Day #6 How I became a sailboat

A sunlit, open valley with golden-brown grass stretches toward distant rocky mountains under a clear blue sky with faint clouds. Scattered small white and brown structures (likely yurts or cabins) dot the plain. Late-afternoon light casts long shadows across the terrain, which mixes sparse green patches and rocky ground. The vast, remote landscape—ideal for bikepacking—feels quiet and expansive, with no visible trails but open space for travel.

The night turned into a nightmare. At midnight I woke up and found that air was slowly disappearing from my sleeping mat. How could this happen? I assumed that the heavy sleeping mat would be extremely durable and I didn’t expect anything like this. It was already well below freezing. I was wearing down pants. I had to choose—either sleep on the cold ground or get out and start repairing it.

I overcame my initial reluctance, unzipped my bivy and started inflating the mat again. It took me a while to locate the hole. There were actually two! I had punctured the mat from both sides. I found only two patches in the repair kit. I hoped it would be enough.

In the whipping wind I patched both holes and inflated the mat again. It looked like it wasn’t leaking anywhere. I checked the ground where the damage occurred. There was a huge stone. How could I not notice it? The sleeping mat was so good that nothing was pressing on me and I was sleeping happily on it. I angrily threw it into the night.

🙈 If only I had known…

I woke up in the morning just before dawn. I didn’t want to ride this tough section at night. But it soon turned out that it ended in about 500 meters and I didn’t have to get my feet wet even once. If I had lasted just a little longer yesterday, I could have ridden much further and that problem with the sleeping mat would never have happened. But what if. In life, only what is matters, not what could be.

A wide road wound around the hills. Occasionally I passed tents of sleeping racers or yurts of local herders. It was slowly warming up and my mood was improving. I did get delayed, but I had the worst section behind me. Now it would only be good.

A rocky dirt bikepacking route stretches through a mountain valley at sunset. Warm light from the low sun illuminates golden grasslands, a winding river, and a small white house. Towering rocky mountains and scattered clouds fill the sky, creating a serene, remote landscape.

A narrow dirt bike path stretches through a vast, open valley at sunset. Towering mountains frame the scene—rocky on the left, grassy on the right. The sun glows behind scattered clouds, casting warm light over dry grass and distant peaks, with sunbeams filtering through the sky.

The road straightened out and cut through the endless plain like a straight line. Herds of horses grazed on the sides. This is how I imagined Kyrgyzstan. The wind was blowing lightly against me, but it wasn’t anything terrible. Occasionally a riverbed crossed the road, but these sections were mostly rideable.

After three hours of riding I joined a wide asphalt road. The manual called it the “Chinese Border Road”. There was minimal traffic and only occasionally a truck passed me.

With regret, I found that I had probably managed to destroy my power meter during the walking section. It was showing me nonsensical values. I didn’t have the mood or energy to deal with it in any way, so I just disconnected it. Later I found out at home that water had gotten in there because one tab of the plastic cover had broken off.

🚛 Endless queue

There were such waves on the road that trucks preferred to drive in the opposite direction. Not much money goes into infrastructure here. Besides, this road wasn’t really made for driving. Soon I came across a twenty-kilometer column of trucks trying to get into China. As I bypassed it on the left, it protected me from the strong crosswind. I watched the drivers talking to each other or heating up instant noodles. Sometimes there was a long gap between the trucks. There was no point in moving forward every meter and they waited until it was worth it.

With the approaching checkpoint, more infrastructure appeared. Bins so full that nobody probably empties them here.

A paved road curves through an arid, open landscape with low mountains in the distance. On the gravel shoulder, a tipped green-and-red dumpster spills a large pile of plastic bags and trash. The sky is partly cloudy, and the area appears remote with sparse vegetation.

Yesterday’s walking section took me more time than I expected. I was hungry. According to the organizers, there was supposed to be something here called the Blue Caravan. But I didn’t look for more information about it, I just hoped I would eat and refill water here.

It wasn’t a gas station or a shop. It was just a parked wagon—green one at that, where a local family lived and cooked small meals for racers. Otherwise they probably made a living selling lunches to truck drivers. Everyone had to take off their shoes before entering. I was the only one so dirty that they made me take off my socks too. I went in barefoot. If that was the price for good food, I was willing to pay it.

A smaller group of us gathered there. We got tea, soup and a few chosen ones even got a bowl of rice. There wasn’t enough for the rest. I tried to buy some snacks for the road. They had no water left and only offered me Coca-Cola. What can you do. I got three Albeni biscuits and I had to be satisfied with that. They were running out of food and snacks were rationed.

Two people sit at a table with a light blue tablecloth featuring gold floral patterns, likely during a bikepacking trip break. The table holds a white bowl of soup with a potato, carrot, and bone; a blue colander filled with torn bread; condiment bottles (including a red-capped spice jar and a red sauce bottle); and a turquoise utensil holder with spoons and forks. One person wears a black, red, and white cycling jersey; the other wears a beige long-sleeve shirt and a cap with “194” on it. The background has a blue wall, an electrical outlet, and a shelf with jars and containers. The scene suggests a simple, post-ride meal in a casual eatery.

A table covered with a white tablecloth featuring gold patterns holds a clear glass plate of rice topped with diced vegetables and meat. Behind it, another plate of food, a person taking a photo with a smartphone, a red condiment bottle, a small metal teapot, two glass mugs with brown liquid, a jar with a green lid, and a pair of eyeglasses. A blue wall is in the background.

A gravel road stretches into a vast, flat, grassy landscape under a partly cloudy sky—dark storm clouds loom on the left, while blue sky with scattered white clouds fills the right. On the right side of the road, a weathered wooden sign with Cyrillic text (top line: “ТОКТО!”) stands above a rusted yellow-and-red gate with barbed wire. Distant power lines and open terrain emphasize the remote, rural setting, typical of a bikepacking route.

🌬️ Boy, it’s windy

On the way to the second checkpoint it blew hard. For most of the Silk Road I complained about the constant headwind and this was one of the few moments when it blew in the right direction. It was great. I pushed into the pedals and my average speed was around 30 km/h. Yet the road wasn’t exactly comfortable. I was constantly choosing the best line to avoid worn-out ruts. The nerves in my fingers were complaining, but I didn’t listen to them.

After this, we follow the barbed wire fences of the border with China on our way to Kel Suu and Checkpoint 2. The road is an undulating dirt track that can go from muddy and slow, to dry and barren. One year there was no water so we warned riders to stock up before this section, the next there were dozens of shallow river crossings. What will 2025 bring? Riders keep multiple layers of barbed wire fencing to their right, and Chatyr Kul lake to their left.

After an hour of riding, such a bad habit spread—storms were chasing around me. I saw them on the left, on the right, but none above me. Only once it caught me, when hail was falling on me for about five minutes. The weather there was very local. I was trying to dry my socks in it and it wasn’t easy at all.

When I found myself about 10 kilometers before the checkpoint, the wind turned and became a strong headwind. I took it as a tax I had to pay now. In the hills it was obvious that it had rained. The road was full of mud that stuck to my tires and my drivetrain was complaining. I didn’t like this at all. I arrived at the checkpoint not only tired, but also dirty.

🛖 To ride or not to ride?

The checkpoint was in a tourist yurt camp with electricity. The prices weren’t as high as in the first one, so I had dinner without any remorse. I don’t even remember what was in it anymore, but I ate well and bought some Snickers and other treats for the road.

I was hesitating whether to ride on. It looked like it would be very cold again at night, although without internet I didn’t have a weather forecast. Sleeping in the yurt camp was tempting, but I still had at least 2 hours until dusk. That would be a waste of time. Basically, you can use two tactics:

Just ride
Go to sleep, but get up at midnight and head into the night

I decided to ride. I’m here in Kyrgyzstan to enjoy it, right? The next section also had its name—Old Soviet Road. And it started very steeply. Over a distance of 1.2 kilometers I climbed 346 meters.

A grassy valley stretches toward distant brown mountains under an overcast sky. In the midground, a person stands with a loaded bike, facing away. Tall, mixed green-and-dry grass fills the foreground, with a large rock on the left. The scene conveys a quiet moment during a bikepacking trip in a remote, open landscape.

Riders will finally reach Kel Suu, the second checkpoint, after many kilometres of this relatively flat border road. On the elevation profile it may look easy, but everything here is high and cold. Once the right hand turn is made, riders enter a stunning valley, famous for the lake that is nestled at the end of it. Riders will be heading north via the Old Soviet Road, an improbable construction almost 2 kilometres in length with a gradient over 20 percent. If you’re lucky enough to climb it during daylight, you will be rewarded with views that very few are lucky enough to witness. If you tackle it in the dark, (or snow) you may well be just happy to make it out of this section and down to the main road towards Naryn.

Going uphill I came across pieces of barbed wire scattered on the road. On the way up it wasn’t such a problem. At the highest point I found myself at sunset, so my visibility decreased. I tried to choose the most ridden part of the trail, where hopefully there would be no barbed wire.

Surprisingly, I quite liked this section. Just a pity that it was already night and I could only see the illuminated peaks of mountains in the distance.

A serene dawn or dusk landscape with rolling grassy hills under a sky blending warm orange near the horizon into soft blue, dotted with scattered clouds. Distant mountain ranges stretch across the horizon, while the foreground features dry, golden-brown grasses with sparse green patches—typical of remote, high-altitude bikepacking terrain. No people or bikes are visible, emphasizing the quiet, expansive wilderness.

I slowly descended and relatively soon I arrived at an abandoned Soviet base with an altitude slightly above 3000. They had already talked about it at the checkpoint and it was my goal for tonight. I crawled through abandoned buildings that were in such a disgusting state that I was afraid to touch the ground. Only one building had a roof, or what was left of it, so I settled there. A bird already lived there. But once I turned off the light, we both went to sleep.