Bikepacking Kyrgyzstan – Big Mountains and Big Smiles

Words: Max Corcoran
Photos: Max Corcoran & Bernhard Andersson

Last year, my good friend Bernhard pitched to me a completely bonkers bikerafting trip in Kyrgyzstan. Thankfully, I said yes. After all the planning, grant writing and anticipation, it was finally time to begin our adventure. The plan was to start in the southeast of the country, following the Tian Shan Traverse bikepacking route, before switching to bikerafting in the Kok Kiya Valley, right on the border with China. This blog covers the first section of the expedition – the Tian Shan Traverse from Barskoon to Naryn.

It began with a long, bumpy drive from the capital Bishkek with our jovial taxi driver. He’d invited his wife along as our trip was longer and more scenic than his usual airport shuttle runs, which was how we’d met him a few days earlier. We made broken conversation with the aid of Bernhard’s Kyrgyz phrase book, but for the most part sign language and smiles did most of the heavy lifting. As the road transitioned from smooth tarmac to corrugated gravel, we got our first glimpse of Issyk Kul Lake – the second-largest high-mountain lake in the world – situated in eastern Kyrgyzstan. It genuinely looked like the sea with its vastness and beachside resorts along the banks waiting for tourist season to kick off a few weeks later. Arriving in Barskoon, south of the lake, rain started to sprinkle down as we unloaded our bikes and gear from the car, while our driver fretted over us not yet wearing raincoats in the drizzle. His concern touched us. He insisted that we call him in case anything happened. It was safe to say that he and his wife were thoroughly confused as to why we wanted to be dropped off in this tiny town. Looking around, we could see why.

Barskoon had one store and two restaurants, so we decided to eat before riding up the valley. The restaurant we picked was surprisingly fancy, catering to the odd tourist coming for the lake. We enjoyed crispy eggplant salads, some stale bread and a big pot of sweet tea. We would come to expect this assortment of food over the course of our trip. Stale bread, tea and heaps of sugar never seemed to be far away.

We then set off up the misty valley, riding only 30km before we happened upon our first yurt guesthouse, further exemplifying the Kyrgyz’s abundance of sweet tea and bread. Manned solely by an 18-year-old boy in a Prada jacket and black gumboots to match, we hid from the drizzle and marvelled at the empty luxury around us. There was a huge dining hall that would have easily sat fifty people, something that surprised us given the remoteness. After paying for our refreshments and thanking our young host, we continued riding up the valley towards Barskoon Pass for a couple of hours that afternoon before setting up camp near a river with cows and horses grazing nearby.

Waking up the next morning, clouds still covered the peaks around the valley. We began riding, despite our worries of Ara Bel Pass being covered in snow. Arriving at the base of the first pass, Barskoon, around midday, we happened upon a few truck drivers having a smoke break before they ascended. After a chat with one of them, he insisted that we wouldn’t be able to get over Ara Bel Pass until the following day when the weather would have cleared up a little. Sensing our disappointment, another driver motioned for us to follow him, as he went and opened the door to a shipping container that was clearly used by drivers and shepherds alike to wait out bad weather on the pass. We thanked him and set up camp inside our new humble abode.

This turned out to be the perfect bivouac for
the next 14 hours.

A few hours later the rickety door opened suddenly. We were met by an utterly surprised and confused Kyrgyz man who looked around our makeshift camp as we sat on the floor playing cards. “Salam” we said, slightly uncertainly. The man proceeded to semi-shout Kyrgyz to us, trying to convey something about his sheep outside. It didn’t take long for us to work out that he was telling us to watch them for some reason. He then herded them into the shack next door, boarded it up, and headed back down the valley on his ridiculously small pony. This was the first of a series of visitors to our refuge that afternoon.

The second came an hour later in the form of two French guys who had unsuccessfully attempted to cross the pass earlier that afternoon. “Ez completely covered in snow” they lamented, miming snow up to their knees. As they were travelling back down the valley to Barskoon, they very kindly offered us some of their remaining food and drink. We shared a canned mojito while they downed a beer each. We had a good chat before they departed and were left in the company of some slightly squishy cucumbers and carrots, and one warm beer. But we were grateful, as uncertainty rose in the air about whether we’d even be able to cross the pass the next day.

Our final visit was from two sets of truck drivers who were stopping for a break before ascending Barskoon Pass. The first group consisted of five men crammed into a black 4WD; they were commuting to their labouring job where they would work for two weeks before returning home. Upon discovering us in the shipping container, “vodka” was uttered almost immediately. Before we knew it, we were doing shots with the guys out of small plastic cups. They even had a chaser in the form of an orange soft drink. They only had three cups so we took turns to swig the vodka, which tasted a little bit too much like methylated spirits. We would later come to recognise the brand as the cheapest and therefore go-to vodka in most of remote Kyrgyzstan. We thanked the guys, offering our beer in return, to which they all screwed up their noses in disgust. Vodka was clearly the only valid choice here.

The second group were also truck drivers, this time in an actual truck. We laughed with them at our language barrier and had more vodka shots. This time we could offer something in exchange: chocolate. These guys didn’t have plastic cups and so we cut the end off a plastic bottle and used that. However, this meant that each shot was essentially three shots, leading me to give in and refuse the third round. Bernhard showed himself to be the trooper, keeping up with the truck drivers as they did the rounds. We eventually said goodbye and they headed up the steep incline. As we watched them go, Bernhard turned and asked me whether the designated driver was drinking. I looked at him straight and confirmed that he had been and that I hoped their journey would be a safe one. We headed back inside the container for a quick dinner and an early night, accompanied by lots of giggles as we were still tipsy from the afternoon’s festivities.

We woke at dawn and quickly packed to give ourselves the maximum time to cross Ara Bel Pass (if it was indeed passable). Up we climbed, our breaths getting heavier the higher we went, crossing the snow line eventually and getting ever closer to the clouds. At 3820 metres we plateaued at Barskoon Pass and rode the gorgeously flat road among the winter wonderland before arriving at our turnoff. It was covered in snow; no road in sight. We looked at each other, looked at the snow, and decided to have lunch up amongst the snowbanks on the side of the road while pondering if the crossing was on.

Having filled our bellies with bread, gag-inducing canned fish and cheese, we were more optimistic. We set off pushing our bikes through the shin-deep snow. Calculating our average speed and the remaining daylight, we figured that we would have just enough time to cross the pass and descend into the valley below the snow line before sunset. Bernhard forged the way, whilst I followed his track through the snow, grateful for the extra help and slightly less effort. Despite the slow going, the scenery was simply stunning. Huge mountain peaks lined either side of the valley. With the lack of trees, houses, people or any other living thing, it was like being on another planet – one with only snow and blue sky. Whilst Bernhard had done quite a lot of snow sports in his time, I could have counted the number of times I’d seen snow on one hand making the whole experience highly novel and romantic for me. I just couldn’t believe that we’d made it and were undertaking such a silly idea.

Bernhard checking our progress in the winter wonderland.

Eventually, we arrived at a small, two-roomed container that clearly acted as a bivouac for travellers. We had seen photos of this shack online. Its familiarity, despite being 13,000km from home, was a bizarre experience. It proved to be the perfect spot for another long rest and break from the blinding sunlight, an aspect which we had perhaps underestimated…

Continuing ahead, avoiding the deeper puddles and snow, Bernhard hooted and shrieked up ahead of me, signalling that the path was finally heading downhill. I smiled in relief and wonkily mounted the bike, man-handling my way through the snow as we careered downhill towards the valley. We took the switchbacks very slowly, yelling in delight as the valley gradually opened and we glimpsed our heaven-like route down the mountain. The snow thinned out as we descended and we eventually chose a flat spot surrounded by the trickling stream to camp, a decision made in exhaustion. Despite riding 2500km through Central Asia over the next two months, this was still the most insane day I have ever had on a bike. As it was, we had made it safely to the other side and couldn’t wait for what was to come.

One of my favourite parts of the day, when the valley transitioned
from horse-filled greenness to snow.

However, that great day came with consequences as sunburn from the reflecting snow was genuinely concerning. Our faces were covered in orange scabs, which we washed off hesitantly in the river and hoped for the best. Bernhard had also not worn any sunglasses and was beginning to suffer from snow blindness. I lent him my sunglasses for the rest of the ride to Naryn. We took frequent breaks for his eyes to recover as we went. It was a perplexing situation. I hoped that he hadn’t done any long-lasting damage. And it was the worst place to have light sensitivity as the scenery was out of this world! With the snow still covering the peaks surrounding the valley, our track genuinely looked like a painting – green pastures streaked with wild horses and the occasional yurt that hadn’t yet been occupied this season, with a double track going through the middle guiding our way. We followed the snaking valley for the whole day before setting up camp on a hilltop overlooking a beautiful glacial river. Dinner was tuna pasta, an absolute staple given the available food. The sleep was deep.

We slowly made our way to Naryn, the highest city in Kyrgyzstan, where we could thankfully rest for a couple of days. The road snaked in from the valley and eventually turned into smooth tarmac, a much-welcome change from the horse tracks we had been following for days. We buzzed along the road, checked into our guesthouse, retrieved our packrafts, paddles and lifejackets that had been sent ahead, and walked straight into a pizza restaurant as soon as they opened. We would come to eat there almost every night while in Naryn, to the point that they would smile when we came in, amused at the lack of variety in our food selection. The smiles were also presumably related to our looks, which were undoubtedly bizarre. Our clothes were being washed, leaving us in the dregs of what we had available. Yes, Bernhard literally wore full lycra and river shoes. Alongside this were our faces recovering from the sunburn, leaving us looking like we still had sunglasses and helmets on due to the severe tan lines. After fast-tracking our sunburn with some spray-on lotion that a local chemist recommended, and getting some rest, we geared up for our next section of the adventure, where we would bikeraft in the remote Kok-Kiya River and Kel Suu Lake. Strapping our packrafts, paddles, lifejackets, camping gear and 5 days’ worth of food to our bikes, we were itching for the next opportunity to get out there in the incredible scenery and landscapes that Kyrgyzstan has to offer (hopefully with no sunburn this time).

For more details about Max and Bernhard's Kyrgyzstan adventure you can check out The Prologue.