Why I’m addicted to cycle touring

It was an atmospheric twilight in central Uzbekistan; the orange glow was slowly fading into the dust-filled air, and the encroaching darkness added mystery to the towering roadside skeleton trees in my rural surroundings. I was well into my cycle tour to China and every pedal stroke was getting me closer.

I was carefully avoiding cars and potholes while I cycled up the wrong side of a roughly surfaced Uzbek dual carriageway. I was eagerly searching for a peaceful spot to wild camp, but the fields were all filled with cotton bushes or creeping melon plants; there was nowhere for a tent. It wasn’t particularly peaceful, either. Every kilometre there was a wedding hall with the sound of outrageously happy Turkic music blaring out.

Outside one hall I stopped, hoping for some advice about a place to sleep. I leant my bike on a wall and approached a group of guests, but before I knew it my world was suddenly a blur. I had been swept up in a sea of young men, most of whom were happy on life, while a few stank of vodka. I was the eye of the storm, stuck inside this whirlwind of excitement about the lycra-clad foreigner. Away from the mêlée I could see elegantly dressed women dancing in traditional dresses, alive with bright colours and sparkling silver trims – the dancing reminding me of a scene from a Bollywood movie.

Then I saw the banquet tables loaded with a feast of delicacies, like honey to a bee for a starving cyclist like me. But I had ridden 200km since this morning and I didn’t have the energy to attend another Uzbek wedding so I was looking for my exit. A group of older men whom, rather understandably, thought my lycra outfit to be inappropriate wedding attire, helped form an exit path between the sea of excited bodies. So after just two enforced celebratory toasts, I was pleased to be back with my bike, to resume my search for a place to rest. It was now getting even more desperate, I needed somewhere to sleep and soon!