Looking back, moving forward Part 1 - Reflections on Silk Road Mountain Race 2023

Looking back, moving forward: Part 1 - Looking Back

If reading is too taxing, you can find an audio version below.

Ride with GPS map, using POIs to highlight locations I talk about.

The story of a scratch

It seems a long time since I stood, leaning on my bike at 3,400 m, looking up the scree slop to the top of the Kegety Pass. The sky was clouding over and the temperature hovering bareley over zero degrees. Kegety crests at 3,690 m in the Tengri Tag (Tien Shen) mountains of Kyrgyzstan; Tangri Taga translates to English as ‘Lord of Heaven Mountains’, it might have only been three hundred meters to the top but it felt like a thousand, I can still feel it now. The memory and my emotions are clear.

Having covered 1,700 of the 1,850 kilometres of Silk Road Mountain Race, the chest infection I’d picked up earlier on crossing the dry dust hills of Kazarman had really found me.

The loose gravel road had long finished. Now I was on the final slippery and very steep shepherd track. I struggled to breathe and my throat wheezed as I tried to take in air. I couldn’t panic, I had to stay calm. I was stuck, going nowhere.

Slowly, I got control of my breathing and started to move upwards, step by step, the short distance to the top. Once I crested, I wasted no time and started the descent. I knew from here I would quickly get down to lower altitudes and be able to breathe well again. That thought was bitter sweet, for while I would soon breathe easier, to finish the race I would have had to cross the highest pass of the race at 4,000 meters. I realised I shouldn’t. I knew I couldn’t.

Scratching from any race is a miserable thing. I was scared. I was sad.

Countdown to the start

I had given a lot to get in great shape. My family had as well. It hadn’t been an easy year anyway so I was looking to redeem myself, to regain something for the sacrifice and work I’d put in. My preparation had been close to perfect. I has spent most of July living at altitude near our home, parking my van at the top of a mountain pass at 2,100 meters and sleeping there, alone, for three weeks. Often I’d go to sleep in the clouds. Bonaigua pass sits on the mountain range border with France, it’s the gatekeeper of clouds into our home, carried by the northerly French winds. Our side of the valley, in Pallars Sobira, is often sunny, while if you cross Bonaiga the Aranese Occetanian enclave of Vielha is under the cloud, though they do benefit from more snow in winter!

I had slept well and trained hard. From my parking spot I had access to new terrain and didn’t hesitate to explore it, whether on bike or foot. Looking back, I was moving well and feeling strong. I didn’t train as hard as I used to, I’m smarter now. A bigger load could have given me a few percentage points in fitness but would have also risked injury or illness. I am now 32 and my body isn’t as fresh as it was so I need to make some allowance. In the past when training for Transcontinental, I’d throw myself at a wall until I couldn’t stand up. I look back now wondering how my body recovered, but it did, maybe I’m paying the price.

While I slept in the clouds of the Pyrenees I didn’t see much of my wife or son, though I came home every few days I wasn’t always around. So while I trained and slept well, Isabelle worked harder to carry us all.

Photo: Family time - dippy toes in the river

I left for Kyrgyzstan in good and humble spirits; I was healthy, fit and hungry. My expectations were tempered by knowing what was to come, I aimed only to do my best. This would be my fourth run at the race. On my first attempt in 2019 I’d had a fourth place, much influenced by the weird and scary experience of an attempted robbery one night. The disappointment I’d suffered in 2021 is still vivid, I had got into great shape and went all the way to Kyrgyzstan to sit in a hotel room, potentially having got Covid. In 2022, after a tough year with our son being born in January, I had a great race and got on the podium for second place – an achievement that I rank as perhaps my highest.

Travelling to Kyrgyzstan for the fourth time, I felt but didn’t fear that this race would be my final time, a last hurrah to see if I could vindicate my best as also being the best. I have enjoyed an incredible decade racing my bike, both on and off-road. I was at peace with whatever would happen in the remote and beautiful mountains.

I’d come back to Kyrgyzstan and Silk Road after a poor racing year. In May I had scratched from a favourite race, the Highland Trial 550 in Scotland after only 24 hours. My body just had not responding to the race effort; I’d had a chest infection in the weeks before and frankly wasn’t up to it. On reflection, I should have never gone to Scotland but I had made it a target event and told my sponsors. After all, they pay the bills so telling them I couldn’t go, well, it had seemed easier to just go. That was a weak decision. The year before I had the same two race schedule and I’d fractured my elbow just four days before the Highland Trail 550. I went to race Silk Road and finished second. So, 2022 hadn’t been a total bust!

Photo: Training near home in Vall d’Aran

Arriving in Kyrgyzstan

My training wasn’t quite over, I’d planned a final icing on the cake. I flew to Kyrgyzstan ten days before the race started and then travelled with a huge rucksack up to 4,000 meters. I was with a Kyrgyz local rider and friend who I’d met on previous visits, Malik. Malik is a photographer and bicycle guide, so if you wish to visit Kyrgyzstan, you should contact him. Our destination was the Arabel plateau, a beautiful high mountain tundra strewn with lakes, this was a point on the race course but also served as easy access from the start in Karakol to a high altitude. My plan was to rest, sleep and acclimatise at altitude; With Malik joining me for the ride up to be good company and take some photos. It was a really wonderful time in a stunning location. No phone signal, no worries, no 21st century bullshit; just thin mountain air and peace of mind. I slept a lot and moved a little, spending hours watching the clouds pass over and form into snow storms. I descended the spectacular Juku Pass in pensive mood having inner joy from my time of acclimatisation. A period of peace was over. I soon had to race my bike and do my job.

These last couple of days before racing are restless. I simply long to start and to be racing because then whatever happens will happen. I relaxed, slept and wandered around Karakol a little. I was keeping away from people, partly to avoiding getting sick and a partly as I am more comfortable as a loner. Many people before a race get filled with nervous energy and just want to talk and talk.Me, I like to be silent.

Photo: Enjoying acclimatisation solitude in my tent
Credit: Malik Alymkulov @the_last_nomad_republic

Race time

Finally, we got underway. As often happens the nerves and excitement got the better of some. I saw previous winner Sofiane Sehili going down in a crash, quite hard. This caused some chaos. I found out that I lacked the authority I had once had! I shouted and tried to get those in front to stop and wait, even chasing after them, it didn’t work. I guess that’s racing and this was a racing incident. For me, we had barely started, so pausing a few moments out of respect would have cost nothing.

Spoiler: Obviously you’ll guess who went on to win and show them all who the best is. I’ve raced in Sofiane’s shadow these past years and no doubt I feel some jealousy at his success which has been truly earnt by being a ferocious racer. Since my first ever off-road race when he and I had finished together joint first, in the 2019 Italy Divide, It’s been both humbling and inspiring to race with and against him. That includes finishing second behind him, more than once.

The race unfolded somewhat normally for me, which is to say, not that well. I suffered on that first day. I simply lacked ‘legs’, it was quite weird. I was fit, fed and watered, like a good rider should be, but my engine didn’t respond. The balance between doing too much and too little in the days before the race can be a fine one, I can only come to the assumption I did too little and my body had turned off. When I demanded a large effort from it, it was in shock and protesting.

I needed to allow my body some time to settle into the familiar race cycle of effort and recovery so I stopped somewhat early that first night. I’d found the checkpoint rammed and the guesthouses over flowing with riders. So I rode ahead, out of the abandoned mining town and found a little dilapidated building previously used for a road checkpoint where I rolled out my sleeping stuff. Warm and dry, I slept for three hours. I knew that these races can turn into sleep deprivation challenges rather than sporting feats. Hopefully enough to let me body breathe but not so long that I’d be completely out of contention.

It had been a smart call to sleep there because I just wouldn’t have made it over the pass. In the morning I caught up with riders who’d bivied out in the snow storm that I’d seen pass over. Thankfully, by the early afternoon of Day Two, my legs were back.

I rode from Issyk-Kul Lake up to Juku Pass, cresting the summit at 4,000 m around 02:00 am having spend the past few hours hiking over the landslide section. It was a clear night and I lay my sleeping bag out on the Arabel plateau at the top of the pass, where I’d ridden during my training before the race. I had made really good time on that climb, my body was back, and with the power that let me know my training had been just right. I was already closing in with the many riders in front. It can be easy to think you’ll lose by stopping or wasting time, but to ride strongly, you need rest. There was still a very long way to go so I slept again for three hours.

The next day I made my way down. Technically it’s downhill but with an extremely strong headwind for certain stretches it might as well have been up. I arrived in the town of Naryn – famed as Scratch City as many a rider gives up their race there, around dinner time and I was now feeling pretty deflated. I knew I had a lot of distance to make up. Naryn nearly ended my race too, the voices in my head were trying to stop me. I went to the restaurant and bought a pizza, then I cycled over to a guest house and got a bed and a shower. I wasn’t going to stop in Naryn, but I was going to reset and rest again. I still had a huge amount of riding ahead, only being at quarter distance. I needed my strength.

The pizza and three hours in a bed worked as the next days drifted by, blurring together as I found my real rhythm, heading towards Lake Kel-Su and the second checkpoint. I had been here before in 2019 and remember the slog, it seemed to take forever. This time, the road disappeared under me and even pushing along the famed ‘Old Soviet Road’ after the checkpoint seemed nothing either. I knew I’d trained well. I wasn’t fast but I was strong and resilient which now was paying off. I was in the top 10 and making good progress. Others had gone off faster at the start and I wish I had been quicker myself, but I was doing my best. Even so, I knew I had the strength to last through to the end and go for a big push.

Photo: Riding the dusty Kyrgyz roads
Credit: Malik Alymkulov @the_last_nomad_republic

The beginning of the end

I rode towards the third checkpoint, across the dry and arid section featuring the old gold mining town of Kazarman; In winter Kazarman is largely cut off as the mountain passes around it are covered with snow. I was riding well but the dust was really getting to me. My face buff couldn’t stop it getting into my lungs and I began coughing heavily. Eventually, after spending some time sitting at the side of the road knackered, I arrived into the Son-Kul checkpoint up the incredible and seemingly endless switchbacks, I knew I needed to rest. I also took the opportunity to eat a good meal, bread and jam plus some warm potatoes in the warm yurt, my first since a pizza in Naryn a blur of days ago. Apart from that one meal I had been subsisting on the worst junk food, Snickers, sandwich in a packet (though I’d throw out the horrible processed contents and just eat the bread), crisps, Jaffa cakes. Even by the end of Day One I was sick of putting this atrocious food in my body! It’s not healthy, it’s not nice, but I had committed to do it one last time, to race here in Kyrgyzstan.

Things went from bad, to better (with rest) and then to really bad. I left the checkpoint fired up to just push through to the finish and get this done. I knew I wouldn’t need a long stop again, I was actually riding quite well, making nice progress around the seemingly never ending rolling hills around the lake. I was soon coughing hard again, with the concerning sight of bloody mucus. Every now and again I’d pull over to the side of the road choking on the build up blocking my airways. It wasn’t good but I could still ride and breathe well enough.

From here, sitting again at the side of the washboard road trying to breath and eat something, there were just two ‘hurdles’ still to go. I knew the whole route from here to the finish. I’d ridden it all before, in 2020 and I felt confidence, excitement and even warmth in that familiarity, it was a procession. The first was the Kegety Pass, a long hard climb from the north side. The approach winds up the valley for a while, with the lower slopes being ridable and the final 400 meters loose scree slope that’s totally un-rideable. Having descended it before, I remembered it being an absolute beast but actually the ride up the valley disappeared quickly and even the lower slopes were somewhat ridable. I was quite impressed with myself. Even at this point as I started the climb I had no pains, niggles or any issues. My body was in great shape and my legs working well. I was stronger that I could have hoped for.

Photo: Soaking in the mountains
Credit: Malik Alymkulov @the_last_nomad_republic

The end

As I got higher, over 3,000 meters, things started to go wrong. I found myself going slower and slower. Seb Brewer, the former European MTB Marathon champion and who had been just ahead of me, vanished. He would go on to finish in 6th place. Above 3,000 meters I was struggling to breathe. It felt as if the mucus had filled a large portion of my lungs and the remaining bit was not enough for breathing at altitude. Then, around 3,400 meters I started wheezing and felt some panic. I was worried I’d have a full asthma attack. While creeping up the rough trail I thought about turning round, descending the North side that I’d just climbed. I decided I should try to get over, even if slowly, as I could descend to lower altitudes much faster on the south side. I moved slowly and tried to keep my breathing rhythmic and calm. I finally made it to the top, in total relief.

I didn’t hang about but got as low as I could, as quick as I could. My breathing returned as I descended. I was glad to get off the mountain. At the top I’d known that I had to scratch as soon as I got low enough. My life is worth more than any bike race and I knew that the final pass was not only higher by 300 meters, it was also even more remote. If the same physical reaction happened, well, the cost didn’t bear thinking about. Cruelly though, here I now was, at 1,000 meters, breathing just fine and enjoying the warm sun. I nearly talked myself out of it but I knew I would be stupid to continue.

I realised in that moment I had nothing left to prove to myself. I knew how good I was, I had done my best and beyond. I was fulfilled, sitting there, 150 kilometres from the finish of a 1,850 kilometre event. That distance meant nothing and everything. My fourth and final attempt at Silk Road Mountain Race had come to an unceremonious end. It wasn’t the end I had dreamt of, but it was the end that perhaps fitted.

A final roll of the dice and one to humble me further as I move forward.

Thanks to, Fairlight Cycles, Ride with GPS, Tailfin and Chris Ward.

To be continued with Pt. 2 Moving forward.