30/8/25
Breakfast was a shady affair. Next door on the second floor was a mini buffet. We met a couple from Shanghai as we ate our fried vegetables and steamed buns. Back on the road we almost immediately lost the hard shoulder. A headwind occasionally buffeted us as we approached a stunning gradient of orange to white.
The road sat on the western edge of the gaping valley. The proportions were mind bending. The gushing grey river flowing rapidly in multiple channels. Far from idyllic, the road was chocker with traffic. A steady stream of SUVs flowing up the tourist attraction. Some were less than cordial to our spatial needs. Most were as accommodating as they could be, without slowing down of course.
Unbelievably, there was a coffee van that stocked Oatly. Despite the ‘Starbucks prices’ we felt helpless and had to indulge. Sat overlooking the river, hidden under a parasol, we discovered that temperatures were a balmy 12C above the long term average.
Numerous networks of wires crisscrossed the valley. Telecommunications as well as small power lines. Buses were frequent and unforgiving adversaries. Essentially anyone who saw the road as their place of business would close pass us. The road turned west after about 25km, treating us to more snowy peaks. We would catch glimpses of the intensely grey river, almost like lava. The whole place was dusty and dry without a jot of shade.
The road occasionally went down, which we enjoyed. Anything that looked flat was actually 1%. After 30km we had climbed 500m. A rest area appeared and we stopped for some drinks, then sat in the shade behind the toilet block to have some bread, rose jam and peanut butter.
Still heading west, we had enormous mountains to gaze at. The valley floor was still enormously wide and unusually flat. A man jumped out of a parked up camper van. He’d been waiting for us. He gave us water and a pear. His journeying had taken him to 70 countries. After ten minutes of chatting, while his wife silently filmed us all, we got the distinct impression that he just wanted content for his blog.
At the town of Gez we found the crossing for the frontier area. Xinjiang borders Baltistan (Pakistani controlled but claimed by India), Afghanistan’s Wakhan Corridor, and Tajikistan. Geo-political border squabbles abound. On top of that Tashkurgan was heavily minority occupied. Lots of reasons for China to maintain a tight grip of the area. At first we only produced a print out of our Tajikistan evisa, testing if that was enough. Gathering info for the cycling community. It didn’t seem promising, so we pulled out our permits. Seconds later we were through.
The road headed straight up a steep hill. Trucks forced us to the edge of the narrow road. Now the rigorous climbing began. We had no idea how far we would get.
The top of the climb led us to entrance of a 2.7km tunnel. Far down below, the reddy cliffs the old Karakoram Highway lay in the valley. The tunnel was yet more tiring uphill, only without any views. Out the other side a long spindly bridge spanned the deep gorge. We happily absorbed the strong winds that pushed us along. Dodging oncoming overtaking traffic required our full attention.
Stopping once more, we took on some bread, peanut butter and raisins in the shade of some rare trees. A police motorbike driver gave us a whir of his sirens. The road surface deteriorated and we found ourselves riding on rough, ribbed concrete.
We kept stopping for breaks. The climb was relentless. The enormous ‘Brown Mountain’ came into view. Kongur Tagh stood at 7649m. The highest mountain in the Pamirs. Also the highest in the world outside the Hindu Kush and Himalayas. The hard shoulder was now minimal. A lorry played the Pink Panther tune for us. There was still a lot of head on overtaking. It’s wasn’t that they didn’t see us. They just didn’t care that we were there.
We’re decided we would aim for the lake. There would be water, food and maybe accomodation if we were lucky. Camping in the gorge seemed implausible. It was still a long way to go but we stiffened our resolve. The Sun was getting lower. The river was getting more powerful. We passed some yurts. Maybe we should ask permission to camp.
A group of men stopped in their minibus and gave us water and a glucose drink. Then photos. We turned a corner and said goodbye to Kongur Tagh. It was a strange feeling knowing that we’d very likely never see it again. Reaching the end of the average 4%, 20km hill, felt like a big victory. Over the hump for sure. But it was 7pm. We still had at least 300m of climbing to go.
There was even some downhill through a sparse, rocky valley. Much of it churned up by diggers. An angry bleak river. Tens of powerlines spread out on the hillside. A ridiculous tail wind pushed us along. Cycling against it would’ve been brutal. At 9pm we had a mere 3km to go. It seemed more than reasonable, if you ignored the uphill.
The terrain resembled the Moon. Inhospitable. We passed the turning to the Muji valley. Then finally, we hit the summit. Golden Sun setting behind the mountains, the lake came into sight and we sailed down, with the wind in our air. After more than 8 hours of actual pedalling we pulled into a half unbuilt area and found a cheeky hotel.
We soon had a little pod with big glass windows. It cost ¥600, but to hell with it, we thought. We ordered rice, mapo tofu and vegetables. Locked the bikes up by a cabin. Showered and then went to eat. Towards the end of our meal the police showed up. A mini army. Two had balaclavas on covering their faces, a weird arm guard with a spiky neck hole for pinning people down. Smiles and laughs all round though. They checked the staff had correctly recorded our arrival. Then randomly went outside to take pictures of the cabins. We assumed they were carrying our multiple administrative jobs.
We, on the other hand, couldn’t be more eager to lie down. A phenomenal day started to sink in. The longest time on the saddle and the largest amount of elevation we’d ever done. Now at 3300m we’d conquered the majority of the enormous ascent we were making onto the plateau.