30daysx30years: Half an hour cycling into the morning I pass the lake I was searching for last night
30daysx30years: Half an hour cycling into the morning I pass the lake I was searching for last night. But it looks a bit…weird. I park the bike and take my water filter and bottles down to the waterside, where my suspicion is confirmed; this is a salt water lake, water my filter can’t take. Not great, as I only have about one bottle left after cycling all day yesterday, cooking diner and making breakfast.Looking at my maps there are no streams coming up anytime soon, and the closest lake from here appears to be salt as well. With the power of the sun in this high altitude dustbowl sucking the sweat right out of you, I’m in a bit of a pickle… I can either play it safe and cycle back uphill for half a day where I know I can find fresh water, or take a gamble and try to get to the M41 main road as quickly as I can, where I might be able to stop a truck and ask for water. It shouldn’t be too far to the junction anymore, but the track is the smoothest loose sand making cycling more like pedalo.Having wasted so many days already being sick I decide not to waste any more by going back, and choose the latter. Angry at my own rookie lack of anticipation I kick it up a notch and ration my food intake to save my body the fluids needed for digestion. Midday is approaching so the heat is getting pretty intense and inescapable in the shadeless landscape. I’m now almost out of water and not making as much progress as I should. This could prove a costly mistake…Suddenly I spot a growing cloud of dust appearing in the distance. I barricade the track with my bike and signal the vehicle to stop. It turns out to be a jeep with a Polish couple and a local driver who graciously share one of their water bottles with me. Saved. Now that I can eat again as well I have the extra power I need to make it to the M41 junction fast.Out of nothing, like a mirage, I look out over the most perfect road snaking through the Moon-like landscape. Tarmac! It’s another 30k to the closest village, but back on the heavenly surface I’m flying, and before I know it I make it back to civilization. Alichur is literally the dustiest town I’ve ever seen, but with two or three small kiosks and homestays it almost has a metropolitan feel to it. After a welcome warm bucket shower my host tells me he used to be a hunting guide. He would take trophy hunters from all over the world into the mountains to shoot massive Marco Polo sheep at $25,000 a pop; an astronomical amount in this place. With the rapid decline of the species and subsequent protection laws he now has this guest house and makes a name for himself by baking some of the best naan in the Pamirs. While I enjoy one fresh from the clay oven I can’t help a smile realizing I made it out of that dark, miserable place in the Wakhan and across the wilderness alive and well. Proud and relieved! -- source link