I have chosen to write my race report from the Silk Road Mountain Race 2021 in quite detail. My hope is that others who feel called to run the race can get as nuanced a picture as possible of what is required on as many different parameters as possible. I myself really enjoyed reading other people's accounts in my own research leading up to the race. And in the same way, I would like to share my experience for the benefit of others.

I divide the report into chapters so that it is easier to find selected points, if you wish.

You are always welcome to contact me for advice and to talk. Nothing is too big and nothing is too small. write to bikepackers.dk@gmail.com.

If you would also like to hear a podcast where Jakob Carlsen and I talk about our participation in the race, then we have Balm for the soul had us in the studio for a good chat about the hardships.

Enjoy reading.

Table of Contents

1. What is the Silk Road Mountain Race – where does it take place?
2. Background
3. Preparation
4. Departure and acclimatization
5. Registration
6. The race itself day by day
7. Closing
8. Reflection
9. Silk Road Mountain Race Gear List

1. What is the Silk Road Mountain Race – where does it take place?

The Silk Road Mountain Race (SRMR) is an annual bikepacking race that some consider to be the world's toughest bike race. I'll leave that assessment to others.

The route changes from year to year. In 2021, when I ran the race, it was the third edition, and the final official route looked like this:

1866km. 30,090 altitude meters. Lowest point 930m above sea level. Highest point 3,950m above sea level. 16 mountain passes above 3,000m above sea level, including 5 passes above 3,500m.

The race takes place in the Tian Shan mountains, in Kyrgyzstan. A poor country with approx. 6.5 million inhabitants. It is a former Soviet republic that seceded in 1991. The country is bordered by China on its eastern and southern sides, Kazakhstan to the north, Uzbekistan and Tajikistan to the west and south. The country is very mountainous, in fact 90% of the country is above 1,500m above sea level. A large part of the population lives a traditional nomadic lifestyle in the mountains, where they drive horses and cows around. Wool and meat production are still a large part of the economy. Only Bishkek, which is the capital, sees a touch of modern lifestyle. Thus, Kyrgyzstan has a beautiful and exciting culture, spiced with a raw and enchanting mountain landscape, which together create a unique setting for a bikepacking race.

2. Background

Marie and I started talking about bikepacking races already during our Argentina-Alaska trip. We both love cycling and are always dreaming of new projects. We thought it would be fun to try a race, to add a stopwatch to our experience of cycling in the mountains. We immediately chose SRMR because it looked beautiful and challenging.

In December 2019, while skiing in the Alps, we wrote our application to the race management. And in January 2020 we were told that we were approved to participate. But corona caused the 2020 race to be canceled. We transferred our tickets to 2021 and crossed our fingers. At the end of 2020, we felt that there was a good chance that the race would be completed, and we intensified our training program with full focus on being able to run the race in August 2021.

3. Preparation

My preparation for the race took a long time. From the time I registered in December 2019 until the race took place in August 2021, my thoughts were constantly on the race. The training program itself started in earnest about six months before departure.

My take on a race like this is that it's not just about being able to cycle fast. In fact, that's almost the least of it. Of course, said with a twinkle in the eye, and with the underlying premise that you already have a pretty good basic shape if you're even considering such a race. My philosophy was that I should identify my weaknesses across a broad spectrum and work on improving where I was weakest. In the race itself, you often hit your own lowest level because you're under pressure, so in short, it's about having a high bottom level.

To help that process, I categorized some areas that I needed to get under control:

• Physical fitness. Strength training. Cycling training. Training plan.
• Nutrition. General diet plan and nutrition during training, as well as nutrition during the race itself.
• Bicycle. Bags. Clothing. Equipment.
• Comfort and position on the bike. Bikefit.
• Vaccinations. Various medicines for the trip.
• Route understanding. Dividing GPX file into desired segments.
• Strategies. Considerations about distances, speeds, overnight stays, etc., etc.
• Cultural understanding. Including understanding of customs, do's and don'ts and especially food cultures (nutrition).

As can be seen from the above, the physical training was only one part of a larger puzzle that must be completed in order to complete such a race.

In the following, I will briefly touch on each point, not to exhaust the subject, but simply to give an indication of what my considerations were.

Physical shape

I created a training program that involved 10-15 hours of cycling, as well as 2-5 hours of running and strength training per week. A total training volume of 15-20 hours per week. I then put this into a larger schedule, where I intensified my training over three weeks, and recovered every fourth week.

It is important to say, however, that my life did not allow me to follow the training program completely rigidly, so there were often substitutions and cancellations, which I think is a good thing. It is important to keep your spirits up along the way and recognize that there is more to life than training. It is also extremely important to keep an eye on symptoms of overtraining. In fact, I had a feeling that I peaked too early in the spring and that I did not show up for the race in my best cycling shape.

The training consisted of interval training and endurance training. That is, short trips with maximum load and long trips, with many hours in the saddle, at a leisurely pace. I can only recommend that you read up on this before you embark on a training course, or that you possibly contact a professional trainer who understands what an extreme bike race requires. It is very different from training for a road race. Strength training is an indispensable part of the training, in order to be able to sit in the saddle for many hours, in difficult terrain. It cannot be underestimated how damaged the body becomes during the race, and how much strength training can help you prevent this.

When we left for Kyrgyzstan at the beginning of August, I had cycled approximately 8,500 training kilometers in the first 7 months of the year. An average of 1,200 kilometers per month.

Nutrition

With the amount of training I had planned, I also had to create a corresponding diet plan. I had previously had various experiences with missing various components in my diet. I consulted a dietitian to help me get the best possible situation. In addition to becoming much better at putting together my diet optimally, the dietitian said that my biggest challenge as a vegetarian would be to eat enough food during the day. I had previously had a period before I started the intensive training plan where I tried to eat vegan, but got sick from it. It is quite clear that if you train “normally”, you have to be very aware of what supplements you need. When I started learning about the vegan diet, I did not find any material about how much supplements were needed. I only found material that praised the positive effects. It was only when I got sick and started telling people about it that I discovered that it often happens that people eat vegan for a period of time, but get sick. I don't want to condemn either one or the other, but simply emphasize how important it is, regardless of what type of diet you eat, that you understand what you need when you increase your training volume as significantly as I did.

In addition to the daily diet plan, I also learned how important it is to eat and drink while on the bike. In my training, I had been used to burning myself out completely, and then coming home to the couch really tired. But now I learned how great it is to eat and drink enough while on the bike, and how much better I felt. I also discovered how much electrolytes did to bind the fluid in me, instead of just peeing it all out again. For some, this is banal knowledge, but for me, who had never trained intensively before, it was a huge eye-opener. I have previously cycled a lot of mountain biking and bikepacking for fun, so nutrition had not been on my radar. But it is an example of identifying weaknesses, and then working on them.

Equipment

I'll include a gear list at the bottom. But in general, I can say that the choice of gear was largely about minimizing weight and volume, while balancing economy and durability. I had plenty of gear from previous trips, but I wanted to optimize weight as much as possible, so especially in terms of clothing, I optimized a lot. In short, I went from baggy shorts and merino clothing to tight and light lycra. I'm not sure there was a huge advantage in terms of wind resistance, but in terms of light materials, low pack volume and resistance to the weather, it was a good choice.

Through many weekend training trips with overnight stays, you become good at paring down to the most essential things you need.

My total dry weight for bike and equipment landed at approx. 23kg. Which was more than hoped. For another time I will bet hard on hitting 20kg. But you have to remember, never compromise with your own safety. Which means that you have to be rock-solid confident of being able to stay dry, warm and fed in an unforeseen situation, in harsh weather in the mountains.

Bike fit

I often and a lot of nerd out about my bikes and the settings on them. Still, I chose to sacrifice a bike fit this time. My basic attitude is that you can always get smarter and more skilled. So for me, my bike fit was not only about setting a unique position on the bike, which I then had to maintain, but also about understanding the effects on the body of the different adjustment options. Just as I discussed my various flaws with the bike fitter. That way, I can better remedy various problems myself. Especially during the race itself. For example, I had to adjust the position of the handlebars after riding on a washboard for a few days because my wrists started to hurt. Because I knew exactly what I had to do, it only took me 30 seconds to adjust, and the effect came immediately.

There are probably many good bike fitters in Denmark. I was looking for someone who had tried long runs himself, with many hours in the saddle, and who had ridden a mountain bike himself. The choice fell on Thomas Bundgaard at Velofit in Aarhus. And no – I have no advantages in mentioning him. Apart from those I experienced on the bike.

It's important to focus on sitting comfortably on the bike, rather than sitting in a racing position. The race is long and the surface is hard, so it's more about sitting well so you don't constantly want to get off and rest, rather than being able to ride fast in a sharp aero position.

Medicine

I have never taken medicine with me on my trips before. I think you can get everything you need at a local pharmacy, pretty much anywhere in the world. Often you need local medicine anyway, for example if you get parasites or something.

For a race, however, it's a completely different matter, because you don't have time to drive to the nearest town and find a pharmacy. Just as you don't have time to be sick either. That's why I consulted the Travel Clinic, which are specialists in what you can encounter in the corners of the world. They helped me put together a medicine package and vaccinations. I want to highlight a few things. A lot of people in the race were affected by food poisoning. A large number of them had to drop out of the race. In addition to the obvious choices of not eating too much "exciting" local food, but bringing dry food with me, I got a Dukoral vaccine from home, which helps to avoid food poisoning. And I had no problems along the way. Another thing I want to highlight is antibiotics. I'm not a big fan of it, but I was again aware that it could be necessary. I got 2 different types. One for large open wounds to avoid bad infections. And one for internal problems, primarily throat and pneumonia. I never imagined I would need it. But on the fourth day I got pneumonia, and I was happy to start a course of antibiotics right away.

Route understanding

I got a lot out of working with the final GPX file that we were given. I like to know the route, roughly, in my head. It gives me a sense of accomplishment to know where I am and where I'm going, what area of the country I'm in, and what I can reasonably expect. So even though it's a foreign country to me, I still feel a bit at home the more I've become familiar with the route's quirks, curves, passes, towns, checkpoints, etc. Of course, it also has the advantage of avoiding frustrations and doubts about which way to go when I'm running the race. It may sound obvious, but along the way I came across several of the other riders who were cursing and swearing about curves on the route that they didn't understand. Or had ridden it wrong.

What I did specifically was that I took the entire GPX file and divided it into 4 segments and thus 4 GPX files. Each of these represented the route between two checkpoints. For each of the 4 files, I then made a racesheet as a pdf document. I had this on my phone so I could quickly orient myself. The pdf had elevation curves, maps, POIs and reminders for different situations. And last but not least, there were the cut-off times for the next checkpoint.

It was just as much the work of making these sheets that made me understand the route better and better, which benefited me. Out on the route I might only look at it once a day, to remind myself where I was.

Strategies

While working on the route, I thought a lot about strategies. Or rather, about possible strategies. Because I was constantly aware that things could change a lot. I considered provisioning points, stretches without water, where it would be good to spend the night, where it would be bad to spend the night, where the route would be tough, where I could go fast, etc. etc. All these considerations about strategies made me even more familiar with the route, and what to expect. Which in turn made the surprises less when I finally found myself in the middle of the situation, out on the mountain. And I could make decisions more quickly about how to tackle the race, because I already had an arsenal of possible solutions in the back of my mind.

I have only heard of one rider who had meticulously planned all the day's stages and booked accommodation in advance. That is James Hayden, the top seeded rider. The fact that he never got to start due to corona says a little about how much you can prepare, but still have to be prepared to deal with unforeseen events.

But the most important decision I made was that I wouldn't scratch. That is, I wouldn't drop out of the race. I thought it would be okay if I didn't reach a cut-off at a checkpoint and was kicked out of the race. But I would never, under any circumstances, choose to drop out. Of course, unless I or the bike were so badly injured that I couldn't continue.

Cultural understanding

In principle, it is not important where you are in the world when you are sitting on your bike and following the red line on your GPS. It is about getting ahead as quickly as possible, instead of stopping and talking to locals or enjoying the landscapes. While I do think it is important to understand the country and the culture you are riding through, there are several layers to it. I think that out of pure respect for your surroundings, you should know the culture where you are. Especially when you are just racing through the country. If you know the customs and traditions, you can be a better guest in the country. And the short meetings you have with local people, most often at the grocery store, can still be rewarding for both parties. When you are sitting on your bike, you can get a little more substance in your train of thought if you know a little about the landscape, the population, the conditions and the culture. And it is also not unimportant to know a little about the food culture. It is good to know what to buy at the local grocery store, which has the necessary nutrition. Often you stand and look at food that you have never seen before in your life. But when you know in advance what the locals eat for a living, you make better and more nutritious choices.

4. Departure and acclimatization

Marie and I had signed up for the race together, as a couple. This meant that we had to be followed and could share some of the equipment, e.g. tent, tools, gas burner, etc. But unfortunately Marie got a knee injury during training, which excluded her from being able to start. This meant that only a week before leaving for Kyrgyzstan, I had to change saddles and pack a one-man tent, instead of our two-man tent, and pack the shared equipment on my bike. But the hardest part was having to mentally adjust from the security of being two together, who can help and look after each other, to having to deal with the loneliness, and sometimes the boredom, of cycling alone. In addition, I knew that I would have to push harder when I had to ride alone, so the fatigue would be even greater. Marie was of course really sad to miss out on the experience, and I was also really sad that we wouldn't be together for it. But it was great that Marie came to Kyrgyzstan anyway. She had made an agreement with the race management to help as a volunteer at checkpoint 1 and at the finish line, as well as help create content for social media.

We flew to Kyrgyzstan 10 days before the start of the race. We wanted to have plenty of time to acclimatize, both to the heat, the culture and of course to the altitude.

In Bishkek we had booked into the Garden Hotel, where we hoped that several other riders would also stay. We spent a day collecting bikes and sniffing around the city, as well as getting ready for a week in the mountains. We had brought some dry food from home. Both so that there was dry food to take with us to the race itself, but also so that we could avoid too much local food in the days leading up to it. Normally we throw ourselves at all the local food and eat anything to experience the food culture where we are. But this time we were very careful not to get sick before the race, so dry food was a better solution. It was also super important for me to focus on getting enough nutrition in the days leading up to the race, when my head is busy with new impressions, so that I didn't show up at the finish line malnourished.

We spent the first few days in a ski area just outside Bishkek. We cycled up to 2,250m and pitched our tent. The next day we hiked to a peak at about 3,300m to acclimatise. Here we hung out alone for most of the day before going back to the tent. We had been told that there were small hotels where we could buy some food up there, but everything was closed. So we decided to continue over to Kegeti Pass, which is a pass nearby and is also on the race route.

We had communicated with Jacob Carlsen, the only other Dane who was also going to run the race, and agreed to meet him at the foot of the climb to Kegeti.

At the time, when we got the participant list for the race, we could see that another Dane had registered. We contacted Jakob and in the time leading up to the race we talked about equipment, training, nutrition and went on a few training trips together. Jakob quickly became a good friend, and we really enjoyed each other's company in the preparations. Jakob arrived in Kyrgyzstan a few days later than us, and therefore it was appropriate to follow him to the Kegeti pass. It was clear that Marie and I had already completed part of the acclimatization, because Jakob was under pressure as we approached the pass at 3,775m.

We spent a few days on the mountain with some of the other riders who were also acclimatizing here. It was a great opportunity to get to know some of the other riders and exchange stories. We were accompanied down the mountain by Tim and Steve, a couple of nice guys from England. Unfortunately, Tim had already caught food poisoning, so things went slower and slower, with more and more vomiting along the way. We ended up taking a taxi back to Bishkek while the rest of us cycled.

In Bishkek we now had two rest days, which we mainly spent on eating food and panicking about the things that we thought we were missing. For example. extra tire patches and extra brake pads. In this way we also became aware of the options we had for spare parts in the country. Which wasn't much. Jakob and I cycled around to all the bike shops in town and ended up finding what we thought we needed. And THEN we were ready.

5. Registration

Finally, race day arrived.

The registration was divided into groups, and I was in the first one. That is, I had to show up for registration at 8 in the morning. So it was early to get up and go, even though it looked like a really long day. At registration, a medical certificate and PCR test were checked. Then we were given a cap with a number on it. We were given the SPOT tracker, which gives our location throughout the race, so that both curious followers and the race management can keep an eye on where we are. The SPOT tracker also has an SOS button if you are in imminent danger and need rescue help. This is only used in an absolute emergency. Although the SOS button will normally alert the country's rescue service, during the race it goes directly to the race management, who then sends a medical vehicle. Primarily because the rescue system in Kyrgyzstan is not geared for this kind of rescue of tourists. The SPOT tracker also has another button, a so-called “scratch” button, which means that you want to leave the race and want to be picked up by a taxi. The last button that is relevant is an OK button, which you are encouraged to use when camping, so that everyone can see that you have stopped on purpose and are okay. Although you can call for help along the way, you should know that the mountains of Kyrgyzstan can be so impassable that it can take many hours before help arrives. You should keep this in mind when cycling. You should realize that you primarily have to take care of yourself.

As the last station in the registration, our bike was checked by a local mechanic. It was actually a nice service, because some of those on more questionable bikes could get some last-minute help. When I got to the mechanic, he looked at my bike briefly, looked at me, and asked if I had any problems. I said no, and the bike was approved. But again – a nice service to catch those who may have misunderstood how good a bike really needs to be in order to finish the race.

Once registration was complete, we had to hand over our bikes to two large trucks in the parking lot so they could be transported to the starting line.

The race management had arranged the start in a town called Talas, about 200km away. That was fine in itself. But in my opinion they were asking for trouble when they took on the responsibility of driving 100 fully packed bikes, on potholed roads, over a mountain pass, to another town. And I think others shared their concern, because soon a number of riders were standing there nervously scratching their hair, while they hesitantly held on to their bikes. I tried to talk a little with the guy in charge of the pack and tried to suggest how they could be tied down more securely, but had to give up when he got quite angry. Finally one of the other riders said “Now I can’t do anything more, others have to take responsibility from here” and that became my cue to walk away and hope for the best.

Instead, I took a taxi back to the hotel to try to get a few more hours of sleep, as the briefing wasn't until 2 p.m. Of course, I couldn't sleep. But I did get some peace and quiet, rather than walking around restlessly among the other more or less nervous riders.

I took a taxi back in time for the briefing. After about half an hour of waiting, Nelson, the race director, finally appeared and gave a talk about the race. There wasn't much new under the sun if you had read the race manual. Then we had to be driven in minibuses to Talas. The departure was about an hour late and according to Google Maps, we would arrive in Talas an hour before the race start. It wasn't much buffer time, but I had brought some food with me for the ride in the minibus, so I was ready to race as soon as I had my bike in my hand. But we all already had a bad feeling, because the 2 trucks that were supposed to take all 100 bikes to Talas hadn't even finished loading the bikes when we drove off in the minibuses.

To make a long story short, the race was supposed to start at 10:00 PM from Talas. But the minibuses were delayed, and the bikes were even more delayed. It didn't really surprise anyone, because the entire schedule for the day had looked incredibly optimistic all along. After sitting in Lycra in an icy pavilion for a couple of hours, we were sent to an old, battered Soviet hotel, where we could get some sleep. At 3:00 AM, a person was standing in the hall of the hotel shouting that the bikes had arrived. Half of the bikes in one of the trucks had overturned, but fortunately no bikes were damaged. I have to say that it was really poorly planned on the part of the race management, but it actually gave me a better start, because all expectations for the start of the race had been completely reset.

We all found our respective bikes and got ready. At 4.23am Nelson kicked off the race from the town square, and we cycled out as a group through the streets of the sleeping city.

6. The race itself. Day by day.

Day 1

As I said, the start was at 4:23. My ambition was to stay fairly close to the front of the pack, if I could keep up. It went well for the first 5km and then the pack started to break up. As soon as we got out of town, the first climb of the race started, which over the first 50km would take us 2,100 metres up to the first pass of the race, at 3,350m above sea level.

It was a beautiful morning, and as I cycled further and further into the valley, the morning light grew stronger and the landscape revealed itself. We cycled past the first of many yurts, which are the round felt tents of the nomads. There were lots of cattle and horses in large herds, grazing on the mountain slopes. I found my own rhythm and slowly calm began to settle in, while the hectic start seeped out of my body.

A little way up the valley, we turned off the main road, which was only a gravel rut, and up towards the pass. After a couple of hours of cycling it was already clear that there would probably be many passes where we would have to get off the bikes and walk. This was definitely one of them. 5 hours after the starting gun had sounded in the square in Talas, I was standing in the pass. On the other side I could see a nice path winding and winding down through a gorge with steep sides. It looked like it would be a fun descent. Nelson was standing at the top and waving. I hurried off.

The path was much steeper than expected, and I was constantly on the brakes. But the smile was big and the landscape was really beautiful. I had energy and a good mood. And maybe that's why I forgot to focus. The ground was filled with thousands of small sharp stones, and just as the thought crossed my mind that I shouldn't block the rear wheel when braking, there was a loud bang and the rear rim bumped against the ground. After only 50km of a race that was 1865km, I had torn a 1cm hole in my rear tire. I acted as quickly as I could and praised myself for the tire patches I had bought in Bishkek, a few days before. I managed to glue a tire patch on the inside, and the tire held tight again. While I stood there patching, a familiar face appeared. Jay Petervary's deep voice asked if I was okay. I said yes - and that they should watch out for the sharp stones. Jay Petervary is one of the fastest bikepacking racers around, and I was a bit confused about how I had gotten ahead of him and his partner. It was only later that I found out that they had been riding straight down the valley floor, instead of turning up towards the pass. So while I was wasting time gluing tires after 50km, they had wasted a couple of hours riding the wrong way, after 30km. But that was also the last I saw of the two of them.

I got off the bike and was more careful on the rest of the descent. It was one of the most fun of the whole race, by the way.

My plan was to ride about 180km on the first day if I could. Because we were down in the hottest valley the race had to offer, and I wanted to get back up into the slightly cooler mountains as quickly as possible. At the same time, I thought that if it was possible to get off the ground as well, I would stay well ahead in the rankings. After riding for a few hours in about 40-degree heat, I reached the first major town, Toktogul, after about 150km. I had a meal with two other riders while I considered the tire situation. I feared that it wouldn't last the whole race, so I spent some time sewing it up and trying to arrange a tire from Bishkek in a taxi to Checkpoint 1. It was a difficult decision whether to go ahead and ride on, or use the time now to make sure later in the race. Because it took time and I needed help from some locals, I checked into a guesthouse where I could get everything fixed.

A few other riders had already checked in at the same place. And part of the race sled was here too. I got what I needed to fix, with help from the hotel maid. The rules in the race are such that what is commercially available to everyone, you can do. That is, paying a taxi to ride out with a flat tire is ok. There were several others throughout the race who had to resort to the same method when things broke down.

Today's numbers:

147km

2,950 altitude meters

11 1/2 hours en route

Day 2

The alarm clock rang at 5:00. I was on my bike at 5:15. That's the advantage of staying at a guesthouse. You can get going quickly in the morning.

I actually thought I would sleep in a tent for the entire race. I think it's a more fun and cleaner experience. But I had to sleep inside again later in the race, and I discovered how much better sleep you can get, and thus more energy. I would almost say that it can be difficult to stay in the top 10 if you only sleep in a tent.

The advantages of a tent are that you can better plan where you sleep. You don't have to spend time looking for a guesthouse and checking in. And you probably get food faster when you cook it yourself on a stove. The advantages of guesthouses, on the other hand, are better sleep and you can be out on your bike much faster the next morning. Last but not least, you can maybe have a bath, which can also provide some much-needed well-being.

I started the morning with a short stretch on a paved road. And got my first puncture of the day. It's a classic that it's the metal wires from truck tires on the roads that cause the most punctures. When I sewed the tire yesterday, I figured that the wires would constantly pull on the holes in the tire, so I put an inner tube in. The disadvantage of an inner tube is that, for example, thin metal wires cause punctures.

A little later the back was soft again. I found out that the knots I had made on the sewing thread, which were inside the tire, had gnawed a hole in the tube. I had it patched and put an empty chip bag between the tube and the sewing thread. A few hours later the tire was soft again. I started pumping once an hour because the air was only leaking out slowly.

It was a frustrating day, with lots of stops to pump. And lots of thoughts about how to get ahead as quickly as possible, with the tire that kept leaking.

Because we were still at the beginning of the race, I met several times during the day, some of the other riders. I followed several of them for shorter or longer periods of time. Jakob and I rode at roughly the same speed, and ended up being followed several times.

At the end of the day, some of the other riders were talking to a local lady about sleeping in her barn. But Jakob and I chose to continue a little further and pitch our tent by a river.

It rained heavily all night, and I didn't exactly get a good night's sleep as I lay there hoping the tent would stay dry.

Today's numbers:

152km

3,830 altitude meters

15 hours along the way

Day 3

I set off at 6:30 the next morning. It had stopped raining, but the roads were heavy with mud and the terrain steep, so progress was slow. Already a few hundred meters higher up, there was snow. All morning we worked our way up through the most beautiful snow-covered valley. In several places, the white yurts stood, with smoke rising from the chimneys, against a backdrop of chalk-white mountains. An improbably beautiful sight. It was hot to work our way up, so even though there was snow, I arrived at the pass in shorts and a short-sleeved jersey. The descent was incredibly cool. There was about 20cm of fresh snow on the road, so all the holes and rocks were smoothed out nicely. That made it one of the fastest descents on the route, because you practically floated on top. When I got further down and the snow disappeared again, it was replaced by beautiful red soil and green plants, which were shrouded in dense fog. I had to wear warm clothes, even though I was further down, but the lack of sunlight and the damp air made it freezing. Suddenly the fog disappeared again, and I realized that it was a cloud I had driven through. Now the warmth of the valley greeted me.

I had stocked up on provisions at the grocery store and found a good cheese to nibble on in big chunks. I developed a technique where, when the terrain wasn't too rough, I could have a few crackers or a Snickers in my hand while I cycled. I started to feel the food cravings coming on, and it was hard to get any nourishment into my body. I really just wanted to cycle, but I tried to focus on remembering to eat too.

The bike punctures kept haunting me and I found out that the chip bag had been cut into pieces. It wasn't strong enough. So I had to take the threads out of the tire and patch the tube again. It wasn't until the afternoon that I managed to get everything to hold together, but the tire was a bit exposed without the stitching.

At the end of the day, Arabel Pass was within reach. I wanted to get over before dark, because on the other side it was only about 70km down to Checkpoint 1 and I thought that if it was a good road, I might be able to get there at night. I managed to get over the pass, in beautiful evening light, and put on all my extra layers, for the cold descent from 3,400m. Darkness fell quickly and the cold grew. I dreamed of getting down towards the valley, towards the warmth. I hit a rock on the road, and was reminded of my fragile rear tire. Although 70km to Checkpoint 1 felt like a short distance, it would be a long way to drag a defective bike. A little later, I hit a fist-sized rock, which was thrown onto the frame of the bike and gave a huge bang. I started to consider the situation. Despite good lighting on the bike, it is difficult to ride optimally in the dark of night, when the road is full of large stones and holes. At the same time, the cold began to eat away at me. I was aware that I would only get colder and colder on the descent, when I would not have to pedal, but only brake. And last but not least, I could calculate that I would spend a lot more time on the descent in the dark, rather than in daylight. So I made the decision to set up the tent, at an altitude of about 3,000 meters and wait until the next morning to ride the last one.

It would prove to be a fatal decision.

Today's numbers:

164 km

3,210 altitude meters

14 hours en route

Day 4

It was a really cold night. Unfortunately I didn't have a thermometer with me, but it was around -15 degrees.

Having been chattering my teeth all night, without much sleep, I got up at 5am to a frosty morning, with ice on my bike. At 6am I was ready to leave and I was just looking forward to the sun coming out and warming me up again. Fortunately, it went quickly, and soon I was happy on the bike again.

Marie volunteered at Checkpoint 1 and welcomed all the riders who came in. But it had been a long night, with riders arriving late, so she had only just come out of the shower when I rolled into town at 9 a.m. I have to admit that I had to swallow a lump in my throat when I saw her. And it was the first time I became aware of how much the race had already worn on my emotions and energy.

I quickly unpacked some of the wet clothes to dry in the sun, and then I went in to get my card stamped. All riders have a letter card, which is stamped at the 3 checkpoints, and at the finish line. Then it was lunch in the small restaurant at the checkpoint, and they also made me a sandwich to take with me.

My power bank charging cable had broken that morning, and luckily I was able to buy a new one in the small town, and I also found a large syringe at the pharmacy to flush my water filter. It was already running out of water after 3 days of using water from rivers and streams.

But best of all, the taxi driver had handed me a tire at the reception, and I could change to a new rear tire. I was happy at the prospect of avoiding the problems with a flat rear tire. I was told that Bagoly Levente, who was one of the top-seeded riders, had retired early because he also had tire problems. He was mentally broken because it was so frustrating. It gave me a little boost that I could still keep my composure.

I said goodbye to Marie and knew that I would only see her again at the finish line.

I spent a total of 2 1/2 hours in the city before I moved on. From Checkpoint 1 there was a good stretch on asphalt, which actually sounded appealing, but it was a really boring road, so my mood dropped. I couldn't explain it, but something was a bit unusual. I tried to cheer myself up with an ice cream (with a camel on the paper) at a kiosk. Here I also met a German I knew. His partner had gone back to Checkpoint 1 to find inner tubes for his bike, because he had a flat tire and only now discovered that the valves didn't fit. There's a reason I'm obsessed with details. It's the smallest things that can set you back a long way in the race.

The rest of the day was a good long climb of about 100km and 1,700 vertical meters. I could feel in my body and mood that something wasn't quite right and I ended up stopping at sunset and giving up riding in the dark. I pitched the tent on a grassy field and cooked some food. I had bought noodles at the grocery store and thought I'd give them a try. The calorie count in such a package is almost as high as the dry food I brought from home. Since I only had 6 dry foods, there would be some days when I needed something else. I can't read Russian, but I'm sure it must have said "Spicy" on the package. It was a hot meal, but it tasted fine. I soaked up a little with bread, but I had the feeling that it might not be enough food. In the evening I started coughing. The previous cold night had left irreparable traces in my system.

As I laid my head on the pillow, I heard the two Germans cycling past. Apparently they had managed to get new inner tubes and were able to move on.

Today's numbers:

180 km

1,785 altitude meters

11 1/2 hours en route

Day 5

I think I needed the sleep, because I slept well. It was another cold morning, so I chose to cycle the last bit over the pass to get some warmth in my body before stopping and having breakfast.

The day started well and I felt that the good sleep had done me good. I caught up with the two Germans again and followed them for a while. They were actually riding a little faster than me, but because they also stopped occasionally to film for a documentary, we often met each other on the route. Now we followed each other for a while. After I had eaten lunch, I started to struggle with a lack of energy. I thought it was the dinner from yesterday that didn't have enough nutrition. I tried to eat well with snacks, but it got harder and harder. When we reached the end of the valley and were about to start the steep part of the climb to the pass, I had to watch them ride away from me. I was really struggling with myself, and with my lack of strength. Only too late did I realize that I had pushed too hard by following the other two. It is important to ride at your own pace, so that you always stay in a zone where the burning of energy takes place on fat, not sugar. Otherwise, you burn out too quickly. I don't think that was all. Because during the day I had started coughing more and more. It had already started yesterday, but I hadn't thought much about it. I could feel myself getting sick. My lungs were burning, while I was crossing one of the highest passes on the route, at 3,835m.

It was the hardest day of the race, but I was determined to get over the pass. On the other side, a long descent awaited, all the way down to Issyk Kul Lake, at 1,600m above sea level. That is more than 2,000 meters lower than the pass. I knew that the night would be so much warmer, and I wanted to avoid chattering my teeth for another night. And I also knew I would get more oxygen. I usually never have problems with altitude, but as my lungs hurt more and more, I also struggled with oxygen absorption. I HAD to get down that mountain. I had just forgotten that the pass was not just a peak, but a fairly large plateau at 3,800m above sea level. Up here there was a strong headwind. And I got a flat tire again. I tried to pump and cycle on so I could get down. But the air was leaking out too quickly. I had to stop and patch in the biting cold and strong wind. My thoughts became more and more focused on getting down into the heat. I couldn't find the problem with the hose and had to keep pumping every half hour. When I finally started the descent, I was completely exhausted and even rolling down the mountainside was challenging. But the sight of a bed in a guesthouse drew me all the way down to the small town of Tamga, on the shores of Lake Issyk Kul.

In Tamga I looked at Google Maps to locate a guesthouse. The name Happy Hostel caught my eye, and I drove there. When I opened the gate, I saw four other bikes. The two Germans, as well as two other riders. But that meant it was also fully booked. The owner generously offered me the chance to pitch my tent on the ground in the courtyard and eat with them. But I had a feeling in my body that told me not to stay. It was quite dirty and I had been looking forward to a bed, so I politely declined. It turned out later that my feeling was right, because one of the riders came back from there with food poisoning. Instead, I drove a little further into town and found a super beautiful place with a flower garden that revealed itself within the walls. An older couple owned the place, and the wife turned out to be a pure angel. She was so gentle and lovely that I felt there was a purpose to my ending up here. The first thing she said was that dinner was ready if I was hungry. And I was. I even got two portions, and she just smiled and told me that she knew cyclists were hungry, because Sofianne, the one leading the race, had also slept there a couple of nights ago. I got a hot shower and a private room and spent some time reflecting. I was completely exhausted and could see that I might not be able to finish if I didn't take my foot off the accelerator a little and start taking better care of myself. I found my antibiotics and started a course of treatment for pneumonia. My cough had now increased so much that it echoed throughout my chest.

I allowed myself to get a good long night's sleep, so I set my alarm for 8am and promised myself that I would fix my rear tire 100% before I drove off the next day.

Today's numbers:

188 km

1,870 altitude meters

14 hours en route

Day 6

Even though everything was set up for a luxurious night, I still didn't sleep very well. I was plagued by the increasing cough, and now also had a fever. But when I got up, I was greeted by the sweet owner and 2 servings of breakfast, which boosted my mood tremendously.

While I was fixing my bike in the flowery courtyard, I chatted with a group of bikers who were on holiday in Kyrgyzstan. They were riding their motocross bikes in some of the same areas that the race was going through, and they had seen some of the other riders. It was another thing that boosted my spirits, to be infected by the enthusiasm of others.

I had promised myself to take it easy and make sure the rear tire was tight. It turned out that the tube I had repeatedly tried to patch was simply useless, and apparently too lightweight. I changed the tube, and finally it held tight.

I didn't leave until 10:30, but on the other hand, my mood had turned around, and even though my body was worn out and sick, I still felt energetic.

Today's task consisted of a light warm-up along the lake shore, before a 2,200-meter climb up to the Tosor pass at 3,890m above sea level. The motorcyclists had told me that it was only the last bit of the summit where the road was bad. But as soon as I turned off the main road at the lake shore, there were large stones the size of footballs on the road, next to deep ditches that rainwater had dug. It was a long and hard climb over the next 35km. But I took it easy and enjoyed the ride up. On the way I met a couple of other Germans who were also riding as a team. They were good guys and when we passed each other, we exchanged nice comments. I also passed Maxim from Kazakhstan a couple of times. He was a bit more reserved, though, and seemed a bit brusque. But I think that was mostly based on our lack of a common language. I was going to see a lot more of Maxim during the last days of the race. We all reached Tosor pass at about the same time, and helped each other take a few pictures.

My late start, the long climb, and my ambition to take a little better care of myself meant that I didn't get to cover as many kilometers today. It was by far the shortest day of the race for me, measured in kilometers. By the time the sun went down and I found a campsite, I had descended to 3,100m, and I was preparing for another cold night in the tent.

Today's numbers:

82km

2,510 altitude meters

9 1/2 hours along the way

Day 7

The alarm clock rang again at 5:00. I had already been awake for some time and was freezing. The night is always coldest just before the sun rises. So even though I fall asleep with good body heat, I often wake up in the tent when it is very cold and I can no longer keep warm. The good thing about getting up early is that you minimize the cold time in the sleeping bag. But the cold and the illness were still in my body, and my morning routine took longer than usual. I didn't set off on my bike until 6:20.

But it seems like it always helps to jump on the bike and get going. The body warms up, the morning light colors the landscape beautifully, and the mood rises.

Today I was going to cycle in the opposite direction, on a stretch that we also rode, heading towards Lake Issyk Kul. I was hoping to meet riders coming the opposite way. It may sound corny, but when you are so stressed, you start looking for things that can boost yourself. And meeting a rider who was further behind than me would give me such a boost. It was only at the corner where I was going to turn from the shared stretch that I met Mike. A young guy who was standing and hanging over his bike. He said that he had gotten food poisoning a few days ago. He had been sick, but yesterday he had tried to force himself to go. He had ridden 120km on half a liter of Coke, so he was completely down now. Mike was considering scratching from the race. I did everything I could to talk him out of it. I tried to encourage him. I gave him a business card for the good guesthouse in Tamga, and told him about the garden of Eden and the angel who owned it. In the end, I had to run my own race and leave him there. He had a tired smile on his face, and I was sure I had helped him find his last strength. 2 hours later, I saw his bike on the roof of a 4WD that overtook me. He was scratched. It gave me no boost to see him go out. On the contrary, I was sad for him, because we all come here with a dream to complete, and a dream of a great adventure. No one wants to press the button on their SPOT tracker and turn off that dream. Later that day, Marie wrote me a message that 28 out of 98 riders had scratched so far.

Marie also wrote that Sofianne, who leads the race, was on her way in a taxi to the nearest town to fix her wheel. She had popped 5 nipples, so she had to fix it. It just goes to show that no one gets through the race without having to deal with problems of a bigger or smaller nature.

The afternoon's cycling was tough. I was heading towards the largest city on the route, Naryn. In previous years, the city was called “Scratch-city” because many people chose to leave the race here. It was actually a downhill the whole way, but with a lot of small peaks that had to be climbed along the way. It was raining quite heavily and the roads were full of washboard, so it was hard on both hands and backside to sit and bumble around so much. My mood dropped sharply and even though I tried with both podcasts and music in my ears, it was really tough mentally. I have learned about myself that what wears on my mood the most is not the steep, hard mountain passes, or the road that is so hard that I have to pull the bike. In fact, I love it the more rough it gets. But what makes my mood drop is when the route gets boring, and when there are endless stretches of washboard. Then it feels pointless to be there, and it feels like something to be done with, without being associated with joy. In the darkest hours of the day, I began in my mind to rename the race the Silk Road Washboard Race. Some of the other riders tried to ride all the way out on the shoulder of the road. Sometimes with the result that they fell into the ditch when balancing on a 10cm soft gravel edge, to avoid the deep waves of the washboard. Timothy, a young French rider, rode about half the race with a sprained hand, precisely because he had fallen into the ditch.

Late in the afternoon the route took an unexpected turn. It went across a field with meter-high rapeseed plants. There was no path to ride on. I quickly found out that every 100m or so a deep plow furrow ran across the route. The first time I almost crashed, because I couldn't see the plow furrow. It wasn't the first time on the route that I stood there scratching my neck a bit, wondering if Nelson had ever been here himself. And it wouldn't be the last. But it was good enough, the route went across the field. After a few kilometers a dirt road appeared on my right, and I could see an end to the field race. I was glad I hadn't come here at night, and I could vividly imagine what it would be like to ride there in the dark, without being able to see the plow furrows in the tall vegetation.

In Naryn I tried to find a bike shop. People referred me to car repair shops several times, but they didn't have inner tubes. I figured that the lightweight inner tubes I had brought from home wouldn't last long enough if I needed them, so I wanted to bring a spare tube. Finally I managed to find the only bike mechanic in town, who was based in a small shed. He had lots of 26-inch inner tubes with car valves. We communicated back and forth a bit, and eventually he found a 29-inch one in a big pile of used inner tubes. But the valve didn't fit. That didn't stop him from helping, so he took my broken lightweight inner tube, cut the valve off it, and glued it to his 29-inch inner tube. Voila, I had a usable spare tube and I could once again feel fairly confident that I could get through the rest of the race, regardless of punctures. I only had a few patches left, so I asked for a patch kit. He brought a big box of 100 patches. I tried to buy 5 patches, but he wouldn't. So I had to find room in my frame bag for 100 patches and a huge tube of glue. Better safe than sorry.

After a little lunch in town and a trip to the grocery store, I set off again. I didn't want to stay in scratch-city, because it can be a bit of a quagmire getting out of the cities. I could see on our tracking page online that several of the other riders were in town, so I hurried off.

After a couple of hours of hard climbing out of town, I set up camp on a beautiful plateau, where I could see the storm gathering over the mountains I was aiming for tomorrow. But that time, that sadness.

Today's numbers:

165km

1,860 altitude meters

13 hours along the way

Day 8

Again today it was mostly one long climb, up to Checkpoint 2. Over 120km I had to gain about 1,000 meters in altitude, but it happened over several smaller peaks. But it wasn't the biggest challenge of the day, because a very large part of today's kilometers had to be climbed in a strong headwind. My thoughts went back to Patagonia, where Marie and I were fighting against the wind. I tried to use this thought to remind myself that this was just a single day, whereas Patagonia had been every day for several months. But here in Kyrgyzstan, I was gradually so exhausted that the headwind completely crushed me. It was a really hard day. When I later met some of the other riders, they also told me that this had been their hardest day of the race. I could feel my lungs working at high pressure. My cough had increased. All energy felt as if it had left the sinking ship a long time ago.

Around lunchtime I arrived at a roadblock because I was now driving into the border country towards China. There was no problem getting through, as the race management had applied for access for all riders in advance. So it was just a matter of the guards finding me in the handwritten book. The mood was a bit tense, but still ended with a smile, and some words that I interpreted as “good journey”.

From here it was clear that we were driving into the furthest corner of the already sparsely populated country. The landscape was untouched and raw. Nowhere was the land cultivated. But I liked the atmosphere here. It smelled of adventure. The road was broken and difficult to drive on, so it required great concentration.

I arrived at Checkpoint 2, which is a small yurt camp, at 5 pm. I had promised myself that no matter how much I wanted to continue that day, I would stay there and sleep, to give my body a rest, and hopefully gather some strength. In the yurt you could buy good hot soup, and I got two large bowls. I could already feel how it helped. The tea they served was also really revitalizing and pretty quickly I felt much better. But I remembered what I had promised myself, and asked if there was a free bed in one of the small yurts. There it was, and I moved in with another rider, from South Africa. He was quite exhausted, and had been in Checkpoint 2 for 2 days. He was in 3-4 places in the race, but got food poisoning. So now the game was out for him. He had been promised a lift back to Naryn tomorrow.

I went to sleep for a few hours.

After a good nap, I went back to the big yurt to have dinner, around 8 pm. A few more riders had arrived, and shortly after, Jakob walked through the door. I hadn't seen him for a few days, and it was great to see him again. Tim, who we knew all the way back from acclimatization, also arrived, and it was a pleasant evening with more good food and lots of tea. Seeing the other riders gathered here reminded me how hard it is to ride alone. But a little company boost really lifted my spirits.

Tobias, one of the Germans I met at Tosor Pass, had broken his seat post, 20km before Checkpoint 2. The South African offered to lend him his seat post so he could ride on, and that was how it happened. The South African also said that he had arrived at the rapeseed field in the middle of the night and had flown over the handlebars when he had put the front wheel in the first plough furrow. His helmet cracked and his aerobar broke.

Everyone who entered Checkpoint 2 that night was completely devastated by the strong wind. Even though I was itching to move on, I stayed in the yurt for one night as promised. I have to admit that it is hard to sleep in a tent every night, so a night in a warm yurt was far better than a cold night in a tent.

Today's numbers:

121 km

1,810 altitude meters

10 hours along the way

Day 9

You would think it would be a lovely night with plenty of sleep. But as I lay in my insomnia throughout the night, it slowly dawned on me that the tea I had poured into buckets was full of caffeine. In and of itself lovely, just not if you want to sleep soundly.

We had agreed with the family who ran the yurt camp that breakfast would be at 6 am. Of course, that didn't happen, and I didn't leave until 7 am. However, I was one of the first.

We were supposed to cycle a couple of kilometers to the foot of what was called the “Old Soviet Road”, which was an absurdly steep hill that the old Soviet military vehicles could plow over. But for us it was something about pushing the bike forward, taking two steps, and then pushing the bike again. It took time, but was a good warm-up from the morning. As I walked up the hill, I wondered why my bike had started to rattle. I couldn’t identify anything that was loose, and the mystery grew bigger and bigger. At one point it got so steep that I had my ear right next to the front wheel when I pushed the bike. And then I realized what was wrong. It was the tubeless fluid in the front wheel, which had frozen to ice during the night and was now rattling around inside the tire. It was a little funny, but also a little worrying, because the next 10km were notorious for being full of barbed wire hiding in the grass. It should be noted that the manufacturer states that the fluid should be able to stay liquid down to -28 degrees Celsius. It is possible that a little water has penetrated the tire, but it was still thought-provoking. There was nothing else to do but keep a close eye, drive carefully and hope that I didn't get a puncture with frozen sealant in the wheel. Fortunately, it went well, without running over barbed wire.

Before descending from the large plateau, I had a fantastic sight of wild horses grazing above the clouds in the valley. Even if you are racing a bike, you have to remember to soak up the beautiful moments.

I later learned that Steve, the other of the two Englishmen we met during the acclimatization, had crashed on this descent. One of his bags on the handlebars had come loose and had fallen into the front wheel. Before he knew it, he was going over the handlebars. It was a nasty accident, and one of his hands was badly damaged, as was one of his shoulders. After he had recovered a bit, and realizing that he could not get help on this stretch, he got back on his bike and set off. He ended up completing the race with both injuries, and came in a super nice 14th place.

After the Old Soviet Road, the route went about 80km along the Chinese Highway, which is a well-bombed dirt road with washboard, along the Chinese border. Calling it a “highway” was another of the sarcastic exaggerations that the Kyrgyz road network is full of. Along the road stood a barbed wire fence, to keep people out of no man’s land. Every few kilometers, watchtowers rose up by the fence. In its own way, it was a fun place to be. So far away from everything, and so raw, at the same time it smelled of old conflicts and the Soviet era. I started to like the route again, and today would actually turn out to be one of the best days of the race.

At one point the route turned off, in a 90 degree turn to the right. I obviously missed the road the first time, so when I was 50m past, I turned around and looked closer. There was a dry riverbed, but no road. I tried to scan the riverbed for wheel tracks, so maybe the riverbed itself was the route. Nothing. After a few minutes I decided to drive out into the marshland, where I then tried to cross the GPS track a few times to find the road. Finally I had to admit that there was no road. Or path. I used the GPS to aim for a valley in the mountain range further ahead, and then drove in that direction.

After a while I saw a dot in the distance, moving across my direction. It turned out to be Jakub, a rider from Slovakia. He had gotten off his bike and was walking, swearing loudly. When I got to him, he was fuming with rage. “Have you seen a road?”, “What the hell is Nelson doing?”, “This can’t be right, it’s crazy.” I tried to tell him that I thought we should just cycle towards the valley in the distance, across the open countryside. But he was feeding his own anger a bit too much, so I slipped away.

As I approached the foot of the valley, the same thing happened again. Another cyclist came riding across my direction. This time it was Dimitry from Kazakhstan. He was a little more humble and told me that he couldn’t afford a GPS, so he rode the entire race using voice navigation on his phone, which was in his bag and spoke to him. But because there was no road across the marsh, the phone couldn’t tell him to turn, so he took a big detour. Dimitry and I headed into the valley together.

It quickly became clear that it was going to be a difficult pass to tackle. To start with, we followed a path along a stream. But soon after, the trail turned into a side valley and the hiking trail became filled with large rocks, so we had to push the bikes the rest of the way to the top. The last stretch towards the pass was extremely steep, and the path no longer existed. We had to zigzag our way up, and turn around at places where we were fairly certain we wouldn’t fall or lose our bikes. It was hard work, but also fun and challenging.

We reached the top of Tash Rabat pass at 3,950m as the sun disappeared behind the mountain ridge on the opposite side. The descent on the other side looked just as steep and difficult as the ascent had been. It was full of loose slate stones, and we had to walk the first long section down. Only when it flattened out a bit could we carefully cycle between the large stones. My technique was better than Dimitry's, so I made faster progress. I came down to a river, and had to follow it further down the mountain. I was constantly in doubt about which of the many cattle paths to choose. Much of the time it almost seemed like the path went out into the river. It turned into a few crossings until I finally hit a dirt road. I knew that there was a yurt camp on this dirt road, and although it was tempting to continue cycling down in the dark, I thought about my health and chose to go after an overnight stay in a warm bed. It was a good decision, because there was a nice hot dinner. Dimitry showed up a little later and we shared a room.

Today's numbers:

135 km

1,920 altitude meters

13 hours along the way

Day 10

We had agreed to have breakfast at 6 again. When I was ready to leave, Dimitry had problems with his pulley wheel, which was completely stuck. I asked if he needed help, but he said no, and I jumped on the bike.

We had spent the night at about 3,000m and I started by driving down a few hundred meters before the road wound up again above about 3,350m. And then I did the same thing again, down to 2,750m, up to 3,350m. And THEN a great long descent awaited. It was one of the most beautiful views of the entire race. Dimitry picked me up and we had a great long descent together. One of the race control cars followed us and they got to shoot a few great photos of us together, at full speed, down the mountain. We could see how we had left the raw mountains, deep in the Tian Shan, and had come out to the foothills, which were more rounded and had beautiful formations after the erosion.

At lunchtime I was in a small town to stock up on provisions. Right by the square was a restaurant with a huge sign that said Big Burger. Of course, that couldn’t help but trigger a craving for fat and salt, so I went inside and sat down. There was no menu, but the waiter asked what I wanted, and I asked for a “Big Burger”. She nodded in agreement and asked if I wanted fries. I said yes, with a big, expectant smile. A little later I was served a durum roll with a little ham and salad. No fries. I thought the language barrier had probably put an end to the juicy burger. But both Dimitry and Jakub had also been lured in by the big sign. Both ordered large burgers with fries, in Russian. And got a roll with ham.

At the grocery store I found extra batteries for my GPS, and the sweet clerk gave me a handful of Kurt to take with me on the road. Kurt are salty, sour, dry cheese balls that are probably packed with energy. But the taste is so amazing that after one I had to throw the rest in the ditch.

Even though the race had gradually taken a toll on my physique, I could still, in a strange way, feel that my body was improving. Or perhaps more accurately, that my body had gradually accepted the new reality we were living in. It also helped my mood that the landscape was beautiful and technically demanding. I was back to my best. The air down at 1,500m was also significantly milder for the lungs. But after a long descent, inevitably comes a long ascent. The rest of the day was spent getting back to about 3,200m. I was determined to reach Checkpoint 3, which was beckoning at the end of a long day. At the bottom of the ascent I met Maxim again, from Kazakhstan. We followed each other up the mountain for a bit. But as we approached the top, my strength was low, and Dimitry and Maxim drove away from me. It was a mental defeat, but I was sure that they would also spend the night at Checkpoint 3, so that comforted me.

When I reached the pass, the sky erupted in a crazy storm. Lightning ripped through the sky every 30 seconds and thunder echoed in the mountains around me. The rain started to pour down, and the last 20km down to Checkpoint 3's warm yurt took forever. In return, hot soup and good food awaited again. And lots of tea. But this time I had learned to control myself and save on my caffeine intake before going to bed. Nelson's parents, who help organize the race, also spent the night in the yurt camp, and they entertained me with a few stories about what had happened in the race so far.

We all slept in a huge shared yurt, with mattresses on the floor. Quite cozy, and nice and warm.

Today's numbers:

184 km

3,585 altitude meters

14 1/2 hours along the way

Day 11

Part of the film crew was also at Checkpoint 3, and they wanted to film my departure in the morning. I was hoping they would get some cool drone shots of me cycling away, and trying to suppress the fact that they had chased me around with a camera to film me smearing panty grease on my butt. They are good guys, and I am really looking forward to seeing the film they have shot.

After a couple of hours of cycling along the Son Kul lake, the trail turned into a valley. I couldn't make it fit with my perception of the route, so I had to stop and get my bearings. But it was good enough. The next couple of hours were spent exploring the "secret valley". It was super beautiful and demanding cycling. There was a bit of hike-a-bike, along a river, where the path went 30m above the water, so it would be a bad time to take a wrong step. But the whole valley, and the small pass, were a little jewel on the route, especially because it completely caught me by surprise.

After the secret valley, I had to go straight down and approach the last of the highest passes, Kegeti pass, which is located at about 3,775m above sea level. This is where we had been acclimatizing and the pass marked the final sprint of the race for me. I knew that there was a long descent on the other side, and that there wouldn't be that much more after this. Again I got a mental boost and felt comfortable in the elements. It was still hard, but my body had accepted the condition.

As I approached the last steep part of the summit towards Kegeti Pass, I caught up with Andris, whom I had met earlier. We pushed our bikes, separately, up through the huge rocks that lay in piles. There had previously been a road to the pass, but it had been completely washed away in a mudslide. In some places there was something reminiscent of a path, but several times it disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. At half past seven in the evening, half an hour before darkness fell, we stood in the pass. The last time I was here, it was clear sunny weather. Now it was completely closed in fog and rain. During our acclimatization, some of the other riders had discussed this “driveway” to the pass, and there was a broad consensus that one should not attempt it in bad weather, or in the dark. So when we stood in the pass in the rain and increasing darkness, I was sure that we were closing the pass for today. Maxim and Dimitry were behind us. And here towards the end of the race, I could feel my competitive instincts being awakened. It mattered if I could pass some of the other riders. Andris and I rode through the pouring rain down the mountain. I was glad to know the descent and could keep up a good pace in the light of the flashlight. Still, I hit a couple of big rocks, which made me nervous about the rims. Andris, who had not been here before, made a couple of half-hearted river crossings, resulting in soaked shoes. And because he had no tent, only a bivy bag, he wanted to sleep inside. I was determined to spend the night in the tent, so when we drove past a guesthouse we parted ways, and I continued a few more kilometers. It was great, because I came down into dry weather and thicker air, where I could camp in a place that I remembered from acclimatization.

When I laid my head on the pillow, I was happy with the good choices today. It didn't make sense to drive any further, because I had to stock up at the grocery store in Kegeti the next morning, and there was no need to stand around waiting for them to open.

Today's numbers:

156km

2,900 altitude meters

14 1/2 hours along the way

Day 12

When I woke up, I checked the website where you can see the riders' positions. Something I hadn't done much during the race, but I was close to the finish line now and thought it would be fun to see who I could compete with over the last 2 days. To my great surprise, I saw that Maxim had driven over Kegeti Pass at night. And not only that, he had driven past my tent, down to Kegeti town and had spent the night there. And even worse, he was already up and running. He had obviously not agreed to the consensus that you shouldn't drive over the pass in bad weather or darkness. He was really riding fast, but I could tell that I really wanted to beat him. I got going quickly and finished the grocery store visit in Kegeti, in a hurry.

During the morning, however, I agreed with myself that I shouldn't chase him. He had gained a good lead, and I had bad experiences with going too hard. So I settled back into my own rhythm.

Around lunchtime I reached a roadblock at a gold mine. Again the guards knew that riders were coming, but they had to wait for permission to let me pass. They offered me drinks and fruit and food. I politely declined, several times. I was stuffed from the lunch I had just eaten, and the race rules say you are not allowed to get help from others, but I ended up with a caramel as a compromise. Only then was I allowed through the barrier and able to cycle through the mining area. It was a bit sour to see how the place was completely Chinese-run. There was not a single Kyrgyz to be seen, only Chinese. Without making too many political statements, it left a bad taste in the mouth, because it doesn't take much imagination to imagine how little Kyrgyzstan's economy gets out of China's mining operations here.

After the mine I had to climb a small pass and cross a huge main road before the last long, steep climb towards the last pass. My plan was to get to a small lake, which was supposed to be very beautiful, and spend the night there. Then take the pass and the descent to the finish line tomorrow morning.

On the other side of the main road, I saw a rider standing at a road sign. It was Maxim. I could hardly understand how I had managed to catch up with him. He doesn't speak English, and I don't speak Russian, so I didn't understand what he was saying. But he was clearly unhappy, as always. Only later did I learn that he had taken the wrong turn at the mine. And even though he had taken a shortcut, he had messed up so much that he had lost a lot of time. It was also only later that I found out that Maxim had set up with a partner. But the partner couldn't finish, and had dropped out early in the race. Maxim was still solo, despite the fact that it was his partner who had the navigation under control. That's why there were quite a few other riders who could tell entertaining stories about how they had met a frustrated Maxim who couldn't find his way. And last but not least, it was also Maxim's partner who had the tent. This had forced Maxim to ride after overnight stays inside, and therefore he might have run a slightly more uneven rhythm than he would have otherwise. All in all, it says something about a tough soul who completed the race despite adversity. But I didn't know any of this now, when I was just trying to shake Maxim off, heading towards the last pass of the race.

We passed each other a few times up the mountain. Sometimes Maxim would take a different path and suddenly appear in front of me when I thought he was behind. I was getting more and more burned out and just wanted to drop him off.

The last pass actually consisted of 3 small peaks before the last big peak. About 25km before the highest peak, the terrain was so uneven that we had to get off and push the bike. When we reached the first of the peaks, the path disappeared into the blue sky. It had become dusk and in front of us was a really steep overgrown slope. I have good mountain bike technique, and began a careful descent. Maxim was a little slower, and had to walk part of the way down. When I reached the bottom, I took advantage of my small lead and pushed the bike as fast as I could up the next climb. When I say “as fast as I could”, it was probably 2-3km per hour, because the path was densely overgrown and the bike had to be pushed through low bushes and over lots of large rocks. When I reached the top, I could see Maxim standing at the bottom, with his headlamp. Suddenly I could hear him swearing and shouting. I doubted whether he had been injured and stood for a moment. But I could tell it was his usual bad mood that was telling, so I slipped over the ridge and started a descent of some really technical singletrack.

It was completely dark now and the trail that would have been really fun on a full suspension mountain bike in daylight was now quite challenging on a heavily packed hardtail in the glare of the headlight. But it was going fine and at the bottom I hit a bit of a flat section where the trail kept disappearing from me in the darkness. I was driven to put distance on Maxim so that he couldn't overtake me again in the dark. When I hit the last climb, to Final pass, a thought formed in my head. Instead of camping as I had planned, I could drive through and reach the finish line in the middle of the night. If I was in by 4:23 AM, my race card would show 11 days, instead of 12 days. I wanted to be sure where Maxim was. I also had an idea that I hadn't pushed myself hard enough in the race to keep the pneumonia at bay. So if I had to get a feel for how far I could go, this was the last chance. And last but not least, I thought that if I finish tonight, it doesn't really matter how broken I am tomorrow. These thoughts ran in circles in my head during the last climb. I liked the thoughts, and I was in a good place mentally. But at the same time, it was also the hardest climb of the entire race. Only after the race did I find out that it wasn't just me who couldn't do it. Even Sofianne, who won the race, had spent 8 hours walking to the top. But during the night I had a lot of doubts about whether I was completely off the route, whether there should be a path, whether Nelson had ever been here himself. I remember that when I passed the last house, I completely lost the path until just before the top. Subsequently, I saw a picture of some other riders walking on a nice little path from the house, and on the left of the picture you can see the huge boulders that I fought my way through.

Throughout the night I alternated between believing that I could reach my own fictitious time limit and completely losing faith. Like when I finally found my way back, after hours in swampy, rocky, impassable terrain, only to get a flat tire again, just before the summit. It wasn't a difficult patch, but fatigue was starting to set in, so it took some time. At 1 a.m. I finally saw a large pile of rocks in the light of my flashlight, which marked the top of the pass. It took about 9 hours to walk the 1,500 vertical meters to the summit.

I thought I would cross the finish line before 4:23. After all, there was only one descent, and then 25km of paved road, between me and the hot meal that you can get 24/7 at all checkpoints. But it would soon become clear that the descent was also tough and technically difficult. Not only was it filled with huge rocks that threatened to smash a rim at any moment, the route was also paved with lots of small ascents. I was gradually running out of strength, and every time the path meandered up into the terrain again, I was losing courage and faith. Eventually, however, the route flattened out, and suddenly I was riding on fine gravel roads, with a slight drop. The speed quickly reached 35km/h, which was appropriate in the darkness of the night. I stopped to eat some quick snacks and looked at the watch again. I counted again on the go. Even though I had almost given up on getting in before 4.23, I figured that if there were no more unforeseen events, I should be able to make it by a close margin. I set off again and enjoyed the high speed. A little too much, though. Suddenly, at the end of the beam of light, I saw a dark shadow across the road. I slammed on the brakes, but I could see that I couldn't make it. Someone had dug a ditch about half a meter wide, across the road. And it was almost half a meter deep. Normally I would have bunny hopped it, but I was so tired, and thinking so slowly, that I drove the front wheel into the ditch, and flew over the handlebars. Super mad at myself for the driving error, and mad at whoever had dug the ditch, I brushed off the dust and checked the bike. The handlebars were a little twisted, but I didn't want to waste time fixing it, so I continued. After a few kilometers I hit the asphalt road, and from here it was only 25km to Balykchy, where the finish line was. It was the longest 25km of flat country road I have cycled in my life.

At 4 in the morning I rolled into a completely empty and sleeping city. I cruised the last few kilometers through the small streets to the hotel where the finish line was, and where I knew Marie was waiting for me. When I rounded the last corner, I could see two silhouettes standing on the street in front of the hotel. It was Nelson and Marie. It was a really nice reception, and I was so happy that my girlfriend had kept an eye out and had gotten up in the middle of the night to welcome me.

At 04.07 I got the last stamp in my letter card, and my official time was 11 days 23 hours and 44 minutes. This made me the first Dane to complete the Silk Road Mountain Race. And I also won my own little competition to finish in under 12 days. My position in the solo class was no. 21. I had set a success criterion at home, which was to complete the race. But I had a secret hope of finishing in 13 days. So all in all I was super happy and proud of my own achievement.

Today's numbers:

222km

4,585 altitude meters

21 hours en route

7. Termination

When I came in at night, the kitchen was of course closed. So even though I had skipped dinner and lived on snacks for the past half day, I had to go to bed hungry and wait for breakfast. But there was revenge, with pancakes, rice pudding and lots of fruit.

The next few days were really special. They can best be compared to being at a festival. The riders who had come in hung out in the hotel garden and we shared stories, food and beer. It confirmed to me that one of the biggest things I have gotten out of the race is the camaraderie with other like-minded people. I especially appreciate the friendship with Jakob. It was fun and enriching to have another rider close to us, during the entire preparation, who understood everything that was going on, and who was willing to talk equipment and training for hours.

As the days went by, more and more good stories came across the finish line. The best of them all was probably Martin, who had walked the last 200km. The cassette housing on his rear wheel had broken, so the wheel did not pull when he pedaled. But he could see that his schedule was ok, so he chose to walk the last stretch, 200km.

On the 15th day there was a closing party in the evening. It was a gathering of tired cyclists, dressed in silly clothes, from the local market, who filled themselves with beer and food. It was cozy, but almost unmanageable for most, and only a few partied until dawn. The last 3 riders, within the time limit, arrived while the party was well underway, and thus received probably the most festive reception of all.

Out of the 98 riders who started, 52 completed. Either as solo or as a pair.

8. Reflection

It was my first bikepacking race and the learning curve has been steep but fun throughout. It's strange when you cross the finish line, because there's a tired and empty feeling in your body. But as time goes by, after the race, I look back on it as a great experience, and something I'd like to do again. Mostly because I think I could be even better next time. It's the technical and extreme races that appeal to me and I have a few in my sights.

But I also know that my heart is passionate about adventure. There is a big difference between the trips I can do with Marie, where we take the time to explore, meet people, and soak up the impressions, and then the races where it's all about gritting your teeth, pedaling hard, and sneaking around the locals as quickly as possible. So bikepacking races will never replace adventure.

But I wonder if there is room for both parts in life.

9. Silk Road Mountain Race Gear List

I would probably make minor adjustments to my equipment for the next race. They are mostly about getting even more lightweight gear. And doing without a few small things. But overall I was quite happy with the setup.

There is a link to the gear list above.