Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Mosquitoes biting at the ankles, legs burning, fighting to keep balance, dodging
boulders, we cycled on. The hills were interspersed with rivers that gushed right
over the road, forcing us to push through with icy cold water up to our shins. The
landscape was just like an enormous mound of gravel and our route was a fragile
ledge that could crumble at any moment. Then the road made a sharp turn. This
was where the
BAM
railway on the valley floor below passed into the tunnel and
under the wall of towering rock. We would have to go up and over the saddle.
I looked at Chris and he smiled. This was it. There would be no downhill or
even flat until we were over the other side.
At times it was so steep that my front wheel lifted off the ground. Large rocks
made balancing on the bike acutely difficult. As we rose, so did the clouds, reveal-
ing razor-backed ridges that looked black and menacing. From below, the constant
roar of a river could be heard from where it tumbled down a series of steep gullies.
Then, quite abruptly, the road flattened out and I caught up to Chris. 'Well, mate,
I guess this is the saddle then.'
It was an unremarkable, swampy patch of land crisscrossed by a decaying rail
line network. Scrubby birch lined the roadside and a shallow stream sluggishly
flowed over thick brown silt. It was a little disappointing after all the graphic de-
scriptions we had heard from the villagers. Sure it had been hard, but only for a
couple of hours.
The anti-climax didn't diminish the achievement for us, though. Crossing the
ridge signalled the last day of one of the most vivid experiences of the journey up
to this point. Until now, Lake Baikal had been a mythical place. That little swampy
saddle was proof that we had really made it somewhere.
All that was left to do was start rolling down. Halfway down, near the village of
Godshigit, we stopped for a rare treat - a dip in the famous Baikal hot springs.
We spent several hours lazing in the hot pools that smelt strongly of sulphur.
The weightlessness was soothing and contrasted dramatically with the force that
was applied to push all eighty kilograms of bike and gear up the mountains. There
were two pools: one bearably hot, and another that felt close to boiling.
In the less daring pool I lay back and peered up at the peaks through which we
had passed. No matter how relaxed I was, I still wanted to be up there in the wind.
There was a certain feeling of freedom that came just from running my eyes across
the treeless space. Later, as a rainbow made its way out of the clouds, I wondered
if Bruce was somewhere up there.
