Plans are strange things.
I’ve often been asked why I’m riding around the world on a bike. I find it hard to answer. I tell people that I’ve always liked bikes, and I’ve always liked travelling. So putting the two together was obvious. This is all true. But I can’t pinpoint when it became obvious, or why. I can’t tell people when the idea was born, or when it became a plan.
But at some point, it did. And then the vague plan became a more detailed plan (though still outstandingly vague by most people’s standards). And then the plan started to happen. And now, here I am, bouncing around on a bike in Uzbekistan.
Leaving Bukhara on Saturday, another plan was mysteriously germinating. My conscious mind was preparing for a four-day ride across the Kyzyl Kum desert to the oasis city of Khiva. I didn’t realise that my subconscious, having noticed the weather forecast, had already decided to do 450-odd kilometres (marginally under 300 miles) in three days.
Kyzyl Kum translates as ‘Red Desert’, and it’s the fourth-biggest desert in Asia, covering a massive swathe of Uzbekistan and neighbouring Turkmenistan. But as you can see from the picture above, the rickety road out of Bukhara took me not into redness, but into a sea of beige.
The plan worked, as far as day one was concerned. Just over 100km to Gazli, wafted along by a gentle tailwind (as my subconscious noted). And the road improved all the way there, even turning into super-smooth concrete about 10 km before town (my subconscious noted, again). Shower, kebabs and bed at a truck stop. All very much according to plan.
I still hadn’t worked out what my subconscious was up to when I woke up early on Sunday to discover that the south-easterly breeze had strengthened. That’s a strengthening tailwind. How interesting. Eventually, after two cups of coffee, I started to put things together. If the brand new road remained the same… If the wind stayed put… Maybe…
The wind stayed (at least until the last hour of the day). And the road actually got better, turning into a perfectly smooth, almost completely deserted, dual carriageway, which might, for all I know, go all the way to Kazakhstan. It certainly runs all the way until I got off it at the end of the desert. So I got my head down and kept going. There was nothing to see, anyway, and everything remained beige (picture above). I stopped for a drink, and realised I’d been zipping along at 30 kph.
Lunchtime. It may not be red, but the desert certainly is monotonous. Concrete, sand, scrub. Beige. And 100km down. Feeling fresh. And finally, the thought lodged in my head properly: I might actually be able to hit 200 km for the day. Which would be almost the end of the desert, and within one more day of Khiva. Head down, push on. Let’s see what happens.
This is what happened:
That’s a record. For me at least. I’ve not been near 200 km before in a day (and quite possibly won’t be again), so I was reasonably chuffed with myself. 213 km. 132 miles. And a friendly little teahouse at the end of it (or, more accurately, in the middle of nowhere), which was only too happy to let me stay, for a small fee. Kebabs, bread, bed. What a good day.
It couldn’t last, of course. The weather forecast in Bukhara had said there was rain on the way, which is one of the reasons my subconscious had decided to put the pedal(s) to the metal. My pleasure at waking up to a view over the Amu Darya river to Turkmenistan was marred by two things: it was already drizzling, and Turkmenistan appears to be just as beige as Uzbekistan.
It doesn’t seem fair when it rains in the desert. It certainly doesn’t seem fair when that rain continues for nearly the whole day. Yesterday (Monday) was ugly. Already wet and cold as I reached the end of the desert, I swung off the beautiful main road, onto the shortest way to Khiva.
Potholes, washed-out roads, landslips, sand, mud. The whole gamut of road problems. Much grinding of drivetrain, much splashing of beige dirt onto previously non-beige shoes. Wet feet. Oh, and the most aggressive pack of feral dogs I’ve yet had the displeasure to meet (many thanks to the three locals who positioned their cars between the beasts and me, so I could make my escape!).
Still, cycle touring’s nothing without a little rough to make you appreciate the smooth. And eventually, after a signposting error (i.e. there wasn’t one – a standard Uzbek problem) had cost me an extra ten miles, I finally ground and scraped my way into the ancient city of Khiva.
Which was… Guess what? Beige.
Not entirely surprising, as the old city is surrounded by impressive walls made of local mud. Hence the colour. And, having recovered from the beigeness of the place, I think it’s probably my favourite of the three old trading cities I’ve seen in Uzbekistan.
Khiva’s much smaller than Bukhara, which in turn is smaller than Samarkand. And Khiva’s old town is pedestrianised, meaning that you can just meander through the ancient alleyways and bazaars.
And there is even the odd splash of colour (like the famous unfinished minaret, below):
I’ve had a rainy day off here today, but the plan (assuming the weather plays ball) is to get back on the road tomorrow, through the last of the irrigated areas of Uzbekistan, towards an even larger stretch of desert, and, eventually, Kazakhstan.
At least, that’s the plan as far as I know it.
If you’re still having doubts about plans being strange and unpredictable, by the way, consider this. After eventually deciding to go, and with a little bit of a plan, I set off on my bike around the world. I rode for a long way. And I’m still riding. Stuff has happened, plans have changed (whatever happened to South America?). But I’m still rolling.
Today is the 29th March 2016, and in terms of days spent cycling around the world, today is day number 365. Exactly a year spent on the round-the-world ride.
Of course, it’s a lot more than a year since I started. The plan was a little disrupted by getting hit by the truck in Thailand. And when did that happen? The 29th of March. Exactly a year ago…
Pretty sure I couldn’t have planned it like that…