In the (Northern) Summer of 2003 I rode from Islamabad, Pakistan to Kashgar, China. The following is an article I wrote for a local magazine in Nanjing, China.
Often called the 'Silk Road', because it follows a well-worn caravan trail that dates back over 2000 years, the Karakoram Highway (KKH) winds its way north of Islamabad, to Kashgar, China. The modern version was started in the mid-60s, took up to 20 years to build, and covers approximately 1300 kilometres of impressive landscapes, the Khunjerab Pass and three mountain ranges - The Himalayas, Karakoram and the Pamirs. Paradise for mountaineers, hikers, travellers and wannabe hard-core cyclists like myself.
Sporting a handlebar moustache, hard look and shotgun, the imposing figure had a definite 'don't mess with me' aura. Being over six feet tall helped reinforced the image, while the welcome of "Good evening Sir, welcome to Pizza Hut," should have provided a small sense of surrealism. This being Lahore, Pakistan, this was no surrealism, just a fact of life.
The impetus for being in Pakistan was an oft-handed comment by a friend about how it'd be fun to ride the Karakoram Highway. Seeking something different and more challenging than backpacking South East Asia for the summer holidays, it seemed the perfect way to transition from mountain biking to touring. With the bicycle kitted out in some touring gear, money saved and a rough plan worked out, a flight to Islamabad, capital of Pakistan, got it all started - sans friend.
Prior to starting the ride, there was a little sightseeing to do. In Lahore, the beautiful Badshahi Mosque, the Lahore Fort, the gun Zam-Zammah and the Wonder House (Lahore Museum), straight out of Kipling's Kim, are definite sites of interest, but the real reason to visit this eastern Pakistani city lies half an hour eastwards; the daily Indian/Pakistan border closing ceremony.
On both sides of the border the audience awaits in stadium style seating. A conglomeration of colours, blaring Hindi music and men and women shouting "Jai Hind" (Long Live India) dominate the Indian side, whilst our side was more subdued, with separate seating for the sexes, many people in green and a constant cheer of "Pakistan, Zindabad" (Long Live Pakistan).
Starting with yelling on both sides, the ceremony is a well-choreographed display of macho men, big moustaches, stomping, saluting, formal handshaking and lots of yelling. Pakistani Rangers and Indian Border Security goose-stepping, eyebrows raised and lowered (yes, really), flag lowering, gate slamming, and cheering from the crowds. It is a routine that's been happening daily for over 55 and competes with Monty Python's Ministry of Silly Walks for sheer amusement.
Sightseeing completed, the Karakoram Highway awaited. The trusty stead was an old Giant brand mountain bike in basically standard trim. A few minor modifications, including a quality rack and panniers, and the all-important Brooks leather saddle, and she was ready to go. Oh yes, and the obligatory padded cycle shorts worn under the conservative clothing.
Day one, and not following advice by taking the mountain route, saw the temperature in the low 40s (Celsius), an ascent of 2000 metres and energy levels down to zero, an excellent introduction; both to bicycle touring and to people's attitudes to foreign cyclists. Used to being stared at (having lived in China), it was enjoyable again. Rolling up at refreshment stands, people talking to you, shooting the breeze, and often buying you things. On the road, everybody is courteous, waving whilst giving you as much space as they can.
The first hill-towns are Murree and Nathia Gali and are local tourist resorts, a place to go when the plains are too hot, therefore tending to be the haunts of the well to do. They have a good atmosphere, are relaxing, cooler and have enough body shirts, brylcreem and stovepipe pants to convince anybody that the 70s never left, they just moved on to other places.
After the hill-towns, the ride becomes distinctly more interesting. Most towns become a slow motion blur of sameness, with some having their interesting features, which you stop to look at. It is the people and the changing scenery that are interesting; from lush green mountains, to sandy foothills, back to a dull green and brown as the KKH follows first the Indus River and then the Hunza, to towering mountains in the northern part of Pakistan.
There are many other things to do besides riding, including a hike up to Mount Rakaposhi Base Camp. Riding a short way from the Highway, over a bridge with "photography of women is prohibited" hand painted on it, past the squat buildings and vaguely curious villagers and you enter Minapin, the village from where you start. The hike itself takes you past villages stuck in time, women rushing indoors or covering themselves when they see your approach, and people leading daily lives that are vastly different to yours. The base camp is an area of beauty, where the norm is listening to avalanches and the nearby glacier crackling as it slowly follows its downward path, watching sunsets, and counting a surprising number of satellites at night.
After diversions like this, it's always back to the road. Romantics will have you believe that when you ride you don't have life's intrusions to distract you, no telephones, television, or music. You are left to reflect on life, to become immersed in meditative thinking. Well, if having the same song replay itself over and over in your head, or working out the social problems of that ant colony you saw at the last stop is meditative, then I guess I'm just some guy riding a bicycle - not a thinker. The reality is, there are times when you are simply bored.
The rewards? They come in many forms. Smells entice you, sounds vary and sights slowly change. Children greet you, though invariably to the tune of "one rupee", cars stop to chat, and hospitality is offered in many forms. It was common to stop at roadside rests stops, share food with truck drivers, go to pay only to find that "men in red truck already pay." Almost a third of the meals were paid for, all for no more than a smile and a little broken English. All this works to dispel pre-conceived notions of Pakistan and its people.
After Rakaposhi, the next town of note is Karimabad; a small town nestled into a lush green valley with small shops and guesthouses on each side of the single road. With tours to sights such as nearby glaciers, a local Baltic Fort, and the starting point for a few treks in the local mountains, Karimabad draws you in and reluctantly lets you leave, resulting in a planned short stop turning into a few days rest.
Leaving Karimabad, the ride becomes distinctly lonelier but the sights more intense. Pakistani trucks so colourfully painted as to be works of art, loose overhanging cliffs that make you ride quickly, and constant sweating under the hot sun whilst surrounded by snow-capped mountains over 7000 metres and glaciers that touch the road. Maybe you do meditate, possibly about why you didn't do this sooner.
After the town of Sust, the Dodge City of Pakistan, you cross the border over the Khunjerab Pass (4700 metres). Unfortunately cyclists cannot ride over the border, so the famed photo with the border sign is taken from the back of a crowded jeep. Then you are into China - you know this when you see the ubiquitous black Santana 2000 pass you with vastly different road manners than those in Pakistan.
Last stop, Karakul Lake. Definitely one of those places where the postcards do not do it justice; the reality is better. Being surrounded by snow-capped mountains with their image reflected in the lake, the climate is comfortable, and there are a few activities to keep you interested, such as walking or horseback riding the surrounding areas. A great place to spend a few days, but this year was to be only an overnighter, for the next day's ride to Kashgar was eagerly anticipated.
The ride to Kashgar takes you through the Ghez Canyon, a tourist destination on its own, then through semi-arid areas broken up by the occasional village. With the flattest horizon, a seemingly endless road, higher average speeds, and the odd donkey cart with smiling locals being overtaken, this section of road is relatively easy and very enjoyable. After 200 kilometres and ten hours, Kashgar finally looms.
Kashgar brings the ride to an end with a little sadness, but gives you time to reflect. So what does it takes for someone to do a ride like this - actually, not that much. For around US$240 (2000 RMB, not including the airfare), you get 21 days of amazing sights, incredible scenery, and very friendly people. If you're looking for something different, or want to dispel preconceived notions about Pakistan, then all you need is an average level of fitness, basic bicycle, clothing for three or four days at a stretch, and a desire to see and do something very different. It is another world.
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