Alaska

August in Alaska is really the beginning of autumn, which most visors don't understand.  In the Smaller States (as the cognoscenti call the 48 contiguous States of America), autumn is the final summer month, with sunshine and warmth -- the hallowed stuff of summer vacations.  In Europe it is much the same, with most of Europe shutting down as almost everyone takes their summer holiday.  However, Alaska is usually cooler and wetter in August, and in higher elevations, the colors of the tundra and the trees start to change.

On Saturday, I rode with two friends from Anchorage, down Turnagain Arm, over Turnagain Pass, and down The Longest Sixteen Miles In America to Hope.  Not everyone has faith, but Alaska always has Hope, a small former mining community on the southern edge of Turnagain Arm -- or perhaps you could call it the far northern edge of Kenai.

I rode my R1200GS Adventure, and what a joy it was to ride a bike that powerful, and that unladen, on unbroken pavement.  It was a profound difference from riding the smaller, less powerful G650GS, heavy with over 100 pounds of gear, on the roads (?) of Central Asia.  It was a mostly clear day, and the traffic was not bad at all.  We saw the train several times that day as it hauled tourists to Seward to catch their cruise ships, and to pick up the fresh boatload of the same who were just beginning their Alaska Adventure.  It was the last day of sunshine for the newcomers for a more than a few days . . .

Hope is always pleasant, with a choice of two cafes -- Tito's or the Sea View.  I always choose Tito's, as the hamburgers are always (a) large and good, and (b) they always have fresh "homemade" pie.  Saturday they had coconut cream pie, a favorite of mine, with whipped cream fresh from the can.  Excellent pie regardless of the source of the topping.  

The Sea View (or "Seaview") came into play as the rental company failed to put "enough" gas in the F800GS that Bryan rented, and we needed to refuel it.  However, the only place where gas was available in Hope was closed until 5:00 pm, and we wanted to be back in Anchorage long before then.  I went into the Seaview to ask around, and a nice guy at the bar left his beer on the bar (!) and volunteered to give us a gallon -- which in the ordinary course of events should have been enough to get Bryan and his lightly laden F800 the 50 miles or so to Girdwood where there is a (very large) gas station.  As it turned out, it was about ten miles short of sufficient to make it the distance.  As you recall, it is not an adventure unless something goes wrong, and after Bryan coasted to a stop, I rode into Girdwood, bought a gas can and a gallon of gas, returned to to the stranded biker, and Bryan was then sufficiently fueled to got to the (very large) gas station.  Another Alaska Adventure.

On Sunday I drove to Fairbanks to assume some grandfatherly duties for a week.  I thought about riding the bike, but the forecast was for rain all week, and I decided I would ride in the rain on another day, like when I didn't have much of a choice.  This is in line with my philosophy of choosing comfort over discomfort when possible, because life will always let you be uncomfortable.  And indeed, I saw wet biker after wet biker riding south into Anchorage for most of the morning.  Lots of road bikes and cruisers, but even more dual sports.  Many riders coming north to get riding to Alaska off their bucket list.  And thinking it was still summer.  

I stopped in Broad Pass (in the Alaska Range, and the Southern Gateway to Denali National Park) to take some photographs.  I love Broad Pass, and think it is a grand example of Alaska.  The colors were changing, and there was a bite in the wind that felt of winter coming soon.  

So that was the weekend.  The drive to Fairbanks was longer than usual because of construction on the highway.  Twice I had to wait for about half an hour for pilot cars.  But at least I was inside a car.  When I return to Anchorage next Saturday, I think I will drive down the Richardson Highway and perhaps visit my friends Joy and Jack and Victoria and Anna in Glenallen.  Or is it Glennallen?  

At Home

After a mostly non-eventful but very long trip home, I made it safely to Anchorage. And with my luggage, too!  Of course, the luggage contents had been messed with by TSA, and the re-packing job was apparently subcontracted to some angry apes who just shoved stuff back in the bags. Strangely, I did not feel any safer after they checked my luggage. Or after they checked anyone else's luggage either. 

The jet lag is killer coming back from Kyrgyzstan. No matter how late I stay up, I still wake up every morning between 3:30 and 4:30. Scout also wakes up then because I am up, and she demands to be fed. This throws her schedule off all day, which generally results in a confrontation over her evening meal, which she demands in the early afternoon, and then again in the early evening. Regardless, it is wonderful to be home and getting some rest, which Scout helps me with by sleeping on my lap. 

On the trip, I lost about 15 pounds (7 kilos) and more than two inches off my waist. This requires new trousers and underwear. I didn't think the latter would be necessary, but quickly learned that properly fitting underwear is a good thing. Let your imagination run wild. . .

I came home with 115 pounds of gear.  As I have been cleaning and sorting the gear, I have identified 11 pounds (so far) that will not be going back with me when I return. As an example, I saved almost three pounds by cutting excess weight in my kitchen, as well as cutting the volume by at least half. I nested a SnowPeak 900 in a SnowPeak 1400, with a SnowPeak 700 cup thrown in. Less than a pound. Left at home two plates, a bowl, a pot and a tea kettle, and the frying pan I never use. And the pods for the coffee, sugar, salt and pepper. They will get zip locks next year.  My goal is to take less than 100 pounds back with me. 85 pounds would be just about right. 

I still have to tackle the tool and spare parts kit, but I need to finish some garage reorganization first. That should be done in a week or so. I also have an idea for a tool kit to mount to the inside of the right rear luggage rack I need to work on, as well as modifying some brake and clutch levers to take back with me. I want shorter ones, but I can't find them, so I will have to modify some. 

Over the next several weeks, I will also write some more thoughts, post some more pictures, and develope the plan for the return trip. We're not done yet, folks, so check back from time to time. One thing I will do is post a map that shows the entire route on it, for those who have been asking. I also hope to post some maps of particular days, with info such as elevation changes as well. 

Romaniac wants pictures of Lake Issykul, so I must go back. There is nothing worse than an angry Romaniac on your trail. 

A Day to Get a Flight Home

In Frankfurt, I wanted to get home soon, so I put my AT&T SIM card back in the old iPhone, and dialed up Alaska Airlines reservations to change my reservation for September 29th to something s little closer in time.  Unfortunately, the person with whom I was speaking was not well versed in international flights, and it took over half an hour to get the reservation changed.  The earliest I could get out was Friday evening, arriving back in Anchorage on Sunday morning just after midnight.  Not feeling comfortable with the conversation I had held, I kept watching for the confirming email from Alaska Airlines that the ticket had been issued.  Based on prior experience, I knew that if I don't receive the conforming email, I have to call them back.

I waited eight hours, and then called back.  Sure enough, the ticket had not been issued, and there was no record of my credit card number in the system.  I gave the number again, and within five minutes received the confirming email.  Some reservationists are just better than others, I suppose.  Regardless, I now have a ticket, it is issued and paid for (probably twice), and I have a way home.  While it is taking longer than I hoped, I am having such a bad time with my body clock that it is probably for the best.  I'm still working on Kyrgyzstan time!

Since the train station is downstairs, I decided to head off to downtown Frankfurt on Tuesday.  I rode to the main train station without incident, and followed the iPhone maps to the old Opera House, and then into the shopping district.  Right in the heart of downtown shopping the new and the old are cheek by jowl (I love that phrase!) and it makes for a stunning juxtaposition.  The newer high-rise buildings here are not square or rectangular, but of various shapes and curves, which I enjoy very much.  They are not, however, as curvaceous as those in Turkey or Azerbaijan.  In Baku, the curves are often compound.  I think maybe calculus was involved in the design and construction.  Duh.

On Wednesday, I spent the day getting a haircut, and reconnoitering Terminal 2 from which I leave.  I also wander around Terminal 1, and the baristas at the closest Starbuck's know me, as do the servers at a few of the restaurants.  There is a sushi place that is getting a lot of my business.  I also had to replace the bag I bought in Osh, as it was falling (had fallen) apart by the time it arrived here.  So I have two bags to replace one, giving me three bags total with all of the logistical hassles that come with three bags.  Also needed some clothes, and discovered that I have lost a little more than two inches off my waist.  Hmm.  But I have been working on fattening up since I arrived here, eating three meals a day, including fats and protein, etc.  With good food and rest, I hope to be recharged soon.

Sorry For The Delay

I wrote the post about hitting the pause button before I left Osh, and thought it had been posted.  Then I stared receiving emails asking where I was and what was going on, and I discovered the post had not been uploaded.  It took me half an hour just now, but it is finally up.  I apologize that I haven't been more diligent in checking on the blog.

To get you up to date, I left the Osh-Nuru Hotel at 3:00 a.m. for the airport.  Osh was much quieter at 0300 than 0900, but not when I got to the airport.  At the airport I found the usual crush of people wanting to leave, mixed with people there to tell them goodbye.  I got in line, had my luggage wrapped (a wonderful service available in which attendants wrap your bag in clear plastic and tape it, keeping the bag closed and intact while being handled by enthusiastic baggage handlers), and soon made my way to the front of the line (soon being a relative term for Asia).  There I learned that the excess luggage fee was $176 for my 42 kilos (93 pounds), which I gladly paid.

Next was passport control/immigration.  The officer kept thumbing through my passport, and finally said, "I can't find an entry stamp."  I told him my story, and that I had registered, and then he looked and found THAT stamp and, with a big smile, said, "Okay!  Good!  No Problem!" and gave me an exit stamp.  My relief was palpable.  I found a seat, and began to wait.

At Osh, baggage is carried to the plane on 3-ton trucks, and passengers are taken to the plane on buses.  I was moderately concerned about flying on Turkish Airlines, as they were ranked 7th worse in the world in 2012.  I was pleased to board a modern, well kept (at least in the passenger cabin) Airbus 100-119, with a very pleasant crew.  We soon got off the ground, and I slept almost all the way to Istanbul, a five hour flight.

From the air, Istanbul is even more magnificent than I comprehended from the ground.  The air view gives a different view of the density of the population, with block after block after block of high-rise apartment buildings.  The city is just immense, and tightly packed.  I love it!

At the airport I had lunch, and wandered around.  As you can imagine, the people watching is excellent.  I had to get my second boarding pass, and it was only after I left the counter that I discovered that I had been assigned a different seat than I had selected when I booked the ticket.  It was the dreaded "E" seat.  Uh-oh, I thought, a middle seat.  I decided that I could handle it for the three hour flight to Frankfurt.  I was also assigned the last group in which to board.  I was, however, wonderfully surprised when we boarded to learn that I had an exit row seat, and there was no D seat.  So I had leg room as well as elbow room.  The guy at the transfer desk has done me a major favor and I hand;t even asked.  I'm starting to like Turkish Airlines.

At Frankfurt, the baggage took about 45 minutes to come off the conveyor.  When my luggage arrived, I got it on a cart and headed for customs.  There was no body at the customs control point, so we all just walked out.  I had nothing to declare anyway, but I just thought it was unusual.  while Turkey is a Candidate Country for the EU, it is not yet a full member.  But there is much I do not understand about customs and border issues . . .

I checked into the Airport Sheraton, and reveled in the ability to brush my teeth with tap water, and have a real shower with hot water.  This, I thought, was going to be okay.

The Second Day Of Osh In Which I Hit The Pause Button

I decided I need to stop traveling for awhile. I am always tired, body parts ache, and I have muscle strains and spasms in my back and right arm. Moreover, the stress on body and mind is contributing to mental errors. Simple problems are wrongly decided, and then the errors compound. Since I don't have to hurt myself, I have decided I won't. Rather, I will pause, leave the bike here for service and storage, and continue to Mongolia when I want.

Having made that decision, in the morning, I unloaded everything from the bike that I didn't want to leave here, much of which I should have never brought. Once I got it unloaded, I rode off to MuzToo, a tour operator and moto rental/repair/storage shop. As an example of how bad my mental acuity has degraded, as I was turning off the main road to the road on which MuzToo is located, the front end washed out and I went down. I wasn't looking where I wanted to go, but rather I was looking right in front of the bike. I twitched the handlebars and lost the contact patch. Boom. 

But then it got worse. I got the bike up and tried to ride it. No matter how I feathered the clutch, the rear wheel just kept digging into the gravel, the bike would lurch, and then it would die. I could not figure out what was wrong with the bike or with me. I fiddled with it for five minutes and could not get it to run properly. Since I could see the MuzToo sign about 100 meters up the alley, I went and got Patrik, the owner. 

Patrik got on the bike, started it, looked at the front brake lever, and saw it was jammed in the hand guard. The bike didn't want to move because the front brake was locked. Two mental mistakes that caused a lot of frustration, with which I'm not dealing very well right now. 

Patrik and I went over the list of things to do on the bike, and he started on the paperwork. As I was standing around talking with Ben, one of his mechanics, about the moto, Malcom and Sara rode up. They had ridden about 20k out of town, and Malcom's engine started suffering fuel problems, so they came back to MuzToo to repair it. It was a nice treat to see them again. 

Then two more bikes rode in bearing signs: Puck on his bike, Pixie on hers. They are Chris and Lara, perpetually riding around the world. At least Chris is. He mentioned that this is his third time round. Chris had some tire work to do on his bike, and I sat and listened. Then another British guy showed up, and he had been literally all over Russia, Central Asia, and Asia in general. 

We were served coffee and cookies by Patrik's lovely wife and daughter. That's my paperwork on the table. 

Chris on the left is working while Malcom on the right is taking a coffee break. This was real coffee, mind you, a pot of French press and a Bialleta pot of espresso. It was fantastic. 

Lara on the right and the Fascinating Brit on the left. 

Malcom and Sara, two of the many wonderful bikers I have met. 

I still had one more task to accomplish on Ftiday, so I took a taxi back to the hotel. 

Actually, I was sharing a taxi, but it only cost 100 com ($2.00). The driver dropped me off across the river from the Osh-Nuru, and I walked across this bridge, through a scruffy park, and up some steps to the hotel. 

I got my papers together, and after getting the young woman at reception to write down the address of the immigration/passport office, I hired a taxi to take me there. Getting the address was difficult because an older Russian speaking guy kept interrupting and telling her what to do. He was also flirting with her, which she didn't like. But the taxi took me right to the office, about four blocks from the hotel. 

When I arrived, it was 1300, and the office was closed for lunch from 1230-1330. I took a seat in the shade with about 30-40 people. I was concerned, based on other interactions with Central Asian bureaucracies, that I was going to be in lines forever. 

As it turned out, I was in several lines, but not forever. I paid 125 com, $2.50, and had to walk back to the hotel to have them stamp a paper I couldn't read, and at 3:30, I had the stamp in my passport I needed. Good deal!

From there I went to the market and bought a cheap duffel to bring the stuff home in. I returned to the hotel, and started looking into airline tickets. Meredith indicated she might come and meet me in Germany for a week, so that is where I wanted to go. It took me three hours, but I booked a ticket leaving Osh on Sunday, the 3rd, for Istanbul and then on to Frankfurt. Only $375. That was a good deal. 

At 7:00, I went to the lobby, and Malcom, Sara, and the Fantastic British Guy were there, as well as the two guys from the Netherlands!  So it was a good group of bikers who went back to the Aztec for dinner. Really great conversations and stories, and I learned a lot. Just listening can be very instructive. I must do it more. 

After dinner I went back to the hotel, where my room, which still had not been cleaned, was waiting. Meredith and I discussed Germany some more, and decided she would defer meeting me there this week. I made a hotel reservation in Frankfurt for two nights, and will work out the remainder of my return when I get to Frankfurt. 

Osh

Once Marydean and her driver, Alexi, showed me the correct road to Osh, the balance of the ride to Osh was very pleasant. The road left the old Osh-Isfara road within sight of the Uzbekistan border post. I just didn't see it in the dark, and it is not well marked. It is a new road, under construction to avoid the border crossings as I said earlier. It makes it faster and more convenient to make this trip. If one knows what one is doing, Isfara to Osh should be an easy one day trip. For me, two days. 

The road passes through some beautiful country. 

Later, in the broad valley, the road surface is not so great, but the vegetation is beautiful. 

Just before I got to Osh, the road lifted into brown hills again. At one point, a little boy, angered about something, came running up to the road and pegged the bike with an apple. Hope he feels better. 

I rode down into the town, and stopped to find a hotel. The Osh-Nuru looked like my best bet, at least on the internet, with secure parking, etc. and the pictures looked good. The bath looked clean and modern. They photoshopped it. Here is my bath. 

Up under the water heater you can see the wires for the electrical service hanging there. On close inspection, the wires are twisted together, with one or two wraps of tape. Scary. 

I met another biker, Luke, an Australian riding from Singapore where he works to Ireland, his father's home country. We had lunch and then walked down to the market. This is a real market, and I love it. 

When you walk down this street, you are in the middle of it. Everything is for sale there, and the spices on offer fill the air with their scent, as does the bread, the fruit, and the vegetables. Then there is the smell of food cooking, and petroleum products for sale, and not to mention the rests of a certain failure to diligently attend to personal hygiene. Nothing like an open air market. In Asia. In the summer. 

After the market, I went back to the hotel and napped. Just as I was stirring, there was a rapping on the door. It was Malcom and Sara, the Australian couple riding from Ireland to Vladivostok whom I met on the road as I was returning from my attempt to ride into the Pamirs. They had seen my bike in the parking lot. They 

gave me half an hour, and then we met to go have dinner. 

As we were talking in the parking lot, a car pulled in and a woman got out. She walked up and asked where we were from, and conversation ensued. Dee Brown, a police advisor for OSCE, told us of a restaurant she liked, and decided she would have a beer with us while we ate. 

We had a nice time at the Aztec, and I even had fajitas. They were good!  But there were no tortillas. Turns out I was supposed to order them as extras. Live and learn. 

After dinner, I said farewell to Sara and Malcom, and to Dee. I had two things on my schedule for Friday: getting the moto to Patrik at MuzToo, and going to immigration to get my status figured out.