Dave's Gallery :: KAZAKHSTAN

KAZAKHSTAN

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To cross the Caspian from the port of Baku to the port of Aktau I had the option of either taking a ferry with an unpredictable schedule and a sea passage of up to two days in a cockroach cabin, or a half-hour flight on one of the planes in Azerbaijan’s aging air fleet. It had already taken a week for me to obtain the Kazakhstan visa (which actually specified “tourism by bicycle”), and I was impatient to move on, so I opted for the flight on an old Aeroflot jet packed with oil businessmen. The plane was full of Russian Cyrillic markings, 18th century wallpaper designs, threadbare carpet - and the safety instruction was alarming, with the flotation vest that the stewardess used as a prop having a museum-piece appearance. The most remarkable thing about the flight for me was the fact that there was no air conditioning – the jet quickly turned into an oven even though it was an evening flight. The British oilman behind me remarked, “now I know what it feels like in a Chinese laundry” – which I thought to be a witty remark to describe the sweltering conditions. The stewardess scolded me for taking this photograph, but did not make me delete it. Check it out - there is an actual curtain - that's old school if I ever saw it. (6-1-05)

Aktau is a city dedicated to resource extraction, surrounded by nothingness so vast that all of the city’s water comes from a nuclear-powered desalinization plant. I could see evidence of Shell, Texaco, and other western oil companies that had set up shop here, and sitting in the downtown Shamrock restaurant did not feel all that different from the Fisherman’s Wharf in Baku. The same expatriate oil workers eating western food, speaking in southern accents, listening to Madonna and Elton John and discussing the business of oil were all here as well. The town itself had a definite Soviet feel to it, with row after row of dormitory-style buildings, WWII memorials, and broad socialist avenues. (6-02-05)

Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds would be an appropriate soundtrack for the wild and woolly west of Kazakhstan – the place seems like something hallucinated. As I neared Shetpe, the flat scenery again turned into something like Nevada or Utah, if Utah had camels wandering along flaming oil pipelines. It was really beautiful, with an assortment of plateaus, striated cliff faces, mesas, and buttes. I’m not sure as to the difference of the aforementioned geologic formations, but wanted to include all of them for the sake of completeness. (6-04-05)

One thing that I thought was amusing was that any time the roads had any kind of bend or grade, it was called the "dangerous section." I suppose that was to catch the attention of napping truck drivers who had tied a brick to the steering wheel on the flat and straight stretches. (6-04-05)

The third day was a flat nothingness punctuated by bicycle mishaps – not as bad as the day of disaster in Azerbaijan – but still pretty frustrating. I had multiple flats in the morning – the first a thorn puncture, the second a pressure puncture, and the third a repeat of the second due to a poor job that I did on patching puncture number two. Later in the afternoon I lost my second spoke to the deteriorating Kazakh roads, and it took me an hour to extract the remaining piece so that it would not get caught in the cassette. During that hour, something kind of strange happened. The pipeline that was about 500 meters away, without any warning, started making a noise similar to a jet engine, only louder, and was expelling something dark (but not oil) – this roaring and release went on all during my spokework, and at the time I started to get a little bothered that I might be shortening my life a bit by exposure to whatever it was that was roaring into the atmosphere.

In the evening of the third day, my state of showerlessness was becoming problematic. I could feel resistance when I tried to pull my helmet off. An adhesive bond had formed between my head and protective gear by a vile concrete of three day’s worth of sunblock, sweat, sebum and road dust. I began to feel that the continued exposure to the sheer monotony of a barren and unbroken landscape was beginning to become psychologically oppressive. There was literally over one-hundred kilometers this day that was completely uninhabited, with the only signs of life being occasional road traffic and pipelines.

In the evening, I counted 11 of these tarantula-type spiders, which I will call the Yellow-Haired Ustyurt Plateau Tarantula. I heard this might be a camel eating spider. They are supposed to jump up on camels, inject them with some sort of anesthetic, and then begin eating away at the camel, which cannot feel the feeding frenzy. (6-05-05)

From: Lorilee Tue Jun 14 18:55:30 2005

It is a camel spider, Micheal. But camel spiders are not spiders at all but are in a group of non-spider aracnids called Solifugae. They eat creatures smaller than themselves and do not inject any sort of anesthetic. They do however, grow to enormous sizes and can travel at speeds of up to 10 miles per hour. This could be the reason for such fear and of course tall tales. It couldn't be for their good looks.
llkopp

From: Eric Kopp Tue Jun 14 19:19:47 2005
I cannot believe that you are the same person who a little under a year ago was running, and I almost want to say screaming, from a non-existent swarm of seed ticks. My how far you have come grasshopper!

From: Eric Tue Jun 14 19:25:38 2005
I am sorry that should have read a little over a year ago, I would not want people to think that this event happened while you were on your journey. It was back in good ol' MO.

From: Michael Kopp (mk) Wed Jun 15 07:10:54 2005
Lorilee - thanks for the biological data. The camel eating did sound a bit suspect. Yo Eric - that was a very REAL swarm of seed ticks - those things can be deadly in sufficient numbers. But next time I am going to douse myself in tick repellant before going on the hike.

I watched my step as I pushed the bike off the road to set up camp for the third night, careful to avoid any lurking tarantulas. That night was spent in a constant state of low-level fear, mainly of animals. As darkness descended and I was alone in my tent on the hostile Ustyurt Plateau - tired, hungry, and of unsound mind, I heard one of my empty yogurt cups being repeatedly rammed into the ground. I decided to investigate only after concluding that, if upon exiting the tent I were to be locked in a struggle to the death with the mystery creature of the plateau, I would certainly emerge triumphant over any possible yogurt-eating fauna. But just in case, I sent a couple of pulses from the Dazer through the tent wall into the darkened Kazakh void in order to disorient the animal and thereby gain the upper hand in any of my subsequent dealings with it. But when I opened the tent door all I saw was the wind banging the empty yogurt cup on the moonlit ground. Much later in the night I woke up with my heart pounding when I heard a car come to a gravelly stop, then the sharp crack of a door closing. I kept waiting for the sound of footsteps through the scrub toward my tent, but they never came. The next morning when I woke up and realized I had made it safely through the night I felt pretty relieved, and also scoffed a bit at my night time heebie jeebies. (6-05-05)

From: Brent Plater Sat Jun 18 08:43:34 2005
MFMK, Man, you need to stop fretting about this heebie-jeebies crap and get your self straight on the most complete and vile threat on the plateau: alien abduction. There is no real defense, but if you are abducted you should attempt to leave markings of the time and place of your departure.

From: Michael Kopp (mk) Wed Jun 22 03:12:06 2005
I think there have been four broad categories of fear that I have experienced while guerrilla camping on this trip: (1) fear of people (ax murderers, bandits and the like); (2) fear of animals (wolves, dogs, tarantulas or any animal that might tear open my tent); (3) fear of aliens (particularly in Norway); and (4) fear of the supernatural (possession by Satan, ghosts, etc.).

These kids followed me around Beyneu while I was trying to sort out the bank and hotel business. I guess I did not learn my lesson in Syria, because when I pulled out the camera it turned into a mini-rumble to get into the frame. (6-06-05)

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)

From: Jackpot Wed Jun 15 08:22:25 2005
Don't let it bring you down, man. I certainly don't think any less of you.

From: shannon Wed Jun 15 21:03:04 2005
Like the Bosphorus, that mud is not crossable by bike. 'tis still contiguous, just spin with those mad lawyering skills you have.

From: Eileen Thu Jun 16 08:48:58 2005
Agree--don't let it get you down. What can you when the road is like dough.

From: Lucas Kopp Mon Jun 20 17:56:44 2005
Why does your face look like that? Why do you have that beard? Did that spider scare you? He also wants to say "You are invited to my birthday party." But it's O.K. if you are still gone. Don't be sad that you have to turn around. It's O.K.

From: Michael Kopp (mk) Wed Jun 22 03:25:57 2005

Lucas - It's difficult for me to explain why my face looks the way it does - although it is not for lack of pondering the question. I've often wondered when looking in the mirror, "who chose this face for me?"; "does this strange countenance correspond to an assigned fate"; or "was this visage a random product of the chaos of the universe, thereby leaving me free to pursue and define my own destiny?" - but now I've run out of face synonyms. The beard question is one that is easier to answer. I have regrown the beard because I have heard that it is customary to grow facial hair during times of unemployment and personal growth. I wish I could be there for your B-day celebration, but I'm afraid I may be somewhere on the other side of the planet at the time. But I'll be sure to catch up with you when I get back. Thanks for the words of encouragement!

From: Lorilee Wed Jun 22 12:04:46 2005

This is an excellent explaination, but is way over Lucas' head. I think he means why do you look so sad. He sees the emotion on your face. Not that your face is abnormal or anything. I don't think he has ever seen you look so sad. We explained what was happening to you and that you had to turn around and he understood fully. Hence the words of encouragement.
We wish you many more adventures before you return home, even if it's not in July.
Take care Michael.

From: Michael Kopp (mk) Thu Jun 23 05:47:40 2005

Lucas - It seems I may have misunderstood one of your questions and neglected to answer another. Don't worry about any appearance of sadness - I may have given the impression of being down at the moment, but I was smiling later when I was clean and sleeping in a hotel rather than a smelly tent. As to the spider, hmmmmm . . . when they were on the road and I was on the bike everything was cool, but when I had to set up the tent in the area where I had seen a lot of them I was a little worried about putting my foot down on one of them. Oh yeah, "personal growth" should read "purported personal growth." I think I have actually regressed in many ways on the trip - but beards are still appropriate for periods of unemployment and regression and/or progression.

From: Mark Wed May 5 02:09:42 2010
Can't understand why you don't have a water filter to gather as you go- to rely on having to buy water is crazy

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