So, I finally ticked this one off the bucket list — and it was a BIG tick.
This adventure had been on my radar for a few years. Late last year, I chatted with the Mrs., and it looked like the timing, budget, and stars had aligned — so, it was go time.
Now, I need to come clean: this was not only my first bikepacking race, but actually my first ever bikepacking trip. In hindsight, maybe I should’ve tested the waters with something smaller… but how hard could it be, right?
The Setup:
Due to budget constraints, I used my regular bike — a 2022 Titan Cypher Carbon RS Pro (100mm dual suspension). With a few tweaks and some thoughtful gear choices, it was race-ready. Huge shoutout to @Nickthewheelbuilder for helping me get my Son 28 dynamo hub sorted on a South Industries rim.
I snapped three rear spokes in training, so 8 weeks before race day I rebuilt the rear wheel — fresh spokes, all torqued to perfection. I’m quite fussy with pre-race maintenance, so everything from the chain and cassette to the bottom bracket and suspension bearings got replaced or serviced. I even did a solid 150km shakedown ride to check it all worked smoothly.
The bike performed flawlessly I must add.
My Gear Setup:
Seatpack: Ortlieb
Front & Feed Bags: Texrex
Top Tube: Apidura
Backpack: …way too big (lesson learned)
I was ready… sort of.
Training & Prep:
Training got off to a bumpy start. I was on antibiotics in January and had my tonsils removed in February. But from mid-Feb to July, I managed to string together some solid training blocks. With limited time (and a 2-year-old in the mix), I leaned hard into “dad hours” — 2–3am rides before the family woke up. Lots of base miles, intervals, long slogs, and structured weeks. My FTP jumped by 150W, so things were definitely moving in the right direction.
Admin-wise, the race was already throwing curveballs. Visa issues nearly derailed things, but the organiser worked some serious magic. Flights were surprisingly affordable, and accommodation in Kyrgyzstan were incredibly cheap.
Osh & The Race Start:
In Osh, I met up with a few fellow riders and did a great shakeout ride — spirits were high. But I’d missed one key element in my prep: altitude. I had meds, but nothing replaces time at elevation.
This race features big climbs. We’re talking 2,500m+ in a single pass. Entire days climbing a single “hill” — that’s just standard in Kyrgyzstan. You learn quickly: there are climbs, and then there are Kyrgyz climbs.
Go Time:
The first 160km went great. I was cruising. But once we started gaining real altitude, the wheels fell off — hard. My lungs just weren’t playing ball. Imagine breathing through a straw while trying to ride. But I kept moving forward.
CP1 was brutal — 3,600m high, deep in the pain cave, coughing like a chain smoker. I made it over, then hit a frigid river crossing and a gnarly hike-a-bike descent into Sary Mogul. I was wrecked. Instead of pushing on, I crashed in a guesthouse — one of my best decisions. The riders who pushed on battled headwinds for hours; I cruised the section the next day at 2am with none of that.
Into the Wild:
Post-Sary Mogul, the climbs kept coming. But the lungs started coming around — just in time for the monster: a 30km hike-a-bike up to a 4,000m pass after Kok-Art (yes, it made me chuckle too). I camped before the summit, losing some time but gaining much-needed rest.
That rest paid off. The next day I cleared the pass with a light dusting of snow and rode into the valley along the Chinese border, and pushed on towards CP2. Food supplies were running low, and I ended up camping in a ditch after falling asleep on the bike — last emergency meal used. It was getting real.
I rolled into CP2 just 13 hours before the cutoff — but I was feeling better. It was time to start pushing.
The Turnaround:
From CP2, I cranked out a 140km push to Naryn (“Scratch City”). It’s the first real town on route, and where many riders call it quits. I got in around 1am, destroyed a hotel buffet the next morning, and restocked for the next monster leg: 400km with no resupply, mostly above 3,000m.
That section brought some of the wildest moments — snowstorms, whiteouts, and a legendary nomadic yurt where a bunch of us riders found shelter, warmth, and pasta. Again, a solid rest led to a huge push the next day: 210km over two 4,000m passes. The contrast was insane — snow-covered in the morning, bone dry by sunset.
CP3 & The Final Stretch:
I arrived at CP3 nearly two days ahead of cutoff — a huge mental win. From there, we rode along the stunning Issyk Kul lake before turning left up Tonsor Pass — another massive grind to 3,900m, followed by some brutal hike-a-bike and mud. I teamed up with another rider for that stretch, and we camped together near the road.
The next morning brought more climbing and hike-a-bike before we finally descended into a town and refueled. The last few hundred km were a dream: smoother, faster, with fewer big climbs. After one final freezing night at 3,300m, I crossed the finish line in 13 days, 20 hours.
Not the time I had hoped for, but after battling altitude sickness and everything that came with it — I was just proud to finish.
Takeaways:
This race is a real adventure. It’s supposed to be hard — and that’s what makes it worthwhile.
Know your "why" — when it gets tough, you’ll need it.
Stop and enjoy the view — seriously, every hour. The beauty here is off the charts.
Accept the food situation. It’s bad. Don’t fight it.
The bikepacking community is full of amazing people — you’ll make friends for life.
We don’t have real mountains where I live. No matter how hard you train, Kyrgyzstan’s climbs will humble you.
If you ever get the chance to go — just go. Whether you’re racing, touring, or just visiting… Kyrgyzstan is something special. The people, the place, the whole experience is unforgettable.
Below are some photos — I’ve got no clue where most were taken, but Kyrgyzstan is pure magic
