I’m really tempted to put some of this oil in The Bitch to see what happens. I mean it has all the right things on it. But that doesn’t always guarantee the contents does it. I mean the omission of a single word can change everything. If I write MASSIVE on the front of my pants it doesn’t magically morph my maggot into a monster does it.
And for those about to get into their solicitor and prosecute me under the trade descriptions act, I’ve since qualified my sausage signage with the word ‘DISAPPOINTMENT! !’. I even had a very nice young lady come round from the council. She read the sign then carefully unwrapped and inspected the contents before agreeing that in her opinion, the banner did in fact describe the contents perfectly.
But that was where the disappointment ended for today. The Uzbek border was a 20 minute breeze and the Tajik one took about the same though it helps if you’ve been there before. The only thing that keeps worrying me these borders is the way they look at me, then look back in the queue for other bikes. Then they say ‘один?’ Alone? And I’m left wondering if they mean ‘are you brave or stupid?’, or, ‘ok I’ll just phone my brothers and tell them to wait up the road with their Ak-47s and some rubber gloves’.
Anyway, as is often the case, you cross the border and everything suddenly changes. If there weren’t any people in Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan there would be no reason to go. At heart they are flat featureless deserts, but Tajikistan had the forethought to grab all the scenery and lasso their border round it. What’s this I see? Mountains? Fuck yea.
Getting closer..
And Closer ..
The scale is getting more and more outstanding as we go. The road has to bend and buckle to the will of the mountains. They’re trying to build a new road but at the moment you’re on the original. Oh well.
At the very top you have to go through a tunnel. The Anzob Tunnel. Affectionately known as ‘The Tunnel of Death’. I forgot about this tunnel until I was about half way through, and half dead. It’s very claustrophobic, 2 way, 5km long, unventilated and largely unlit. It’s also on a slope so the old trucks chuff out clouds of blue smoke and scream like tortured demons as they go. It’s hell on wheels. You can’t see. Your eyes and throat sting and your ears are confused by all the noise and echos. But as the light slowly comes towards you and pops you out, then you get your prize.
Fuck sake. This place is absolutely incredible. I’d forgotten just how beautiful this section is. I’m properly in awe. I’m already planning my next visit. Wanna come. Go on. You know you do.
Get to Dushanbe and it’s just another big boring city. Standard buildings. Standard shops. These bloody ‘Bark at Your Dog’.. ‘Bury Your Dad’.. ‘Build Your Dreams’ Chinese taxis absolutely everywhere too.
Go out for some dinner at a place that has slop pots to choose from. “A bowl of those stuffed lungs from a very tiny cadaver please, I’m sure they’ll be fine”.
And you know what, they were bloody delicious.
I don’t like it here particularly, but that’s not the point. The man made stuff, I can take it or leave it. But I know Mother Nature made a real effort not far from here and that’s where I’m aiming.
After I’ve spent the night in my converted ballroom.
After dinner last night I was chatting to the owner of this bike.
Now normally I avoid people like this like the plague. They’re almost invariably insufferable knobs. The bike is covered in more stickers than a Tesco pork pie sitting on the ‘reduced’ shelf at 11pm on a Saturday night. “I went to Ky”.. “BEEN THERE. 15 TIMES ACTUALLY. GOING AGAIN NEXT WEEK”.. “I really liked T” “WELL I LIVED THERE FOR 5 YEARS AND FATHERED 12 CHILDREN. ONE IS NOW THE PRIME MINISTER”. No. They’re not for me but in this case maybe I just have to acknowledge the presence of a superior traveler. I’m certainly not going to get into a willy waving competition with him. Not after my one star sausage rating from the local council.
This bloke is an Australian. From Sydney. Though he is a Malaysian resident and has a Malay wife who travels with him. He’s going into Afghanistan today then into Pakistan then India and Nepal to fly the bike somewhere. He’s been travelling for 4 years. He was good to talk to. He listened. He asked. He answered. Good bloke. But he gave me some bad news about the Pamir.
It seems the Chinese delivered the Tajiks a massive roll of ready made road that they are busy laying over sections of the beautiful, rough, challenging Pamir highway. The Chinese are obviously famous for respecting these cultural icons and the will of the locals so they’re busy destroying large sections of what was one of the most beautiful roads to ride. The top, high sections are currently safe but it will come you can be sure. If you want to do it. Do it now. It might already be too late.
Get out the city and into the hills. Roads are perfect. Scenery is ‘acceptable’.
And without her asking, I even let The Bitch take a look.
Every so often there’s a small town, always with at least 99% of the population trying to cross from one side to the other. The other 1% taking it in turns to back out in front of me or squeeze me into oncoming traffic. I enjoy the challenge but I know one mistake and I’m fucked.
Then someone falls over in the World Scenery office and knocks the spectaculometer to 15.. possibly even 20. It’s just fucking bananas. The scale is off the scale. You can just see some roads where it winds down into the valley below. I’ve got birds of prey playing on the thermals, daring themselves like small jets, suddenly appearing from below my sight line and soaring up while screaming and laughing to themselves. It’s a truly incredible, unforgettable experience.
Eventually I come to a barrier across the road. We’re near the Afghan border now and you need an extra stamp on your visa to get access. I’ll get checked regularly now. And I’m in. A few miles later and here we are. I feel like driving over to see if they would like to sign my helmet or put a bullet through it. Apparently you can get a visa on the border at the moment but I’ve just run clean out of brave tablets. My bad.
So here was have it. Afghanistan on one side of the river and Tajikistan on the other. Lots of soldiers marching about on this side though which is new. And this is where the Chinese have replaced the old narrow rough worn road with a brand spanking new one.. so I really should spank it shouldn’t I. What a rediculous ride that is. I’m hammering along a silky twisty river road and watching Afghanistan pass by my right shoulder. I watch some Afghans on small bikes riding in the dust just a stones throw away. What must they be thinking?
Sometimes I ask myself if this is real. Sometimes I reach for the back of my head to see if I’m in the matrix. Sometimes it dawns on me just what an outrageously lucky old twat I am.
When I get to Kalaikum I deliberately choose to punish myself by staying in a shitty hostel where all the flies hang out. It looks like there is very little business happening. No other bikes at all.
And from ballroom to not much ball room tonight