Travel Story: lawrence bransbury - kyrgyzsta
We made our way across a rickety bridge, rotten
wooden slats through which the river could be seen
tumbling its way down the mountainside, towards a
square building, table and benches outside under a
large tree, shirtless soldiers playing soccer in the
heat. The officer in charge welcomed us to his barren
outpost and listened politely as we explained what
we proposed to do, showing him the track on our
map. But he shook his head. Using gestures and the
little Russian we could understand, one of the
soldiers explained that just eight kilometres from
the checkpoint the track was blocked and we would
only be able to proceed from there on foot or on
horseback. pooled like water around my wheels and feet,
starting to cover them.
Again we prevailed upon them to allow us
through so we could see for ourselves and we
pushed on along an even steeper, narrower track,
jostling once again with herds of sheep and horses
plodding their way up the pass. It was very hot and
the bikes were overheating. So were we. We
struggled on through breathtaking scenery, always
the mountain barrier high and implacable in front of
us, until, almost exactly eight kilometres from the
military checkpoint, just as the soldier had predicted,
our attempt ended. We could see that the track continued on its way
up the mountain but we both realised it was the end.
Clearly this was a track used by drovers taking their
animals across the pass and not intended for
vehicles. We hadn't even climbed a third of the three
thousand or so metres that lay ahead of us and
already we were struggling.
The track ahead was completely covered with a
thick, sloping layer of scree. I accelerated into the
loose stones but bogged down almost immediately.
A metre to my left dislodged rocks dropped off into
the river fifty foot below. I tried once more to get
moving but, the moment my rear wheel began to
turn, it slipped sideways closer to the drop. While I
waited, more scree slid down the mountain and
Fortunately I wasn't riding alone and soon Gareth
had made his way up to me and we manoeuvred my
bike across together.
Gareth then tried to power his way across on his
big KTM but he too bogged down in the loose tumble
of stones. It was impossible for just the two of us to
get the heavily-loaded KTM across so we unloaded it,
dragged it on its side further away from