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Saturday, December 7th - on to Nok Kundi, 14,810 km
The cold air and hard ground has us up early this morning, which is wonderful because we have a lot of ground to cover in this shortened winter day. Stephen boils water and Coen provides the tea. Coen and Vincent also have some powdered eggs, though only a small amount for each of us. We have very little portable food that needs no preparation, such as fruit or granola bars. There is a little bit of bread but far less food than we would normally consume in a day. There will be no chance to buy food in Nok Kundi, and if there is nothing there, we are truly fucked. We leave the shepherd’s cabin the way we found it, except for the broken lock on the window where we gained access. Then it’s back to the dirt path that impersonates a national highway. My wheels are still sinking in but I try to grin and bear it. A least we have a system now. Stephen and Kate cycle ahead, like yesterday, and take long leisurely breaks while we catch up.
But the desert is changing, becoming a “hamada,” which means more crushed rock and less sand. It is a rougher ride but I sink in less and can maintain a better average speed. I wasn’t sure what to expect before we got here. It doesn’t quite meet my experience of deserts that I have been in before. We are surrounded by low rolling hills of crushed rock, barren of vegetation. The road weaves a bit between them. The mountains that form the sides of the valley are far away on either side to the north and south. They seem to have sunken into the earth and are peeking up from behind the horizons. The strangest thing though is that I keep setting my sites on the top of the hill a kilometre or more in front of me, but when I get there I still see the top of the hill a similar distance ahead of me. This goes on for half the day. It is surreal, like a scene out of a sci-fi mystery movie or perhaps “The Time Bandits”. To add to this weird effect, the Dutch boys, who are both hanging back to ride with me today, start singing the Talking Heads song “We’re On The Way To Nowhere.”
Kate and Stephen still want to squander time on their extended cigarette breaks. At one point I suggest that at the speed we are going we will need to cycle a couple hours in the cold dark. It is true, but they glower at me (especially Kate) like I have just pissed in their punch.
About 50 km before Nok Kundi, we are pleasantly surprised by finding the road is suddenly paved. Well, partially paved would be more accurate. There is only one lane four metres wide, that must be used by vehicles in both directions. They must each go half off the road when they pass going opposite ways, but it is wide enough to accommodate three bikes cycling side by side. We only see a vehicle every twenty minutes or so, so if I ignore the danger factor and lack of food and water, this is an excellent cycling route. There is a sign in English recognizing the United Nations for paying for this humble excuse for pavement, like they do for children’s vaccinations. Most of the nation’s GNP is apparently swallowed up by the military and the rich.
The pavement saves us as I can go much faster. We travel together now, stopping together for cigarette breaks. Now I only wait for them. About ten minutes along on the paved surface two trucks pass in front of us. They pass on the left. The Dutch boys and I turn in unison on the Brits and ask, “Do they drive on the left in Pakistan?!,” as if they should know. They don’t know but we assume they do drive on the left like Britain does.
The light is the sky is just about to start to fade as we roll into Nok Kundi. It looks as temporary as an outpost in an American western. We see a small military compound and decide it is best to ask where it would be best to spend the night. The officer speaks quite fluent English, which I hope is the norm in Pakistan. He woggles his head and says there are no hotels, and it is far too dangerous to pitch our tents in the open. He strongly advises we pitch them in the yard of the police compound, which we gladly do before the light is gone.
The compound is the size of a large house and there is a chain link fence around it four metres high with rolls of barbed wire at the top. I pinch myself, thinking for a moment that I am in the Bronx. The officer comes out to chat with us. He tells us the whole area is controlled by Baluch smugglers, except for this compound. A warehouse behind the office contains a wide variety of smuggled goods they have confiscated. “This week it seems to be plastic lawn chairs,” he says, “but before that is was hashish and pot.” He says prohibitions in Taliban controlled Afghanistan and Iran make good business for the Baluch who have relatives and friends across both borders.
“Would you like some pot?” he asks suddenly, as though he has been rude by forgetting to offer us any. Stephen and Vincent’s eyes light up, but they are quick to refuse it, fearing that after we have it we will be arrested and held for ransom from our respective families. I am relieved that they have a little bit of sense. Vincent asks instead if there is a grocery market in town as we are out of food. “They usually close around this time but they will still be there. I will phone them and tell them you are coming,” he says with another woggle of pleasure for having done something for us.
We all hurry over and buy up as much as we can carry, then carry it back to our campsite in the compound. The officer even provides us with a little gas for Stephen’s camp stove so we don’t run out, since the store does not sell this. We are so hungry that we pig out tonight and after that we are very tired. It is dark already and we have no reading lights but I checked the Guide at one of the cigarette breaks. It is 170 km to Dalbandin, the first sizable town from here, but the officer says there is a hotel in Yekmech, a outpost about 110 km from here. It will be another long day tomorrow.
PHOTO 1: panorama of the desert in front of us
PHOTO 2: always the top of the hill ahead
PHOTO 3: road block ???
PHOTO 4: local inhabitants
PHOTO 5: the metropolis of Nok Kundi
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