The four of us stood on the deck,
watching eagerly as the cargo ship pulled in to Aktau. The ship
docked and we were immediately boarded by the military with their
drug dogs. All the passengers were lined up and made to stand still
while the dog ran around, sniffing our pockets. Once everyone was
cleared they herded us off of the boat and into a waiting van, a bit
disconcerting seeing that our bikes and all our bags were still on
board! The van drove us to the nearby customs office, where we were
stamped in and were then made to walk back to the ship to collect our
bikes. We weren’t done yet though, we still had to be inspected by
the customs officials. They lined us up and emptied our panniers one
by one, until they determined that we didn’t have any contraband
and we were allowed to ride towards the exit. At the final gate we
were told to wait some more, but no one would tell us why. We stood
around in the hot sun for too long, getting hungry and impatient. I
finally asked a soldier if they had a washroom I could use. He got a
bit flustered and hurried away, only to return a couple of minutes
later to let us through the gate, saying there was a toilet on the
outside. Free at last! I should have pulled the toilet card sooner.
We rode the short distance to Aktau where we ate a nice comforting
lunch at the Burger King before finding a hotel for the night.
The next morning we rode out of Aktau
and entered the desert. Ever since we rode across the Sahara on our
last trip, Steve and I have had a fondness for deserts, so we had
been looking forward to this stretch. The thing about memories
though, is that the hard parts soften after a while, and you only
focus on the fun parts. The true extent of the challenges and the
misery sort of fades away with time. We’d been talking a tough game
leading up to this, about how much we loved desert riding even though
it was hard. Well, our first day out of Aktau was really hard. We
struggled against a headwind for the entire morning while we watched
Karen and Jamie pull away into the distance, riding so much faster
than us that they were soon out of sight. We fought, the wind held us
back, and eventually we admitted defeat and pulled off the road for a
small siesta behind a dirt pile. Motivation and coping skills were
rock-bottom and we wondered if we’d made a mistake by not going
home from Baku. After a short catnap and some cookies we headed back
to the road, only to find K&J riding back towards us. They had
waited long enough to start worrying, so were coming back to make
sure we were ok. We rode together for the rest of the day until
pulling off into a nice sandy depression to set up camp. That night
the moon was full and we were all bit taken aback by the desolate
beauty of this place. I fell asleep hoping for tailwinds.
It seems like every time we push
through a bad day, we’re rewarded with something amazing. Our
second day of desert riding did not disappoint. We woke up early to
sunshine and a light breeze, and were greeted by a pack of wild
horses galloping by as we pushed our bikes to the road. The barren
landscape gradually gave way to sandy dunes and rocky plateaus, with
one lone puffy cloud floating in the sky up ahead. We watched the
desert come to life around us; huge tortoises and lizards hiding in
the scrubby bushes, groundhogs popping out of their holes and
chirping at us. An eagle glided by on the wind and camels dotted the
open plain. I love how they look on the horizon, their long legs and
bumpy backs silhouetted against the open sky. Wild horses would run
across the sand or watch us ride by, sometimes running alongside us,
as if we were racing. The horses always won. Around mid-day we
stopped at our first Chaihana, a road-side tea-house where travellers
and truckers can get food and drinks. We drank tea and tried our
first Plov; a rice dish with mutton, which was about to become a
staple of our diet for the next two months. In the evening we set up
camp behind a small hill beside some rocks and a small ravine. We ate
dinner under a bright orange sunset, and crawled into bed as the moon
climbed into the sky.
As we were about to fall asleep, we
heard a truck driving by, close enough that it had to be off the
road. I tensed up, hoping it would pass us by, but then the
headlights lit up our tents. It’s always a bit scary being seen at
night, even though the most likely outcome is someone trying to offer
you food or invite you to sleep at their place. The truck stopped and
we heard voices. They were obviously talking to us, so Steve stuck
his head out of the tent. Two men were out there and wanted us to
come out. We were cozy and tired and didn’t really want to. Steve
popped back inside to get dressed, intending to get out and see what
they wanted. He unzipped the door and came face to face with a giant
eagle. “WOAH” was all I heard. “What is it?” I asked. “He
has an eagle. Like a real eagle. On his arm” was the reply. From
the other tent, Jamie pipes up with “we’re coming out!”
Within seconds all four of us were
dressed and outside, staring in disbelief at this huge golden eagle
sitting on its master’s arm. The two Kazakh men were all excited,
one of them was wearing a traditional jacket that he took off and put
on Steve, while the other guy slid a leather gauntlet onto Steve’s
arm. They put a blindfold on the eagle and placed it on the gauntlet.
I grabbed the camera as Steve stood there, lit up by headlights in
the dark, somewhere in the Kazakh desert, holding this giant eagle on
his arm. Words will never describe how surreal this was. Then it was
my turn; I braced my elbow against my ribs as the weight came onto my
arm. I was speechless and in awe, gazing at the massive, razor-sharp
beak just inches away from my face. Then it was Jamie’s turn, then
Karen’s. The men told us they use the eagle to hunt foxes. Once we
had taken our pictures and asked our questions as best we could, the
master took his eagle back and put it into the truck. He used his
phone to translate the words “Good Luck”, shook our hands, and
they drove off into the night. We stayed outside for a while, too
excited to go to bed and still trying to process what had just
happened. I’m still amazed that night was real. Amazed and stunned
by our good fortune to have experienced something so extraordinary.
Eventually morning came and we began
packing up our things. A large herd of goats and sheep was passing
by, and the shepherd wandered over to say hello. We chatted and mimed
as best we could with our limited language. I was admiring his donkey
and asked if I could pet it. He laughed and told me to hop up and sit
on it! It was great. The donkey was kind and patient, and I was
thrilled that during the last 12 hours I had gotten to hold an eagle
AND ride a donkey. Eventually he said goodbye and wandered back to
his herd, and we pedalled onward.
When the four of us had discussed
teaming up for this part of the ride, our biggest concern was that
K&J would get tired of waiting for us all the time. We knew that
with their triathlon background, they were much faster riders than us
and there was no way we could maintain their pace. After learning
from our first day, we settled into a daily routine that worked well
for all involved. Steve and I were usually packed up first, so we
would head to the road and start riding. After about 20 or 30
minutes, the other two would catch up and pass us, and ride until
stopping for lunch. We’d catch up and eat together, us happy with a
slower pace and shorter breaks and K&J happy to have a bit more
time off the bike. The afternoon would be a repeat of the morning,
where we would meet up again to choose a camp spot. Sometimes we
would all ride together for chunks of the day, or Steve and Jamie
would race off ahead and Karen and I would take our time and chat
while we caught up. It worked surprisingly well for two teams with
different styles and speeds.
On our third day in the desert we
passed through Shetpe, a real town with a market where we stocked up
on fresh produce, cheese and other goodies. Most of our supply points
for this stretch were Chaihanas, where we could get water and
chocolate but not much else. There was nothing at all in between the
Chaihanas, so we were carrying a 3 day supply of food. Water was
another resource that needed to be carefully managed. We were
drinking a lot of water, because the days were starting to get really
hot. Often the only shade we could find would be underneath the
random animal statues that appeared along the highway. We were eating
lunch under one of these statues just past Shetpe when we met a man
who declared himself to be the only cyclist in this part of
Kazakhstan! He had zoomed past us earlier, on his Giant mountain
bike, and was now on his way back home from his training ride. He
loves to cycle, and one day wants to tour like we were doing. He
spoke English very well and it was nice to have a real conversation
with someone, who could tell us a bit about the place we were riding.
It doesn’t happen often when we don’t speak the local languages.
After lunch we pedalled on into the
vast, open landscape. It was sandy, but greener than I expected,
with hundreds of tiny bushes poking out from the ground. The terrain
was also quite featured; we passed small ravines and large plateaus,
dunes and boulders, and some rock walls in the distance that looked
like sandstone cliffs. There were even a few small hills, with signs
warning of a whopping 4% grade on the descent! It was after rolling
over one of these tiny bumps that the Ustyurt Plateau appeared in the
distance, rising up from the sand and wavering in the heat. It looked
close, but appearances are deceiving here; we pedalled towards the
plateau for 40km before finally getting to the bottom. This was our
one big climb in Kazakhstan, and it was also unpaved. There’s
nothing like a dusty, bumpy climb to cap off a long day. We managed
to make it to the top but not much further, opting to pull off into
some dirt lumps to camp. As we ate dinner a meteor streaked across
the sky. In the dark the headlights of passing cars were visible for
miles. With no cities anywhere to cast light, the night sky exploded
with stars. Our tents were surrounded by small desert bugs; spiders,
beetles, ants, and crickets that chirped us to sleep. It felt great
to be in the desert again. It’s a harsh place, but so intriguing.
There’s so much going on out here, if you just move slow enough to
become a part of it.
Once on top of the Ustyurt Plateau, our
road was flat. So flat, with endless distances on all sides, and
shapes appearing close when in reality they are still forever away.
The heat shimmered on the horizon and distorted all the images we
thought we saw. It got hotter, too. The bike computer started
showing temperatures of 37 degrees, then 39 degrees, eventually
heating up to 42 degrees by the afternoon. So many hours we spent
pedalling, towards nothing, just an open highway with no end in sight
and no relief from the scorching sun. We were plowing through our
water and the last few Chaihanas we had passed were closed. Finally
the town of Beyneu appeared in the distance, low hazy buildings with
red, blue, and green roofs flickering in the heat. This was our last
town in Kazakhstan, where we would rest and restock before riding to
the Uzbek border. Pretty stoked to not be dying of thirst, we rolled
straight to the first gas station we saw for some cold water and ice
cream snacks.
We enjoyed Beyneu. It wasn’t fancy,
but after spending the last five days in the desert it felt like a
wonderful oasis. It was oppressively hot during the day so we kept
our wandering to a minimum, venturing out only to buy groceries and
supplies before hurrying back to our air conditioned hotel room. In
the evening though, the place came to life. Once the sun was down and
the heat had dissipated, the central square was full of people
playing and relaxing. It was fun to watch kids racing around on bikes
and roller-skates, or kicking balls and running around while the
adults sat and chatted, enjoying the cool fresh air.
The morning of our departure we woke up
early in an attempt to beat the heat. It started out fine, but it
wasn’t long before we were sweltering and burning again. The road
to the border is infamous in the bike touring world as being one of
the worst roads on the planet. I’m not sure about the entire
planet… but it was pretty bad. Again, I started out all cocky,
thinking that I was used to bad roads and so much tougher than all
those other people who whined about it on the internet. After about
40km, I was eating my words, along with all the dust that the passing
trucks were kicking up into my face. And that wasn’t even
halfway. It was 87km of bumpy, sweaty, dusty, slow riding before we
reached the border. We made it though, after a long and tiring day.
The last thing we did in Kazakhstan was take a break in one more
Chaihana, to enjoy some cold drinks before bumping over towards
Uzbekistan.
The Kazakhstan Roundup!
ODO start: 8210 kms
ODO finish: 8800kms
Total distance: 590 kms
Actual County name: Қазақстан
Республикасы
Days in Country: 8
Nights camped: 4
Flat tires: 0
Crashes: 0
Other cyclists met on the road: John
and Caz, from Scotland, riding from UK to Hong Kong
# of screws rattled off our panniers on
the road to the border: 2
