June 2018
It was late in the day by the time we were through the border and into Tajikistan. We rode only as far as it took to find somewhere to camp, which was a snarled little forest tucked into an industrial area. The tent just barely fit and we had a tree in our vestibule. But it was out of sight and we were tired, so we ate leftover samosas on the lumpy ground and then fell asleep.
The next day we rode into Dushanbe, fighting heavy traffic and road closures that led us on a very unwelcome detour to get across the city to our hostel. We ended up staying in Dushanbe for about a week, between one thing and another. Steve got food poisoning, we had some major bike work to do, and we really needed the rest. Karen and Jamie arrived the day after we did, so we also wanted to catch up with them after a week apart.
From Dushanbe there was a choice of two routes to reach the Pamir highway. The southern road is longer, but with less elevation and better pavement. Karen and Jamie opted for this one. The northern route, which until quite recently was the only option, is a bad road, a high pass, and isn’t open all year due to snow and rockslides. The night before we left Dushanbe, another cyclist posted online that he had just ridden it and it was good to go. We chose the northern route.
The first days were nothing special. We were pretty unmotivated. It was still hot and the air was so dusty we couldn’t see much. Part of the reason we’d chosen this road was for the views, but with everything obscured by the dust, it just felt like we were suffering on a bumpy dusty road for nothing. Luckily though, on the second night we had a good thunderstorm and woke up to gorgeous clear skies. We passed the first of many police checkpoints and turned into a narrow canyon and, as promised, the scenery was beautiful. The rain had freshened up the air and livened up the colours. The trees were lush and green, the rocks and the hills were bright red and the rivers were swollen with spring run-off and red sediment. The road was pretty rough by now, but also quiet. We were more likely to get held up by a flock of sheep or a mob of children than by traffic, so it was peaceful riding. Quite often we would ride through streams that were flowing across the road, most of the time keeping dry feet but getting the occasional soaker. Our spirits were up, as these are the kind of roads that we enjoy the most. The temperature was downright enjoyable after what we’d had in Uzbekistan, and we started passing patches of snow as we got higher. At one point we came across a recently cleared landslide, and rode past without any trouble. Later, we heard a rumour that another cyclist had spent an entire day scrambling his bike and gear across it less than a week before we passed by.
We spent another 2 days climbing, through quiet villages full of friendly kids who loved to wave and come practise their English with us. The final part of the climb was a huge, long contour across one entire side of the valley, which brought us up to 3252m, our new trip high point. There were signs warning of landmines at the summit, so we bombed down the other side, bikes rattling on the bumpy gravel until the sun started to set. Our home that night was an epic perch on top of a cliff overlooking a rocky canyon. The sky was clear and the stars were the brightest I’ve ever seen. We lay with our heads hanging out of the tent door for a long time, just gazing up.
The next morning we had more bumpy downhill riding, following the canyon as it took us back down to 1200m. It was one of the more epic descents of the trip, with awe-inspiring mountain views the entire way and a sheer drop off to the raging river far below. We stopped in Kalai Khum to re-supply, knowing that this was the last decent grocery store we would see for a few weeks. This town is the spot where the northern and southern routes from Dushanbe meet again, so from here we were back on the main road.
For the next few days we followed the road along the Panj River, which forms the border between Tajikistan and Afghanistan. It was really interesting to peer across the river at the Afghan villages on the other side. We have such a negative image of Afghanistan in our minds from living in North America and only hearing about wars, but this part of the country was lovely. We saw cute tidy villages tucked into the landscape, with people buzzing by on motorbikes on their side of the river. Kids were swimming and playing in the river, yelling “hello!” and waving at us as we passed. The kids on the Tajik side were just as friendly, and we stopped multiple times a day to respond to the usual questions: “Where are you from? What is your name? Where are you going?” Sometimes the kids were picking and selling apricots, so we had a much appreciated supply of fresh fruit too.
I had been a bit nervous about spending this much time on the border, especially when it came to camping. Because it’s so long, relatively remote, and not very well patrolled, it’s an area known for drug trafficking. A few weeks before we arrived, there had been some vague rumours on the internet about some cyclists maybe being shot at, or hearing gunshots, but it wasn’t really clear if this had actually happened or not. The general advice for riding here was to stay aware, camp out of sight, and trust your intuition if something doesn’t feel right. Anyone running drugs probably doesn’t want to run into you either. As it turned out, we had some great campsites along this part, tucked away above the road, with the lights from across the river dotting the dark hills. We only heard one loud bang in the distance that could have been a gunshot, but was probably a car. The second night, as we were setting up, a big gust of wind grabbed the tent out of our hands and threatened to blow it across to Afghanistan. We chased it down the hill and caught it by a guyline, relieved that we didn’t have to consider an illegal border crossing to retrieve it.
A week after leaving Dushanbe we arrived in Rushon, which is pretty small and doesn’t have much to offer a tourist. For us though, it marked the point where we would turn off the main road and head up into the Bartang Valley. The true Pamir Highway route follows the M41 the entire way through the mountains, but there are a few little side roads and detours you can take, depending on the adventure you want. We didn’t know much about the Bartang Valley, but from what we had heard it was pretty remote and not always passable if the water levels were too high. It sounded like something we wanted to try. We knew there was one small shop about halfway up the valley but that it probably only had noodles and chocolate bars, so we had to leave Rushon with most of what we would need for about 6 or 7 days. We found a little guesthouse and did what we could to pack food for a week. It wasn’t the most satisfying shop, but we found cheese, noodles, eggs, and some fresh fruit. It seemed a bit sparse for a week of hard riding, but it would have to do. At the last minute we found some cans of sardines and a box of baby porridge that we added to try and bulk up our calories.
I definitely felt a bit anxious the night before starting up the valley. Mainly because there were so many unknowns, between road quality (not good, we had heard) and water levels. Even after months on the bikes, the unknowns make it hard to estimate how fast we could move and if we would run low on food or not. But we had prepared the best we could, and worrying wouldn’t change anything, so eventually I pushed my doubts aside and managed to get some sleep.
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