Standing on the shoulders of giants

‘If I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants’

Isaac Newton

Mountains are a very grounding place, able to provide some of the best views and moments unimaginable, but also torture you in ways unfathomable. Climbing out of the Kura valley was both of those and after summiting I began to feel something I had not yet encountered this trip….sickness.

Overexertion? The three-day old dahl I ate for dinner the night before? My water filter finally beginning to show signs of wear after near constant use for two weeks? Who knows. What it did add though was a new dimension to the trip ahead. Not only was I taking in the beautiful landscapes, but like an eagle keenly scouting for its next prey, I was now looking for any shrub or divert in this steppe-like landscape where I could ‘hide’, if only for a minute (most likely less).

The high plateau roads were mercifully tarmac which, now I was beginning to suffer, was a blessing in terms of reducing energy exertion. I continue along these surprisingly well kept country lanes throughout the day before finally being forced onto the main highway in the region. With very limited rail, transport here is predominated by road and with this being so close to the Turkish and Armenian borders there were quite a few trucks hurtling by.

Afternoons with the boys: directions and drinks break

To get to where I wanted to camp that night I could either follow this highway in a general north east direction and arrive in good time, albeit coated in dust and no doubt shaken up by some shoddy driving; or, chance my arm on paths that formally do not exist, but zoom in hard enough on google maps and they slowly appear. I choose the latter and it all started pretty well. The roads not great but doable, plenty of water points and plenty of bushes. However, things took a turn for the worse at the last formal town before only trails continue. Here, locals with gold capped teeth grinned as I pointed in the direction I wanted to travel, and recommended the highway to me and failing that to have a cha cha with them before I depart. I decline the former and accept the latter, hoping the sheer alcohol percentage might kill the bug I had picked up….it only hastened a need to ‘check out’ a bush on the outskirts of town.

 The only road due north was nothing short of a rockslide covered with tufts of grass, obviously going up a steep hill, and a push of a 35kg bike ensued under the midday heat. Despite all that had recently stacked against me that morning, pushing the bike in such stunning scenery gave ample reflection time. Yes, you want to be as present as possible each day (I don’t even read my diary or look at photos more than a few days old) but it is always good to reflect on things at times.

My thoughts took me to the title of this blog as a metaphor for this trip. Standing on the shoulders of giants insinuates that I have set out on this expedition thanks to the help and guidance of those who have gone before or inspired me. My family sprang to mind. My parent’s inquisitive nature with travel, Mum’s support for me no matter how stupid or financially ruinous the decision may be, and the friends and my extended family, the Harveys, who amaze and inspire me in equal measure every day. I realize what an incredibly blessed position I find myself in, to have had such stable shoulders to have climbed, to have never feared of falling and to have had so many people to be inspired by. In turn I hope to help others see even further than I; for we should all climb, whatever our journey and encourage others in turn to stand on us to see further.

You can’t outrun rain forever: tarpaulin time in southern Georgia

I am snapped back to my senses with what sounds like cannon shot above me head. The storm that looked like it had been brewing on the horizon had caught up with me. No rain yet but near continuous thunder greets my arrival at the valley summit. Before long the anticipated rain comes, aplenty of it, and the dusty mud tracks turn into a fine paste that jams ups my bike. With the weather getting worse, the skies darkening quickly I am forced to unfurl the tarpaulin for my bike and use it as a temporary shelter. I spend the next hour awkwardly cooped up, giving rain protection priority to the bike, but with my bowels mercifully distracted for the time being by the predicament I found myself in.

Hearing the rain ease against the tarp, but with the thunder still going for it, I decide to make a break for Paravani lake. It seems the storm has made everything else take shelter except for the odd Armenian cowboy moving their herds through this great valley. I finally arrive at the great lake at 8.30pm, truly shattered but in awe of my next campsite. What I was not expecting in such a remote area was for the water clarity of the lake to be so poor, so poor even that my water filter could not clean. Merely choking after a few pumps and giving up. Here lay a sorry conundrum, no drinkable water after a sweltering day and yet surrounded by a huge lake. I opted against boiling and chancing my arm that way, for the algae was that dense and my bowels already on tenterhooks.

A desert in an oasis: parched

Water that night found its way into my dreams, figuratively haunting me. I decide that I must break camp early the following morning and head to the nearest water point marked on the map. I found neither a water point, nor a person for the next 12km, whole towns abandoned with only wild donkeys and the odd dog present for company. After an hour and a half of hard riding I finally find an old watering hose that still ran, drinking litres of the stuff before filling every container and water bottle I owned before setting off.

Despite the downturn in health I make good distance over the next few days to arrive within spitting distance (50km) of Tbilisi. What lays between me, a bed and hopefully seeing a couple of school mates is 1000m of climbing and a body that is more interested in bushes than bikes.

I am 99% certain I’ll make it, but also 99% certain my luck of not being caught with my proverbial ‘pants down’ running out before I arrive. Here’s to sturdier stools, dance halls and more road rules in the magical Tbilisi.

From a small giant.

On to pastures new…..