Running on empty

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.

Coffee stop

Flat & sandy, what else.

Cardboard cut-out cops

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 ...

The Ark

Dont understand - sloped walls and hand holds ... that's inviting an invasion !

Eat upstairs.

The chain gang

Woke to the sound of dogs barking at 5am ....

Quite a selection.

Today's plan was really to do nothing but walk around the old City and relax.... but no sooner had I finished breakfast, I went to check the bike over.  Well firstly it was filthy dirty, so I thought I would at least try and locate a car wash.

And then I kept looking at that chain ... it really was making some funny noises, and was needing adjusting on a daily basis.

So after a few more hours in the hotel air conditioning, mid-afternoon, I braved the heat and rode around the city, to find a tyre depot and car wash side by side.  Jeremy had his front tyre changed and I got the bike cleaned.  But it was no point in putting that chain off any more.   On the way down, I had clocked this small metal fabrication shop,  I knew they would have an angle grinder to cut the old chain off, so paid him a visit on the way back.

I picked up his grinder, showed him what I wanted to do, and he let me get on with it .... but with every passing minute, more and more people gathered.

Soon I was surrounded, and before long, people wanted to help.  My tools we being moved, parts were being inspected, GPS being prodded, and helmets tried on.  I was again, getting angry at their good intentions but clear lack of understanding how important it was not to mess with my stuff.

Eventually I had the new chain on, but two bolts carefully placed in a cover, were missing because some irk had picked it up to look at, not realising the bolts were there, and now were buried in the sand somewhere.
My helmet, had now also been moved from its place of relative safety, to the direct line of fire of a shower of grinding sparks.

So jumped up to rescue that first, then combed the sand to find the missing bolts.  I think the expression on my face, conveyed my feelings, and one by one, they retreated to a safe distance.

With the sprocket cover back on, and all my tools counted back in, I tried to offer some money, but they wouldn't take it.

Parted with a lot of smiles and handshakes .... and a quiet chain.

The evening was a carbon copy of the day before, with bed at a reasonable hour, as we had a lot of ground to cover the next day.

Clouds, and silver linings

Woke to a strange empty house, no-one up, and no benzine in sight ....

It had not materialised despite the cafe owners assurance, so eventually the youngsters started to surface, and we finally got a coffee served by the owners daughter... evidently Papa was still asleep after a heavy night. 

Butter wouldn't melt .... yeah, right !

So we started to evaluate our options (basically none)....  as I had the most fuel, the plan was I would ride around and try to find some, leaving Jeremy at the cafe. But, just before I left, I had one more go at the daughter... “wake Papa, where benzine” I said. She went into Papa's room, to which I was expecting a hung-over Uzbekei to then appear from, but instead simply walked out with 10 litres.

Yes, I know … why didn't he leave it out, why didn't we get it the night before, why, why... I simply don't know. So, problem resolved, we settle our bill after an argument over the exchange rate with the daughter, and head out for the 60 miles to Nukus, where more fuel and a money exchange wait … hopefully !

Barren landscapes

Arriving at high noon and 38 degrees C, we ride from Bank to Bank, go through the body search each time, passport check, just to join a queue to be told “Sorry not here, try another bank”. Back into the heat to walk or ride to another bank. It's hard to explain the feeling when you think, if I can't get money, I can't get fuel, or food. I can't go back, or on. Nobody takes credit cards... its a strange one. 

But this is when the unexpected happens ….

I stopped to ask for directions to the fifth bank I'm going to try and this well dressed chap starts to tell me, when he asks why ?  “Exchange money” I say.  His English is reasonable, and turns out he works for the Uzbekistan Finance Ministry. He explains the banks have been stopped from changing foreign currency, BUT he needs US Dollars, and we need their Soon (money).

So his brother turns up in a car, we follow to meet another man … I get in the back of the car, and the deal is done. It's a better rate that the banks, that's all I know. But the physical size of the stack of notes is daunting ….

Just over £100

I decline to count them... and he becomes my best friend.  Now I'm on a roll, so I ask him for help with Benzine … Yup, follow him to another brother, and we fuel up from bottles in some side street. 

Now I have three good friends... but it doesn't stop there. Salamat (first name terms now), invites us to his house where his wife has prepared a meal. We follow, and the hospitality was incredible. It was so nice to see how they live, and after the crap that morning, sometimes you just gotta have faith that something will work out eventually.

Salamat, his wife,, father, and the brothers.

After the statutory photo session and exchanging of e-mails, we head out for the 4 hours to Khiva, and a rest day. Leaving town, I get caught in a speed trap... this time, we had a plan, inspired by a trailer for a movie we saw a few nights earlier …. “Dumb, and Dumber”. It worked, smiles, blank expressions, and laughter …. it got us out of having to give them a “souvenir” as they describe it.

The road to Khiva was tolerable, good in places, poor in others … but always straight. I suppose when you build a road in the desert, you don't have to go around anything … so build it straight. Can you imagine driving 200 miles without having to use the brakes once... Hmmm , some of my old biker mates probably can !

And at Khiva, a nice hotel, with a good bog and shower … all I needed …. desperately !

It's an old walled city on the Silk Road, and really impressive.  We go and eat there in the evening, and here is a small selection of photos (click on any photo to enlarge)....

 More old cities tomorrow ....

When the going gets tough

Earlier starts are now becoming the norm, and today, we we ride to the Uzbekistan border, and the rumoured strip searches.....

Beynau was our last opportunity to fill up before the wastes of Uzbekistan and we stopped at the last petrol station to fill every receptacle we could find. Basically I have now become a mobile bomb.

Pothole city

Telegraph Road ... were Dire Straits here once.

Heading out, the 50 miles to the border is horrendous, with the road deteriorating into a pothole riddled gravel strewn track.... despite the fact this is a “E-” road.  Cars and trucks weave about with careless abandon, and you overtake at your peril. Naturally size matters, and they don't give a shit when they pass you leaving clouds of dust. 

Talking of dust, poor old Jeremy eat some a few miles after leaving, when something passed him, and obscured the giant sand pit in the middle of the road. Ever caring me … well, I found a quicker pace suited the conditions, and was about 5 miles further up the road when the incident occurred. As I rode back to find him, the speed and stance indicated something was wrong !

The bike was fine, but he suspected a broken finger. My first aid skills are generally of a verbal nature … “I broke mine once, and it was fine the next morning,” I said.  I omitted the fact that later the next day, when it had been X-rayed, I was admitted into hospital for an operation and had to stay overnight! 

There wasn't much else we could do but carry on …. don't forget our visa's are all one entry, so we simply just can't turn around. The doors close behind you on an adventure like this.

The Uzbekistan border was crowded, and we pushed to the front and waited. A soldier motioned that we could follow the next lorry in, which we did … the car behind then followed us. The soldier went mental with him, and we learned … do exactly as you are told. If they say come forward 10 cms, that's all you move.

This was as far as we could push-in.

All told, is was about a 4 hour process, and they did ask us to unpack virtually everything in front of them, on a dusty concrete surface. You dare not argue, just smile, and do it, and worry about re-packing later. It was at this stage that I realised there are some benefits to the “scrunch it in” method of packing that I use, as opposed to Jeremy's meticulous well thought out system ! The drawback of course, is that I tend to look like a tramp in the evenings !

So all cleared, we motor on, to a Police check … get out, do the usual small talk, show the documents for the 50^th time that day, then ride on.

Water was getting an issue later in the day, but luckily we found a lady selling it by the roadside.... suppose child labour laws are just not here yet !

The roads improved slightly the further East we travelled, but as always, the tarmac melts and leaves massive ruts which can catch you out. With the shadows getting long in the day, and fuel short, we have to find somewhere to stop. I sway Jeremy into staying in Kungrad, rather than risk riding another 60 miles at dusk, to Nukas.

The problem in Uzbekistan is that there are no fuel stations that sell Petrol (Benzine). We don't really know why, but its something to do with there not being enough in the country, so its not distributed in the West, as long as they can sell all they have near the Capitol city in the East. However, there is the black market, and soon we found this cafe, that not only could get us benzene, but feed us and give us a room for the night.

It would do, we agreed, and lets just say it was basic... very basic. Got fed some soup and bread, and settled down on our really comfy mats for the night! At least they had beer … 11% abv, if the label is true, which helped in accepting our less than salubrious position.

Before bed we were shown the shower and toilet facilities … well, sometimes you just gotta stay dirty..... and the poo can wait ! Got some rest that night, but it wasn't a lot.

Beyneu, the one-horse town

Enjoyed a nice breakfast, and bless her … the receptionist had spent some time on Google, writing down a translation of the menu for us. Got on our way around 9am, a lot of miles to do today...

But first, Jeremy needed water, and I went for the Kazakhstan Red Bull equivalent … Yeti !

The adventure is getting a bit tougher now … longer days, more miles, rougher roads, and lack of petrol. The scenery is, well, the same … sand. Sometimes its difficult not to fall asleep while riding, but the MP3 player helps a lot in situations like this.

Lunch becomes a Snickers bar and a soft drink in a petrol station … and you carry on, with the occasional camel to break the monotony. The roads are generally good in Kazakhstan, but the odd pothole will catch you out if not careful.

Rutted tarmac such as this can catch you out.

We are heading for Beyneu (sometimes spelt Beynau), which the last town before Uzbekistan. We don't have a hotel booked, but there are a few showing on the map ! 

Most towns have a concrete sculpture to signify their name.

A "posh" graveyard

 

So typical ... straight for miles.

As we ride into town we spot a new hotel not on the map … looks great so we stop and … its closed. The workmen sleeping rough inside indicates its about 2-3 weeks away from completion. Shame, it would have been the best in town.

Arriving Beynau

Beynau is a bit like a Wild west town, with dust streets, boarded up houses, and possibly an undertaker somewhere. It might not have been technically “one-horse”, but there were quite a few donkeys & carts in use. 

We ride around and check our list of “hotels” out, eventually settling on the Dymah Hotel which is probably the best of a bad bunch. A lady with more gold in her teeth than South Africa, smiles and welcomes us. It's a bed for the night, and while the hot water and the Wi-Fi prove elusive, we are too tired to care.

I won't eat there on principle, so find a local cafe close by, and after some nosh and a couple of beers, hit the sack.

Sunset in Beynau.

Tomorrow we enter Uzbekistan.