Written by Philippe Paradis, edited by Krystel Thibault, layout by Arkel
The rain fell at a slant in the Tian Shan mountains. The wind blew like a sigh from the glaciers, like the sigh of a giant of snow and eternal ice, sitting at the far northwest edge of the Himalayas. On the very slopes of this natural barrier, a dirt and gravel road winds in tight switchbacks toward the high winter steppes. Locals know this route as the Barskoon Pass, or the Arabel Road, as it begins gently in the small village of Barskoon near the shores of Lake Issyk-Kul and leads to the Arabel Plateau, perched at over 4000m in altitude.
For most locals, this road is like a mythical path through the backcountry, where a few herders move their flocks and yurts with the seasons. Riding the Barskoon Pass by bike had long been a dream of ours, and it is a grail for adventure-seeking cyclists who are both fit and well-prepared. Kyrgyzstan as a whole is a cyclist’s paradise waiting to be explored.
But on this mid-July day, the wind, hail, rain, and cold made us feel far from the hot summer days of the Tian Shan lowlands. We progressed one pedal stroke at a time, inching forward with every kilometer, as the oxygen grew scarcer and the weather ever more extreme. Our bikes were heavier than ever. Our Arkel Dolphin 16 panniers were packed to the brim with provisions to sustain us for six days of complete autonomy as we crossed a remote section of the mountain range. Our tent and camping gear stayed dry in the Arkel Rollpacker 25L on my heavily loaded bike. Meanwhile, Krystel was riding her equally loaded bike, but she also carried a delicate life within her. She was riding for two, pregnant at the end of her first trimester, adding even more significance to this adventure.
After a few hours of pedaling, with regular breaks, we spotted an old truck at the base of the switchbacks, making its way up the pass. Finally! A rare human presence in the area, and the only vehicle we would encounter during our six days between Barskoon and the city of Naryn. This was our chance, possibly our only one, to get some help reaching the plateau. The rumbling engine approaching felt like a surge of hope in this extreme day of adventure.
At our signals for help, the truck stopped. A father and his son stepped out of the old cattle truck, using their coats to shield their faces from the hail beating down. Smiling and friendly, it was in these harsh conditions that we made their acquaintance. We loaded the bikes next to the cows, securing them with rocks and bits of rope. The waterproofing of our Arkel panniers had already been tested by the weather, and now we crossed our fingers they’d withstand the cow manure too!
With the heater on full blast in the truck, and a whole family welcoming us, we ascended the final 15 kilometers of the Barskoon Pass. A bottle of vodka passed around like a peace pipe. It was wild to realize how, despite the language barrier, we could still communicate. They spoke to us in Kyrgyz, and we replied in a mix of French and English, managing to understand enough through gestures and tone.
We were incredibly grateful to be in that truck, sheltered from the storm, rather than battling the hail on our bikes. Angels sent from the sky. Once on the high plateau, they invited us to their grazing camp. The elderly woman, full of warmth, explained that this was her summer home.
As is customary, we shared tea and some pieces of bread, and we wisely finished off the bottle of vodka. Her pride in hosting us was touching. The family had grown: aunts, friends, young boys—perhaps brothers—filled the space. We imagined their stories, trying to guess what they were telling us. The rain had finally stopped, and we were warmed, ready to continue our journey across the Arabel Plateau.
The adventure had only just begun.
