Day 8:

I awoke early after a very chilly sleep feeling weary but at least somewhat refreshed. Tim had not been so lucky; his sleeping mat had deflated and he’d spent the night shivering and close to hypothermia on the cold ground. Phil went down to the river to refill their water bottles, including the one I`d loaned them the night before. (Whenever I filled up water bottles at a stream or river, rather than tablets I used a filtration device to clean up the water as it went into the bottles).  Phil passed me back my bottle while I was packing my tent, and without thinking I took a big gulp, before asking, “Phil, you had filtered this hadn`t you?” Phil: “No, sorry I thought you used purification tablets”

Oh no….. I’d just accidentally taken a big gulp of unfiltered water, and in so doing had certainly ingested an enormous number of bacteria my gut was wholly unfamiliar with. There was now a high chance this was going to be problematic. I couldn’t blame Phil, as I should obviously have checked before drinking, but although I blamed myself, it was a really simple error to have made, and I would pay the price later. In fact I`d start paying the price only a few hours later, and keep the payments up for the rest of the race.

One good decision I had made during my preparation for the race related to following some firm advice from some friends who were very familiar with ultra-endurance events. They knew the reputation that the SRMBR had for felling numerous riders with varying degrees of food poisoning, and strongly recommended that I should get a ‘Ultimate Medical Kit’ from Nomad Travel,  containing prescription antibiotics and drugs that would help limit the impact of the situation I was shortly to find myself in. After only an hour or so in the saddle following the drink, I started to experience that distinctive and horrible clenching feeling in my guts that suggested that an intense bout of diarrhoea was shortly to begin.

And within a couple of minutes that is just what happened, and with a severity that was pretty scary

Digging out the kit from the bottom of my frame bag, I had a good read of the detailed protocol in the accompanying leaflet: I took the 2 recommend pills and drank a rehydration packet. I felt very ill. The next few hours were brutal: I couldn’t eat anything, and I felt weak and sick. The heat of the mid-day Sun didn’t help my condition as I pushed my bike up another steep hill.

The thoughts of giving up and pressing the SOS button (which all riders were obliged to carry on their bikes) was becoming more persistent and the arguments for quitting stronger with each consecutive climb I was faced with. 

Why didn’t I quit? It would be nice but inaccurate to think it was due to will power or some similar positive attribute, but as I struggled on, it was the thought of the shame I would feel for giving up. Although acute food poisoning and the accompanying intense diarrhoea is of course a really debilitating problem, and one which forces many endurance athletes to abandon races, it is always seems a slightly comical reason to scratch. So I was imagining going home and telling my friends, family and co-workers that I’d quit the race because I was spending days crapping my brain out on the side of a mountain: this wasn’t exactly the heroic end I’d been envisioning. To put it simply the potential shame was greater than my immediate suffering, but my suffering was considerable. Instead of quitting I prayed for a serious mechanical, maybe a buckled front wheel or a snapped frame, or even a broken bone which could give me a shameless excuse to quit. I kept cycling.  

I was unable to eat anything until 5pm when the pills had had time to work their magic. Although I was far from feeling good, I had something of an appetite again, and I stopped at the first shop I saw and purchased two ice-creams and a large bag of crisps, not a very sensible diet choice I know, but it seemed to do the trick energy-wise, and, after two more hours of riding, I made it to Naryn, cycling the last few kms with fellow racer and illness suffer named Vytenis. We met up with Rob (a friend I’d made in prior to the race) in a hotel. Rob had been way ahead of me and having a great race, but had had a terrible experience with altitude sickness and had scratched from the race the previous day after pressing his SOS button whilst prostrate and confused on the pass he had been riding. We went to a local restaurant with a few other riders and shared our various horror stories from the race so far. I ate a pizza, chips, shared a steak with Vytenis and had an ice cream to finish, making up for the lost calories I had missed that day. Happy that my appetite was back, I went to bed, hoping that I was over the worst of the illness. Sadly that was not the case, and I had to get up quite a few times in the night, clearly having pushed my poor stomach over the edge with the somewhat excessive meal I`d eaten earlier.

Day 9

I had brought with me race cards (bits of card with info on) , my girlfriend Jeanne had written little tasks on them to keep me occupied. Today’s task was to think of a haiku (A poem with 3 lines, syllables 5-7-5), and on the long climb up I was able to come up with the following:

I pedal all day

For neither glory nor pay

I escape dismay

Even though my haiku would not win any awards, it was a fun distraction, and I made it to the top without too much dismay. Picking up a tailwind on a long downhill, it seemed I’d be at CP2 in no time at all. Alas, as I turned into a Westward direction, I found myself now cycling into a strong and relentless headwind, and my progress dramatically slowed. As the sun set I joined a meandering path heading through some small beautiful valleys, and the headwind thankfully dropped significantly.

Eventually I reached Lake Chatyr Kul where I turned north to head back up into the mountains, and after crossing the biggest river yet, I stopped just before the climbing began. It was 8pm and I was exhausted, and I ate the last of the food I’d been carrying since the start of the race. Wrapped in all my layers I closed my eyes: sleep came quickly.

Day 11

I woke at 6am. I think this below video gives a better sense of the situation then my words possibly could.

Inevitably next morning I faced yet another big climb: Tash Rabat pass peaked at 3964m, but by this time thankfully I had acclimatised to the elevation. Nearing the top I lost the path and ended up carrying my bike on my back, up 150 meters of almost vertical scree slope. Bent double, step by cautious step I made way up, mindful of the fact that a slip here would have taken the question of whether I should quit the race out of my hands entirely.

I descended down an extremely steep loose and technical scree slope. There was no path I could see, so I just hoped for the best, trying to keep as close as possible to the line on my GPS.

Further down I found and then lost the trail again, accidently descending down a rocky river bed, requiring maximum concentration and at the limit of my mountain biking skills. Finding the trail again, I was relieved to see another rider up ahead of me: the rider turned out to be a Slovenian woman named Bernarda, currently in second place in the women’s category. Bernarda`s face was very swollen due to quite severe sunburn, which was causing her a lot discomfort. We rode together for an hour or so, before arriving at the small tourist area called Tash-Rabat Castle, a 15th Century Silk Road Caravanserai (inn). We got inside just in time as heavy rain started. We were brought soup, bread and tea, and the amount of sugar I found myself adding to the tea gave an indication of my depleted energy level.

Day 12

The cycling was flat and smooth, and I made good progress. My race notes indicated that ahead was the only coffee shop en route, and, very keen to get my caffeine fix, I was highly motivated not to miss this opportunity. By 10:30 am I’d found it, and over the course of the next thirty minutes I consumed three Cappuccinos, two espressos and two ice-creams. Never had coffee or ice-cream tasted so good, and I had no problem justifying this indulgence as I was about to climb 1700 meters on the Moldo pass, after which lay Son-kul Lake and CP3, the final checkpoint of the race.

40 minutes into the climb I felt very unwell, and, predictably following my blow-out at the café, I was afflicted with an especially severe bout of diarrhoea. Amazingly, after I had finished filling in the hole in the side of the road, I felt full of energy and feeling (and being) considerably lighter, I was able to climb up the pass quickly. After many days of weakness I was finally feeling strong again, or at least still high on caffeine.   

With much relief at around 4.00pm I made it to CP3: I was now only 330km away from the finish.

The volunteers at the checkpoint encouraged me to stay the night pointing out the benefits of a warm yurt to sleep in and as much hot food as I could stomach. It was a very tempting offer, and after pushing hard up the pass I could have used a good rest. However, it felt much too early in the day to stop for the night, and as I was still feeling reasonably energised, after a decent meal in the yurt I decided to carry on.

For the next three hours the route stayed close to the lake, and with many short sharp hills it was tougher than anticipated, but with sun setting it was hard not to appreciate the view.

Day 13:     

All thoughts of scratching from the race had now thankfully evaporated, and with the finish feeling within reach for the first time, I was packed and on the bike before 6am.

A few hours later I had my first puncture of the race in my rear tyre, and fortunately the plug I used worked, and the hole sealed. The rest of the morning was hike-a-bike. I was still having stomach problems, and decided it was time to start the course of antibiotics I’d been hoping I wouldn’t need. Feeling weak again I found myself very slowly pushing my bike up the pass, and, frustrated and guilty for not pushing, harder my morale was once again dans les chausettes.

Things got worse on the downhill when I swerved off path to avoid a stream only to plunge into a deep bog. My front wheel sunk deep beneath the surface, and I was thrown over the handle bars into the mud. Although I was uninjured, I was completely filthy and my shoes and socks were saturated. A few kilometres down the first busy road I’d been on since the race began, I spotted Brian sat outside a shop. After buying 2 litres of sweet tea, I joined him, taking my shoes of to dry my feet. A few minutes later one of the control cars pulled up, and as they were familiar faces now it was a great feeling to catch up with them. Yam G-Jun was one of the race photographs and captured the moment.

We were just one mountain range away from the capitol, Bishkek, so small towns were now more common on the route. I stopped at three different shops over the next hour to buy more food, mostly crisps and ice-cream. The penultimate pass Kegeti was quickly approaching.

Starting the climb at 4:00pm, it was a relief to find the gradient mostly cyclable, and I reached 3400 meters reasonably comfortably. But then the final 400 meters turned into a nightmare: multiple landslides had destroyed the path, leaving a rubbly mess to push my bike up. Night fell and the temperate dropped to -8 degrees Celsius. I was utterly spent, but the idea of the end of the race being so close was enough to give me just enough energy to keep pushing up, albeit at a snails pace. I made it to the summit at 8pm, and I descended for an hour until I found a flat spot to camp. Sleep came quickly.

Day 14:

Waking at 6.00am, I quickly packed camp and continued my decent down the Kegeti pass. I stopped in a small village asking an old lady via Google translate if she knew somewhere I could get breakfast. She motioned for me to follow her to her house, where she sat me down and fed me pancakes with homemade raspberry jam. It was unbelievably delicious, and seemed like a great omen for the day to come. I paid for the meal and brought a jar of her delicious jam for later. Straight after breakfast I stopped at a shop to buy food for the day, and couldn`t resist another ice cream.

Heading east towards the Chong Kemin valley, I made good progress on smooth tarmac roads, stopping at small bazaars to drink various heavily sugared beverages. At midday the route turned south taking me back into the foothills of the same mountain range I’d descended in the morning. A few mining trucks passed and I eventually arrived at the somewhat foreboding security gate of what appeared to be a mining operation. Approaching hesitantly, my GPS was still indicating that this was the way. A member of the mining security team appeared and called me over. He told me I’d need to wait until his supervisor came to escort me through the mine. Motioning for me to sit down he told me to help myself to a table filled with cola and chocolate biscuits.

Finding out I was from Manchester, the security guys were eager to talk to me about Manchester United. I’m not much of a football fan but tried my best to participate in the friendly chat, and, after about 15 minutes, they said I should get back on my bike. Cycling as quickly as I could, one of the guards then escorted me up the mining road, driving behind me in a large truck. 

Leaving the mine behind I continued to climb, reaching the top of the hill after 1000 meters of elevation gain. I stopped to eat the rest of my bread smothering it with the last of my honey. I met the control car again on the way down, G-Jun Yam got some good pictures of me descending.

They told me there was a handful of restaurants at the bottom of the hill, and they invited me to join them at one. Although I had only just gorged myself on bread and honey, I accepted their offer: after 2 weeks on the bike I was happy for any excuse to rest a while.

When I arrived at the town, I stopped at the most likely restaurant and ordered 3 main courses. As the food arrived so did Brian and the control car crew. Most of the other riders had either finished or scratched by this point, so there weren’t many people left to photograph! I’d ordered too much food and had to force down the last plate, and as a result of my over-consumption, setting off was a struggle.

Day 15:

I awoke before my alarm and was underway well before 4am. The next 12 hours turned out to be by far the toughest of the race with 2400 meters of elevation gain, most of which was brutally steep hike-a-bike.  Progress was so slow I was worried I would not make the cut off at 6.00am the following day. I didn’t see a single soul until 4 pm on the last few kilometres of the climb, when, spotting Brian and two other riders behind me, I remembered that this was actually a race rather than a solo venture.

Up to this point I’d just been trying to survive the day-to-day challenges that the route would bring, but now only 60 km from the finish, my competitive side emerged. Getting back on my bike, I discovered some new energy reserves, and, pushing to my maximum, I cycled most of the remaining distance to the top of the pass.

 I set off faster than id advisable on the downhill, before remembering I had a tube in the back and would have to be careful to avoid pinch flats. Despite my now slightly more cautious riding I hadn’t descended for more than 20 minutes before I had a flat. While I put in my last inner tube a pair of riders caught me up. Sebastien and Allison had suffered the misfortune of their bikes being delayed at the airport, so they’d started the race a day late, an impressive effort! My (hopefully) last puncture fixed and pumped up high I descend rapidly, catching them halfway down the pass.

As the sun set, the view of Issyk Kul Lake was spectacular and I made it to the tarmac road that ran alongside the lake, the final section of the race. It was 7:40 pm and I had only 30 km left to the finish in the town of Balykchy. I put my head down, got on my aero bars, and cycling as fast as possible, I arrived at 8:40 pm, beyond any normal feeling of exhaustion.

To my surprise I was greeted enthusiastically by a group of other riders, but I was too out-of-it to muster more than a relieved smile. I had been running on empty for so long that I don`t think I had much capacity to feel anything very much.

Before the celebratory end-of-race meal, Nelson, the race organiser, stamped my card.  I had finished the Silk Road Mountain Race in 14 days 16 hours and 25 minutes, having covered 1854 km, and ascended about 30,000 meters.

Phew.

Of the 95 riders who set off 52 finished. I was 33rd in the solo general classification out of 37 finishers.

Overall, including those who rode as a pair, I was 44th out of the 52.  

The End.

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