The longest day...again...part 2
We started to leave Makat in a hurry, frustrated with lost keys and terrible navigation. We agreed to stop for lunch when we saw a place, but none looked too enticing...so maybe we'd eat at the next town. When we finally found the right road to leave town, it was pristine. Brand new construction. In my optimistic ignorance, I was elated. However, I'd not yet learned that brand new roads soon end in construction. The beautiful highway was replaced by a hard dirt path, which bifurcated into two paths, and then again into four...and eight. Turns out, when the roads get bad, the locals just create a new path...and then wear it down until a new one is required. So, you have this series of parallel paths, all intertwined like Russian salted smoked cheese (man, I love that stuff!!!).
"This is so stupid. Just build a road. Quit making more muddy, meandering paths." My mood was seemingly unrecoverable. Also, this was the first time I was "forced" to go off-road. We had 398 kilometers to the next major town...which had been our destination for the night. I'd planed to be there at 5pm, but with my key fiasco, hopefully we'd be there by dusk (I didn't realize it would take nearly two full days to cover 250 miles). Green and I had done some off-roading before, but not like this: packed dirt with somewhat random patches of sand. The roadway was generally always there, offering a little taunt in the periphery. Sure, you could climb atop, but you'd just be creeping along, dodging potholes. If you chose to pick up some speed, you'd pay for it with jarring blows from the eroded asphalt. And we were somewhat against the clock. Can't slow down. Can't pick up speed. Miserable. Was the entire nation of Kazakhstan going to bleed me dry of joy on this trip? Sounds dramatic, I know, but this day had really taken its toll.
Finally, I decided to forget about the road. Get comfortable with being uncomfortable. This had been my mantra for years in CrossFit, but never in motorcycling. It was time. Green found his feet. Suddenly, we were screaming down those dirt paths faster than on a paved highway. This one seems to be deteriorating...no problem...another one crosses over, and we'd jump onto that. Green and I found our stride. He was an extension of my body again. We didn't need tarmac for that. We just needed a nudge and some experience. And then it hit me... "This is what we'd been looking for..." I hadn't chosen to ride around the world for everything to go as planned. The longest, hardest days were the ones worth remembering. Buried in the Moroccan sand. Held under arrest by the Ukrainian police for "smuggling a weapon." Losing consciousness from food poisoning at a gas station parking lot in Ecuador (different trip). This is what I was here for. We paused for lunch and entertained the locals (and camels), but I was ready to tackle more dirt roads.
The mindset shift had occurred, and the next six hours of riding through barren land, void of livestock and signs of human, was euphoric. We set up camp right at dusk, a half-mile off the main path, and I was out like a light. The crickets were pinging off the side of the tent, and the sun barely disappeared for more than 3 hours, but that didn't matter. I was where I needed to be.
