Cory Smetana
Crossing the border into Turkey reminded me of the first day of school.  I had a small sense of the curriculum and I was really anxious to get started on this large, daunting country.  But I thought to myself: Will it be difficult?  Will I enjoy it?  What will my teacher be like?  At first I could only answer the third question.  My teacher, Kellen, told me a couple months ago that we would be travelling through the middle of Turkey.  After some back and forth emails with other cyclists and more research we decided to follow the Black Sea coast (Karadeniz in Turkish) the entire length from Georgia to Istanbul.  We had 1400 kilometers and 13 days to get to Istanbul, where major changes and new surprises awaited all.  It would be a very difficult ride, but one we hoped well worth the effort.

We crossed into Turkey and found the road immediately pressed against the sea by 100 meter tall cliffs.  The smooth, flat freeway led us to our first night’s stay in the city of Hopa.  The impression I got of Hopa was that of a typical shady, uninviting border town – this could be due to the fact that we did not yet speak any Turkish or that it was also the scene of the first fisticuffs I’ve seen on the trip.  Either way we were ready to move further along and dive into the country.  The next evening we spent in a much more welcoming city, Trabzon.

It was a long and tiring day of riding, but after 170km we made it into Trabzon.  We were 50/50 on camping along the coast or biking into the city to find a hotel.  I’m glad we entered the city because we got some of the nice amenities you appreciate so much more on a trip like this including a hearty meal, shower, and a real bed.  The hotel was a block away from the main city square, swarming with people because it was recently remodeled to host the European Youth Olympic Games (lucky us).  We slept like rocks that night.  That was until 3:30am when Kellen and I were startled by the overpowering loudspeaker located (unbeknownst to us) right outside our window.  We looked at each other, very confused, and then went back to sleep when the noise was over.  We knew we had returned to a Muslim country and had heard the call to prayer before, but why on earth was it waking the city in the middle of the night?  We soon realized it was the middle of Ramadan and the call was to wake up any followers so that they could eat before sunrise.

As we moved through the country we began to notice that many restaurants and markets were closed during the day and the call to prayer seemed to be here, there, and everywhere.  The prayer calls provided a cool atmosphere and interesting addition to our riding, but the lack of daytime food did at times prove problematic.  We made sure to pack our lunch each day for fear that we would stumble upon closed markets or restaurants.  Lucky for us, the Black Sea coast of Turkey is particularly known for hazelnuts and I will tell you that hazelnut-butter and jam sandwiches take “PB&J” to a whole new level.  To hit our daily kilometerage we also found ourselves finishing riding around sunset, so we could partake in the same breaking of fast as everyone else.  I always wondered to myself, “Who is hungrier: Kellen and I who rode 150km with lunch and a couple snacks or the Turks who have not eaten since sunrise?”  Given the pace of everyone’s eating (including us), it remains an open question.

The first five days of riding in Turkey were fast and fantastic.  We knocked out on average 150km per day and felt great.  We sped through tunnels and dodged big city traffic while carrying along on our flat, smooth coastal freeway.

And so we arrived in our half-way destination city of Samsun.  I mentioned before that Kellen had emailed a few other cyclists to get a sense of our route through Turkey.  At the time he kept saying, “Oh man, Turkey is going to be beautiful!”   I think at some point prior to Samsun he reread the emails in more detail, because now all he kept saying was “Oh man, get ready… this is going to be TOUGH!”  At Samsun, our fast coastal freeway continued straight inland to the capital Ankara and Istanbul.  We, instead, turned directly north to follow the coast along smaller roads to the port city of Sinop and eventually west all the way to Istanbul.  This was the 800km section that Kellen knew would be difficult.  No more wide shoulders, tunnels, and artificially supported roads; it was all rugged, hilly coast traversed by a road that skirted bluffs, wound up, over, down, and around each cove, and was littered with grades almost 400% steeper than the maximum highway grade in the US.

The day before we hit Samsun we even ran into two women cyclists on the road who were also considering the same route.  “Oh, I heard it is tremendously beautiful,” they said.  “But you’re going to try to do that in 8 days?!  Did you know that if you summed up all the climbing you will be doing from Sinop to Istanbul, it is the equivalent of climbing Mt. Everest twice?”  Gulp!  Almost 60,000 feet of climbing!  That night Kellen and I looked at the Google Earth elevation profile to see what we had in front of us.  The diagram that looked similar to a seismograph during a massive earthquake.  We shared a quick nervous look and then thought better of it.  “It’ll be worth it,” we both said, “and plus, we can handle anything, we’re Kyzylkum Desert veterans.”

The next few days of riding were insane.  The best comparison in the US would be riding the rugged coast of the Pacific Northwest.  Strips of land would jut out into the sea and the road would rise 1000ft, peak, and head straight back down.  In between these peaks were beautiful towns and beaches in the coastal coves and valleys.  The physical exhaustion was beyond description, but it was even mentally draining as well.  We could see our road along the coast, complete with peaks and steep climbs.  The climbing was so continuous that we began to call it “the usual.”  Halfway up one of the climbs we passed a group of construction workers.  One of the men jumped out of his truck and made his way to the front of the group to encourage the passing Kellen.  He said, “You have a long way to go… just relax!”  Kellen laughed at the unexpected English phrase and responded that he would gladly take his advice.  We relaxed, joked, climbed on, and eventually ate up the coast one day at a time.

And lucky for us, “the usual” meant more than just the hardest climbing of the trip.  The scenery was absolutely breathtaking.  At every turn we could see for miles along the coast.  Each small town was quaint and friendly.  The road was often so tight along the cliffs that landslides had taken out whole lanes, but it didn’t matter because we barely shared the road with any cars.

And most nights we asked the locals where to camp and were directed towards the nearest beach.  How’s that for falling asleep to some sounds of nature.  It was incredible and in the end worth every meter of climbing.

We even got to stay in some beautiful coastal towns along the way.  Four days from Samsun we were making decent time and decided to take a half rest day in the pleasant city of Amasra.  This is a small city located on a peninsula originally fortified by the Byzantines.  We arrived at 3pm and immediately went to the beach to even our tans and rest our legs in the Black Sea.  After swimming, we returned to the hotel to shower.  Kellen went first and also needed to wash his clothes.  Typically a “Kellen shower” is nearly 15 minutes; add 10 more to this if he is washing his clothes.  Nearly 15 minutes into his shower, Kellen had not realized that the bathroom’s drain was plugged and water was instead draining out the centimeter-tall tile lip encompassing the bathroom.  Water began to flow under the door and into the entrance to our room, then into the hallway and down the stairs that descended into the street.  If you’ve ever seen the movie Home Alone, it was pretty much the exact equivalent of any scene with The Wet Bandits.

After watering the street for 5 minutes the hotel owner came running up the stairs and began banging on the door.  I was lying on the bed and told him to come in.  He stormed in the room and burst open the bathroom door.  Kellen was quick to grab his family jewels and gave the man a confused look.  He pointed to the hallway and both looked to see water rushing down the stairs.  Kellen assessed, “Hmm, yeah that’s not good.”  The owner pulled the plug and went back to smoking his cigarette while he stormed out of the room.  I sat on the bed laughing hysterically at the whole affair.  The next day they even had mops ready to attack our soggy room after we left.  Sometimes we cause quite a stir when we visit these cities.  After this we went out to visit the city of Amasra and old fortress and took loads of photos.  We followed this by a delicious seafood dinner along the water.  It felt like we were on a normal vacation for the first time.

After Amasra the hilly terrain slowly began to stretch out.  We were able to climb much easier and knew we would make it to Istanbul on time.  The only issue to slow us down now was my bike.  It took an absolute beating from Kazakhstan and never recovered.  I had now broken 17 spokes in Turkey including 7 broken spokes in one day alone.  We repaired it a few times in cities along the way, but the back wheel was not holding up.  One day was so bad that the tire even started rubbing on the frame and I feared needing to hitch another ride like I did in Kazakhstan.  We pulled my bike over and worked on the spokes until it was alright to ride until the next city, where we were lucky to find a bike shop.  I had my wheel fixed one final time and it somehow survived to Istanbul.

The final day it was dawning on me that my end was near and that Kellen had new beginnings ahead of him.  We entered the gargantuan metropolis that is Istanbul and crossed the Bosphorus into Europe through easily the most jam-packed traffic of my trip.  As we crossed I congratulated Kellen on cycling across the largest continent in the world and got excited about his prospects for the second.  It felt great to complete such a task and arrive in a humungous city where I would see my brother take off onto his next leg with two of his close friends who I had the pleasure of meeting.

So, all in all, was it difficult and did I enjoy it?  Absolutely (to both).  And it wasn’t just Turkey I enjoyed; it was the entire two months I spent abroad with Kellen, Theo, and the many others we met along the way.  I would definitely do it all again.  I depart for home jealous of those joining Kellen on the European leg.  Good luck you guys!  And to Kellen, it was amazing traveling with you.  You’re a character and I don’t think I would have had nearly as much fun with anyone else.  So while you head into Greece remember: you have a long way to go, just relax!  Oh, and have a little bit of fun along the way.

Kellen Smetana
As you saw from the last post, Cory and I had plenty of fun with the Bruns’ in our short time riding with them through Georgia, but as Cory mentioned it was time for us to part ways with Theo and begin our push to Istanbul.  Not enough can be said about the man who was able to drag us along to Bukhara and Khiva on our sickest days, use his Russian to secure a free night’s stay just about every evening, and pump out enough positive attitude and jokes to make the Kyzylkum Desert a fun experience.  Riding with Theo through Central Asia was marvelous.  It’s too bad he’s taking the northern route home through Russia rather than joining us on the south side of the Black Sea, else I’m sure there would be plenty more laughs and stories to be had.  He will certainly be missed dearly.

One of the last things Theo allowed us was the use of his beard trimmer.  I know this will disappoint some of you back home – especially those who have already donned me with the new nickname “TK” (Ted Kaczynski) for my gruff look – but I had to take the facial hair down a notch.  Don’t worry, it’s still going strong and will be back in full force soon enough; for the time being, however, I look a little more like a squeaky clean cycle-tourist than a roving Unabomber.

Trimmed beards and all, Cory and I were ready to take on Georgia – a country that always seems to require further explanation as not being home to peaches, Coca Cola, and the Bulldogs football team.  I will tell you, though, that this is an absolutely amazing country that will be put in the heavyweight category with Kyrgyzstan and China battling for top spot when all is said and done.  We visited excellent cities like the medieval mountaintop Signaghi, charming capital Tbilisi, and Black Sea hotspot Batumi.  The people were very nice (no aerial apple cores or cucumbers) and the riding was superb.  We coasted through valleys of vineyards, past monasteries on hillsides, through mountains of thick green forest, and right along next to old Roman forts.  And we barely even scratched the surface in our week’s traverse; I’ll have to add a return trip to the grand to-do list.

Tbilisi is now my favorite city of the trip (I know, the stats are a little behind), trumping Signaghi we visited the day before.  Cory and my first day as a dynamic duo riding between the two was one of the prettiest.  We hopped along several scenic mountaintop towns like Signaghi before descending through an amber and green valley of vineyards and wheat fields and finally finished in Tbilisi, a city built along a deep river gorge.  As is the case with many of our “rest days” recently, we spent the first 75% of it fixing the bikes.  Fortunately, we found another velotrek where we were able to remedy all our mechanical ailments: spokes, brakes, wheels, and tires.  Two kids loitering there even offered to lead us across the city to the one bike shop where I could buy replacement tubes.  It must have been a funny sight to watch us struggle exhausted up the hills and across the city on our bikes following two kids who were bouncing off walls (literally) as they BMX’ed from one side of the street to another.

Everything fixed, we went out to explore the city and were so much in awe that we decided to spend most of the next day there as well.  People were out and about everywhere, there were beautiful streets, old fortresses and churches strewn throughout, and the old quarter was a warren of cobblestone alleys where we could have easily spent a day getting lost.  We loved it – number one so far and it will be a tough one to dethrone.  Alas, we had to keep on keepin’ on; Turkey was waiting.

In our first few days west of Tbilisi we climbed through dark green hills and up one mountain pass.  As it was Cory’s first pass, I was actually rather pleased when he got to have the full experience of a nasty mountain storm blow in just as we peaked.

That pleasure lasted for about twenty seconds.  As we started going down the misty rain turned into a full deluge and very soon we were getting pelted with gumball-sized hail.  I immediately pulled off the road to “hide” under a tree, which did not provide any shelter as my helmet and back continued to take the full brunt of the falling ice.  Cars and trucks were parked every which way and the rain was such that the road had turned into a full mudslide complete with fist-sized rocks and gushing water.  Cory rounded the turn a minute behind and I shouted to him to come join me off near the trees.  By this point, however, there was a foot-and-a-half-deep river of water between me and the road.  I could see him laughing through the hail at the thought of marching through that to join me in my miserable shelter.  He looked around and was lucky enough to spot a nearby tunnel under construction.  I picked up my bike as much as I could and quickly forded the mudslide to join him in the tunnel with shoes oozing mud and water.

I entered the tunnel laughing, “That was INSANE.  I guess I’m not so pleased about that storm any more…  How are you doing?”  Cory responded, “Oh, I was basking in it!  You’ve got to love that part of the experience.”  True words spoken true.  The hail subsided, but the downpour continued.  We both basked in it while we waited out the storm in the tunnel and danced about to stay warm.  After an hour the rain eventually lightened and police crews arrived to guide the now parking-lot of traffic along the rock-strewn road.  Adequately marinated in mud and water, we carried on downhill through the valley.  The rain continued through the evening and we slept underneath a roadside mountain restaurant for shelter.  The first hailstorm and mudslide of the trip where quite an experience.  We had a good laugh reminiscing on it later and I’m sure we will for a long time.

A zillion times throughout the trip, people have asked where we are from.  “America,” I respond, and if I feel like a longer conversation I tell them Detroit.  Given Detroit’s less-than-stellar reputation in the states, it’s pretty funny to see people’s reaction abroad.  In Georgia, as in pretty-much every other country, anyone under the age of 30 thinks it is the coolest city on the planet.  I have attributed 98% of that to the fact that Eminem is from Detroit (not sure yet on the last 2%).  “Oooh, Eminem!” or “Oooh, 8 Miele! [8 Mile]” are usually the reactions we get (I also love telling them I grew up on 9 Mile).  My favorite reactions, though, are the more obscure references: “Oooh, Robocop!” or “Oooh, Beverly Hills Cop!”  If Detroit wants to work on its image, it’s certainly got quite the head start on other American cities abroad.

Basking in the hailstorm and Motown praises, we made it to the Black Sea and spent a half-rest day in the lovely town of Batumi.  The final day in Georgia held a big milestone for me – I joined the five-figure club with 10,000km on the trip!  Many kilometers down and many more to go.  The next day we rolled into Turkey to ride the Black Sea coast for 1500km until we reach Istanbul and the end of Asia.

Cory Smetana
It was Wednesday evening when our ship arrived in Baku’s port.  Still feeling as bruised and battered as Rocky Balboa, we decided we would take two rest days in the city.  Frankly, we deserved it after what we had just been through.  After the border crossing we searched for our guesthouse in Baku’s “old town,” inside an ancient fortress.  The fortress was just a rock toss away from the Caspian Sea and a short walk from the city’s center.  Outside the old town it was hard to turn a corner and not find yourself window shopping at one of many famous designer stores:  Gucci, Prada, and Louis Vuitton all helped flaunt the Caspian oil money present in the city.  It was quite the abrupt contrast from the absolute nothingness of the Kyzylkum Desert.

The only time we could get away from the glamour was our (my much needed) trip to the “bike shop” in the north end of the city.  The shop was part of an Azeri cycling club at an outdoor old Soviet velotrek (bicycle track).  We got to experience a quick race between two young Azeri’s and I even had the chance to ride it once my bike was fixed.

“Hello my friend,” was what we heard around every corner in old town.  It was the owner of the guesthouse, who seemed to pop up everywhere around town like the groundhog from Caddyshack; we always chuckled, looked at each other in amazement, and responded with a hearty “hello.”  The man was generous and ran a nice guesthouse; later, we also found out he was a soldier in the war against Armenia.  He showed us his scars from grenade fragments and bullet wounds – pretty insane stuff.  (For more information on the Azeri-Armenian conflict, see this article).  His friendliness spread throughout town and he seemed to know everyone so we were never waiting around for a taxi, the bike shop was easy to find, and we had very little trouble finding the nearest cafés.

As soon as we left Baku we found ourselves right back in the desert.  “Not again,” we thought.  Our day was brightened when we met a couple bicycle tourists at lunch travelling in the opposite direction.  They told us that the road we would reach the following day contained greener land with some beautiful scenery.  They were absolutely right.  The next few day contained huge river valleys surrounded by the lush Caucasus Mountains.  Some sections of the road were completely shaded for kilometers with the tall, overgrown trees.  We passed many campgrounds on the way reminding me of trips in northern Michigan.  Some of the riding was difficult, but after every climb we were rewarded with a gorgeous view of the mountains.  It was difficult to speed downhill without stopping to take a few photos of the surrounding landscape.  This riding definitely blew Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan out of the water.

Azerbaijan was now at the top of my list and was also home to a few first happenings.  It was the first country where we found ourselves climbing to the top of a hill in order to enter a city.  Usually cities in any mountain region like this would be found in the lower river valleys.  We enjoyed the contrast because it allowed us to start our days of riding with an easy descent, giving us enough time to prepare for the next climb.  Also present were an abundance of mustaches.  While eating lunch at the peak of a hill one day we were asked by the proprietor why we all had beards.  Kellen responded to his question: “I enjoy having a beard, it looks good, but why do you have a mustache?”  The man answered, “Well… everybody has one.”  I guess that makes sense.  It was a self-fulfilling response for every man in the country.

The final first occurred on one of our last days in the country.  We were riding through a small, forested town when we were passed by a Lada (cars almost as prevalent as the mustache).  The man in the passenger seat stuck his torso out the window waving with a cucumber in his hand.  I was the third man back at the time and the first one who was offered this nutritious snack.  I respectfully declined and so did Theo who was next to pass.  When they made it to Kellen, they didn’t bother to ask and just chucked the cucumber at him.  The vegetable just missed him and for the next few hours he had thoughts flying through his head as to what he did to deserve this.  At the next stop he told us what had happened and Theo and I both said, “hmm, that’s funny because the same guy offered us that cucumber.”  The man must have been upset that we didn’t take it so he decided to throw it at Kellen.  I thought this wouldn’t happen again, but the very next day Theo had an apple core thrown at him.  Maybe this should be a new statistic on the website…

We were all enjoying these new experiences –besides the thrown food – and were taking in the sights that this country had to offer, but we also had a deadline.  We were meeting Theo’s brother and his family in Lagadekhi, a border town just inside of Georgia.  In order to make it on time we made sure we hit certain cities by the end of each day.  On one particular day we needed to make it to Qakh to put us within a feasible distance of the Georgian border.  In the afternoon we stopped in a town for cold drinks and a Snickers.  While Theo talked with the locals he found out we had two options to get to Qakh: a 70km road fully paved or a 40km road under construction.  “Go the long route, the other road is TERRIBLE,” they advised.  Theo walked back to Kellen and me and said, “these guys don’t know bad roads.”  He was right.  As Kazakh road veterans we knew the road couldn’t be too difficult, especially if it was only 40km.  So we chose the shorter route and made it to Qakh by sunset.

From Qakh we had half a day to ride into Lagadekhi, Georgia.  The border crossing only took a few minutes and the town was only a few kilometers past.  When we arrived at our hotel we searched for Theo’s family.  Theo shouted, “We are here, we are here!”  The shouts went unanswered because the family was out for a walk to the nearby waterfall.  Our hotel was in the northern part of town bordering a national park complete with forested streams, trails, and waterfalls.  After cooling off in the nearby stream we waited in the hotel for Theo’s family.  They stormed back in shouting Theo’s name.  He ran down the steps and they were reunited once again.  We talked for a couple hours, played 21 questions with 5 year old Luka and 8 year old Jasper, and went down the street to have dinner at the “Four Seasons” hotel.  I put this in quotes because it wasn’t your normal Four Seasons hotel; it was a two story house with a couple rooms.  Nonetheless, we feasted at their picnic table outside on our most filling meal in months while we shared stories, laughed, and looked over the next day’s route.  That’s right, we were back to riding the next day.  Theo’s brother, his wife, and their two kids would join us as we set out through the Caucasus Mountains.  It sounds pretty ambitious, but we were all determined to make it successfully into Signaghi, the town we would stay in the following night.

The kids were up bright and early along with the adults, and everyone was eager to hop on their saddle, whether it was a fully-loaded bike or the pedaling trailers that the two kids had each attached to their parents bikes.

We started our day downhill into another huge valley.  We had about 40km of flat riding, which we accomplished by late morning.  It felt like Theo’s family had always been riding with us.  They didn’t slow us down a bit and made the riding even more enjoyable.  We stopped along the way to share a melon and rest.  After the snack we had a short climb to lunch.  Everyone made it up ok and the family was getting acquainted with their first ascent.  I wasn’t really impressed until after lunch.  Signaghi was 10km away and the road was all uphill.  Steep switchbacks and the hot weather combined to slow even Kellen, Theo, and me down.  I thought to myself if this is tough for us, I have no idea how Christian, Christina, and their two kids were coping with these tough grades – on their first day of riding!  I can only hope to have vacations like this with my wife and kids many years down the road.

It was a task reaching the top, but all seven of us made it.  We were even encouraged by little Luka along the way saying: “come on guys, you’re doing great!”  We reached the gate of Signaghi by mid-afternoon and stopped for some drinks at a café that overlooked the huge valley we came from.  It’s always great when you can look back at what you’ve accomplished.

We quickly found our guesthouse, showered, and set out on the cobblestone road leading up into the center of town.  This town quickly grew on me as we walked through the tight streets past neatly stacked red-roofed buildings that made this ‘up in the clouds’ city so photogenic.  When we reached the town square we had a delicious sunset meal of salad, fish, potatoes, eggplant, and a couple bottles of wine from one of the local vineyards.  While we ate Jasper and Luka played at the nearby playground which was buzzing with kids, even at 10:30pm on a Tuesday night.  The evening couldn’t have been better, but we were sad to leave the next day.

Not only were we leaving the city, but Kellen and I also needed to part ways with Theo and his family in order to make it to Tbilisi on time.  It was hard saying our goodbyes to our teammate and his lovely family, but I guess all good things must come to an end.  It was the end of our Band of Brothers as we set out through Georgia.  Next stop: Tbilisi.

Kellen Smetana
“Ok Kellen,” said Theo as we sat analyzing maps in Khiva, “we just hauled our butts off from Tashkent, putting in 150km days over road construction and through sickness and extreme heat.  Now, it’s 1150km from here to the Caspian Sea over some of the worst roads and most inhospitable terrain on the planet.  How fast do you think we can make it?”

“Hmmm, 8 days...  I think we can do it.”

“Ha! 8 days, I’m not so sure, but I’m in.  If we make it in 8 days, we’re heroes.”

Eight days later we were sitting on a bench in Aktau, Kazakhstan on the Caspian Sea reminiscing on this conversation.  But we were no glamorous dragon-slaying heroes; we were more like Rocky Balboa, just able to sustain an absolute beatdown for a very, very long period of time.  Taken as a whole, the segment from Tashkent to Aktau was definitely the most difficult section of the trip.  If I were to plot this difficulty level on a graph, it would look like a half-parabola that skyrockets the closer we got to the Caspian.  It was tough.  Those of you keener readers out there know that the blog is a bit delayed and you will now see why we dropped off the grid for a couple weeks because frankly, in most of these places, there is no grid.

In his post, Cory wrote about the difficulty of the ride to Samarkand, where, I found out later, we pushed him to the point of tunnel-vision.  Instead of throwing anger at his brother for encouraging him up “the last hill” and “the last hill” and then “the last hill” before Samarkand, he chose to direct it at his body for not being able to keep up.  He’s a tough cookie, that one.  Theo and I pushed him hard because we thought he could handle it and he needed to, as it didn’t get any easier.  He did.

The ride to Bukhara and then Khiva was laden with 200km of construction, sand-dune covered roads, extreme heat, incessant flies, and sickness.

We motored along under our mantra “GO GO G’Ozbekistan,” a play on the Uzbek spelling of their country.  To avoid the heat we were usually riding by 6am and we would sleep through the heat of the day at a chaikhana (teahouse/restaurant) where we had just eaten lunch.  The worst part was not the lack of air-conditioning but rather the swarm of flies that painted us like we were new roadkill.  To avoid the heat we sometimes rode by moonlight as well.  At 10:30 one particular night we chose to lay out our sleeping bags right on the road (blocked new construction) as we would be off by 5am the next day.

From Khiva it was a rough 175km day against the wind to Nukus, the last town between us and the serious Karakalpak and Kyzylkum Deserts.  Beyond Nukus only two towns lay between us and the Caspian coast 1000 kilometers away: Qongirat, 100km from Nukus, and Beyneu, 400km after that.  Between them, almost nothing: sand, power lines, railroad tracks, and a few camels.  Fortunately there were three villages en route with chaikhanas next to the road that doubled as truck-stops and proved to be true saviors for us.  We planned our route chaikhana to chaikhana (often over 150kms between) to ensure access to food and water.  As it was we were carrying 8-12 liters of water each; the first day we ran out 40km from the chaikhana – “never again,” was a lesson spoken quickly through cracked lips.

As we always arrived at these chaikhanas starving, downtrodden, and dehydrated, I did not fully appreciate their singularity until after the fact.  They are the only oases for hundreds of miles in the desert and consequently serve as true 21st century caravanserais, mixing local camel herders, Russian truckers, gypsy families, and touring cyclists.  It’s difficult to appreciate when you’re patching flat tires, dripping in sweat, and leaning over yet another plate of tough-as-gum lamb, but they have settled in my memory as some fascinating out-of-this world places.

I thought the desert may give me some time to do some deep introspective thinking; instead I found my thoughts quickly directed to the many beneficial qualities of Gatorade, the best smoothie flavors, winter, and back to Gatorade.  Substitute in Fanta for Theo, and all three of our thoughts were exactly the same.  This is what the human conscious resorts to in the desert – now proven by experiment.  Sadly, the chaikhanas had no Walmart-stocked refrigerators; we were lucky to get a fraction of the already limited Central Asian menu: shashlyk (lamb skewers), kebab (beef skewers), miasa (lamb on a plate, with onions), cutleti (kebab on a plate), salad (tomatoes and cucumbers), bread, Cola, Fanta, and water (without gas if we were lucky) and juice (if we were really lucky).  We would arrive for a late dinner, sleep anywhere we found room, and be up again at 4am to beat the heat.  The roadside chaikhanas gave us the energy and hydration we needed to bust through the Kyzylkum.

One day before my Uzbek visa expired and two days before Theo’s, we made it to the Kazakh border (one of those border crossings that is truly in the middle of nowhere).  Beaten down by heat and the exhaustion of our torrid pace we thought, “Alright, Go Go G’Ozbekistan is done, now let’s just cruise into Aktau.”  This is where the parabola spiked.

Thirty seconds into Kazakhstan the road completely disintegrated and stayed that way for the next 400 kilometers.  Possibly always dirt, possibly once paved by the Soviets, either way it was all busted rock and dirt now and clearly unmaintained for the last 20 years.  At just over 10km/hr we were riding sometimes 14 hours per day just to continue to hit our 150km/day pace; it doesn’t take a lot of imagination to judge how our butts felt after that many hours over washboard tracks.  The road was so bad that many trucks chose to simply ride 100 meters off into the desert as it was probably less stress on their suspension.

We chose instead to thread the foot-wide road/desert boundary.  Aside from the still-present fist-sized rocks and washboard swell, one of the biggest problems here is that an occasional small dune has built up into the road and riding through it brought our bikes to a complete halt as if we had entered a pit of quicksand.  For our bodies, Newton’s First Law translated to many spills, rolls, and tumbles off the bikes.  In one instance Theo deftly maneuvered his way through a series of rocks and pits by riding way off the road.  He turned to wave and celebrate his skills, only to be thrown from the bike a second later by a patch of sand.  We had a good laugh about that one; equally humorous was the day I had six spills every which way, making up for my zero pre-Uzbekistan.

At times, the riding really, really sucked.  Early into the desert, Theo quoted his country’s old leader Winston Churchill: “If you’re going through Hell, keep going!”  We did.  And we found many ways to deal with the desert and “road.”  We swapped iPods (where Theo rediscovered Waka Waka by Shakira, AC/DC, and the D-Devils), came up with witty quotes and jokes about the road, and sometimes we tuned everything out to just battle the road, mano a mano.  Three of the days I was off in my own little world listening to A Tale of Two Cities, sometimes falling way behind Cory and Theo when Dicken’s got a little intense.  We managed and we made it through, and it was a great test of our reserve; that’s more than I can say of the bikes.

With our weight, our bags, and all that water, you can only have nightmares of the pounding our bikes took in Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan.  All told, Theo had one flat and frequent problems with his chain, which came off four times and needed to be fixed on the road (plus he lost waterbottles off his back rack like they were candy at a parade).  I had four flats, swapped in a new tire, broke the bike pump, and on the last day broke a front rack support that later needed to be welded.  Cory’s brand new bike was a different story altogether; it’s a good bike and has since proven so, but it was clearly not made with the Karakalpak Desert in mind.  He broke the back rack, both rear pannier supports, two spokes (both needing wheel re-alignments), wore through a tire, and had more flat tires than we can even count (at one point we had nine patches on one of his three tubes).  At first we managed fine, getting equally adept at fixing flats by moonlight as in the 115 degree heat of the day – we were regular roving mechanics.

But then on the second to last day, 50km before the start of the pavement and 250km from Aktau, Cory, who had somehow willed his bike across hundreds of kilometers of the world’s worst roads, had yet another flat and we had run out of patches to fix it.  We had to hitch him (and his bike) a ride into Aktau.  We hailed the first car; they pulled over, only to find they too had just gotten a flat tire.  While I tried to help them fix this, Theo and Cory tried the next few vehicles.  A truck soon pulled over and I found that it was the same driver I had stopped to chat with the night before when I was in my own little audiobook-listening world.  His name was Alexander and he offered to take Cory and his bike all the way to Aktau.  In and settled, we were all moving west again.  Theo and I rode until the sun went down and set up camp, vowing that we were going to make to Aktau the next day no matter what.

By 4:30am we were on the road again.  At 6 we passed Cory and Alexander, who had stopped to sleep with a number of other trucks in a patch off the road (trucks don’t move too much faster than bikes out here).  They later passed us and Cory reached Aktau by about 2pm.  By 7am we finally, finally, finally crossed onto pavement; we had been waiting for this moment for days.  With the exception of three half-hour food breaks during the day, we rode straight through to 10pm, first over rolling hills and then against massive headwinds as we neared the sea.  We made it: 224km racked up on the day and completely drained of energy, we pulled into the hotel in Aktau.

As I mentioned previously we dreaded this desert segment and it turned out to be quite the test.  We rode it because we want to ride our bikes all the way across Asia and this section is part of that route.  In the end, I am very happy that we did; it was an unbelievable experience and a good battle.  But we did not thrash along at those speeds to set any kind of record (though Theo and I are convinced we did) or give fodder to a heroic cycling tale.  We sped to Aktau to give ourselves the best chance of catching the elusive ferry that runs across the Caspian Sea from Aktau, Kazakhstan to Baku, Azerbaijan.  This “ferry” is actually a material freighter that also takes passengers but has no set schedule because it only leaves each port when full.  There’s no information online and so we just had to hope that when we arrived and went to the port, the wait would only be a few days rather than a few weeks.  When we bid adieu to Cory and Alexander, this was his one task for the day in Aktau.

At 10pm, Theo and I sat on the bench in our hotel in Aktau reminiscing on our conversation from Khiva when Cory walked in the door.

“Alright!  You guys made it!  Oh, did you hear about the ferry – it leaves at 2am.”

“2am!  That’s four hours!  Can we still buy tickets?  When does the next one leave?”

“Yeah, I know!  Well the ticket office closed at 6pm and she wouldn’t let me buy tickets earlier without your passports.  She didn’t know when the next one would leave but the last one left on July 8 [19 days earlier].  I think we ought to just head down to the port and try to bribe our way on.”

And that was it, we were up and off again – ain’t no rest for the wicked.  Within two hours we had showered, gotten money and food (as there is no restaurant on board), and fixed Cory’s bike enough to get it to the port.  We rolled away to the port; Cory rode the first three kilometers and then ran next to his bike the final three as the back tire was too flat to ride.  By 1am we arrived.  Theo spoke with some of the port guards, who noted that we could not board without tickets, but also that the boat arrived at 2am but was unlikely to leave until much later in the day.  We slept at the port.  At 8am the ticket office reopened and we secured our tickets.  By 3pm we were on the boat.  At 5pm the boat set sail south across the Caspian to Azerbaijan.

The three of us stood on deck and laughed at each other in disbelief.  Everything we just put ourselves through paid off: 21 days of racing across the desert and we had made the boat by mere hours.  One day later and we would have missed it.  I was a happy man, and now it was time to rest.

Kellen Smetana
Apart from the ever hospitable Uzbek people and the novelty of spotting more camels, I wasn’t really excited about any aspect of the route from Tashkent to the Caspian Sea except the trifecta of Silk Road cities.  Lonely Planet paints a pretty clear picture of the subject, “if Central Asia had a Hall of Fame of cities, Uzbekistan would have the top three entries: Samarkand, Bukhara, and Khiva.”  Initially I was going to pass by all three, then I thought I had better at least explore Samarkand.  With Cory on board I pulled in Bukhara.  “But you’ve got to see Khiva,” was Theo’s matter of fact point when we were looking at maps.  Fair enough.

Wow.  I can confirm in this instance Lonely Planet was spot on with their analysis; the history and grandeur of these cities is unbelievable.  Their power rose and fell with the prominence of the Silk Road.  Incredible wealth, ruthless khans, 19th century Great Game Empire maneuvering between Britain and Russia: great history reads for anyone interested.  Bukhara, 5,000 miles away from Mongolia, was once burnt to the ground by Genghis Khan himself.  Khiva was the last major Central Asian city to hold out against Soviet expansion.  Centuries earlier, Amir Timur (Tamerlane), the great Central Asian Emperor, declared Samarkand his capital.  “If you have doubts in our might and power,” he said, “look at our monuments.”  Needless to say, the photo albums from here (when I actually have time to post them), will be spectacular.

We spent a day exploring the best of each of these cities.  Samarkand was the first city we hit from Tashkent.  Highlights include massive mosques, avenues of colorful mausoleums, and a Registan square closed in by three huge madrassas.

We had heard from other travelers that it was possible to bribe policemen to let you up into a Registan minaret (the highest point in the city) to watch the sunrise over Samarkand.  That took about 90 seconds to arrange and was worth every “dirty” penny.

One evening there Cory and Theo had just turned in to bed.  I was finishing up on the computer when I heard what sounded like a percussion parade marching through the street.  The guesthouse owner told me it was an Uzbek wedding and motioned to join in.  A few of us from the guesthouse joined the march until we reached the groom’s home.  He got out of the car and carried his bride upstairs amidst the uproar of the crowd, then immediately came back to the street to join the massive dance party that had erupted.  Kids continued to filter into the street, we spent some time “chatting” (taking shots) with the Uzbek men, and I even managed to get my mug center frame in the wedding video as I joined the dance.  It was tons of fun and the party continued long after I left.

The next stop on our route was Bukhara.  As you read from Cory’s post we had the ill-fortune of food sickness along the way and so it was not as pleasant a visit.  Even so, Bukhara was another wonderful city: towering minarets, central pools, more madrassas, and an old central city with a warren of winding streets and alleys that hasn’t changed much in a hundred years.

Here too we found you could bribe guards for access to hilltop ruins behind one of the old forts that offered a stunning panorama of the city.

Travelers we met in Samarkand (where it was 95-100 degrees everyday) exclaimed how cold it was there compared to Bukhara and Khiva.  We stayed at a lovely guesthouse in Bukhara and joined our hosts sleeping on the roof, as it was much cooler than any of the rooms.  I tried to gain some extra sleep in the mornings to combat the food illness, but by 5am the sun started creeping above the shadows of the buildings like a slow-moving lava flow.  By 6:30 we were all curled up and sweaty, hiding under the two foot shadow offered by the few bricks on the roof.  There will be plenty more about riding a bicycle in these conditions next post.

The craziest thing we saw in Bukhara was not from any Uzbeks but rather from a group of French tourists.  We were exploring the streets when we stopped by the grand Kalon Minaret to catch some of the French tour guide’s explanation of its history.  A few minutes later we heard a hair-raising scream from one of the women, who we realized had just been bitten on her toe by a fly.  “Oh, no cause for alarm,” I thought, as this had happened to us literally 100 times in the last two days; the guide even offered up some cold water to cool the sting.  But her husband proved to be the quickest and smartest on hand.  He knew that the best remedy was to light a cigarette and put it out on her toe…  This he proceeded to do, with actually less yelping from the woman than the initial fly bite.  Her toe swelled up like it had been smashed with a hammer and I had to turn my back to the group to hide my laughter.  Some old wives tales die hard.

Our last of the trifecta was the great city of Khiva.  I wasn’t expecting much as I had heard it called a museum-city and had read that sometime in the near past it was completely deserted.  I thought we would ride through the desert to find some half-surviving walls of an old town covered with sand dunes.  This was not the case.  People live in Khiva again and the “museum-city,” the walled old city, is an amazingly well-preserved complex of palaces, madrassas, and old mosques.  It was awesome exploring this city and its bazaars; there was no bribery here, though we did manage to haggle the entrance ticket down from $21 to $4.

The trifecta of Silk Road cities were wonderful to see, places I would have never thought to visit before embarking on this trip.  And as you will see in the next post, they proved to be our only respite from weeks riding through the brutal Uzbek desert.

Months in the making.  I finally have PHOTOS up from Xinjiang Province, our first pass through Kazakhstan, and unbelievable Kyrgyzstan.  Enjoy!

New Uzbek journal entries coming soon.

Cory Smetana
Yes, you read that name correctly.

“The package is in the open.”  A famous line we quoted from Mission Impossible, although our package was Kellen’s new handlebar bag and we needed it in order to depart from Tashkent.  It was exactly one week since I had arrived and I was anxious to start riding.

By 4pm that day Kellen and Theo walked in the courtyard of our hotel twirling their hands telling me to pack up because we’re leaving in 10 minutes.  I had been waiting around all day and had a feeling this would happen…  They had not retrieved the package, but had rerouted it to Bukhara, the third major city we would visit.  We all said our goodbyes to Ben and were on our way.

The first day of riding was a short 40 kilometers because of our late start, but I was excited to get my first taste of riding and camping that night.  After taking a break at a drink vendor alongside the road we realized it was getting dark.  We had asked the vendor (who was selling drinks in her front yard) if we could set up camp in their driveway.  She agreed but pointed across the street to an abandoned shelter that would be an even better campsite.  We set up camp and ate dinner, and I was even able to get some use out of my newly purchased head torch, sleeping pad and silk sleep liner!  Although the tent proved to be some tight sleeping quarters for Kellen and me, we got some decent rest as it cooled off into the thick of the night.  It was a great start to our many nights we would spend on the road.

The second day from Tashkent we had an early start that allowed us to make up some ground.   I quickly learned that 135 kilometers of riding is a lot of riding and not an easy task.  I was excited, but a bit nervous for the rolling hills we could see and would have to face the next day.  By sunset we stumbled upon an aqueduct that ran perpendicular to the road.  While walking down the dirt road that hugged the aqueduct we ran into a few farmers on their land.  My brother taught me that by this time in the day it would be stupid not to ask if we could set up camp nearby and after a few magic words from Theo we were setting up our sleeping bags on their “tapchan” (a popular Central Asian bed/dinner table).

After bathing in the flowing aqueduct, getting comfortable and pulling out the food for dinner (an exciting bread and kielbasa) we were surprised to find out they had invited us to dinner.  Fish, bread, salad, soup, beer, a few rounds of Uzbek vodka was more than enough to fill our guts (or chiseled out cycling stomachs).  We met the whole family, shared a few laughs and made out what we could from hand gestures and Theo’s translation.  The family was even generous enough to cover the bill.  This night immediately moved to the top of my list and this Uzbek family provided outstanding hospitality and made a big impression on my views of this foreign country.

The next day of riding I will put on my list of top five most physically demanding feats I have accomplished in my life.  In total we traveled 135 kilometers, including many brutal uphill sections and couldn’t seem to find any shade besides our lunch break.  At 125 kilometers we had reached the sign for Samarkand, our destination.  Every muscle in my body was cramping and I was breathing heavy.  I thought, “this isn’t how an athletic kid like me should feel on just the third day of riding,” but my body was not used to the riding yet.  Kellen and Theo had been riding for months.  The most riding I had done back home in one day was on the cusp of 90 kilometers, and I had accomplished nearly 270 in two days!  Now it made sense why my body hated me.  So after saying no to a taxi ride, I managed to use the fumes I had left in order to make it to the guesthouse.  When we arrived we were “rewarded” with some cold water and melon.  I think getting to rest the following day made me go the extra 10 kilometers…

Soon after leaving Tashkent I started to become acclimated with this nomadic lifestyle.  I had great experiences so far, but I was quick to learn that not every night would be so “perfect.”  We were only a few days in and we knocked out 160 kilometers on this particular day of riding.  We felt good.  I was feeling more confident on the bike and we were making great time.  Near sunset we found a shop just off the road where we had loaded up on shashlyk (skewers), soup, bread, watermelon, and some juice – a very hearty meal.  While eating we met the man who owned the shop where we had purchased our food.  Similar to the second night he had invited us to stay in the courtyard of his home.  The night was off to a great start.

At his home, I brushed my teeth, sat on the tapchan, and suddenly felt my stomach turn.  A few seconds later and I was bent over the railing.  Let’s just say the food was much better coming in than going out.  I glanced over to Kellen, who was curled up and mentioned he didn’t feel well as he witnessed my scene.  He spent his night sitting in the courtyard, occasionally chatting with our host and occasionally duplicating my scene.  We were struck with my first bout of food poisoning (Theo had been sick at the restaurant as well).  On top of feeling ill, our sleep, or lack thereof, was short-lived by the 2:30am calling of roosters and other courtyard animals and incessant swatting of mosquitoes (Kellen was eaten alive and looked hilarious the next day).  It was a rough night to say the least, but we survived and made it to Bukhara the next day mostly thanks to Theo dragging the two of us along.  This is supposed to be a fun trip right?!  I chalked that one up to part of the experience and learned that life on the road is much better on a settled stomach.

So far the days of riding have been exhausting, eventful, exciting, and fun!  Every day thus far is full of new faces, new foods, new sights, and new sounds (I can see why Kellen dislikes honking).  We’re hoping for new pavement and well-cooked food as we continue west.  I look forward to the rest of my trip and of course spending some quality time with my brother and our new teammate Theo.