The ultimate defeat for a cyclist is the moment he has to get off the bike and push because the road is either too steep, too bad or too non-existent. My most recent walk of shame was brought about by a combination of these factors. I'm only very slightly exaggerating when I say that, an hour or two beyond Karimabad, the road I'm referring to went up almost vertically and I was standing knee-deep in loose sand. By putting all my weight behind the handlebars and with a good deal of grunting I managed to inch my way forward. It wasn't a pretty sight. Fortunately, the sense of humiliation was somewhat alleviated by the fact that, twenty metres behind me, someone else was doing the same.
The hill we were climbing wasn't exactly a hill but a natural dam. Two years ago, one of the mountains directly adjacent to the KKH decided to take a refreshing dip in the Hunza River, with rather catastrophic results: like a clogged-up toilet the upstream gorge filled with water. Not just the KKH but entire villages straddling the river were submerged. Today, the situation is much the same as it was two years ago. The scale of the disaster is so immense that there are plans to leave the lake for what it is and drill a tunnel through the surrounding mountains.
Whatever the method, something needs to be done soon. Pakistan's economy must be suffering considerably now that the only land route to China has been rendered useless. A few entrepreneurial souls, however, have managed to turn the situation to their advantage. God knows how they got them there, but several wooden passenger boats that normally bob around in the harbour of Karachi, some 2000 kilometres south, now ply Attabad Lake, as it's officially called. At 100 rupees per passenger (300 for foreigners willing to bargain aggressively) someone must be making good money here.
From an aesthetic point of view it seems a shame to pull the plug and drain the thing. I haven't seen that many in my life, but this must surely be one of the world's most stunning mountain lakes. The turquoise expanse clashes spectacularly with the blue skies above, while the sloping mountainsides open up one breathtaking vista after another as the boat winds its way to an unseen shore twelve kilometres away.
Sitting aboard, taking it all in, waves of ecstatic happiness washed over me—the kind of happiness that most travellers will be familiar with, and yes, the kind that usually makes for pretty lousy travel writing. These moments, rare though they are, can occur at any given time and are not limited to otherworldly scenery alone. I vividly remember riding down an unassuming hill in France and experiencing something similar when the sun pierced the clouds and set the dull landscape ablaze. My first glimpse of snowy peaks in the south of Spain caused me to stop and swallow hard. What have I done to deserve such splendour, is all you can think at times like these.
Munching on a chunk of dense Hunza bread with home-made marmalade I glanced at Emily, the first cycling buddy I've had since that memorable ride into Istanbul. I think she felt the same. Covered in dust from the long push uphill, we sat there grinning like idiots.
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| Attabad Lake (with me for scale) |
Whatever the method, something needs to be done soon. Pakistan's economy must be suffering considerably now that the only land route to China has been rendered useless. A few entrepreneurial souls, however, have managed to turn the situation to their advantage. God knows how they got them there, but several wooden passenger boats that normally bob around in the harbour of Karachi, some 2000 kilometres south, now ply Attabad Lake, as it's officially called. At 100 rupees per passenger (300 for foreigners willing to bargain aggressively) someone must be making good money here.
From an aesthetic point of view it seems a shame to pull the plug and drain the thing. I haven't seen that many in my life, but this must surely be one of the world's most stunning mountain lakes. The turquoise expanse clashes spectacularly with the blue skies above, while the sloping mountainsides open up one breathtaking vista after another as the boat winds its way to an unseen shore twelve kilometres away.
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| A taste of Karachi high up in the mountains |
Munching on a chunk of dense Hunza bread with home-made marmalade I glanced at Emily, the first cycling buddy I've had since that memorable ride into Istanbul. I think she felt the same. Covered in dust from the long push uphill, we sat there grinning like idiots.
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