Well, we’re literally breezed out of Kazakhstan and only barely got off the bikes to get into Kyrgyzstan. We’d been tense and concerned about crap at he border unnecessarily.

We were in Bishkek by 2pm and had even dumped our bags in a hotel Baytor. The chances of camping were slim to none. Hotel Baytor can be found at GPS: N42 51.049 E74 36.900

It's Friday and the young girl at the embassy was very polite and the paper work all very straight forward. We were told we could collect it on Monday. $50 USD + 50 som. (44 =$1)

WIth that little job sorted we headed (as that was all so quick)into the centre of town. The pouring rain made for a somber entrance into the city.

We've needed for some weeks now to arrange to get some passport photos taken, especially for me, as I need to be covered for the photos that I'll hand to the Iranian Embassy. We found a great photo shop where we could get some more passport photos done.

Photos in hand we then wandered around the big department store TSum. Loads and loads of mobile phones. And pirate copies of DVDs! Decided to buy a couple (few dollars each).

Went to the café Fatboys (at GPS: N42 52.544 E74 36.567) and bumped into the two New Zealanders that we met in Almaty outside the Kyrg embassy. We stayed and chatted with them for a while before then going back to the room to work on diary and photos etc. nice room. Food is good and cheap.
Taxis are cheap. Weather is still atrocious.

We’d switched from rough track to potholed tar and then to silky smooth asphalt. All in all it had been a long day and we’d not made the distance we’d hoped.

We’d managed to cover 348 bumpy pot-holed miles and by nightfall things were getting dangerous as we passed into the small town of Kockkor-Ata. Drivers in beaten up ladas were swerving over the road, mostly drunk we guessed. Livestock was meandering along the edge of the road and could have walked across our paths at any time. This was silly.

With a decision made we u-turned and headed back into the small town we’d left just a mile back. With the help of some overly enthusiastic kids I’d found a hotel, well that’s a polite way of calling it. Tired as I was, the small room and the decay was too much. I’d rather be in my tent. Lisa and her bike had already gathered a small crowd. 4 policemen were taking it it turns to hug her, sit on her bike and swap their over sized ploice hats for her helmet. She seemed to be enjoying the madness of the situation.

Speaking to a local builder, I’d hopped in his car and we’d found the “Richman Hotel’. A square unimpressive and somewhat depressing building built in soviet style. “Yeah, it’ll do”, I thought. Asking the price I braced myself for what I’d guessed was going to be $30-40. It was only worth $10-20. When the dissinnterested girl behind the counter told me $90 I actually burst out laughing. That didn’t endear me further. I explained in English that this must be a joke. She wasn’t laughing. “Impossible, impossible” I said out loud, signaling to my new friend that we should go. Back in his car we both had a laugh at the optimistinc price they’d asked.

With broken English of around ten words and hand gestures our new friend came to the rescue. He was a local foremen on a construction sight, building a lavish new home for a wealthy Russian business man. The work was still underway but one of the rooms had a floor and windows and we were invited to use it as a base for the night. It seemd an utterly bizarre scenario and fitted perfectly with what we’ve now come to consider ‘our norm’. I ran the idea past Lisa before accepting.

Two large metal gates swung open and I parked both our bikes between a huge pile of sand and the concrete mixer to the right. I barely managed the feat, it was tight. 9 men all covered in building dust, paint and concrete came out to inspect us; the odd looking guests.They were all Muslim and so not a beer in sight. ? Sat around a red rug laid out on a bare concrete platform we tucked into a communial bowl of rice and small pieces of…nope, I’ve not got a clue what kind of meat it was. The sweet tea washed it all down perfectly.

Conversation for a good hour centred around the fact that Lisa is older than me by 8-years, which in their world just didn’t seem possible. Not one of them could understand why a man would marry an older woman.

All these hard men couldn’t have been sweeter or more gracious if they’d tried, even going as far as running a long eletrcial extension cable and new light bulb into the room when they’d seen there was no light.

The room had simple white wash on the walls and the wooden floor just sanded that night, so everything we owned was covered in ultra fine sawdust in seconds. It didn’t matter. Once again we were at the receiving end of the most wonderful and spontaneous type of hospitality. Not given for any kind of gain, other than they simply could! A bizarre scenario based on the most humbling of situations. We couldn’t have imagined our day ending like this, when we set out this morning, but then again that’s why we’re still travelling, every day is an adventure.

Sleep came all too easily.

Concerning or not as we started the ascent we knew we’d lost, although neither of us admitted it to each other. Snow was now packed down either side of the road and the tight muddy switch backs required all our concentration. Each time we thought we’d reached the summit we’d realize it was a false summit and have to push on. Miles down below we could see the small lights of distant villages sparkle to life as their small generators were kicked into nightly action. The temperature had plummeted and was now -9. It wasn’t even dark yet. Towards the top I looked left to see the last glimpse of what was an incredible view of the serpitine track we’d just ridden. The mountains around us were now turning a soft pink in the last moments before the sun set.

Lisa was battling; her eyes have never been good at night and at dusk her eyesight almost fails her completely. The biting cold air made it harder to relax and stay loose on the bikes. The trucks still on the road hadn’t slowed their pace and their headlights blinded us as each approached. Lisa pulled up beside me and I could see the real terror in her eyes. As many of you know Lisa doesn’t scare easily but she was beginning to freak and I wasn’t far behind her.

Stopping again, we pulled up short of a huge JCB and next to a vast pile of earth. There was no way past! Had we taken a wrong turn? Had we missed a detour sign? Had they closed the road and we’d not known? Trucks were now lining up behind us and wailing thier huge air horns and flashing their lights. It was pitch black and I could see no solution and/or route. After another long blast of a horn, I shouted ‘yeah, yeah, so your bloody horn works well done, what d’ya want a medal”. This was getting me frustrated as much because of the predicament as because I could see Lisa’s anxiety increasing.

The JCB swung into action again, but this time scooping tons of earth and depositing it elsewhere. As I ran back to my bike it reversed several times flattening the pile of rock and road material still left. We’d not gone wrong, not missed detour, this is simply how it’s done here. They work on the road when it’s in use, simple as that. Day or night! We scarmbeled over the rough track and carried on into the dark.

7-miles down in the distance we could see the faint lights of tiny Sary Tash and the end of todays ride. By the time we reached the first of it’s buildings we were freezing - literally.

With a few directions asked we lucked out and by some miracle found a small home stay, at the end of an unlit mud and rock track and past two water crossings that I’d gone barreling into and not seen until it was too late. The GPS for the home stay is N39 43.348 E73 15.157. You won’t find it without it.

Without electricity we greeted our host and painfully peeled our stiff bodies from the frozen bikes. We were exhausted and now frozen and wet. The small white washed walls of the room looked like a heavenly sanctuary lit only by candlight. Against one wall our host pulled down half a dozen old rugs on which we’d sleep. We’d already pulled our sleeping bags from the bikes.

The two voices coming from the adjacent room sounded English but turned out to be Israeli guys. We washed down boiled rice with mutton fat sauce and the last of the cheap vodka we’d bought two days prior.

OK, that’s enough. Lisa’s fast asleep beside me, wow she’s done brilliantly. My eyes are closing and sat against the wall my back is now in knots. I’m sure there’s a gazillion spelling mistakes in this, expecially as I can’t see the keyboard. The candle’s not that big.

Night, night.