Transit was spent in and out of bathrooms. The 19 hours in Almaty, Kazakhstan, saw us leave the airport after making our way through immigration, our bags still checked in. We’d managed to find a small hostel near the airport in the snow. Inside was warm and they provided us with food which was all we needed. Both Arthur and I were in a very bad way. India had well and truly got the better of us. For me it was day four of being sick. Arthur was freshly ill. Together we made quite the group as Sean was hardly feeling 100 percent.
We touched down in Tbilisi the next day after three flights and 28 hours. The price one pays for cheap flights I suppose. To our delight Georgian hospitality proved itself very early on. A friend of a friend of our family friend’s sister had taken time out of his evening to drive to the airport to pick us up. He’d arranged, and paid for, a truck to put the bikes in also. It was cold and the ground was wet from recent rain. We drove into the city from the airport gazing at the combination of apartment blocks and old churches that contrasted heavily with where we’d come from. I couldn’t believe the cleanliness of the place and said to Georgi,
“It’s so clean and modern! It’s like Europe!”
“And what you didn’t expect Georgia to be like Europe?”, Georgi asked
I felt rather embarrassed but to tell the truth no I didn’t. I don’t know what I was expecting but not the level of development I was seeing. We arrived at our guest house, a small apartment on the hill near the old town, and loaded all our gear into the room. Despite feeling ghastly sick it was a wonderful relief to have all our gear in the room safely. Back in Delhi that felt like an impossible task.
A change in religion for the trip
The sulphur baths not far from the waterfall where Tbilisi was founded as a city
The centre piece of town on the hill, The Sameba Cathedral
The view from the Cathedral towards town
Mercedes for taxis and classics for show
The next day we wandered around the Old Town. The Sulphur Bathhouses formed the centre of the old town with steam rising from their domed rooftops. Narikala Castle sat high above the town, glorious in its antiquity and preservation. The cobbled streets and prolific wine stores made it feel like somewhere in France. Everything was immaculately presented and thought out, unlike the chaos we had come from. The churches were quiet and pensive with choir song echoing from most of them at all hours and candles lit inside as offerings of bread were made and handed out to the devoted who needed it. The Sameba Cathedral dominated the other side of the Mtkvari River so we wandered up the steep streets to it. We had foolishly worn shorts, despite the cold, and so weren’t allowed inside.
The cable car up to the castle
En route to said castle, looking apprehensive. Probably wondering where the nearest loo is just in case
Human drone
The Lady of Georgia statue. Women have special status in Georgia, a refreshing change from India
The next day we met a friend of Giorgi’s, Lado. Lado is a former ATP World Tennis pro who played in the Davis cup and all other major Grand Slams. He grew up in Georgia knowing how to put a gun together at age five, a product of continued Russian aggression, and worked his way up to being a star. He lost money and then worked extremely hard, not taking a weekend in years, to be in his current position - owner of multiple companies, driver of a beautiful Maserati, and most hospitable, friendly guy you’ll ever meet. Without knowing us he took us on a tour of Georgia. We drove up to the former capital at the confluence of the Mtkvari and Aragvi Rivers, Mtskheta and looked down upon the beautiful city from a medieval church on the hill. We then were taken right up towards Russia into the hills and saw the beautiful castles and churches of Georgia in their winter light. It was incredible. What was most interesting for me was hearing about the Russian conflict. The Russians, to this day, have military presence in occupied territory. Every month the Russian troops advance the border posts by 4 metres closer and closer to the road that connects Georgia. There is nothing the Georgians can do about it and the international community is not prepared to start World War Three over Georgia. It was a terribly sad thing to hear. Another war is coming to that region and for what? Seems impossibly stupid to me.
Here we are enjoying a bit of the icy wind at Georgia's former capital
Medieval churches are everywhere
The Soviet Occupation certainly left its mark with towering apartment blocs all in similarly bleak inconspicuous grey
Lado and his friend, Varska. They were absolutely incredible and showed us around the city treating us to immense quantities of food
Time to leave. I went full waterproof pants. It was a good call as temperatures fell close to freezing and then below it
My illness persisted. The giardia pills were working away but a combination of two antibiotics sent the body further south. I had a day in bed, the day we were supposed to leave. We had to move to another small apartment across the river. Fortunately it was only a short cycle for me. I felt better the next day but Sean fell rather sick and we were stuck again. The simple joys made it bearable. We were able to drink tap water and food was cooked with incredible standards.
Lado took us out for a number of meals, each one as large as the other, showcasing Georgian food and trying his best to finish us off. Death by food. Georgian food is a combination of cheesy bread called Ketchapuri. The middle of a loaf is hollowed out and inside is poured cheese and egg. It’s incredibly rich and heavy but delicious. Cheese is the centrepiece of Georgian cuisine and we weren’t complaining about that. There were also a number of incredible fresh salads and meats for the other two. We certainly were well fed from our incredible host.
Another day rolled around and we were stuck again. The road to Istanbul looked huge. It was freezing cold, the weather was grim, mountains hemmed Tbilisi in. We were all beginning to feel a bit trapped and under pressure with time running out and our average daily target of kms rising with every day we stayed stationary.
The next day we woke and dressed to go. This time it was happening. It was raining outside. Almost sleet. We dressed in thermals, waterproof pants and top, neck warmers, full finger gloves, and whatever else we could find to warm us up. It was freezing. After a long steady climb out of the city in the rain we started to descend. My hands were so cold there was no feeling. We all genuinely became concerned we would have to stop to make sure we didn’t suffer frostbite in the hands. Our gloves were certainly inadequate. The scary thing was we had to continue climbing. The higher you go the colder it gets.
Climbing like a bloody rocket someone test that man for EPO. Still time to take in the scenery
Sean's back was beginning to give in, temperatures were plummeting, and morale was being tested
Ice began to form on Arthur's hair. It was frozen solid by the top. Here Sean gets to the end of the road for him. A truck mercifully saved the day, his back holding on by a thread of cartilage
Beautifully bleak it the only way we could describe the countryside. So wonderful yet not friendly to our presence there
The ice was everywhere. It's a miracle we survived at all. Sick with giardia, in the ice and snow, visibility falling to 2.5cm, it was dodgy stuff. Art and I plowed on alone to the summit
The next morning rolling out of Tsalka
The fog returned on day two in Georgia but up ahead the sun burst through
We cycled on and on through some of the most beautiful, barren, scenery we have had on the trip so far. Rolling hills, churches, and the odd abandoned stone farmhouse composed the setting and the fog began to set in as we climbed higher. It got colder and colder to the point where I noticed Arthur’s hair was frozen where he had been sweating. It was not good conditions to be stopping in. Sean was much further down the mountain than Arthur and I. Art and I waited and waited for him to come up, sweat making us dangerously cold and ice forming on the bikes. I began to complain to Arthur about the situation becoming dangerous. We had 30km to go, most of it uphill. Sean finally emerged almost in tears of pain. His back had finally given out on him, something we’d expected earlier in the trip. Now it was probably the last of the illness flaring any problem up. Regardless he was in no condition to continue. He tried but I vocalised the folly of the situation and the danger it posed to Arthur and I. We waited and within five minutes a truck came up the road. I flagged it down and communicated our distress in hand signals. Within minutes we had Sean’s bike on the truck and Sean in the warm cabin of the truck with our Georgian hero. Art and I cycled on up the mountain, relieved to be able to go at safe pace. We arrived in the town at 5pm and found Sean roadside with new Georgian mates standing around a fire. We checked into a hotel that night. It was warm and incredibly comfortable. My god it was a relief. We were all shattered.
The next day rolled around all too soon and we forced ourselves out of bed. I had cut a pair of Arthur’s socks to make mittens that would go over my gloves. There was no way I could face the torment of such cold again. We left Tsalka and began to climb again up to the 2100m pass that owl take us passed Lake Paravani, the site of a monastery many of our cycle touring friends had camped at and recommended we stay at. As we climbed we contented with barking, chasing dogs and increasingly cold conditions. We neared the top and the cloud mercifully parted to give way to sunshine and a roaring headwind across the top. The road had recently been cleared of snow but all around us we were in white-out. The lake was completely frozen and the town freezing. All I wanted was to carry on and get down, away from the snow and cold. The road was meant to descend after the town and it did. The problem was a roaring headwind that was so strong it made the downhill feel like an uphill. Morale fell fast and I got completely fed up. At one point Art and I were climbing side by side with me slightly ahead. He nudged my rear panniers and, carrying Sean’s bags as he was still slow from illness. I was too top heavy and lost balance, crashing into the ditch. I sat there in that ditch in the wind and hit a low point. The helmet went flying and I was close to tears. There was nothing to do but continue. We arrived in Akhalkalaki and found a cheap hostel. We got such a deal we weren’t allowed to use the shower.
The fog cleared and gave way to wind but it was beautiful
Riding up the clear road was beautiful but the headwind soon made things tough
Wind over the top of the pass
Out come the wind breakers
It was pretty bloody cold but we got over the top
Jet streams. At times we pondered on the aeroplanes and considered them as a more efficient way to get over snowy, windy mountains
Not staged
The new Bailey Nelson Sports Range sunglasses really came into their own in this weather
They call me Massimo. Partly because of the sunnies, partly because I'm massive. If there's a headwind let me go at it with my aero helmet and socks for gloves
Another unstaged shot of us across the top of the pass
The St Nino's monastery. We wanted to stay here but it was too cold. We opted to descend and get to warmer pastures
Shit mate there was a bit of snow around the place
It got warmer as we went down. Sean was still feeling sick so Art and I carried his bags hence the mighty load on the back of that bike
The next day we woke to patches of sun. It’s hard to describe how good that felt. We still rugged up warm and began the descent through the valley. A river ran beside us and the hills were bare but for patches of snow. A castle commanded the confluence of two rivers and we rode past, stopping briefly to get the drone up for a few shots. It was a wonderful day of cycling. We went passed Alkhaltsike and found a spot by the river in a cluster of trees. We were just under the snow line. The tents went up and we made a fire pit by the river. I cooked up a big pasta and we huddled around the fire for warmth. Just as dinner was served the rain started. We dashed into our tents and lay in the cramped space eating food and generally surviving in the elements. It was boyish like adventure. I was in heaven although would have preferred the rain to go away and never come back ever.
Sven aka Sean. The sexiest nordic photographer on a bike feat. Bailey Nelson beasts
A train carriage used as a bridge. What an improvisation!
The road towards Akhaltsike. The riding was absolutely stunning. Note the castle in the distance
Safe descending practices always
Oh sweet jesus just another shot of the Massimo in action
On the way to a riverside campsite
Finding dry wood was the problem. I loved spending time building the fire pit and cooking food. It's the inner child in me that comes out and just loves the adventure only thing is it's not in your backyard it's at 1200m near the snow line in Georgia
And the sun shone for a brief moment
The rain was coming in behind us but it was a spectacular campsite regardless
The fire warmed us and kept the pasta sauce hot while the pasta itself cooked
Morning came around and I cooked eggs on toast, our little optimus stove running on diesel and providing the warmth we needed with a cup of coffee before we set off. On the road to Adigeni and then Zarzma we were stopped by many locals saying the pass was closed. The detour was 350kms and not an option on our time schedule so we pushed on. We had to know whether it was possible or not. As expected the road turned to gravel on the switchbacks as we started climbing. It was raining which made controlling the bikes difficult but we slipped and slid our way up the mountain, bikes holding their ground miraculously. As we got higher and higher belief began to set in. It seemed we were going to make it. We’d climbed for 13kms up to 1500m altitude. We had 10km to go and another 500m vertical to rise. The road turned to snow. We all tried to ride it and realised it was folly so got off and pushed. We pushed the bikes for almost 2km. The snow started falling and our feet were getting increasingly colder. It was 2pm and at our pace was going to take three hours to get to the top of the climb. In a furious sad heap I stopped and told the guys I thought it was dangerous to continue. It was such a hard decision to make. We’d come so far and had been so excited to cross the pass. The detour was massive and not something we could afford with our schedule. Safety was on my mind, however, and so we took a photo and then turned the bikes back. We rode back to Akhaltsike, completely despondent, and checked into an incredible room. It was cheap, warm, and comforting. We had a great dinner and a beer to celebrate our smart decision and the effort it took to get there. With time pressuring us and having only been 80km from the elusive Black Sea Coast we decided to bus the long way around to Batumi. The next day we strapped the bikes on top of a mini van and watched the countryside roll on by. We arrived and Batumi that afternoon and cycled down the coast towards the Turkish border.
Art's gear cable housing snapped the day of the climb. Not an ideal start. We lost a lot of time but got rolling again
The road was wet and rain was falling. The rain soon turned to snow
Snow surrounded but the road was clear for a while. We had hope we were going to make it
Things stared to deteriorate
And then got worse
And even worse still
The snow started falling lightly as we stopped and made the hard decision to turn around
Our monument shot for Georgia. It seemed significant. We were beaten by the roads but made a smart decision
The bikes got on the bus and off we went. We felt a bit guilty but we really did give it our best shot. It would have been dangerous to carry on
That evening we sat on the stony shoreline and looked out at the sea. The weather was perfect for us, almost infuriatingly so. Jet streams were everywhere across the Black Sea sky. We undressed and ran into the sea, despite the cold. It was biting and the water somewhere between a lake and the sea in terms of saltiness.
Batumi and the Black Sea. The rocks were beautiful. Dad would have had a field day. We certainly did
I've never seen so many jets
It was glorious seeing the sea
It was cold but nothing like Wanaka in winter so we were okay
A beautiful sunset over the coast
Stone Stacking. A new craze we had fun with for a while
Georgia threw us our hardest set of days. The hardest day remains the infamous ‘Road of Death’ in Laos but our second hardest day now belongs to Georgia in what is famously known as ‘The Day of Impending Doom’. The third hardest, ‘The Road of Certain Peril’, belongs to the ride up to Kathmandu. Georgia was hard but the people were incredible. The country is magnificent and rich in a wonderfully preserved and unique culture. Their religion is the centrepiece of their society and beautiful medieval churches are everywhere. There are tastes of the Soviet occupation which is looked back on bitterly. I would highly recommend Georgia to anyone looking for an alternative to Europe.
The long road to Istanbul extended in front of us.
