Today, I am not actually cycling. In my imagination, we are flying up Muztagh Ata (7,509 m)—through the clouds, along the crevasses, deep into the core of the mountain, over the endless plains, and through the deep valleys. How beautiful it all looks from up here! And I can feel everything—the rough rocks, the mountain, the ice covering its peak, and the meltwater flowing down its slopes, nurturing the land below.
Thomas sometimes complains that he doesn’t understand why one day I am slow, the next fast, always manage when I must, but then—for no apparent reason—I’m dragging again. It’s not that I wouldn’t want to go faster—I would if I could—but pfuh.
Apparently today, after a slow day yesterday and an almost sleepless night at 3,680 meters with a way-too-high resting heart rate, I have “too much energy” again. (Ignore the “too”—I’ve learned it’s synonymous with “very” or any other superlative, potentially with a slight hint of exasperation at not being able to control whatever comes after the “too,” in this case, my energy.) Why? I have no idea why. Sometimes I am fast and sometimes I am not.
But today, I am not actually cycling. I see our bodies pedaling and struggling against the wind far below us on the plain and up the Wu Lu Ke Re Wa Ti Da Ban Pass (4,098 meters)—eventually calling for food—but in the meantime, I see us dancing, laughing, marveling, and flying high above it all. The wind is our friend, carrying us across the country and blowing in our faces as we spiral higher and higher—up towards the clouds.
Fast, slow—what does it even mean? It all doesn’t matter up here in the clouds.
We are together. We are free.
Anecdotes
Kyrgyzstan: A hotel again! Individual rooms, double beds, big windows, and even floor heating in the common bathroom. Our bedsheets hadn’t been changed, as our room was quickly prepared for us right before our eyes—but that’s just a detail. We enjoyed our afternoon in (modest) luxury, but unfortunately, there was no time to linger longer. We wanted to move on before the snow and headwind forecasted for the following day.
Chinese Border: The border crossing was so smooth! We had heard many stories about how it would take hours and that they would inspect your phone on a big screen, asking to delete certain photos. But there was no such hassle for us.
The French guy who stayed at the same hotel in Sary-Tash, Kyrgyzstan, crossed the border with us. He was taking a taxi to Kashgar because he had lost his lowrider and couldn’t carry all his bicycle bags. Spontaneously, we decided to join him—we needed a break.
Of course, there were no actual taxis. Instead, we asked the owner of a big car, who referred us to the woman next door. She had a large red pickup with a red glittery steering wheel. Although she ran a restaurant, she named her price and agreed to act as our taxi driver. At least for a while—eventually, we had to switch drivers and, later, change vehicles because her pickup wasn’t permitted to drive from the border to Kashgar.
The new car wasn’t a pickup, so we had to partly disassemble our bicycles and puzzle them into the middle row. During this process, Thomas and I got locked into the last row. Then came another police checkpoint… so we climbed out of the trunk to present ourselves and our passports—again and again.
Our new Han Chinese driver wasn’t checked; only foreigners and Uyghurs were stopped.
Kashgar: Every travel blog said that in Kashgar, you must visit the Uyghur “old” town (torn down and rebuilt for tourists) and the biggest bazaar in Asia (again?). Yet after two days, we still hadn’t found this famous bazaar. How was it possible that we couldn’t locate the biggest bazaar? Finally, we discovered why—it was torn down last year.
Recharged after a few relaxing days and a lot of good food (we had been craving variety and vegetables!), we continued our journey from one hotel to the next. Wild camping wasn’t appealing: it’s not allowed, the terrain was barren and steep with few hiding spots, and the temperatures were cold. Sometimes, we had to travel far to reach the next hotel. Luckily (or perhaps that’s why), on my slow day, we had the option to stop early and make up the distance the following day.
That was the day we cycled over the Wu Lu Ke Re Wa Ti Da Ban Pass (4,098 meters) and all the way down to the border town of Tashkurgan. From there, we had to catch a bus early the next morning (Friday) to cross the pass into Pakistan, as cycling was not allowed. Again, we had to make it before the border closed for the weekend. But this time, we “easily” made it.
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