Bumps In The Road

On a stretch of heinous, sand-covered washboard I encountered two cyclists. As Strom bounced up and down as much as he slid side to side, I shouted “this fucking sucks!”

“Yeah, it fucking does!” one of them yelled back. I slowed down, fighting to keep the bike on track while watching his spine absorb each jarring blow. We stopped, and I offered to share my Snickers™, only to find them munching on their own. When I used to travel to India for work, I always packed two suitcases: one for clothes, and one for Snickers™. Still, I needed a colonoscopy after one of the trips. That my favorite candy bar was available across my entire route gave me great solace.

I realized that I would not make it to Murghab before the cold became unbearable, so I stopped in a diminutive town and immediately a gaggle of boys came running around a corner. Their pudgy, windswept, smiling cheeks were raw and scabby, like inflamed reptile skin. They led me to a home where a kindly, sturdy woman ushered me inside. There were no beds or walls, just a carpeted sleeping area, but it was more than enough, and I passed out on the spot. Some time later Rahima woke me for dinner. Her English was good, and we discussed many topics. I told her about my predicament with the border, and that I was going to try to find the commander of the military base in Murghab, whom I’d been told might be able to help me get across, but I didn’t know his name. Ah, Commander Eraj, she said - of course she knew him! Not well enough to make an introduction - but at least now I had the name of the man I needed to find.

In the morning I was given the standard fare, and I dared to try shirchay, a revolting combination of milk, water, tea, and salt. Rahima suggested I add some butter, as if that would help.

Back on the road, the ice-hardened peaks of the Pamirs strained yet harder to pierce the sky. Reaching 15,270 feet, the Pamir highway is among the highest motorable roads in the world.

In Murghab, I regained cell reception and read that the conflict had only escalated over the past few days. I texted my fixer on the other side of the border. “You can’t pass. Go back.” was all he wrote.