Who could it be?: Maybe I'll send them a postcard!

July 4, 2014

I had a couple of relatively unwelcome visitors to my tent in the morning. The first was a great big spider; a reminder that the broken zip that left a big opening in the tent all night was a problem that would soon need a solution. The second arrived on horseback and was marginally more human. That was a man who, I realised as soon as he introduced himself, was somewhere in that unpleasant stage where you are still quite drunk and yet at the same time moving hideously towards a hangover. It is one of my least favourite places to be. But any sympathy I might have felt for the drunk soon evaporated when he started asking me for money. When I told him that I didn't have any money he moved onto asking for vodka. "Hang on a minute pal while I check my food pannier, but I think I'm all out." Next he more sensibly moved onto asking for painkillers for his terrible headache but before I could responded he had collapsed in a heap next to my stuff.

I packed up and got ready to leave, trying to ignore the inebriated figure as he swayed from side to side. Difficult to sway whilst lying horizontally, but he managed it. Yet as I was about to leave he managed to rise to his feet and give it one more go asking for money. He shook my hand and wouldn't let go. It reminded me of Mr Shake Hands Man on Banzai. Remember him? If not, and continuing my goal of turning Crazy Guy into a full-on gambling website, here is a short clip.

What happened in my situation was very similar to this, except Mr Shake Hands Man was drunk and I was Adam Sandler, and I got out of it by telling Mr Shake Hands man that his horse was getting away.

As the man was distracted chasing his horse I made my getaway. It was a very slow one, as I had a very long and very steep climb ahead that would take me up to lake Song Kol. This had been my goal for a long time, not least because the picturesque 3000 metre high lake marked the final major pass on my route and it would be almost all downhill from there.

As I bumped slowly uphill my mind was still wondering just who the hell was the owner of that touring bike that Peter had told me about. Although there was still no sign of anyone catching me up I reasoned that whoever it was couldn't be too far behind and would have to be coming this way, so I stopped and wrote a postcard, leaving it in an obvious place at the side of the road. The postcard read something like: 'Are you a touring cyclist? Were you in Ak Kyl at 2pm on the 3rd of July? If so please hurry up and catch me up or if not email me to let me know who you are!!! I need to know. A lot of people will have money riding on this!'

A little later on, as the climbing got steeper, I met a Russian couple zooming down the other way. The woman spoke good English, the man said not a word. I explained my predicament and quickly wrote another postcard asking them to give it to the next cyclist that they saw coming up the pass from my direction.

"Sasha take this postcard the crazy man has given me"

I met a Belgain couple soon after, also going down, and I gave them a similar message to pass on

I got to the point at which the road left the valley and started up a series of switchbacks on the steep mountainside at 4pm and I considered stopping as there would be nowhere to pitch a tent on the slopes. Although it had been a long and hard day I had only done 22 kilometres, such was the quality of the road, and so I decided to press on for the summit. It turned out to be a good decision as the road improved and it was one of the easier passes from that point. From higher up I could see all the way back along the road because of the switchbacks, a good nine or ten kilometres. But I couldn't see any other cyclist coming up, which was perhaps a good thing as a positive identification from such a distance might have been difficult. The odds on the bike belonging to someone going the other way were beginning to look a lot more favourable.

No sign of another cyclist. I started to feel a bit lonely

Higher up and I could see back even further. I could see the stretch of road where I'd left the postcard eight hours earlier. It being 20 kilometres away I couldn't tell if it was still there or not unfortunately, even when I squinted. As I got higher I could see even further back, over the hills to the plains where I had woken up that morning. I thought I could make out the drunk swigging a bottle of vodka. And was my mind playing tricks on me, or was that Gabor dancing merrily away with him?

I made it to the top with an hour of daylight left and more flat grassy plains appeared filled with the inevitable yurts and animals. I camped on the grass, not worrying to hide too much, with a view of the lake in the distance and horses trotting before the setting sun.

Today's ride: 38 km (24 miles)
Total: 21,932 km (13,620 miles)

Rate this entry's writing	Heart	2
Comment on this entry	Comment	0