I rode through sandy, gravelly, brushy, landscape for most of the way. The road demanded all my attention, so I didn't see much of the sights. I did see camels though, and since they are larger than pigs, I managed to avoid even the ones on the road. Occasionally I saw mountains off to the side, but they receded until I neared Ashgabat when they dominated the Southern sky.
As we drew closer to Ashgabat, fields and orchards appeared. And melon vendors. I also rode past a huge mosque near Geok-Tepe. It was beautiful with a shiny tiled dome and gold topped minarets.
I followed Dima to the MVD Hotel. That's right, I was put up in a police hotel (actually the Hotel of Ministry of Internal Affairs) where the bellman was a police cadet, as was the young man who did my laundry the next day. I don't think I could ever get an FBI agent to do my laundry. . . I ate my meals in the hotel, which were good, solid food. Nothing fancy, but neither am I. However, the coffee was instant and pre-sweetened. I drank it thankfully.
The next day, I set out to see the central city of Ashgabat. It is white. All white. The city was pretty much destroyed in the quake of 48 or 49. The new government buildings are white, huge, and good looking, as is the university. I wanted to see the new President's Palace, and get some cash. Neither was to happen.
Apparently the Turkmenistan banking system is not connected to the US banking system. And since the President was in town, the streets around certain areas were closed. I found this out from time to time when a policeman or soldier would appear and tell me no walking there.
At first I was frustrated, but I soon remembered that US citizens and foreign visitors aren't allowed, much less welcomed, anywhere near our president either. And these young guards were every bit as polite, and often even more so, than the US Secret Service and Capitol Police. And our people all wear great big guns!
After three hours finding a way back to my hotel by a route I was permitted to walk, I took a shower and a nap.
In the late afternoon, I fussed with the moto. Several bolts had loosened, and the right rear subframe bolt was gone. I replaced that, oiled the chain, tightened other bolts, topped off the radiator, and so on. Just general maintenance.
The following day I stayed inside where it was cool and read. At about 3:30, Dima arrived and we set off to the Burning Crater, arriving at about 7:30 I think.
The Darvaza Gas crater, also known as The Door To Hell," is amazing. During the day, the flames aren't as obvious, but the heat is still intense.
Once it gets dark though, its character changes. From just a short distance away, it glows orange and roars. It looks like the angry, gaping maw of a huge ugly creature.
When you come closer, you can see the individual flames.
This road was not very good either, requiring advanced skills in pothole avoidance. More accurately, road hazard avoidance. It was worse than the road from Turkmenbashi to Ashgabat. But I had not seen anything yet. The last 80 kilometers before Këneurgench are the worst I have ever seen, with the possible exception of some in 1966-68 in South Viet Nam. It is worse than the road off the back side of Murphy Dome near Fairbanks, Alaska.
I learned that the road was built during the Soviet era to handle trucks of ten tons. They now run sixty ton trucks on it, and the road is just destroyed. But that doesn't stop people from driving on it as fast as they can. It is the only road on which I've ridden where I've had to downshift to climb out of a pothole. I think my favorite part was the coffin-sized hole in the decking of a bridge over a canal in which someone had stuck a small tree down to the water below and draped the tree with flagging.
I only fell once trying to ride from the bottom of the shoulder to back up to where the road was supposed to be (about a six foot climb) when the front tire washed out on me. Of course, I broke the remaining mirror retaining nut. Now mirror less, I rode on.
Këneurgench is an old, old city. Like every city that refused on first request to surrender to Ghengis Khan, it was destroyed. Only the minaret was spared. Timur, or Tamarlane, also destroyed it, and took its artisans and engineers to plan, design, and build Bukhara. The city was an important spot on the Silk Road, being a crossroad got the east-west and north-south routes.
Although the population is nominally Islamic, their actual practice blends aspects of Zoarastrianism and Buddhism into Islam. It is fascinating to see this fusion of different religions in the area where they all overlapped.
By way of example, the triangle is a significant symbol in Zoarastrianism. I watched women pass three times through a triangle formed by wooden poles, the tie colorful cloths to the poles, an act or symbol important to Bhuddhism. They then knelt at a nearby circle of stones where they stacked three stones symbolizing a pyramid, and then placed a small cradle in the circle with a tiny baby figure in it. I found it very interesting.
After Këneurgench, Dima took me to the border, helped me pack my bike, then helped me pick it up when the dirt under the kickstand gave way, and it fell over. It is just too heavy.
I made it through immigration without any problems, but customs wanted to inspect the bike. I had to wait until the inspector returned from lunch. While waiting, two Dutch guys rode up, and we chatted. I was finally cleared after about 90 minutes, and headed to Uzbekistan.
There I became quickly known as Mister (pronounced Meester) Alaska. We had a jolly time until I answered "yes" to the question do you have any medicine. This required me to show them all the medicine, my letter from Dr. Makin, and tell them what each one was for. Then they were quite happy.
However, they wanted to inspect the bike, so they looked at the same things the Turkmen looked at, and I answered all their questions. I finally was cleared. When I rode up to the final guard post and handed over my passport, the guard read it, looked at me and smiled and said "Welcome to Uzbekistan," That was very nice.
I headed to Nukus to find a hotel. I was stopped on the side of the road, muttering that the bike was just too heavy, and I was going to jettison the tires, when a car going by screeched to a stop in front of me, backed up quickly, and stopped in a cloud of dust. A big guy hopped out, cheerful as could be, and started jabbering at me. There was a woman in the front seat, all made up, chewing gum and laughing at our inability to understand each other. Every time I looked at her she winked and laughed harder. He finally gave up and they drove off. It was only later that I figured out he was a pimp. . . I'm getting older, I guess.
No comments:
Post a Comment