A Turkish, son of his mother, ran over me on a road. A broken pannier and some torn bags. I tried to repair it but it torn again. I welded
it before arriving in Mashhad. The day I was leaving the town I had another
accident. I was not injured but Kogadonga was. Again the back pannier broken and some other things.
The bike is strong because at 60 km per hour it would have been more damaged. I spent my last night in Iran looking for some light to repair my bike, no food at all, I had to repair the bike before starting my race to Turkemenistan, alone 500 km of desert. By10.30 pm I had repaired most of the damaged and asked at a hospital for a shower. Clean life looks different.
Turkmenistan was waiting for me, more than 50 C and some irrigation channels set up during Sovietic age and creating the cotton monoculture resulting in the disaster of the Aral Sea. Thanks to my filter I could drink some water, drinking, even if it just a beer, alone is as sad as watching a movie in an empty movie theater. So, I decided to wait to meet again Andi and Salva in Bukhara (Uzbekistan) where we
would toast to Sabine, the Swiss cyclist run over in Iran, to Homeini, the desert and our own health. Health is important.
Another mistake by Satlink, has not allowed me to listen to the messages left my friends on my birthday. But I have read them on the forum, thanks a lot and I do hope your dreams also come true. Thanks a lot for being there.
Now I am negotiating with Toursa from Oviedo to get the parcel sent by Bike Tech to repair the bike and move on, next to Samarkanda and then Taskhent, Uzbeka's capital. I will have to sit down and see to the next plans and the winter and the visas to get: Kyrgikistan, Kazahastan, China, Tibet, Nepal, India, Pakistan, Afganistan,
Tajikistan, Kyrgikistan, Kazahastan, Rusia, Mongolia (summer2009), is an option.
Kyrgikistan, Tajikistan, Afganistan, Pakistan, India, is another.
And well, who knows , plans I make and then remake because of a drunk driver or a beautiful Asian face that makes me feel butterflies in my stomach again.
From Bukhara, Uzbekistan, day 1341 Peace and Well Being, the biciclown
