Day Two On The Way To Kalaikhum - And The Return To Dushanbe.

I was packed and on the road to Kalaikhum by 5:30.  Not too much further along, the road split, with one branch staying on the north of the "O" river, and the other crossing a suspension bridge and heading south.  Mr. Garmin indicated the southern route was the correct way, and his advice was confirmed by a man and boy lying on a daybed outside a building by the bridge yelling "Khorog!" and waving in the direction of the bridge.  I rode across the bridge.

Here, the riverbed was boulders and gravel.  It reminded me of the gravel bars with which I am familiar in Alaska, with various sized round river rocks, varying in size from the size of cabins or small cars down to pea gravel and sand. On the other side of the bridge, someone had bladed a route through the gravel, much like a "Cat" trail used by the miners in Alaska along the river beds and gravel bars there.  I bounced along it for 100 meters or so, then the front tire hit a ridge of loose large stones, and washed out.  There went the left front turn signal again.  I unpacked, got it up, and it would not start again.  I took it apart.  I jiggled things.  I took apart the kill switch and started box and blew it out.  I put that back together, and it started again.  Good.  I packed up, and rode it another 25 meters. It was deja vu all over again. Another wash out, another fall to the left. 

Not even 6:15 yet, and I have been down twice.  Every time I go down, I bang up some part of me, and those parts nag as aches and pains.  It also takes time to get it, the moto, unloaded, up, and reloaded.  I am so glad I did not bring the big bike, which weighs at least 100 pounds more than this one does.  Still, 425 pounds is not something that 67 year old men sneeze or scoff at.  It takes energy to get the thing up on its two wheels.

Finally, I rode up the "road" about 300 meters, where it then takes a dip down across a stream bed and up to the final border post on the other side.  Once again, this is a small stream, about a foot deep, with steep gravel banks of large stones, in the middle of a gravel stream bed.  Two-wheel cars cross it several times a day, and they have worn down the banks a little in their ruts.  I chose a rut, got across the other side, and the rear wheel bogged down in the deep gravel, and over I went.  Three falls in less than 400 meters.  I did not feel good about this anymore, and I definitely was NOT having any fun.  I unpacked, and the border guard came down from his post to help me get the bike upright.  It started right away, thankfully, but I had a lot of difficulty getting traction in the deep gravel.  I don't know if it is me, my technique (Rominiac will help me out here), or the tires, but it did not want to come out of that gravel stream bed.  I finally broke it free, and charged up the river bank like I knew what I was doing.  I didn't, as it turns out.

The border guard helped drag my bags up to the bike, and while I reloaded, he took my passport, etc. I then took off, knowing I was already tired, and it was only 7:00.  The road followed right on the south bank of the "O" river for a few kilometers, then turned due south and into the mountains.  I was feeling better, as the roadway improved for awhile, and I stopped to take pictures.  I love these mountains.

I finally made it to about kilometer post 82.  There, I was faced with this stretch of gravel. 

The slope was about 6%, and the rocks were large.  I couldn't make it.  The bike would not go in this gravel.  I was exhausted.  My right arm was aching, and I was having trouble with my throttle hand.  Both knees are so painful that I can barely ride standing on the pegs.  Moreover, it seems as though the moto has developed a fuel leak.  I can't find the leak, but I think it is on the left side.  When the bike falls to the left, I get a significant spill.

After contemplation, I decided I had better turn back.  I was only a little over 20 kilometers from Kalaikhum, but I couldn't see a way to get there directly from where I stood.  I did not want to run out of fuel and have to be rescued, and I didn't want to be hurt and evacuated.  Given my physical state, and the state of the bike, I decided that seeing the Pamir Mountains was not as important as seeing my wife and friends again.  So I turned around, took this picture, and headed down the mountain.  It turned out that this was the correct decision.

Sometimes I think riding downhill on a bad gravel road is worse and takes longer than riding uphill on a bad gravel road.  It seemed like forever.  I was headed back to Dushanbe to regroup.  The ride through the heat and on the bad road seemed to take forever.  But there were some joys along the way.  About 15 kilometers back towards "town" I met Malcom and his partner, whose name I have forgotten.  They had seen my bike in Bukhara, and as she got off her bike, Malcom's partner shouted at him, "It's that guy from Alaska!"  They were both so nice, offering to slow down and let me ride with them so I could take another shot at it.  I demurred, and it turns out that was the right choice to make, as you will see.  Then the Swiss couple rode up on their bikes, with another Swiss couple as well, and they stopped to see what was going on.

These are all super nice people, as my friend Dick Hattan told me they would be.  The type of people (like Dick for instance) who go on these kinds of adventures will stop and help every person they meet.  It's just wonderful to contemplate.  Malcom and his partner offered me pain pills for my arm (I declined.  The last thing I need is to be befuddled by pain meds while riding a loaded moto on these gravel roads), and I gave them some medical supplies they had forgotten to bring.  And then one of the Swiss women told me about a southern route to Kalaikhum that is paved all the way and only three years old or so.  Perhaps that would work to get me into the Pamir Mountains.  This young woman reminded me so much of one of my oldest (or should I say longest) friends from high school, Carol Kress, now Carol Sigafoos and married to Jay Sigafoos, my best friend from high school.  This young woman looks just like Carol when Carol was a sophomore, and is as gracious as Carol.  So nice to meet such super people.

I continued back to town.  I was tired, and having control issues with the bike, trying to muscle it instead of letting the front wheel find its own way.  Don't ever do that.  It just makes you more tired, and the front wheel is stronger than you.  Once again, the inevitable happened.  Trying to avoid a pile of flint-like store next to a pothole for repair of that pothole, I hit the edge of the pothole and was thrown into the pile of gravel, falling to the right and trapping my right foot between the fuel carrier on the side of the bike, the food peg, and the flint gravel pile.  I was stuck.  It was over a hundred degrees, in the direct sunlight, and all I could get when I moved my foot was gravel in my boot.  I was pinned like a bug.  I was sure I could eventually get out, but for several minutes I was stuck.  I finally heard the sound of a car engine and saw its dust cloud.  When it appeared, I waved at it, and it finally stopped.  Three men got out and pulled the bike off me, then drove off.  I rode off, now with a wrenched right knee as an aching complement to my aching right shoulder.

Later, the bottom of my right foot started feeling like I had rocks in my boot, and I was sure I did from my incident with the gravel pile.  Strangely, it felt the same in my left boot.  I pulled over for a rest, took off my boots, and shook them out.  Gravel came out of my right boot, but not my left.  I wiped my hands across the bottoms of my soggy, sweat soaked socks to remove any remaining rocks, wigs, insects, whatever, and put my boots back on.  Strangely, the feeling of rocks in my boots persisted.

Later yet, the bottoms of my feet were really hurting.  Whenever I stopped to get water, or rest, it really hurt to walk on them.  Moreover, they were really hurting even while I was riding, even though I couldn't stand on the pegs at this point because of my knees.  Just shifting and using the rear brake (going downhill, and whenever in gravel, I use the rear brake) was enough to hurt.  Hmmmm.

It took forever, or so it seemed, to get back to Dushanbe.  When I got back to the Mercury (they were happy, but not too surprised I think, to see me), it felt like the bottoms of my feet had been cut with razors.  When I got to the room after getting the bags off and into the hotel, I stripped off my boots, riding pants, and socks, to discover that I had, like a damn fool, and in spite of knowing better, inflicted trench foot upon myself.  Otherwise known as immersion foot, it is a cold weather phenomenon caused by wet feet that get cool, etc.  Not changing my socks overnight when it was cool in the mountains, and not changing them in the morning, were enough.  I showered, dried my feet, ordered in what amounts to the Tajiki version of KFC, and crawled into bed.

I called Meredith and gave her an update.  She counsels me to stay put for several days, sort out the body issues, and see what the mind says after I feel better physically.  After not doing what I know I should have done earlier, I am inclined to do what she counsels, for many reasons, not the least of which is she knows, or comprehends, more about situations such as this than do I.

This morning, my feet are still swollen, although the whiteness of the tissues has dissipated, now leaving the feet reddish.  I can only walk slowly and painfully on them, so I am sitting and reading or writing.  When you Google "trench foot," as I know you will, you will see what I must do.  It turns out that I made the right choice to return from that road when I did.  Otherwise, I would be in some far off village, or lying by the side of the road, waiting for a medevac.  And that sets aside the issue of if the moto is capable of going on without major work.

The current plan is to wait until I can get around, then check out the moto.  When I have discovered what, if anything, ails the moto, I can decide what to do.  Until then, I have been looking at that Southern route, and keeping in mind that I have to be out of Tajikistan by August 8.  So keep checking back to (a) see the pictures I haven't been able to post yet of earlier adventures, and (b) see whether I can keep on going.