XINJIANG 1999 |
Cycling the Karakoram Highway |
Stage 1 Kyrgyzstan
Stage 3 Karakoram Highway
Top of the Torugart Pass
I am sure if we had been the true, rough-tough cycle tourers we aspired to be, we would have been frustrated and disappointed by the Chinese ban on cycling the 150km from the Torugart Pass to Kashgar. But in reality, having exhausted ourselves climbing to the top of the pass, we were just very relieved to find our jeep and driver at the summit, waiting take us on to Kashgar. We loaded the bikes and all our gear into the back and set off into China.We descended from the pass down a long series of very rough, very steep switchbacks. Sitting in the back, we were shaken and bounced about, but could not stop smiling. At the foot of the switchbacks was the first Chinese border post. Here, the guards in neat green and red uniforms carried out a very thorough search of all our bags, taking a particular interest in our books and some postcards from the museum of art in Bishkek. At the same time our papers were subject to a long examination. Eventually, they let us pass and after packing all the gear back in the jeep, we raced off down the track. The long descent down the valley was through a very different landscape. That morning, on the Kyrgystan side of the border, we had climbed to the summit of the pass with deep snow on either side of the track. But now were driving through a desert landscape. In the center of the valley was a wide grey-brown river heavy with silt, but on either side the mountains were of dry brown loose rock with hardly a hint of green anywhere.
The few trucks on the track were throwing up long clouds of dust that hung in the air behind them. Undetered, by the zero visibility ahead, our driver pulled out and raced past them. About thirty kilometres down the track, at the end of the valley, we skidded to a halt under the huge mirrored glass arch of the customs post. Here, we were subject to another search and detailed examination of our papers before we were allowed to proceed. From here the road set out across the very western fringe of the Taklamakan desert for Kashgar. It was how a desert should be, dry, dusty and with only tiny pockets of green.
| Kashgar shopping |
In parts, Kashgar was everything we had expected a silk road city to be. The narrow streets of the old town still thronged with craftsmen and tiny stalls selling all kinds of everything. Near the peaceful Id Kah mosque, there was still a dim alleyway lined with tiny workshops where myopic goldsmiths still crafted jewellery. And we still found shops selling exquisite Uyighur instruments. But there was sense that all this was rapidly passing in to history, soon to be lost forever . Chinese bulldozers were busy driving wide roads through the old town and anonymous concrete buildings were climbing into the sky. We couldn't help feeling that soon Kashgar will look and feel just like any other anonymous city anywhere else in China.
| Baking nan bread |
For the first time in three weeks we called home: "What about the war?" was the first thing my Mother said. "What war?" While we had been pedalling through Kyrgyzstan, Pakistan and India had gone to war over Kashmir. We had no way of finding out what whether this had affected the border at Khunjerab, so we vowed to press on and hope for the best.
| Sunday market |
In the morning after breakfast in the Oasis cafe, we set out for the Karakoram Highway. For the first twenty kilomtres or so we pedalled past lush irrigated fields, shaded by the trees growing alongside the road. Then abrubtly the desert returned and we endured ten kilometers of dry heat and blinding sun, before reaching another island of green. So the day progressed. We camped in a pocket handkerchief sized field on the outskirts of a village near where the Ghez river emerges from its gorge.
| Traffic jam in the Ghez canyon |
Next morning I woke with pounding head and an aching stomach, and struggled to find the energy to cycle the few kilometers to the Ghez checkpoint. The checkpoint itself was just a few huts, a police house and a barrier across the road. Nobody showed much interest in our papers so we retired to a grubby cafe for tea and stir fry. We bought a few packets of biscuits at a dusty kiosk then set off up the canyon. The road climbed up a narrow shelf of rock blasted out of cliff above a deep gorge where the grey river thundered by. I was now feeling quite sick and weak and struggling to keep up with Rowena.
| Campsite at Karakul |
We rested for a day at Karakul, doing nothing more strenuous than lying in the sun and walking to an overpriced Chinese restaurant at a small settlement a little way round the lake.
Next morning we packed up the tent in an icy cold blizzard of wet sleet. This was when we discovered the vital spare that we had failed to bring. We were lugging round a pretty comprehensive (and weighty) collection of spares including; a bottom bracket, chain, spokes, tyres, inner tubes, bearings, brake-blocks, cables. In fact just about everthing but a small washer that had become warn both our pumps that was preventing us from getting a decent pressure in the tyres.
| Rowena nearing the top of the Subash escarpement |
At the summit we lunched on a stale cake in the shape of a fried egg that we had brought at Gez. We then enjoyed a long descent, flying down a hill into a wide plain surrounded by mountains. We had hoped to reach Tashgurkan that day, but a strong headwind blew up and slowed our progess to a crawl. Eventually, we gave up and camped in small glade of trees off the road.
| Tajik girls at Tashgurkan |
There were two towns in Tashgurkan. Just off the highway was the Chinese town - a wide tree lined street and soulless concrete buildings. At the far end of the street, at the bottom of a bluff, as if it were something the Chinese were trying to hide, was the old Tajik town. Here, built up the hillside, was a mass of ancient adobe buildings each with its own little courtyard. They looked out of on wide flat plain that stretched to a distant line of mountains.
| Our bikes at rest in the Tashgurkan valley |
Late in the afternoon we arrived at the small, remote village of Davdar. Here, all the houses seemed to be well fortified with high mud walls surrounding their compounds. As we cooked up a local shepherd came to see us and despite the absence of a language we got on well. He particularly enjoyed trying out our bikes.
In the morning the road took us on up the wide valley. Far out on the plain we saw shepherds tending their flocks of goats on the thin grazing. At one stage we pedalled past a whole family on the move, all their belongings piled on a couple of donkey carts and the children leading their herd of sheep and a few cattle.
In the afternoon we reached the Chinese security post at Pirali. On one side of the road was a half demolished ruin on the other a new compound and building. Rowena was thirsty and determined to try and get a drink out of the Chinese security police. While I wondered if a I would ever see her again, she strode into the police building looking for a coca-cola. Luckliy, no one was home.
After the Pirali, the road took a turn to the right, away from the river, and started a steep climb into the mountains. We pressed on into the early evening before camping in a grassy hollow. In the rocks around us golden marmots popped up and whistled at us.
| Road to the Khunjerab Pass |
| At the summit of the Khunjerab Pass 4,730m |
| Too knackered to stand! |
We lingered at the summit as long as we could, savouring the moment and the place. Eventually, so as not to have to spend the night too high up, we mounted our bicycles and started the descent into Pakistan.
If you have any comments or questions on this trip,
click here to email me
Return to the index of trips.