy on motorbike. In a matter of a few minutes, the bike covered the distance that took me 2 hours to climb. I felt enormous jealousy - he would be over the top in a bit and I am stuck in this purgatory of pain and misery. A couple of heavy breaths later, the biker caught up to me. Looking at my body, strewn to the side of the road, he asked if I was ok. This was the moment where I was supposed to say: "No, I am not ok, I need help". I don't know if it was stubbornness or I was too obliterated mentally to think of what type of help to ask for. "Yeah, I am fine", I said. We exchanged some pleasantries (dont even remember what I said) and he continued on his merry way. "Maybe I will meet you at the top", he said as he sped off. A couple of seconds later I was hit by a sudden clarity - "I cannot let this dude get away. This is my only ticket out of this mess". Now that there was a sliver of hope, my body, like a bartender that pulls out the good stuff from under the counter. It is all a blur but I make the push for the last kilometer to the pass.

The views are breathtaking, but I have little capacity to soak the beauty in. I catch up to the biker. His name is Arthur and tells me how the pass has been closed for a long time because of rockfall and it has only been a couple of weeks ago that it was reopened for anything bigger than a bycicle or horse. We move on to the other side of the pass and a similarly overwhelming vista is presented to us. Snow is gently falling and a not so gentle wind is trying to blow me off the mountain. The goat path down is no joke as the Swiss guy had warned me. Narrow, steep, and covered with loose rocks and endless opportunities to fall into the abyss.

The path is a bit too sketchy for the motorbike and Arthur is not having much fun. I am somehow able to scramble down with my bike. As treachorous as it is, at least I don't have to push anymore. The shift in circumstances where I am not the one in the deepest shit brings a weird sense of relief. Slowly we make our way down. I get to the next turn, leave the bike, and hike back up to Arthur. I am helping him by holding the bike on one side while he is slowly releasing a bit of the brakes. The bike is slipping on the rocks slowly while we try to keep it straight on the path. Looking back, I realize I was of very little practical help. Had something gone wrong, I would not have possessed enough strength to prevent the bike from tumbling down, dragging me and my Kyrgyz friend down with it. In a funny way I helped him by not really doing anything in the physical sense, the same way he brought me to the top of the pass. The idea that there was another soul in this absurd predicament brough more strength and resolve than I can describe.

It takes us a second eternity for the day but we made it down the sketchy stretch. This is the first time I am having fun riding since I arrived in Kyrgyzstan. Arthur is comfortably blasting down the hill while I do my best to not fall behind too much. I realize I have lost the riding glasses that my girlfriend had gifted me. I look back at the monstrous mountain - at this point they might as well be on the moon. I imagine the "Sprechen Sie Deutsch" cowboy finding them somewhere at the top and rejoicing at his newly acquired riding gear. On the way down we pass through a whole bunch of herds - yaks, sheep, cows.

Later on, Arthur would explain that Kegety Pass was made 50 years ago for the needs of shepherds. During the summer the herds are grazing on the plateau at 3000m above sea level. In autumn, they take the precarious pilgrimage through Kegety to spend the winter in the valleys near Bishkek. It is early September, the first snow is falling and there is huge movement in the opposite direction.

I am stuck in a sea of several hundred sheep. They are frantically trying to move up while semi-freaking out because of our presence. The first couple of times the situation is amusing but then I realize we are getting close to sunset and are still in the middle of nowhere.

We make it to a fork in the road. Tomorrow Arthur will be going right, and I need to proceed left. It is almost dark and we set up camp. We are at 3000m elevation and the temperatures quickly approach zero. My Kyrgyz friend shows me how to use the gas stove that I brought (yeah, I did not bother testing it back home). He offers me some pepperoni slices than I combine with the remnants of the parmesan block. I am thankful for the warm boullion, thankful that Arthur sends a satellite message to my family that I am alive, thankful that he is there, thankful for the billion stars above, and thankful that I made it to another day.

We talk about family, travel and aventures. Arthur gives me a crash course on the current state of affairs in Kyrgyzstan - the delicate geopolitical balance between Russia, China, Tukey, and the West; the emerging middle class in the country, the fight against corruption and the business climate. I feel so lucky to have someone tell me all of this in perfect English at 3000m in the middle of nowhere. I say goodnight and retreat to my tent to pass blissfully.

2 kilometers is not 2 kilometers. Even now, being in the 'later' phase, I can not fully explain (I wonder if Lebron can explain about the two points or was he just bluffing?). At times I feel like a fool for bringing all this mysery on myself. Then again, is it not a bigger mysery to not try at all?