Some distance to cover today ....
Its always a labour to re-pack after a rest day .... the modus operandi for me is that when staying one night in a place, I tend to just pull out one bag from the top-box, and leave the tyres, panniers, and waterproof duffel bag on the bike. The helmet goes into the empty top-box, and the system works well.
Rest days mean I take everything off into the room, and recharge the "day-bag" with 5-6 days worth of fresh clothes, and stash the dirty stuff into a pannier for later washing. The system works well, but it explains why repacking the bike after a rest day takes so long.
So heading out later than planned, and fuelled up with black market benzine (delivered in a taxi), we aimed for Bukhara. The road was pretty much the same, straight, but we were seeing more greenery at last.
And we need not have worried about that benzine, as its now starting to become "advertised", as these bottles outside a house, signify.
After a number of Police checks, which we were waved through, we came to this strange bridge, where the traffic share the bridge with the trains ... and I don't mean side by side. You actually follow the line of the tracks.
While waiting for the green light, Jeremy pointed out the "no camera" sign ... red rag to a bull, that !
Then the potholed road from hell to connect to the new motorway ... but I can see why it's not being repaired ... its about to fall into the river..
Just before the motorway, we were offered some black market fuel, but I said, Nah, we will be OK (failing to realise just how far we had to go).... 300 km later, that was evidently the wrong decision, as we nervously watch our fuel gauges drop.
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| Coffee stop |
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| Flat & sandy, what else. |
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| Cardboard cut-out cops |
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| No idea what this is, but he burned us off in clouds of smoke. |
... and then, like an oasis in the desert .... benzine bottles. We stop, bloke from an isolated farmhouse runs out, we agree the price. He pulls back some bushes and a corrugated tin cover with earth scattered over it, to reveal an underground stash. Reaches in and pulls out 2 bottles of benzene. We pour them in knowing we are safe from a night in the cold desert, a ride on, with the weight lifted from our shoulders.
Reaching Bukhara, we have booked separate hotels but close together ... I guess Jeremy didn't fancy my choice of a 200 year old, stone built
Caravanserai at £10 a night .... OK, it was basic, but it did have character !
Bukara is another of these old Silk road cities, famous for a walled fortress called the Ark. So, I wandered out to find it, camera in hand. Later, met with Jeremy for a meal, and resisted temptation from the "Underground Night Club" I saw advertised earlier.
The pics ...
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| The Ark |
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| Dont understand - sloped walls and hand holds ... that's inviting an invasion ! |
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| Eat upstairs. |
