In the morning, we climbed Kyzart Pass on an empty asphalt road. We had fried fish for lunch in a small roadside cabin at the pass and then headed toward the first minor pass of the third day. Both of us were traveling this section for the first time, following a pre-planned route that was automatically generated on Komoot.
On the descent, we ended up in a gorge with no exit. The trek seemed more suitable for hiking, but carrying a bike up the hill was unrealistic, and there was no way out below in the gorge either. We had to return back, fortunately not far from the starting point of the descent. There was a yurt nearby. The shepherds pointed us in the right direction. It turned out to be a singletrack, which was really fun to ride, relatively easy and fairly fast.
This detour cost us several hours and left us exhausted, but we were thrilled to find our way. As soon as we began the ascent toward Tuz-Ashuu Pass, a rainstorm hit us heavely. We set up camp at the foot of the climb, near a spring with a view of the Son-Kul Mountain ridge, from where the path to the pass was clearly visible.

We crossed two passes (Tuz-Ashuu and Chil-Bel), traversing along the northwestern shore of Song-Kul Lake within a day. From there, we descended into the wide and long Jumgal Valley, stopping in the village of Kuiruchuk. Being accustomed to guesthouses of varying standards, we spent some time searching and deciding for one. In 2024, Kuiruchuk Village had limited options for guest accommodations. We decided one was offered only.

After descending from Son-Kul, our paths diverged. In the morning, Oleg headed home to Kemin, while I continued my Celestial Ride along. By midday, I reached Chaek. Had one stop at a tire repair shop to pump up my tires. Each morning, I’ve had to inflate both tires—they lose some air over the day, though not significantly. So whenever I saw a tire shop, I made a point to stop and pump them up.
In Chaek, I had lunch before setting out. Stocked up on food for the long stretch to Torkent—two nights and three days. I passed through the Kökömeren River Gorge without any difficulties under the strong sun, reaching the village of Kyzyl-Oi in the afternoon. Slowly, and often hiking with my bike, I ascended to the Kyrk-Kyz Pass by evening. These were familiar places around, and the good weather made the climb enjoyable so far, so I felt no stress during the ascent.
Just right after the sunset, I crossed the pass and asked local shepherds for a place to spend the night. Thunderclouds were rising from the gorge below, and heavy rain fell during the night. I stayed in a shepherd’s utility tent, so I didn’t need to unpack my own gear.

I spent two days reaching Torkent. On the first day, after overnight at Kyrk Kyz Pass I rolled through two areas with summer pastures. The first was Tört Jailoo, which ended with a descent into the village of Toluk, followed by a tedious stretch under the blazing sun to the next area, Zhamanbel Jailoo. There, on a small plateau scattered with livestock camps, I set up camp just before Zhamanbel Pass after sunset. The day had been hot and exhausting.
The next day, I reached Torkent. It was just as hot as the day before. I rode through familiar places, recalling 2021 when I first traveled through this region (in the opposite direction) as a participant of the SRMR. I had a long stop in Torkent, lingered for a while, cooking on the porch of a shop where I left my electronics to charge. Taking advantage of the time, I rested in the cool shade.
By 4:00 PM, I made it to Uch-Terek and Sargata Village. At this point, I was in no rush, having Kargysh Pass rising ahead, which I planned to tackle the next day. These areas were entirely unknown to me. Beyond Kargysh was Shyldyrak Pass, and I wasn’t sure what to expect and how it would go. I decided to spend the night somewhere on the outskirts of Sargata. I stopped at a tire repair shop, stocked up on supplies for two nights and three days, and set up camp in a fortunate spot next to a stream. It was in the middle of a dry, waterless steppe near a spring, a small oasis surrounded by small gardens and fields belonging to two nearby households.
At sunset, four children came to the spring for water—two teenage girls and a younger boy and girl. They were curious and talkative. After some time, they returned and invited me to their home, which was located in the middle of the orchard. I agreed, packed up my tent, and followed them. It turned out that an elderly couple lived there, and their children and families had come to celebrate a birthday.
The men were busy butchering a sheep and chatting, while the women were sorting gifts and presents. By then, it was getting dark, and the elderly men had been affected with vodka and were in high spirits. For all of them, however, the evening was just at the beginning. Then I realized as is customary on such occasions, could stretch deep into the night—until the meat cooked and everyone had their fill of conversation.
Looking around, I noticed there was no convenient place for me to spend the night. As an outsider, there wasn’t a room available for me. So, before it got too late, I decided to return to my original campsite. And that turned out to be the right decision.
The evening was warm and cloudless. Swarms of mosquitoes buzzed around, I only set up the inner part of my tent. I fell asleep under the night sky, gazing at the stars and lost in my thoughts.

The climb to Kargysh Pass was not particularly high but felt long and demanding. The ascent followed a double-track road with poor, rocky surface, made worse by the heat. The descent was just as unappealing—it didn’t even feel worth rolling down.
At the bottom, near the bridge over the Kara-Suu River, there was a small High Voltage Grid Substation and the bridge itself, where I stopped for lunch. From there, a long, winding incline led around the mountain to the Shyldyrak River Gorge. A double-track road ran through the gorge, extending to an abandoned serpentine. However, crossing the river was necessary, as the bridge had been destroyed by a mudslide.
A family of shepherds living in a nearby yurt told me about the missing bridge. This spot also served as the parking area for other shepherds who spent their summers around the Shyldyrak Pass.
It was only about 4:00 PM, but I decided to stay overnight here.

I spent the entire day climbing Shyldyrak Pass, mostly hike-a-bike. Along the way, I encountered a shepherd out for a walk; his yurt appeared higher up among the rocks. From his yurt, a long zigzagging path stretched up to the summit of the pass. The incline wasn’t steep, so it was possible to slowly ride a bike, but I mostly walked.
The road on the descent from Shyldyrak Pass was in poor condition: littered with stones, overgrown with grass, and heavily eroded in many places. I had to walk all the way down until the road became visible again.
In the middle section of the gorge, the river flowed through a broad, rocky bed, forcing me to ford it. The landscape made it clear that the river frequently changes course across the width of the gorge. Beyond that point, an excellent gravel road led all the way to the village of Kyzyl-Ünkür.
Closer to the valley, the road passed by a waterfall that thundered in the distance. This area was covered in dense walnut forests, which blanketed the slopes on both sides of the gorge. As I descended, rain clouds gathered overhead. Although the rain held off, streams of water cascaded onto the road from beneath the forest, as if emerging from nowhere. The overcast sky, misty weather, and rushing streams gave the forest the appearance of a lush, tropical jungle.
For the night, I stayed at a homestay recommended by CBT Arslanbob, a local community based tourism company. That night, a torrential downpour began—the heaviest rain I’d ever seen.

Two scorching days lay ahead as I traveled from Kyzyl-Ünkür to Osh. The heat was intense, but I was familiar with the route from a previous bike trip in 2022 (racing SRMR). The road was smooth and obstacle-free, so I kept moving, stopping only a few times to rest under the shade of trees or shop canopies.
Even during the hottest part of the day, I pressed on, ascending toward the hills around Kok-Zhangak. The heights of the area near the town were beautiful, and climbing them at sunset, when the heat had finally subsided, felt incredibly pleasant. Along the way, I came across a large spring right by the road. There was a lush green meadow nearby, perfect for camping, with a couple of small houses tucked among low trees, and a beekeeping site, and a panoramic view of the Fergana Valley all made this place as perfect as can be imagined. I decided to camp there for the night.
A couple passing by on a vehicle stopped by trying to dissuade me, warning of jackals in the area, but I didn’t take their concerns too seriously—especially in a populated area. The night passed peacefully. I heard some noises, which I believe were jackal cries, but they didn’t bother me.
In the morning, I quickly reached the village of Markai. From there, I enjoyed a leisurely ride on a new asphalt road that wound through several villages. Afterward, a hilly dirt road led me over a small pass and down to the village of Zhiide. From there, it was a steady descent all the way to Uzgen.
On the way, I stopped to visit an old friend of mine and colleague from the time of my hard working office life. She and her kids were spending the summer with her mother in village of Kara-Dyykan. The family had recently built a new, comfy house. I took the opportunity to relax, take a warm shower, eat, and even have a beer.
At around 5:00 PM, I set off for Osh, carefully navigating through the bustling streets of Uzgen. I rode slowly and cautiously, sticking to the roadside along a busy road, and eventually reached Osh in darkness.
I stayed in Osh for two nights, giving myself a full day to rest and recharge.

Full days of rest in Osh

I left Osh at a leisurely pace, taking the western outskirts of the city through cozy villages surrounded by orchards and small fields. After passing the last village, Mangyt, I turned south. From a nearby hilltop, I could see the town of Aravan, with the vast Fergana Valley stretching endlessly beyond it.
The next part of the journey took me through arid landscapes all the way to the outskirts of Kyzyl-Kiya, which I reached after lunch. Along the way, I passed abandoned mines—remnants of the country’s first industrial enterprises dating back to the early 20th century. Approaching the city, I took a detour through foothill villages to avoid heavy traffic and enjoy the quieter roads.
Not stopping in Kyzyl-Kiya, I continued toward Üch-Korgon town, where I started planning my overnight stay. Google showed no hotels or guesthouses in the area. I asked some young men passing by if they knew of any accommodations, but they confirmed that there weren’t any in town. However, they suggested I try staying at any of the local mosques.
I decided to keep going toward the gorge, hoping to find a camping spot outside the city. On the way, I stopped by a store where I struck up a conversation with a man and his wife, who were returning home in their small truck. They kindly invited me to stay at their home, and I immediately accepted their offer.
Their house had a traditional topchan (a raised platform for sitting and sleeping), a singing canary perched above it, and a small garden filled with exotic fruits unfamiliar to me—all hallmarks of southern Kyrgyzstan’s charm.

After breakfast at Azimjon-aka’s home, I set off at an easy pace toward the Isfayramsy Gorge, heading south in the direction to Chong-Alay. Just outside Üch-Korgon, I couldn’t resist stopping at a tandyr bakery for a cup of tea and some fresh, hot samsa. Along the way, I passed the checkpoint for the Surmatash Nature Reserve, where I logged my passage time and signed the visitor registry.
As I continued, I met shepherds living in the area with their families. They informed me that one of the bridges ahead had been destroyed and that I would need to take a detour via a narrow trail. When I reached the spot, I had to stop and assess the surroundings, walk part of the trail on foot before attempting to proceed with my bike. The slope was steep, the trail narrow, and in places, my feet slipped on loose rock.
By the time I was navigating the trail, storm clouds had rolled in, and evening was approaching. Surrounded by cliffs, I couldn’t spot a suitable place to pitch my tent. Nearing the road again, I came across three young herders with a flock of sheep. They mentioned a good campsite about 500 meters ahead. I hurried toward it and was relieved to arrive just in time to set up my tent before the rain began.
However, I soon discovered that my tent had started leaking, as the seam sealing tape on its seams had come undone in several places. Fortunately, the rain didn’t last long, giving me enough time to organize myself and prepare for the night. Though the day had its challenges, I was grateful to end it in relative comfort, reflecting on the resilience such journeys demand.

On Day 15, I made a navigational mistake on a short switchback in the gorge. Instead of sticking to the road, I decided to cut across one of the loops since I could see the road ahead. However, the path I chose veered off and eventually disappeared, forcing me to climb up a steep slope to get back on track. After that, I navigated a couple more switchbacks before entering the Tenizbay Valley, where the road was in excellent condition.
I caught up to a young man riding a donkey, heading further into the pastures. I parted ways with him as I turned toward the switchbacks leading up to the Koy-Jolu Pass. The climb was steep, but the road’s 14 well-laid switchbacks made it manageable. Both the ascent and descent were on well-maintained gravel, and the downhill ride was a calming, enjoyable experience. By evening, I reached Kyzyl-Eshme village. Since there were no guesthouses, I camped near the river along the road.
The next night, my second in the Chong-Alay Valley, was spent on a mown field. I now know this area is swarming with mosquitoes—they were relentless.
On Day 16, I continued my journey toward the base camp of Lenin Peak. The weather was clear, hot, and windless, making the ride smooth, enjoyable but exhausting. After reaching the camp, I returned the same day to Sary-Mogol village, where I set up camp in the field for my final night of the expedition.
Day 17 marked the conclusion of my journey. The morning ride to Sary-Tash was straightforward, along the quiet asphalt road. I awaited my vehicle ride for a couple of hours —a low-bed truck loaded with coal. It was a fitting end to an expedition full of challenges, stunning landscapes, and unforgettable encounters.