Our excitement was marred only by the lingering concerns that for two days we’d been riding along the Northern Afghanistan border. It’s hard not to be concerned after all the years of negative media regarding Afghanistan. In fact, to ignore this would just be fool hardy. With winter closing in, the northern Summer-only route via the Tavildara and the Sagirdasht Pass were a no-go. Our route would take us right along the border with Afghanistan to Kulyab.

10 minutes after leaving Khorog in bright sunshine our paced slowed, as much because of the onslaught of twisting blind bends and for the sheer majesty of the country around us. I’d read that 90% of Tajikistan was above 3,000 meters (9,900 feet) but only now was it really hitting home. Mile after mile of the most incredible mountain views either of have ever seen. Dry vertical cliffs rose to our right so high that even with our heads turned it was impossible to see the summits.

Where the Gunt River meets the Pyanj River we detoured north for 40 miles before again heading west at Rushan. The tar would come and go whimsically but for the most part we were stood on the pegs. To our left the Pyanj River flowed fast and full, swollen from the first of winter’s heavy snow. On the westerly bank, Afghanistan and dozens of tiny settlements that clung impossibly to the rough and dry mountainsides. Local Afghans waved as we passed; often we heard yells of welcome, although the caller was hidden in a cloud of choking dust kicked up by the moving of his herd or flock as he herded them to fresh pastures. Although in truth we have no idea where these pastures were. All we’d seen was rock and cliff. For almost the entire day we watched as a thin path wound its way over the rock and along the vertical cliffs on the Afghan side. Yes, you read that right -vertical cliff. Logs and rocks had been used to create a platform along the more precarious cliffs, but essentially the track was used to move livestock from one village to the next. An incredible feat of engineering and all by hand.

In the afternoon the riding had become more challenging. We’d passed dozens of dark painted signs each marked with a skull and bones. We were passing through a once heavily land mined area. Most of the mines had since been cleared, but not all. I resisted the urge to take leak too far from the road. We’d become drunk with the views, the signs had sobered us up quickly. We kept thinking to ourselves “Bin Laden could be in one of those villages and we’d never know, no wonder the US hasn’t found him. This whole landscape is the perfect hiding ground. It would be impossible to find anyone here if they really didn’t want to be found.

We’d seen dozens of young and bored soldiers, each with the guns over their shoulders walking. We never knew where they’d walked from or where they were going. We hadn’t seen any kind of base. Several had tried to flag us down. We’d ridden right past them. They have a bad reputation for taking documents and handing them back only after you paid them a bribe. We’d heard only recently that they’d held several travelers at gun point. With one rider in particular they’d taken a few things including his tea bags. The best part of the story is that after letting him go the rider had decided that he wasn’t taking this bullshit, U-turned and so rode back to them and took his tea bags back. Stupid but ballsy…I hope he was a Brit’? We’d heard from a few reliable sources that most of them don’t have bullets and so facing up to them isn’t as fool hardy as it first might appear. In either case I certainly didn’t want the confrontation or the hassle. A half hearted wave of the hand and a twist of the throttle got us past them before they could do anything about it.

By late afternoon we’d skirted several large rock slides and were getting a little concerned about finding somewhere to camp. We were still skirting vertical rock faces to our right and the river to our left. The earlier relative warmth of the day had gone and it was now getting cold fast.

In the last light of day and have ridden 131-miles we did (by our standards) the unthinkable. Pulling off the road to the left we’d seen a small area of flat land that ran down to the Pyanj River. Across on the other bank 3 small Afghan villages. We’d camp in plain sight of them all. As far as we could see there was no way for anyone to cross this natural border of water. No bridge or walk way of stones that would let anyone get to us. Still, we’ve never done this. We set up the tent behind a low rise of earth, making sure that the rise would offer us some protection from the eyes of the passing truck drivers and any wandering soldier.

It felt very strange to see and be seen by so many. We watched herds of livestock scramble down what looked like vertical rocks. How could anyone live here? There were no power lines or telephone wires and what we were facing was just sheer rock. We still have no idea why these tiny villages had been settled here in the first place. OK, so the access to water was great but the mountains meant that access to anything else was bloody tough. As night settled in we cooked and camped and watched the small fires on the Afghan side burn bright orange into the night. We’d turn our own head torches off when hearing the approach of any truck on the Tajik side. The trucks passed all night and yet we remained undiscovered. We slept fitfully.

I’ve just checked our camps GPS position with mapsource and Google Earth. Both have confirmed that we were actually camped ½ a mile inside Afghanistan. The legal border does in fact cross the Pyanj River. Here’s the GPS location for our camp spot, check it out of yourself. GPS: N38 27.240 E70 57.616. Mmm, scary but cool!

No sooner had we started than the patchy tar ended and the roadwork’s and rough stuff started. The same mesmerizing views we’d gaped at yesterday kept us awestruck today but the ride was proving to be more technical. By mid-afternoon we’d negotiated several landslides and had gently eased the brakes to stop from sliding in the soft fresh earth. A young man in tattered clothes was half-heartedly waiving his warning flag. We’d mistakenly assumed the thunderous bang we’d heard just 10 minutes earlier was a distant thunder storm. It was in fact the workers dynamiting the cliffs. The earth strewn rock and debris that now lay around us was the proof. We needed to negotiate the hole created by the blast not to mention the huge JCB that was now occupying most of the hole. They’d seemingly blown up the dynamite right in the middle of the existing track? I took a deep breath as I leant back over the rear of my bike and headed down the steep bank. To the left a drop of around 500 feet straight into the river. I barely squeezed by the back of the JCB and my heart sank as I could now see what I needed to ride to get back out of the hollow and back to the track. I was, of course, thinking that I would need to go back and ride Lisa’s bike, as the drop off into the river and degree of technicality of the ride would be freaking her out. I’m the first to admit that between the soft earth and boulder sized rocks that I needed climb fully laden was pushing me to the limits of riding ability. Up on the track I pulled in the clutch and redid to dismount. No sooner had I stopped when I heard a shriek and then whoop of excitement. As I turned my head Lisa bounced up the rocky track her front wheel launching a good 3-4 feet in the air as she gassed the last boulder, her face a mixture of fear, surprise and sheer excitement. I yelled out “bloody well done…brilliant”. I was so proud of her, not to mention surprised.

20 minutes later and we came to another stop. More dynamiting had completely covered the track and another earth mover was in full swing. This one larger and more antiquated than the last. A truck had pulled up behind us and two old soviet jeeps were waiting on the other side of the mess of rock and earth. This was going to be trickier than the last. The boulders were larger and the vast earth mover was creating deep long troughs that criss-crossed each other, meaning that we’d have to get across a dozen or so 4-foot trenches. With the go ahead given, I took another deep breath got up on the pegs fast and literally bounced, jarred, scraped and forced my way across. Several times I was sure I’d lost it and was going over. On the other side I stopped. Lisa had done well so far but there was no way she….??!!!!##*! “Get out the way, move…move” she yelled as she rode the tough section. The jeep I’d just passed had started to pull away. “What the hell is he doing” I thought to myself. There was no room for him to pass Lisa and she needed all the room she could get as the bike slid and bounced its path. The locals and drivers over here simply have no comprehension of the size, weight or power of our bikes and don’t allow for them.

The driver was about to get a rude lesson. Lisa couldn’t stop; she needed her momentum to clear the debris field. I could hear her yelling “no, no, don’t you dare come, no stop, shit no don’t you dare…”! It was too late. As she and the jeep crossed paths, her bike jolted her to the left, her left pannier smashing hard into the side of the jeep. A shriek from Lisa was followed with a girly “Ooohh I think I hit him”. As we got on the throttles I could see in my mirror the irate driver jump from his jeep and inspect the paint damage. In all honesty it served him right. He’d been stupid and reckless. A less experienced rider could have easily been forced to the left and been sent over the edge and down to the river. I know full well that Lisa had absolutely no sympathy for him whatsoever.

As for me I was just a proud as punch husband who been stunned to see his wife ride what was tough and technical on a 340 kg machine by anyone’s standards. ©

We’d put on a brave fight but we’d lost the battle of getting to Dushanbe before nightfall. Like yesterday we’d skirted the Afghanistan border for most of the day and breezed through 3-4 checkpoints. We were again tired and cold as we negotiated the busy chaotic streets of Tajikistan’s capital at night. In the centre of the city we’d managed to find two of the hotels listed in the LP guide book and walked away from both. They been listed as mid-range but had asked for over $100 per night. The last had apologized that there was no water in the room’s bathroom. I’d asked if they’d offer a discount for this and been turned down point-blank. Two hours after reaching Dushanbe we were pulled up on the side of the road and on our last legs, trying desperately to find an accommodation solution. Things were about to get bizarre even by our standards.

A local film crew had seen us earlier and had now pounced. After a barrage of questions we were asked to perform and I mean literally. This wasn’t a news team but a crew of 6 filming a Tajik music video. The weird, even slightly creepy looking man in the velvet purple shirt with the massive collar who’d been standing to my right was a well known singer. “You dance, yes…dance…yes, you dance yes…yes…yes…yes…with your bike. Good…boogey, boogey..yes..no problem”!!!???!!! I was near to wetting myself. It was like talking with Manuel from the Faulty Towers TV comedy, only with a different accent and tweaked to the eyeballs on speed.

After this utterly bizarre and yet brilliant flurry of words I was thrust into the music video world lime-light. The camera men hit the record buttons, and the director plugged two small portable speakers into his mp3 player and placed them in front of the bikes. Now bearing in mind that Lisa and I are still covered in the days dust and muck and we’re still sat on the bikes. “Dance, yes, yes, you dance now…boogey, boogey..please” yelled the director enthusiastically. By now, Mr. famous weirdy, in the purple velvet shirt and suspect chest hair cozzied right up to me, cheek to cheek and started to passionately lip-sync.

I’m now sat on the bike, swaying it side-to-side and doing what I guess looked like a Mexican waive and a bit of break dancing. Well c’mon…I’ve got a 350 kilo piece of metal between my legs and we’ve ridden for 15-hours. I think we did pretty well. I lowered my arms and signaled I had enough; I was simply out of energy. The desperate yells from the director of “boogey, boogey, yes” had me waiving and moving like a comatosed pillock for another 2-minutes. Lisa had been laughing her ass off the whole time. With that, I told them that she was a professional dancer back in the UK and she’d love to perform. Ahhh, the sweet sight of revenge as she waved her arms half-heartedly between darting scowls in my direction. She didn’t talk to me for a good 15 minutes after that.

An hour later and just before mind-night found us in the old Dushanbe Hotel. We’d paid $50 for the room and another $5 each for parking. We’ had no choice.

235 miles, Dushanbe at night and a scary bit part as an exotic dancer in a Tajik music video…not a bad day. Welcome to our life ?

Lisa writes:

We spent most of the next few days sitting in SegaFredo – a very nice but expensive coffee shop here in Dushanbe. However, they have Wi-Fi and don’t seem to mind if you sit for quite a few hours on the trot with just one cup of coffee! So this is where we made our base. During this time I managed to do a little research (whilst Simon gave me the laptop for a few mins here and there!) and found an online store service called Lulu……was this what we have been looking for all these months? Will this solve our shop problems?

After looking into what they provide – we have decided that it’s as good as it will get – and are now working on opening up an online store before Xmas!

We are in desperate need of cash. This has been a very expensive time. Central Asia is costly due to not only the visas – so far I have organized 7 – usually at $80+ each per visa….but gas is not cheap and neither have the hotels/guesthouses etc. A lot of the time you are expected to register – so a hotel (usually very basic) is needed and of course costly – especially in Russia and Kazakhstan. Food hasn’t been that cheap either – especially if you don’t want the same borsht or mutton plov every single day.

So – when I found out that the remainder of the cash in our bank account was down to 200 quid I panicked at bit. This was it. The costs of the last few months – the shipping – gas etc..had all eaten into the reserves we had built up in the USA? There is no more. How the hell do we go on? We have tried to be so careful since leaving the USA. It gets quite tiring everyday to worry about finances, how to pay for this, how to get tires, can we get a full tank of gas, what is the cheapest thing in the supermarket to buy so I can cook something edible..? and so on. I have no more answers. I can no longer magic money from somewhere – anywhere.

OK – so I have had it here! (Adventurers Inn) These people say one thing to us and another to each other! We have just been kicked out of the office by the young girl saying – I am going now (quite literally – now!) not... ‘oh in 5 mins I need to go’…just – I am going now – you need to leave now!

OK….so Simon says but we were told we could use the office..as the Wi-Fi is not working and we need to plug directly in with the cable….? ‘NO’, she says…..you have to leave now. Ok so it’s not worth arguing……..but she is still insistent….now go now! As I try to explain to her…….I have to close down all of the applications I am using on the pc here in the office…and Simon needs to ensure that he is logged out of all the internet application properly too…Now she goes now! If she doesn’t shut up I will bop her one!! Simon can see I am getting really annoyed…..as I try to explain that I understand we have to go…..but……I need only 3 mins (??) to close things……’ cant wait’.she says..’now now’….
Ggggrrrrrrrrr

So – we are kicked out without much ceremony and head off to the café – at least we are welcome there even if we don’t buy anything to eat and make a cup of coffee last 6 hours!
Eventually managed to get the calendar for 2010 up and online! This is a huge job! We are so pleased with it – now all we need to do is to sell some……

After doing what we could there we finish the day with a visit to a supermarket….whilst struggling with deciding what to cook…..pasta dish or rice dish…we meet this very excited guy who asks if the 1100 outside is ours……I’d left my bike at the ‘guesthouse’. It turns out that he has his 1150 ADV here. Doesn’t get to ride it much. Simon and he talk whilst I decided on food for the evening. It turns out that he has a problem with his bike and Simon, being the techie that he’s turned into (!), asks if Arne (he’s Danish) would like him to look at it? They organize for the bike to be brought along to the guesthouse tomorrow evening.