Day #10 How I Was Surprised by Snow

When I threw up during the night, I felt a bit better. I didn’t have an alarm in the morning and got up only when I felt ready. I didn’t feel extra bad, but not extra rested either, even though I’d spent almost 17 hours at the checkpoint. This lost time I definitely wouldn’t get back, and I made peace with the fact that there wouldn’t be any great comeback.

When I broke my handlebars, I knew I still had plenty of time to make up for my loss. But this was a completely different situation. I was already almost at the end—although it was still an endless 500 kilometers—so somehow I expected it would be easier going. My desire to catch up had completely disappeared, and my only goal became to finish.

With Tomáš Hadámek, who ended up sleeping at the hotel too, we had breakfast—unfortunately it wasn’t all-you-can-eat. I ate what I got and drank several servings of tea, which I sweetened generously. Those who don’t sweeten don’t ride. I had forgotten that I’d felt sick from the food here before, and I wasn’t even sure if it really was from it.

😵‍💫 The biggest climb of my life

I left the checkpoint at seven in the morning to climb back up to Arabel Plateau. The forecast wasn’t favorable this day either, but I saw no reason to wait any longer.

First I rode on the road along Lake Issyk-Kul, which is the country’s recreational center. I didn’t have time to lounge on the beach—the biggest climb of my life was waiting for me. Tosor Pass is at an altitude of 3,893 meters above sea level—the road is mostly gravel.

After this section, riders will finally come out of the high mountains for a brief respite at the final checkpoint of the race in Tamga, on the shores of lake Issyk-kul, before immediately heading back up via what is undoubtedly one of the best, rideable passes in Kyrgyzstan: Tosor Pass (3893m). Climbing nearly 2300m over 35 kilometres, it is certainly a pass to remember. The afternoon often sees storms roll in off the lake. After the summit, riders will cut east along a hiking trail to rejoin the Kumtor road, head back up to the Arabel plateau, over Jukuu pass and down the valley. There is a significant hike down the valley. It’s beautiful but difficult terrain.

Even though I had breakfast, it didn’t give me much energy. Yesterday, from about two o’clock, I’d eaten only that one meal which I threw up, and breakfast was like David vs. Goliath compared to my consumption. Except in this case, Goliath was mercilessly winning. I had no appetite for solid food and tried to get by on carbohydrate powder, which I’d been saving since the start of the race for critical moments. And I was definitely in crisis.

Several times it looked like it would start raining—clouds were chasing each other crazily across the sky. But each shower stopped within ten minutes. And it was like that all over Kyrgyzstan.

In the steeper sections my head was spinning and I was losing power in my legs, so I lost a lot of time pushing. A few racers, including Tomáš Hadámek, passed me.

🫤 Beyond my comfort zone

Just below the summit I heard strange rumbling, which turned out to be a rock avalanche. Someone was shouting—run—but I didn’t know where to go. It was echoing everywhere and through the thick fog I couldn’t tell if I’d be running straight into the avalanche’s embrace. But eventually it died down. As if nothing had happened, I continued on.

It took me almost 7 hours to reach the top, and altogether I climbed 2,273 vertical meters in that one climb. At the summit, the weather stopped fooling around and repeatedly unleashed downpours of rain and snow on me.

From what others had told me, I knew the difficult section was only just beginning! At first I thought they were just exaggerating, because the shorter descent was relatively easy. Just very muddy. But when I continued through the valley, I understood that the warning was about this section.

At first it wasn’t so bad—occasionally some boulder fields, but mostly rideable. But imperceptibly everything got worse. The path, more like an indistinct trail, led me along the river, where I often moved along the slope. As the weather worsened, strong winds blew and it rained, making everything terribly slippery. In places, mud was caking onto my wheels. I was also constantly crossing streams and my feet were getting very cold. I started telling myself that this was beyond my comfort zone.

Stupid me, I hadn’t brought waterproof gloves and had completely soaked my warm ones. It was okay for now because I was moving slowly, but if I had ridden in them, the wind would have quickly frozen my hands.

I was a bit cold in the torso, but I didn’t want to stop and change clothes. It was right on the edge of what I could endure.

I was having a crisis. But it wasn’t the kind of crisis that forces you to stop. I couldn’t stop! Not in this weather. I kept hoping that the section would end, that it would stop raining and the sun would shine for at least a moment. I had my bivy where I could hide, but realistically I’d never slept in it in the rain and I wasn’t sure how it would handle it.

👴 I’m not alone there

What surprised me most was that in the middle of that blizzard I came across an older gentleman with classic panniers, pushing his bike across the streams. You could see he was having trouble pushing the bike in places. He didn’t look like he was part of the race—even now, looking back at the tracker archives, I haven’t found him there. I helped him with his bike across one stream and asked if he was okay. He definitely had better gloves than me. When he confirmed he was okay, I continued at my own pace. My thermal comfort depended on moving quickly. I didn’t feel good about leaving him there, but I had my hands full just getting myself out of there.

About an hour before the end of that section, it stopped raining and I even saw blue sky in the distance—but the sun didn’t reach the valley anymore. I got out of there just before dark—I was grateful for that. At night it would have been suicide.

My original goal was to get all the way up to Arabel Plateau and then descend again to Lake Issyk-Kul—but at that moment it seemed unimaginable. When another racer waved at me from a shipping container, inviting me to hide there, I couldn’t resist. I’d already experienced too much that day to grind away into the night in that inglorious psychological and physical state. Since breakfast I’d been sipping my carbohydrate drink, occasionally biting off a piece of cookie, but I couldn’t manage more.

I hadn’t even covered 80 kilometers that day, but at that moment I was just glad to be safe…