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Desert Cycling in Iran
“Ah, Poutain!” Xavier shouted, cursing the wind. Our progress had been slowed to a crawl by a vicious headwind as we had turned south and I was becoming more familiar with parts of the French language not taught in school!
Trying to navigate the mess of highways and overpasses surrounding Tehran had become a nightmare. My usual reliance on Google maps on my iPhone was not an option with the limited wifi and internet access in Iran so we had to do things the old fashioned way. We attempted to follow road signs or crude directions drawn on scraps of paper by taxi drivers but ended up turning back and forth, sometimes doubling back over 10km in the wrong direction. It was a frustrating morning but eventually we found the road south to Qom.
Checking the map previous night Qom had already been an ambitious target for the day, but with our delays and diversions we had made the task even tougher, fortunately the first 100km of the ride were sloped downhill which offset some of the vicious headwind. As darkness fell we were 10km short of the city with our trip computers already reading a huge 185km for the day. We stopped to put our lights on and carried on into the city in the dark, pushing a record 196km for the day – Xavier’s bike computer read 201km for the day, but i was sticking with my Garmin’s accuracy – the 200km day will have to wait for another time!
We hadn’t had a rest day since Tabriz, the previous week, so although we were keen to cross this section of Iran as quickly as possible we had to admit we needed a rest day. The city of Qom is the religious epicentre of Shi’a islam and as such very conservative. We made sure to don our long sleeve shirts and headed out in search of much needed food.
The lonely planet’s summation of food options in Qom was a little uninspiring, declaring that there was basically nowhere to eat in the whole city. After an hour or so searching the streets we too came to this conclusion and ended up eating bad pizza in a fast food place, pretty much the only restaurant we could find. We had at least found a nice hotel and for $8 had a big, clean private room with decent wifi, which we were able to run a proxy on to access facebook, email and other sites deemed illegal in Iran.
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Holy Shrine, Qom
The next day I tried to take in some culture, I went in to the Holy Shrine and explored some bazaars before continuing the previous day’s search for food, again to no avail! I returned to the hotel with some shop bought snacks and we spent a true rest day catching up with online things vegging out in the room.
Refreshed after our rest day we got back on the old highway and continued south. We were keen to find some smaller roads to cycle, but worried about the distances we needed to cover on our time limited visa we had to make progress towards Bandar Abbas. On the large roads the cycling had become pretty monotonous. Wake up, cycle until dark, sleep and repeat. The day only broken up by food stops and the odd car stopping to have a chat and give us fruit (this happened 3-4 times a day minimum!)
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Cycling into the Desert Sunset
After around 120km we made our way into the historic city of Kashan. “Tourists!!!” Xavier shouted. “Huh?”, I screeched to a halt on the side of the road. “There were two europeans with backpacks back there”.
We turned around and cycled back up the hill and indeed found two backpackers on the side of the road. The first tourists we’d seen since Qazvin. It turned out they were a couple of couchsurfers and whilst chatting their would-be host showed up. “Sure, the more the merrier” he said, inviting us to join the couple surfing.
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Impromtu couchsurfing in Kashan
An all together odd night followed as we followed the car to an old shop in the centre of the city. Behind the main display was a large open floor and 2 Finnish couchsurfers setting out their sleeping bags. Our host left us to go back to his family that night as it turned out he’d become a father just 4 days earlier. We were left to our own devices and the 6 of us chatted into the evening about our travels and experiences in Iran.
It was a flying visit to Kashan, which although had it charms didn’t warrant another rest day. Checking the map that morning made for depressing reading; the Zagros mountain range, that we had been skirting for days, now stood between us and our goal of Esfahan – it was time to cross the mountains!
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Cycling Iran
In to the wind the progress was slow. We stopped for an omelette breakfast before heading back in to the desert. Spirits seemed to be at an all time low that morning. The wind battered us from in front and we were both exhausted, I honestly didn’t know where we’d get to that night. Even Xavier’s usual optimism had waned not even offering his nightly catchphrase “Tonight we’ll sleep in a palace” – we had no fecking idea where we would sleep!
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D-Light still working in Iran
If the morning was a slow grind the afternoon was to prove further demoralising. As the wind and gradient increased Xavier made another move for a truck and grabbed it from the side, accelerating up the hill and out of sight. Ever stubborn I had already decided I was cycling or nothing and refused offer after offer from passing cars and trucks, as i wound my way slowly up the hills. After an hour or so I’d still not seen my French Hitch-biker, I wondered if that was it. Would I ever see Xavier again?
I put my head down and considered how much more i could take before accepting a lift from a truck, the mountain seemed insurmountable – an obstacle too far. Was Xavier thinking the same? Had he already taken a lift and at that moment relaxing in a hotel room in Esfahan?
My thoughts were interrupted as I was pulled over by a solider on a dirt bike, who i realised had been following me for a while. “Camera?” he asked. It turned out the road we were on was intersecting another mysterious military zone and he wanted to check i’d not been secretly spying. We’d heard stories of unwitting travellers being thrown in jail for such misdemeanors. Nervously I watched as he flicked through the photos, every now and then asking “Where is this mountain?” or “What is this building?” I tried to make up answers that seemed as non-spy-like and non-military as possible, at which he seemed happy enough and let me on my way with a smile and a wave. Note to self: “Really don’t take pictures when you see signs saying not to, or at least delete them from the camera!”
Another half an hour cycling and I saw a bearded figure on the side of the road. Xavier had been waiting over an hour and must have covered at least 15km uphill. I was relieved to see him again but as we set off he grabbed another truck and was on his way!
It was around 5:30 and getting dark. We hadn’t seen so much as a shop, house or farm since starting the mountain pass. There had also been a distinct lack or trees or any kind of foliage to hide tents behind, but until we found food and water were not in a position to stop anyway. Summitting another rise we were in luck and pulled in to a service station with restaurant – more chicken and rice – and shop. We stocked up as much water as we could carry and continued up the mountain.
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An unhappy Xavier after 100km with no food in Iran
“What about there?” Xavier tried, “Behind that bush”. “Or there, in the ditch?” camping spots were slim pickings and it was becoming harder to see past the road verge in the vanishing light. “I’m not stopping until we have got to the top!” I shouted back.
It took forever. We were crushed and exhausted but eventually the tell tale signs of the top of the pass trickled in to view – the radio mast on the highest point of the ridge, the horizon getting ever closer and then the congratulatory summit sign. 2200m up it had taken all day to reach, but at 7pm, in complete darkness, we had made it.
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2000 metre pass in Iran
The wind kicked up and delivered a biting chill. “We can’t camp this high up in this cold, lets roll down the hill and find a spot”. Utter elation hit as the wind rushed through our hair. After a day of barely managing 10kmh we were suddenly flying down the mountain at 30! The tired legs exhaled at the new found free motion as the lactic acid poured out of our muscles.
Dimly lit by my head torch I could barely see more than a few metres ahead. Anomalies in the road surface jumping out of nowhere and causing me to bounce off my seat as our speed increased. As cars passed we would use the beams from their headlights to scout possible camping spots, but all that was revealed was sparse desert. Not a tree or outcrop in sight.
“Maybe that’s Esfahan” I guessed, pointing at some lights in the distance. “Its probably only 20km, at this rate we’ll be there in no time”. Xavier scowled, in truth it was over 50km, pitch black and, despite the downhill fooling us, our legs were on the verge of giving up after an incredibly tough 160km uphill!
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Camping in the Desert
“Ok, here will have to do!” Xavier said, pointing at an empty patch of desert. We’d seen nothing that would have even remotely hidden our tents so Xavier’s new plan was to walk out into the night and hide behind nothing more than the darkness.
We unmounted our bikes and started to push through the sand. After a while the noise of the busy road became fainter and it began to feel safe. We pitched camp in the dark and turned in.
In the morning the light relieved a ridiculously open camp ground, in full sight of the road and passers by, but it had been a successful wild camp. As we set off in the morning we came across a small forest that would have concealed our tents perfectly just 200 metres down the road. “C’est la vie” I retorted in one of the few French phrases I remembered.
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