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my video day 6:
Tuesday: Suyek Pass – Kel Suu (CP2)
170 km / 1600 Hm
Day 6: Thursday – Suyek Pass to Kel Suu (CP2)
170 km / 1600 m elevation gain
At first light, we break camp. I didn’t sleep well — it was bitterly cold, and the ground anything but flat. Someone in the neighboring tent coughed all night. So did I…
Just 66 kilometers to go, and then we’ll finally get something proper to eat again at the Blue Caravan. The hosts there always welcome riders with warm food, snacks, and drinks — and they keep track of who’s passing through. I’m already looking forward to it. But…
After last night’s downhill pushing sections, I have little hope the terrain will become rideable. And indeed, it doesn’t. A few bumpy stretches downhill, then riverbeds again, then tedious detours along the bank to avoid wading through icy water once more, followed by steep grassy descents where we have to push the bikes. Finally, a bridge — and a rough gravel road. It’s poorly maintained, and soon we see why: landslides and erosion have torn it apart.
A glance at the sky doesn’t bode well. Heavy dark clouds loom above. Time to move! But then it starts… snowing. I pull on my rain jacket and rain pants. By now I’m wearing nearly every piece of clothing I have — even my merino and down gloves. Still, I’m not really warm.
We manage to outrun the snow clouds. The nearby mountains are white all the way down to their bases.
Then, at last, we leave the high mountains behind for the day — though we’re still at almost 3,500 meters above sea level. For about 20 kilometers, the road stretches nearly straight toward the highway near the Chinese border. The sun peeks out now and then. It’s a gentle uphill, but it feels almost flat. Occasionally we drop into a streambed and climb back up the other side.
Thankfully, we don’t have to wade through knee-deep water hundreds of times like the day before. What was it Nelson said at the briefing? Three river crossings? I wonder what number system he was counting in — certainly not decimal!
Endless open plains lie ahead, herds of horses along the way. But where is the long-awaited paved road that’s supposed to lead us to the Blue Caravan near Torugart? I’m getting hungry — it’s nearing noon.
When we finally reach the main road, I almost wish myself back in the rough mountains. Enormous trucks thunder past, overtaking recklessly and choking us in exhaust fumes. My thoughts drift: soon there’ll be a nice soup, something warm — maybe chai or instant coffee?
Suddenly, a truck is parked on the roadside. Then another. And another. Traffic jam? I keep riding, weaving between the stationary vehicles whenever oncoming traffic appears. I count 100 trucks — still no end in sight. A barbed wire fence to our right marks the border zone.
The roadside is littered with trash — and oddly many bottles. But they’re not empty. Half-full Fanta bottles everywhere. Strange — who doesn’t finish their Fanta? Then I spot a filled Coke bottle, and realization hits. The liquid inside isn’t dark brown, but murky yellow. Hours-long truck jams, no toilets anywhere… “The thought is the father of the deed.”
At truck number 133, I see a building ahead and head toward it. Suddenly my GPS device flashes and beeps — off route. I turn back, follow a gravel track, and spot something blue in the distance. Ah! The Blue Caravan! I’ve been dreaming of it for hours — and there it is, surrounded by loaded bikes. I park mine and head for the steps, expecting a warm welcome and something delicious.
A chubby teenage boy leans out the door: no, there’s nothing left, except a few cans of “Nitro,” a syrupy-sweet energy drink. Not even water. I “decide” on a can of Nitro. After we’re served, he locks the caravan. This can’t be real! I’ve been dreaming about this place for two days — over 100 kilometers of brutal terrain since the last village, Kok Art, behind us. And still nearly 100 kilometers ahead to CP2, the yurts at Kel Suu.
We decide to sacrifice one of our emergency rations meant for “remote” areas and unpack the gas stove and Tactical — our freeze-dried expedition meal. There’s still some bread left, which we’ll save for the next stop. A few gummy bears and chocolate bars too — so, survival secured. Still, I had imagined the Blue Caravan a bit differently — maybe with open arms.
On we go for the next half-day stage. My plan had been to cross the Old Soviet Road after CP2 and camp a few kilometers further down. That won’t happen. It’s already early afternoon, and CP2 is still 105 kilometers away. The planned campsite another 20 kilometers beyond, with a 3-kilometer climb at 30% gradient — forget it. We’ll be lucky to make it to the yurt camp at Kel Suu. Eighty flat gravel kilometers first, then a climb of about 400 meters.
As for the next eight hours — just this:
The almost dead-flat route along the Chinese border fence offers little variety. The only distraction comes from horses or yaks grazing by the roadside. Luckily, only a few cars pass, though those few cloak us thoroughly in dust. Fortunately, we have a nice tailwind pushing us along. But dark, heavy clouds brew in the distance — we hope they’ll clear before we reach them. No such luck. We ride for a while bundled in our waterproof layers.
The spell passes soon enough. Then, now and then, another river crossing — but only a few leave me with wet feet.
Eventually we reach the turnoff to CP2. The road now climbs gently. The sun has just set, glowing blood-red, and the air turns cold. Behind us, a beautiful mountain range fades into dusk; horses graze here and there. Then darkness falls, and the road rises steeply. I walk parts of it. The GPS track suddenly veers right — I can’t see a path, only hear rushing water below. I decide to stay on the road; no need to risk anything in the dark.
A long descent follows. Brrr! Cold! Lights shimmer in the distance — the yurt camp? We leave the gravel road, roll down a narrow trail, partly over grass, toward a glow. Are we right? I really don’t want to ride extra kilometers now — especially uphill again.
Then, in our headlights, a yurt appears — with the familiar Silk Road Mountain Race banner: CP2 — finally!
We get our coveted stamp and immediately say yes when asked if we need a sleeping place. No shower, unfortunately. A sauna had been available earlier, with steaming water poured on hot stones — but now there’s a power outage. Still, we’re lucky to get a warm meal, eaten romantically by candlelight. I’d been longing for that since the last proper meal (where was that again? — oh right, that yak roadside café on day 3).
Then we tiptoe into the yurt, careful not to wake the others who’ve already fallen into the sleep of the just.
Before I finally drift off — not easy, suppressing the urge to cough — I picture what awaits us in the morning: the Old Soviet Road, a short section with gradients up to 30%. And after that? I’d rather not think about it…
