Between Islamabad in northern Pakistan and the oasis town of Kashgar in northwest China, there is a road more than 1,000 km long known as the Karakoram Highway. It is a remarkable feat of engineering, which cost the lives of hundreds of road-workers as they forged a route over two mountain ranges, the Karakoram and the Pamir, under constant threat from landslides, avalanches, and blizzards. The Karakoram Highway is part of the ancient Silk Road between China and Europe and, as you wind through precipitous gorges guarded by towering peaks over 7,500m high, it’s awe-inspiring to remember the countless tradesmen who have trodden this path in search of their fortune. The scenery, colourful history, and local hospitality are strong enough attractions for today’s Silk Road travellers, some of whom, like Hannah and I, chose to go by bike.
It was while zigzagging breathlessly up towards the Khunjerab Pass (4,934m) that we came across two New Zealanders coming in the opposite direction. They were loaded down with gear, crammed into four panniers plus a handlebar bag each, yet incredulously they were carrying neither tent nor stove. Eric and Ange scoffed when they examined our small, compact panniers and didn’t realise that the roll mat on my back rack had a tent inside! Later on, they revealed to our amazement that when they started cycle touring, they carried a double duvet and two pillows in a hard plastic case strapped to the back of one of their bikes!
In stark contrast was the approach of a Yorkshireman called Chris, complete with flat cap, and obviously an advocate of the Shipton-Tilman lightweight philosophy. He carried a sleeping bag, a few books, and “nowt else”! We cycled together for a few days, and when it got cold he scrounged a polythene sheet to sleep beneath—which I had to rescue from Lake Karakul when a freak gust of wind stripped him of his only shelter.
We were somewhere in between these two extremes. Our Solar tent allowed for a great deal of self-sufficiency but didn’t weigh us down excessively. This was appreciated on one occasion in China when a Tibetan dog the size of a small pony came tearing out of the undergrowth intent on having cyclists’ calves for lunch. A burst of acceleration followed by a well-aimed rock to the head, however, soon showed him that man is still the master in that relationship. As we dozed off that night, in an idyllic campsite nestled in a Pamir meadow, we thought we could hear the sound of panting and were glad of something more than a polythene sheet for protection!
View the original article in our 1998 Brochure
