In the olden days (olden enough that even I wasn’t born then), ships couldn’t sail against the wind. Captains would wait in port for a favourable breeze before putting to sea. Otherwise they’d just get blown straight back to where they started.
I know very well that loaded touring bikes work in exactly the same way. So I waited another day in Beyneu, enjoying the surprisingly fast internet and the nearby supermarket. Waiting for the wind to change.
And finally, on Saturday, it was time. The wind flipped to a more-or-less favourable direction, and I weighed anchor and set sail across 475 km of steppe towards the Caspian Sea, and Aktau. I was going to try to hammer it in three days, before the wind decided to change again.
The Beyneu to Aktau road is notorious among long-distance touring cyclists. A few years ago, it was described as ‘the worst road in the world’ and ‘the bicycle demolition derby’. It was mostly rough dirt (remember that track from the Uzbek border to Beyneu?) until very recently.
The only reason I thought I could get across so quickly was my chat with the two German cyclists I met, way back in Vietnam. They said that the new road was only a few months off completion when they came this way last summer. And, as you can see from the picture above, times have, indeed, changed just a little.
With the exception of a handful of kilometres, the whole run is now on decent tarmac. And it even has informative signs. Although, I’d be slightly concerned about why a brand new road already needs warnings about bumps…
While the first couple of hundred kilometres were just as featureless as the Uzbek desert, things started to change a bit after the little town of Say Otes. There’s a steep drop-off from the Ustyurt plateau to lower ground (you can just see the – still dirt – road down the cliff on the right of the picture above).
And the scenery suddenly looks… Well… Like southern Utah or Colorado in the USA. It’s not just me, is it? It definitely has the look of the landscape between Monument Valley and the Rockies, just in different colours. If you’re not convinced by the picture above, try this one:
Or maybe it really is just me. In which case, put it down to desert fever…
Anyway, with the wind still favourable, the riding was good. I started to imagine I actually was in the States, rolling along long, straight, smooth roads between the Mesas. This was only contradicted by the occasional disapproving camel, which I studiously ignored. The wind actually got stronger, and at some points, I was being pushed uphill without pedalling. Just the power of the wind on the bags / sails. Fantastic. This three day thing was going to be, erm, a breeze.
By the end of day two (Sunday), I was already 335 km (210 miles) down the road from Beyneu. One more long-ish day to go; maybe 90 miles. The wind would be mostly behind for the first stretch, pretty much across me for the second part, and a cross-head wind for the last forty-odd kms. But I’d nearly be in Aktau by then. It wouldn’t be a problem to gut through that. I went to bed a very happy boy.
Then Monday happened. These deserts really do have a habit of kicking you in the backside if you get ideas above your station.
The first stretch went much as planned. Wind in my sails again, I whistled along effortlessly at over 30 kph to the junction at Tauchik, where I turned onto stage two of day three.
Then I got blown off the road. Twice in five minutes.
Quite literally, blown off the road.
It’s no wonder I was ripping along that first stretch; the wind was gusting over 40 mph. And now, it was being funnelled through the hills, so I never knew exactly where it was coming from next. The only thing that was clear was that it was further round than it should have been, and pretty much stopping me in my tracks.
One minute, I was in my lowest climbing gears, struggling to make walking pace as the wind battered me head-on. The next, I was leaning over at twenty degrees to keep the bike upright, as the wind made a concerted effort to push me off into a herd of those disapproving (and by now, slightly alarmed) camels.
Those sails of mine are really not great when the wind’s not playing ball. But at least the scenery was still impressive:
By the time I’d made it a few more kilometres down the road, though, even the landscape wasn’t keeping me happy. My quads were fried from fighting to move forward. My back was fried from trying to stay upright. Even my ears were getting wind-burned.
And, maybe more importantly, I realised that this was actually quite dangerous. If you’re leaning over against the wind, and the wind suddenly stops, you swerve uncontrollably into the middle of the road. This is dodgy enough if it’s just the wind gusting and then easing.
If the wind happens to have been blocked by a passing truck, it has very alarming consequences. Impressive though the wheel-nuts on articulated trucks are, I’d rather not be looking at them from a couple of feet away while swerving towards them in goggle-eyed panic.
After a few more near-misses with lorry wheels, I pulled over to rest and consider my position. Maybe those sea captains of old had cunning ruses in hand for when they suddenly found they were being blown way off course. Maybe. But I didn’t. At the pace I was going, I’d die of old age before I finished the last 50 miles to town. If the trucks or the camels didn’t get me first.
For a moment, I was actually considering walking it (over two days, probably). Thankfully, that particular line of stupidity was cut off by the arrival of Rustam in his shiny 4×4.
Although he spent a bit of time mocking my idea of a windy day (apparently, you can get sandstorms out here which last for days when it’s having a proper blow), Rustam turned out to be an absolute gentleman. Bundles of insulation in the back of the car were moved. Seats were dropped down, the bike was loaded.
And, and hour or so later, I was in Aktau with my rescuer, who also insisted on buying the coffee. I may not quite have sailed all the way from Beyneu under my own steam (so to speak), but this was a far better ending than I was contemplating by the roadside a short time before. Thank you, Rustam!
And so, I found myself on the shores of the Caspian Sea. In Aktau, where the streets have no name. They really don’t. I was vaguely aware of this from researching the region before I started riding. I doubt if Bono and U2 had Aktau in mind when they wrote the song, though…
The city is divided into ‘micro-rayons’, which are essentially large city blocks. The micro-rayons are all numbered. Roughly speaking, the micro-rayons change at every major junction. And, again roughly speaking, the numbers increase the further from the centre you are. Your address here is just three numbers: micro-rayon number, building number, and apartment number. That’s it. It completely does my head in.
It may also be the most interesting thing about Aktau, from a tourist’s point of view. It’s a port town, so it’s pretty functional, rather than fascinating. But it’s good to have the benefits of civilisation (beer, pizza, cash machines etc) again after the desert. And there are Soviet war memorials, statues, parks and shops. It’s getting wealthy, too, from oil, as is a lot of this part of the world.
And I’ve managed to get a ticket sorted out for the next stage already.
Depending on how you define it, it’s Europe on the other side of the Caspian. The Russians see the sea as the dividing line between Europe and Asia, together with the Ural mountains further north. As a western European, I’m struggling to think that a region which is east of Turkey (which is clearly mostly in Asia) can really be in Europe.
After all, I can’t be that close to home already, can I? Anyway, more on that next time…
For Touring Cyclists:
I’ve put together a PDF guide to the Aktau to Beyneu road, as it was quite difficult to find anything current (after 2013), and the road has changed so much in the recent past. The PDF has GPS distances, water and food points, road conditions etc. Beyneu to Aktau – April 2016. Or feel free to contact me, and I’ll be happy to discuss.