I’m on a mission today. I’m an errand boy. My wife saw something on the internet a little while ago that she wants a piece of. And who am I to refuse.
I have to backtrack a few hours and take a little spur route out into the desert. I gulp a massive gob full of gasoline and head back out. I should just about be able to get there and back.
I’m riding like Miss Daisy. Max 50 and I’m still twatting pot holes and cuts. Sometimes there is just a gap in the road.. probably 30cm wide.. 10 cm deep.. all the way across the road. Exactly WTF is that about? The bike doesn’t feel quite right either.
Get to the fork to the desert and it’s only going to get worse. I need a drink. Sometimes I stop at the nicest place I see. Sometimes I stop at the worst place I see. And this time I stop at the only place I see. It has a lovely outside lounge area though. I can see this with a nice home cinema.. low lights .. rats
Get through the little town and maybe 10 miles into the desert and something is definitely not right. The bike is all over the place. Stop for a look at the front tyre is almost flat . That’s nice. Never mind, I’ll just get the pump out and sort that out. Or maybe not.
That’s awkward. Pass me the swear jar will you please? I need to make a FUCKING BLOODY WANKY TOSSING SHITTY FUCKING COCK. Ahhh. That’s better.
I truly believe I travel with a strip of angels on each shoulder, and at times like this I seem to be able to rip one off and cash it in for some help. And this time I think I pulled a joker. Before I left, I ran into an old American mate of mine that had been travelling in Europe. He randomly gave me a puncture repair kit he had a duplicate of, and in that were some CO2 canisters. So one of those goes into the wheel. It’s still about as firm as a 10 year old breast enhancement but it will do until I can get it pumped up… which randomly happens about 2 miles later.
I come across a portacabin on the side of the road and there is a car there having a tyre inflated. The people working inside the portacabin have a generator and an air compressor for their tools. I give them about the same as I give Sainsbury’s and its smiles all round. One angel down.
I very slowly follow the ribbon of road. The wind is up and there is sand in the air. When I get to my bed it’s an absolute shitter. Falling apart. Dark and dingy with a nana asleep on a bed behind the desk. That’s worthy of 5 star review in my book.
Local shop looks like the stockroom for The Generation Game. Rubber gloves. Some stationary. Cuddly toy. A woman’s hat…
But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here for the ghost ships. These are the ships that used to ply the Aral Sea until the Russians came in and tried to use it for irrigation, deleting most of the sea and leaving the fishing ships high and dry. This is what my wife saw. This is what she wants a piece of. And what the lady wants ..
There is even a lighthouse, now cafe (2 people asleep next to a dozen bottles of water) where I met a friendly fraulein that gave my helmet some much needed attention.
I wasn’t looking forward to the ride back out so I got up early to leave. Had to wake the nana from her bed behind reception. I used my built in fart alarm. She looked like she had been raised from a dream about the Phantom Raspberry Blower. She wobbled to the door, unlocked it and let me back onto the tarmac minefield.
It’s fair to say that Uzbekistan has some of the worst roads outside Africa I reckon. They’re almost all like this.. or worse.
I go back to the hotel in Nukus to ask for some help. Where can I get a pump please? And where can I get coffee? At this moment coffee is far more important. Walk in.. cakes ahoy! I choose a selection of 15 with some coffee but then spot a menu on the side. I’m not expecting to be able to read it but something is telling me to look closer. ‘English Breakfast’. What? HOLD THE CAKES!! I REPEAT. HOLD THE CAKES
I can’t remember the last time I looked at food with anything other than survival instinct. I’ve been picking and eating very little because my eyes aren’t interested. But now…
What the fuck is this? My eyes are watering. Something is pouring out of them and running down my face. It’s not tears though. This has only happed a few times before in my life. It’s true though. I’m having a full on eyegasm. I think I even let out a little moan.
I scoff the lot like a hungry dog along with 2 milky coffees. Fuck I could stay here all day.. week..
Next it’s the pump. Back to the little place I bought some bolts at the other day. I show him a picture of what I want but he just smiles.. well never mind. As all gentleman know full well, in the absence of any alternative, in a moment of need, there is only one thing to do. Go manual.
It even fits perfectly in the space my underpacking has left in the panniers. Result.
I’m going to Khiva. It’s only 100 miles from here. Piece of piss. Unless you have. Zumo XT ‘Satan edition’ like I do. You’re happily tottering along in a 1000mph crosswind when Satan says ‘turn right’. ‘Right?’ ‘You heard me you meaningless pittyful soul. Right. NOW!!’ Why are we slaves to these things. We entrust our lives to these machines that will risk your life and limb to save you 2.5 seconds over 50 miles. But anyway, I turn right. Right into a 20 miles of extreme cross country FIA rally stage. Which is nice.
Get to Khiva. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. FUCKING GREAT MUD FORTRESS. I’m staying inside the walls. I can’t get in with the bike so I walk in to find the hotel, then the manager gets on his pushbike, follows me to mine, then escorts me through.
Now, I’m not saying I’m not happy, because it’s sunny and warm and I’m wandering around an old fort but…
Maybe I’m channeling my inner Shania Twain. Maybe it’s because of the leopard print leathers I chose for this trip. Maybe it’s the long leather bed boots..
‘Oh ok, so you’re an ancient mud walled city with 8-10m high and 5-6m thick walls and a mosque dating back to the 10th century’
‘That don’t impress me much’
It’s all a bit ersatz for me. A bit Disney’ In all honesty I’m almost impossible to excite nowadays. You could get a young Britney Spears, put her in Pamela Anderson’s red swimsuit, hose her down and give her a road hammer set to 11 and you’d still probably only register a ‘perky’ on my pinkyometer.
But it’s impressive nonetheless.
I used AI to recreate the Britney/Pamela/road hammer scenario and I’ve run it 5810 times so far. The pinkyometer blew up some time ago. So… maybe I was wrong
Yesterday I got bitten on the neck as I was riding along. I don’t know what it was but it was fucking well armed. I think was like a tiny tiny Apache helicopter. It strafed me and I was immediately getting pain down into the top of my shoulder. This morning I have a huge lump. It looks like my ear has swallowed an orange