Silk Road Mountain Race (SRMR)

Lee Craigie's story

For the first three days of the Silk Road Mountain Race I battled with my sick body to find a rhythm but in the end, could not. Every pedal stroke felt like an assault on myself and time crawled supernaturally slowly. On the morning of the fourth day I realised that I hadn’t felt a single moment of joy since beginning the race or noticed anything other than what was happening inside my own head or body. I had hoped that the sickness I was carrying from the start would clear, but instead, it got worse.
On that morning, dehydrated and exhausted, I had to ask myself why I was carrying on racing and whether I stood the risk of hurting myself more by doing so. After a brief battle with my ego I decided that this was just not my time and that I should let the race go.
Not disciplined enough to remain on the race route and not continue to race, I left the purple line on my gps and rode to Tash Rabat, a 14th Centuary trading post on the Silk Road. I left my bike and race head at a yurt camp and shuffled up the valley to explore the incredible, sprawling stone monument set deep into a spectacular hillside. I sat on its roof the size of a football pitch and thought about all the travellers throughout the centuries who had sought sanctuary here. I then slept for 14 hours and woke up to the realisation that for the first time in four days I didn’t feel sick and was thankfully devoid of any urge to make an emergency beeline to the toilet.
Tash Rabat is a historical stopping place within a travellers journey. Historians think it was somewhere traders could take stock and refuel in safety and warmth. With that in mind I considered hard what it was I wanted from this experience and was surprised to realise that although my body wasn’t functioning as I would like and couldn’t do this race justice, I still craved adventure and exploration.
No one knew if it was possible to ride over Tash Rabat Pass (3960m) and down the other side but I found myself perfectly positioned to find out. I set off slowly up the pass, pushing and carrying my bike then riding / running down the other side. In this unexplored little patch of mountain range, while skittering about on narrow horse track or on no track at all, I found the beginnings of joy returning.
Once safely on the other side of an enormous mountain range I was committed to carrying on on the race route. Without a sleeping mat (I melted it on my stove on the first night 🙄) and only cold high desert ahead of me I was committed to getting to check point two that night if I didn’t want to sleep cold.
I struck out across the 12 miles of pathless desert that lay between me and the original route east while storm clouds amassed overhead. And this is when the magic returned. Believe me when I say that on this desolate plain there was nothing other than mud cracked earth and tufts of stiff yellow grass. Yet on this random desert traverse in the vague direction of the gravel road that would eventually lead me to CP2 I encountered two yurts at exactly the same time as the heavens opened. Both times I was invited in and I sat warm and dry listening to the rain pound off the yurt felt and breathing in the comforting smell of damp wool and wood smoke. My hosts smiled toothless and wordless at me and continually topped up my cup with chai or fermented horse milk until the sun came out again.
It was these two encounters, together with the use of my hosts toilet, that gave me the resolve to reach CP2 where I received medical help (thank you Adrian).
Mingled with the disappointment of having not met my own and others expectations in this race is the comforting knowledge that it was all still worth it. The colours and splendour of Kyrgystan have returned to me and although I’m still feeling pretty ropey, I’m able to feel joy again.