#panniercc

With renewed strength I make it to the top of the last pass in the morning. From here on the road goes mostly downhill to Osh with temperatures rising; exactly what I need right now. Although Kyrgyzstan is beautiful my full focus is on reaching Osh, so I hardly stop for pictures, chats and children’s high fives anymore. Closed off with my earbuds in I kick away the miles to my destination.

On my final day of cycling it’s only 70 more k’s, the road is great and I’m feeling better. With the stress of time pressure slowly lifting I can’t help but celebrate early by singing along to some ancient Switchfoot albums at the top of my lungs, to great amusement of some locals.

It’s early afternoon when I finally roll into town under Osh’s giant victory arch, which seems fitting, especially after the last three days. What a relief to have made it, on my own and in time for my flight! Turning onto my hostel’s premises I’m reunited with Kineticnomads Robin and Ida as well as my old pal Andy; after making it out of the Wakhan on his own his bike broke down, and without repair options he found himself hitchhiking all the way to Osh. It’s great to see them all again, and to celebrate we go out for the first western food in weeks: beer and burgers.

As demanded by my airline I go looking for a carton box to transport my bike in, together with Andy. The hostel’s owner assures me they are easy to find, but after asking every single bicycle shop in Central Asia’s largest bazaar we still stand empty handed. So I decide to build one myself from used refrigerator packaging, and with some help of a fellow cyclist I construct a box built like a Russian tank. To prove it I proudly climb on top, as Ida snaps a pic with her phone. Receiving the shot from her, back home, I’m harshly confronted with the toll the Pamirs have taken on my emaciated body. Not bringing a mirror has its clear advantages...

Although skin and bones might make for cool stories, it’s good to put things into some perspective: I’m pretty convinced that anyone in decent shape with a healthy dose of determination and taste for raw adventure can cycle the Pamir Highway -as have hundreds of cyclists before me. And everyone will face challenges of their own along the way. I’ve been somewhat unlucky by getting properly sick twice. Being bedridden for days, unable to eat or communicate, and the complete absence of a safety net has brought me to the edge of what I can endure. And although that’s exactly what I came for in a way, the process of being stretched beyond one’s comfort zone is hardly ever pleasant. But to place yourself in a position where you are exposed to the ‘elements’ feels incredibly liberating and can redefine your playing field. Ending on the pretentious note you knew was coming, I think this adversity has given the trip a deeper dimension, for which I’m weirdly grateful.

This has truly been an unforgettable experience; an adventure worthy of bringing a decade to a close. And it makes me all the more curious to see what the next one holds.

After a hell of a night in no man’s land between Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan I wake up to the rain streaming down the fly unabated. Inside the tent everything’s damp with wet clothing draped from the sealing in a futile attempt to dry. You know it’s gonna be a great day when you get to put on yesterday’s cold, moist outfit again. After a breakfast shake I pack up and set off into the thick mist and drizzle to the Kyrgyz border, accompanied by the Kinetic Nomads. The muddy track is beyond terrible, as neither country feels responsible to maintain this stateless 15km stretch. But when the fog clears a bit, I find myself cycling through a postcard straight from Iceland.

The Kyrgyz border crossing also marks the boundary between artisanal bookkeeping and the digital age, with a guard behind an actual computer scanning my passport. Outside the small customs booth the rain is coming down in monsoon strength again, so we ask permission to wait it out inside. But while standing there I’m literally swept of my feet by a wave of heavy nausea. I just sort of collapse in a corner of the booth, feeling like I’m about to pass out any second. Maybe half an hour later I’m able to get back on my feet, but I know I need to get somewhere warm and dry, quickly. There is no other option than to get biking again.

The closest village, Sary Tash, is around 35k’s away. As I’ve heard of a guesthouse there, I decide to go for it in one big push, putting all my focus to the road. Survival mode really. The last 15 k’s I’m able to see the village in the distance -almost touch it- at the end of the straight asphalt line cutting through the Kyrgyz steppe. But the free roaming headwind keeps it dangling in front of me for over an hour. With my last strength I make it to the homestay, drop my bike against the wall and hobble through the front door to crash on a bunch of pillows.

Muras guesthouse is arguably the best place to fall sick in Central Asia. The sister-run homestay is the newest, cleanest place I’ve seen along the entire Pamir Highway, with as crown jewels a hot shower and indoor toilet. An oasis. The medicine I bought in the Wakhan Valley now comes in great to keep in essential nutrients to recover, but still I‘m felled for three days with zero energy and the worst ‘stomach problems’ you have never encountered.

In no way am I physically ready to get back on the bike again after my three day break, but I must hit the road to make my flight home. Some other guests kindly offer me a ride for the remaining stretch, but I don’t think I would ever forgive myself for copping out this close to the finish line. I want to end this adventure the way I feel it should: by myself, on a bike, reaching my limits.

Only 185 kilometres and two more mountain passes stand between me and holding my wife. It’s basically a real life version of the final level in Donkey Kong…

The first pass right outside town is a punch in the gut, forcing a heavily recovering body back into beastmode. But once you get back into that cadence of suffering, I’m surprised how quickly it adjusts. At the end of the second day I make it to the foot of the last big pass. A rainstorm is cooking and heavy gusts of wind in combination with the gradient make cycling nearly impossible at times. But the gnarly conditions only fuel my desperation and anger driving me up the mountain, be it tantalizingly slowly. Halfway up night has fallen, and I realize I can’t make it all the way today. So I squat a half open shed by the side of the road to set up my tent inside.