Day #1 How I Was Asking For It

The last night before the start was hectic. In Osh we booked an entire apartment and occupied it like four single guys. You could barely move, gear was scattered all over the floor, and Tony was changing the oil in his fork in the bathtub. I was trying to cook curry at the same time. I couldn’t get all the ingredients and for some I wasn’t even sure what they actually were. The translation Google Translate gave me could be interpreted in multiple ways. At first I was skeptical about the taste of my creation, but in the end everyone seemed to enjoy it—or the guys lied really well.

We were getting close to the start, and unresolved technical issues began to surface:

• Tomáš Hadámek had a problem with his Dubnital, it was leaking and he tried replacing the valve. Mine was fine, thankfully. It was an honor to pick the same tires as this off-road wizard.
• Tomáš Fabián didn’t load his map files. He liked the idea of having them. Luckily he had such a navigation expert like me, right? It wasn’t that simple, but a few hours before the start he managed to get access to a computer from some lady in a bar and loaded the files there.
• Tony had a stiff fork, so he was changing the oil. Mine was just overinflated—I thought it was too soft, but I got convinced to let some air out and it turned out fine.
• Besides map files, Tomáš Fabián also longed for Tony’s bivvy. He only had a SOL Escape Bivy, and it was starting to dawn on him that Kyrgyzstan wouldn’t be much of a joke. Tony was debating all night whether to take a tent, which meant he could lend the bivvy to Tomáš. In the end, Tomáš got it.
• I found out my multitool was missing a Torx bit, but I didn’t care—what would I even need it for?
• At the last minute I tried to shoot a video about why Silk Road Mountain Race is such a tough race—and at the end I briefly interviewed Tomáš while they were doing their “homework”. 😉

I went to bed at 11:30 pm, which for me—an early bird—was far from ideal. Normally I go to sleep at 10, but I accepted the fact I’d ride this race in suboptimal form. With all the traveling, time zones, foreign environment, and stress, there was no other way. This was mostly about adventure—and I got it in full doses.

👮 So let’s go

Back home I was full of worries that kept me awake at night. But once I was at the start and dropped off my bag for the finish, it all vanished. There was no point worrying anymore, because there was no time to change anything. I couldn’t grab any more gear. What I had was all I had—and I had to survive 1900 kilometers with it. Now I trusted that whatever happened, I’d figure it out. Mostly, I was just excited to finally start.

There was a briefing in the hall, but it went in one ear and out the other. As usual, they were running late, so supposedly it was shortened, but the 6 pm start didn’t happen anyway. I got my brevet card for stamps at the checkpoints and I was ready.

At 6:07 pm it kicked off. I don’t even know how it was officially started, but a mass of 235 riders rolled through Osh. A police car led the way. Drivers mostly weren’t annoyed to be pulled aside, instead they filmed us and waved.

It wasn’t pleasant though, because the police car kept a constant speed even downhill, so I had to brake unnecessarily. Not every city street was paved with asphalt. Sometimes we rode through construction sites covered in a thin layer of mud. My bike was filthy right after the start!

The column broke apart when someone yelled we were going the wrong way. Indeed—the navigation line was gone. Half the riders suddenly braked and desperately turned around, squeezing past trucks into a side street. I wasn’t sure if this was still a neutral start or if the race had begun. The police car tried to catch up with us, but it wasn’t easy.

😱 So it happened

Our Czech group was prepared—we knew it would get dusty, so we bought masks beforehand. A scarf would’ve worked, but I didn’t want one around my neck, it would only overheat me. The mask paid off. Dust was kicked up not only by the peloton but also by passing cars and trucks. Sometimes I could only see a few bike lengths ahead.

After about 25 kilometers things calmed down, the bunch split, and we climbed on gravel roads. I didn’t feel great and breathing was hard. I don’t like race starts—everyone hypes each other up and we ride way too fast. I was already looking forward to being alone, chatting with horses and cows.

As soon as the road turned into an easier descent, dusk fell. That’s when the event happened that would change the whole race. I got a second wind and pushed a bit harder than usual, especially in the fading light. In one section a several-centimeter layer of dust made my front wheel slip and I flew straight down. Tony was right behind me and immediately asked if I was OK. I nodded. Just a scraped knee, no big deal. I wanted to hop back on when I realized one of my handlebars was missing a grip—just bare carbon. Worse—the bar was broken.

“OK,” I thought. First reaction—this is going to be interesting. There’s only one winner of this race, and I knew it wasn’t going to be me. But what we can all have is a story—and at that moment I started writing mine. Or rather, living it. Riders passed me asking if I was OK, but what could I say? They vanished into the night in a second anyway.

🕰️ It was fate

That section had plenty to offer—a few others went down in the dust too. I tried warning them, but mostly I was thinking about how to get out of this mess. One thing was decided instantly—I wasn’t going to quit.

I’d been in Kyrgyzstan for ten days, investing too much time, money, and energy to give up after fifty kilometers. Not to mention I was aiming for the “triple”: finishing Atlas Mountain Race and Hellenic Mountain Race in the same year. Those were done—only one left. And I meant to finish it no matter what.

The funny part? A few weeks earlier I recorded a video on what spare parts I take for bikepacking. I specifically said I wouldn’t take handlebars, since I’d never broken them—and worst case, I’d find new ones in some remote village. Now was the time to prove I’d meant it.

No point staying there. I picked up the broken pieces of grip and light mount and carefully rode on. My plan was to reach the main road and catch a taxi back to Osh. Along the way I tried installing the local Uber, cursing myself for not doing it earlier. Problem was, I didn’t know my Kyrgyz phone number and couldn’t figure out how to get it. Without it, I couldn’t receive the login code. It drove me nuts. Only the next day did I discover the SIM card wrapper with the number tucked into my passport.

Carbon splinters stuck in my hand as I held the bar, so I tore the cracked piece off completely—kept it as a trophy and carried it to the finish. I wanted to move the brake lever closer to the stem, but surprise—Torx bolts 😂 Exactly the bit I’d left at home thinking I didn’t need it, saving maybe two grams. Oh well…

I reached the main road and tried my luck. Race rules are strict: you can’t ask locals for help, but you can accept it if offered. So I put on my most pitiful look and pretended to be hopelessly lost. I knew how things work in these countries—soon I was surrounded by locals eager to help. What help I got, I hadn’t expected.

🧑‍🔧 Carbon repairman

A man brought a stick, hammered it into the handlebar with a rock, and slid on a basic grip. Finding a carbon repairman here was the last thing I expected. When I asked to shorten the sticking wood, a guy with a saw magically appeared. It held surprisingly well. If I had to ride the whole race with it, it would’ve been epic. If it had happened near the end, I could’ve done a few hundred kilometers like that. But I was only just starting and knew this could be a fast ticket to the ambulance… if there even was one. Who knew if more of the bar was cracked, and that grip could wreck every nerve in my hand. I was still determined to get back to Osh.

I managed to hire a local duo with a semi-truck. We settled on 4000 som—about 40 Euros. Expensive, but worth it right then. On the way I searched Booking.com for a hotel in Osh – no way a bike shop would be open at midnight. I’d have to wait till the next day. The guys even called some of their friends in English to help coordinate exactly where I wanted to go.

They dropped me off at the hotel. Lights out, locked up. I called the number on the booking and a lady answered in fluent Russian. Somehow we synced communication and she let me in.

😐 Garmin repairman

My ordeal wasn’t over yet. My navigation froze, and when I tried restarting, it wouldn’t go past the boot screen. I tried some random guide online to factory reset my Garmin and spent the night reconfiguring and reloading the route. Everything was wiped. Luckily the map file remained.

Even then I couldn’t fall asleep quickly. I kept thinking how I’d find new handlebars in this backwater. One thing was clear—they wouldn’t be carbon.