From Beyneu, the next place of marked human habitation on my map was Qoniyrat, a town just north of Nukus, the capital of the desolate Republic of Karakalpakstan (which occupies the northwestern section of Uzbekistan). I estimated that absent any unforeseen delays it would take no less than four days to cycle there, and I had my panniers crammed with food and water when I set out the next morning. The other problem was that I had no Uzbek Som, so I was gambling that I would be able to change dollars at the remote border crossing. If not, it would be a gamble to continue because there would be no way for me to purchase the water I would need to replenish along the way. The next bank was in Nukus - over 400 kilometers from the border.

At around 20 kilometers outside of Beyneu the asphalt, and then gravel, completely disappeared and turned into a squishy river of mud that seemed like a venus flytrap for semi trailers bound for the Uzbekistan border. The occasional stuck and sunk rig littered the roadside for the next five kilometers or so, with drivers yelling at me and breaking out the vodka and bread to kill the time until conditions improved. I was spinning, but still able to find some navigable patches in the muddy paste that would allow some slow-going forward progress. (6-07-05) *

But another 20 km down the road, the pureed track of mud that some optimist had marked as a road on my map turned into what I can only describe as a complete and utter quagmire. The mud was way too soft, and stuck to my tires in inch-thick layers of paste that would then accumulate on my front forks and rear seat stays until the tires would not move anymore. This required me to scrape and clear the clearance every couple of rotations. Then the mud started dropping down into the spokes, like frosting on the beater, as you can see in the top of the frame here. The mud had also fouled my chain and rear cassette so that the gears were popping when I turned the cranks. I started pushing the bike off the road, hoping that I could cycle on the unchurned ground, but that was even worse in terms of the mud factor. I walked back to a rig to see if there was any hope of hitting passable road conditions ahead where I could clean the bike an continue on. But the response was a "nyeto asphalt" the rest of the way. He indicated that he was waiting for the sun to bake the road dry - an iffy proposition given that the skies were already clouded over for a shower that started about half an hour later. I asked if there was any possibility of exchanging dollars to som at the border - again, Nyet - the next bank was Nukus. So basically, I was out of luck, stuck in the gunk. (6-07-05) *

The bitter agony of defeat . . . Anyway, the continuity of the overland bike trip was regrettably interrupted here (but resumed again in Nukus). I felt there was no way to go on with conditions that required pushing the bike where I had no means of buying food and water that would run out. So I had to pack it in, and turn tail for Beyneu. I had reached within 20 kilometers of the Uzbek border at the time of this photograph recording the moment of defeat. Actually, it felt like a moment of divine intervention, because I can tell you that travelling through territory like this is not the most rewarding of travel experiences. The morning after next (I missed the next day's train) I bought my train ticket to Nukus, and rumbled along to the Karakalpakstan capital where I started the bike ride again. Right now I am in Urgench, and should have an Uzbekistan update within a week or so. Kazakhstan . . . what a wierd leg in my now non-contiguous bike journey. (6-07-05) *