The weather forecast was bad for the next three days, yet I had already planned to start my trip. This dampened my enthusiasm more than usual. Despite the fact that I have slowly and finally shifted my bikepacking habits—from always rushing and starting early to embracing a slower, more mindful way of traveling—I began my first day later than usual.
I took a quiet route through the busy streets of Bishkek, heading toward the South Big Chui Canal—an irrigation system with a gravel road along its banks, leading east from Bishkek toward the Kegety Valley. Halfway along the canal, I met a female bikepacker riding in the opposite direction. It was Karen, who lives in Bishkek and has been an SRMR volunteer for several years. I didn’t recognize her at first because of her sunglasses.
I rode at an easy pace. Around 6:30 p.m., as I approached Dacha Kegety, the village at the bottom of the Kegety Valley, I met two Italians. They looked tired but excited, dressed in wet and muddy clothes after being caught in the rain while descending from Kegety Pass.
I pitched my first camp in the riverbed below the lower bridge. Clouds filled the sky—it seemed the forecast was already coming true, for today and for tomorrow.

I started my day early morning. The sky showed no promise of better weather. It became my slowest climb ever over Kegety Pass—just 27.6 km for the entire day.
It was raining. When I reached the serpentine, heavy fog wrapped itself around the landscape. I met three women descending from the pass. I greeted them, they were speechless, rushing downhill as quickly as possible, it was getting cold.
From that point on, I was completely alone—surrounded by dense fog, soaked, and trying to keep warm, moving forward step by step with the hope of eventually reaching the pass. The cold began to settle in steadily. Visibility dropped to about ten meters. I recognized places and was surprised by how far I had actually progressed.
Most of the time, I was hiking rather than riding. Wet and cold, I decided to set up camp around 4 p.m. I know it was early, but I also know that pushing past such decisions often comes from a racing, competitive mindset.
Once I was fully settled, the rain turned into snow, and a sense of calm arrived inside my shelter. I cooked dinner and had a couple of cups of tea with a chocolate bar. Outside, I could hear snow hitting the flysheet and heavy chunks sliding down from the tent roof.

I woke up to an open sky and snow-covered surroundings. This was the kind of morning I had hoped for. As the sun rose and lit up the slopes, the snow began to disappear quickly. I hurried through my morning routine—this felt like the perfect start to the day.
I climbed the final kilometers to the summit at a slow pace but in good spirits. I have crossed Kegety Pass many times, it felt familiar. I knew the rest of the day would be fast and easy, and that I had work to do—time to begin my research.
Soon, I noticed a circular arrangement of stones on the northern bank of the Eastern Karakol River. They appeared to be memorial stones, or perhaps burial mounds belonging to a nomadic tribe—possibly Turkic or Mongolic, or even earlier Hunnu people. Riding east on a mix of gravel and asphalt toward the vast Kochkor Valley, I began to spot more tombs scattered across the landscape.
Kochkor Valley has been a homeland to nomadic peoples for millennia—from the Wusun to the Mongols. It is a valley of Royal Scythians, their burial mounds spread in every direction. My plan was to visit two massive Royal Scythian tombs that I had noted many times while cycling through this area. This time, they lay directly along my route.
By 7 p.m., I started looking for a place to camp. The valley was wet, the soil saturated almost everywhere. I passed several potential spots but kept moving, hoping to find something more reliable. Eventually, I reached a spot which looked like an ancient fortress on satellite imagery. On the ground, it turned out to be a small water reservoir, nothing interesting
I rode two more kilometers before stopping in an open field to camp for the night. Dusk was settling in, and I didn’t want to pitch my tent in complete darkness.

I rode 7 kilometers to Kochkor, had some big resupply, lunch in the cafe and charged my electronics. Get to the road toward Semiz Bel Pass. One more day of slow riding. Hotest day but a fully asphalt road through three villages made the uphill ride bearable. Bought lepeshka-brad, some more water for the evening and small melon. I planned to eat melon somewhere by the road but did not find a comfort spot and finally brought it to the pass. Spotted some memorial stones, burial grounds and tomb along the dirt double track road in the mountains of Semiz-Bel, spent some time documenting them with the drone and camera. Found a Turkic single memorial stone in the small valley just before the final climb to the pass. The sun was setting down and I decided to stay overnight on the plateau ambraces by the vastness of space. I ate a simple comfort dinner—lepeshka and melon, finished with green tea and chocolate.

I packed up calmly in the morning. While I was getting ready, a young shepherd came over, sprawled out on the grass nearby, and kept me company while I was packing.
A stream runs across the valley, with marshy banks. I didn’t want to get my feet wet, so I had to spend some time finding a narrow spot with firmer banks. Farther along the valley there are many ancient nomadic burial grounds; I photographed them a bit.
Descending from the Semiz Bel pastures to the marshy lowlands of the Ulaköl River, I met an old man, the elderly shepherd Yryskeldi Ata. I first met him in 2024, when I passed through these places for the first time. Kindest person and smiles.
As I approached the village of Turasuu, I decided to ride straight across the open terrain. Last time we went around along the slope. This area is marshy; some boys rode past on a cargo motor scooter. I decided to have some lunch snakes before crossing the wet land. I had to soak my feet in the mud. I will definitely route the final track around, along the foothills.
In the village I was invited into a house for ayran; I swallowed a couple of boorsoks and some fresh apricots from Issyk-Köl Coast. 
Between the villages of Turasuu and Alabash, the road goes over a small pass. While I was scrambling up it along the washed-out road, I met a Frenchman racing toward me. He was traveling light and told me he expected to reach Kochkor that day, he was fast.
After crossing the pass, I visited and photographed three places that day: the Alabash settlement and its rock carvings; the Köl-Tör settlement; and Myyar. I camped that night in a field near Myyar, on freshly cut grass at the village of Kök-Sy.

The route climbs steadily out of the Konur-Ölön Valley. After the ascent, it enters the village of Turasu—the second settlement in the area bearing this name. Adjacent to the village are extensive ruins of a medieval settlement, including substantial sections of a fortress wall and the remains of a citadel within its perimeter. The site has been visited previously, but this expedition allowed time to update documentation and photography. A prolonged stop was required to cross agricultural fields and muddy irrigation streams.
Bokonbaev was reached by midday. A short stop was made at Begimai’s house, where time was spent with her and her family. This provided a good opportunity for rest, careful resupply, and battery charge before continuing toward the next stop, the Kadjy-Saz Valley with the two caravanserais.
Weather conditions deteriorated as clouds moved in from the east. Heavy rain began during the ascent to Kazanchy Pass (2,500 m). Camping was established at the upper side of the valley, a vantage point overlooking the remains of two fortified structures.

Drenched morning after a long overnight rain. The skies promised good weather for the day ahead. I rode quickly through the valley of a small village and, as I began descending toward the Tosor River, spotted three Turkic-Mongolic stone steles. I spent some time photographing the steles and the surrounding landscapes.
The descent was entirely pleasant—a mix of dirt and gravel path, with stunning views of the towering mountains to the south. The gorge of the Tosor River stretched long below me. The sun began to heat up as I approached Issyk-Köl Lake, tempting me to pause under a wild apricot tree, enjoying its fruits and shade—a small, perfect moment of respite.
Reaching Tosor, I found the main road under construction. I turned toward the remains of a caravanserai, which locals had converted into a large graveyard. After capturing several drone shots of the ruins, I continued toward Tamga, stopping for a long lunch in an old apple orchard by the main road.
It was a beautiful, long day, with still more distance to cover. The plan was to reach the remains of a caravanserai in Barskoon valley and, hopefully, camp there overnight. I made it to Tamga, restocked supplies, and decided to have dinner at a local café.
Finally, I reached the ruins, located along the gravel mining road to Barskoon Pass. The site is gated but not locked—the gate tied with a rope. I slipped through and found a good spot for my tent behind the fortress wall, hidden from the road. Heavy clouds stretched across the sky, feathered by the sunset, and it rained steadily through the night.

I waited a long time in the morning for the rain to stop before packing my gear and moving on. It rained all day in the beautiful valley, mostly forested, with a well-packed gravel road turned dark grey by the water—fortunately, not the sticky kind of mud. I rode slowly beneath heavy clouds.
I stopped for lunch at a roadside shelter and spoke briefly with the owners, a local couple who had once been shepherds and now work there serving tourists.
The first serpentine of Sary-Moinok Pass looked stunning. I was wet, but motivated enough to climb on through the rain and cold. At the top of the serpentine, a small gorge entered the valley from the right. I knew this was a trail from Tosor Pass that ended here, opening onto a meadow. I was tempted to pitch a tent, but it still kept moving.
Soon I reached the first switchbacks leading toward Barskoon Pass. The weather never improved. Completely soaked, I began searching for a place to camp, but the terrain was rocky and offered no options. After the first switchback, I finally spotted a suitable campsite.
It rained all night long.

A freezing morning and lingering moisture made for a slow start while packing. Wet road conditions turned the morning climb into a grind rather than steady progress. As soon as I began hike with the bike, my feet were soaked; the mud made riding impossible and even pushing the bike difficult.
Arabel Valley greeted me with no rain and occasional sun flares breaking through the clouds. I met a couple from the Netherlands coming from Arabel Pass—they warned me about heavy mud on the road ahead. I didn’t mind; I was prepared to stay longer in this area if needed. Later, I met two bikepackers from the United States arriving from Juuku Pass. One of them was having drivetrain issues and was worried about getting stuck in the mud on the next pass, so they decided to roll down to Barskoon village.
I began my climb toward Arabel Pass, hoping the wind would have dried the road and reduced the mud. Progress was good. After reaching Burkhan Valley, I met another rider and a couple traveling by bike. I realized how much I enjoy meeting bikepackers and bike tourers on the trail—it always brings a quiet sense of connection.
Descending deeper into the valley, I started scanning the landscape for any signs of ruins—something I had been deliberately pursuing as a goal of this expedition. Then came the moment. In the distance, I noticed what appeared to be a small, raised, hilly formation. It felt like a discovery. I identified it as a historical site and named it the Burkhan Settlement, likely the remains of a medieval caravanserai.
I set up camp nearby, took photographs, and ended the day with a strong feeling of accomplishment.

I said farewell to the shepherd kids in the morning and set off on the trail. The road ahead was familiar, and I expected a long ride—mostly flat and straightforward, with only a minor climb. Along the way, I met several solo riders and small groups, and it made me happy to realize how much this country offers for cycling across Kyrgyzstan. It was an entirely beautiful, sunny day. I reached Dzalpak Bel Pass—the final pass of the expedition, rising above 3,000 meters. I camped there and enjoyed the moment.

I spent the night at Dzalpak Bel Pass and made an early start toward Karakudzur Valley. It was a long ride, mostly descending through dry terrain along a gravel washboard road. It took me half a day to reach Sary-Bulak, a village at the junction of the Naryn–Bishkek road.
I didn’t spend much time there and continued toward Kochkor, following the asphalt while mostly riding along gravel side roads to stay clear of heavy traffic. I reached Kochkor smoothly and decided to conclude the expedition, taking a shared minibus from the local bus station. The original plan had been to continue on to the final archaeological site near Balykchy, about 50 kilometers from Kochkor, crossing mostly deserted land with views of the Orto-Tokoy water reservoir and it’s rocky mountains and, on the horizon, a thin blue line of Issyk-Köl Lake.