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Journal

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This is our online journal with news, photos, tours and all sorts of interesting stuff... We like to post from the roads we cycle  throughout Asia to help give you a little insight into our cycling holidays so you may read words from the road in Vietnam, the mountains in China, the beaches in Thailand, a village in Laos, a bar in Taiwan, or the stunning hills of Sri Lanka.

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Mongolia 2018 Review

28 August 18

a cyclist in mongolia crossing a river

Like riding through the set of a wild west movie a herd of stallions thunders alongside us as our tyres drum the hollow sounding hard packed single track leading us on a rollercoaster ride across the Kangi Mountains. For riding through Mongolia is an experience unlike any other PaintedRoads Tour to date. Far more than a simple cycling tour, a fortnight on the Steppe is all encompassing, a veritable collage of sensations both physical and emotional, with sights, sounds, smells, and riding experiences morphing as we go. 

Although predominantly dry the weather is not shy to change, with brief rain showers, more often than not soon giving way to warming sunshine as the clouds break and the sun bathes the land in a soft glow. 

The route begins with some short sharp climbs and gravel trails through an almost treeless landscape. Once across the watershed though the trails give way to more flowing hard packed double track and the hillsides become thicker with vegetation and evergreen forests. 

Mongolia’s sparse population is predominantly nomadic and, as is so often the case with people who are not strangers to a harsh existence, these yurt dwelling herders are friendly and generous, often visiting our camp to exchange wares with our crew, and offering as much hospitality as they are able when we visit their homes.  

I have heard it sung that a picture paints a thousand words, so, rather than prattle on further I shall leave it to my Olympus to lend a sense of this year’s pair of tours in the beautiful land of Mongolia. 

Next year’s Mongolia Tour will run from June 29 until July 11 and bookings are already coming in. For more details please click here.

cyclists in Mongolia riding a gravel track up hill beneath a blue sky

Testimonial

Mongolia, what a beautiful country but I think the whole tour group would agree with me in saying that the jovial and convivial presence David exuded over the tour was what made this tour really special. I would thoroughly recommend this tour on David's tour leader skills alone but the support crew and food also proved to be fabulous

Jonny Harding UK.

Mongolian men by a camp fir on a cycling tour

Testimonial

An amazing place to ride a bicycle. Lots of ‘WOW’ factor – especially on day 3. The only downside to all of the great scenery is that you keep stopping to take more photos! David and the local Mongolian crew have done an excellent job of putting together an off-road adventure designed for those of us cyclists who are primarily road bikers – enough challenge to push us, but not so technical that we were scared.

Pete Fotheringham USA

a cyclist on tour in Mongolia passing a herd of camels

Testimonial

Once again Sprog and I have had another wonderful trip with Painted Roads. This was my third trip with you and it was as well organized and enjoyable as the rest. Having the back-up of the truck when the going got tough was a comfort. How your helpful crew managed to produce such a variety of good food every day was a mystery. We were very appreciative of the way you personally scrutinized our bikes before every departure from camp. I would have no hestation in recommending Painted Roads to any would-be adventurous cyclist. We had a lot of fun.

Ollie Hughes NZ

a bicycle mechanic working on bikes whilst camping in mongolia

Testimonial

Our Mongolia cycling experience was mountain biking through immense wilderness, wide open valleys, steep climbs, river crossings, yaks, horses, sheep, goats, and scattered nomad gers (yurts). It’s another world. Think “Wild West” on steroids, missing only the trees and snow-capped peaks. Painted Roads’ drivers, guides and cooks were exceptional.

Carol York USA

a cyclist in Mongolia passing herds of animals and a ger

a Mongolian lady offers cyclist food and drink inside her ger

a group of cyclists climbing a hill in Mongolia on a gravel road

a cyclist in Mongolia sitting in a river as a horse rider passes by

a Mongolian mountain biker jumping a stream

a cyclist on a hilly gravel road in Mongolia

Yunnan Province 2018 In Pictures

23 June 18

Yunnan Province, China - if pushed for my favourite tour I would have to say that this is it. A gem of a ride that takes us from the Tibetan town of Shangri-La, via passes high and gorges deep, to the town of Dali, home the the Bai minority people. Between these two contrasting towns we have a stunning ride on almost deserted roads, as for nigh on two weeks we explore magnificent scenery of snow capped peaks, pine forests, cobbled climbs, and an ancient tea trading town, We dine on what many who have tried it consider to be perhaps the finest cuisine in Asia - the kitchen of Yunnan really bares very little resemblance to the rather dull Cantonese fayre of you local Chinese restaurant.

This year’s tour was a small but splendid affair as Echo, Li, and I travelled with PaintedRoads regular David and new comer Paul enjoying the finest weather we have experienced to date in this fine fine province. 

 

 

 

China Sichuan - LabRat Run Review

12 June 18

PaintedRoads’ LabRat runs are fast becoming a popular tradition amongst our more adventurous guests. A new tour in an interesting and off the beaten path location, these inaugural runs contain, to one degree or another, an element of uncertainty somewhere along the way. Whereas usually I go over a route one final time alone before running an inaugural tour, a LabRat Run involves taking a small group of laidback adventurous PR regulars along to join in the fun of the final pre production ride. 

This year's tour was through a region of China through which I have long planned to run a tour. Indeed as far back as the dawn of this century, when I travelled overland from Kathmandu to Hong Kong via Lhasa, I have been of the opinion that the Kham region of Sichuan Province was perhaps an altogether better place to experience Tibet than the Tibetan Autonomous Region. This felling was reinforced when, in 2007 and 2008 (as far as my tatty olf memory recalls) I explored the area on a somewhat overloaded bicycle, camping and exploring and pondering running my own tours.

And so it came to be that at the tail end of May this year seven PaintedRoads regulars join me to ride the inaugural Sichuan Tour. We were supported by Echo, and our regular driver, mechanic, tour explorer, and trusted friend Lee. Additional support was provided by cycling guide Monk, and second driver Maveric.

The ride is surly beautiful, and challenging. And this year the challenge was even tougher than expected with a startlingly early onset of the rain season and a two day section where the untimely demise of the main road building contractor had left the road in a state far worse than it was a year ago, quite the opposite to the situation we had been led to expect when exploring the way last June. It transpired that not only had the chap in charge of road repair operations made his way prematurely to the Happy Hunting Ground, he had also managed, rather cunningly, to spirit all of the contract’s money with him, leaving a swath of disgruntled peasants along the way eager for payment and and making sure that work didn’t not continue until they received satisfaction.

The route was nothing if not eclectic. Road surfaces ranged from pristine tarmac, to wet and muddy, to gravel, to rural concrete byways. Climbing was an ongoing theme of the tour, with some of the longest ascents and consequent descents imaginable. Climbs of over 40 kilometres were all but a daily occurrence, and the downhills that followed, with the often shallow(ish) gradients that such a long climb often ensures, were a laid back relaxing affairs through exquisite mountain scenery. Not all hills are surfaced equally in Sichuan though, and those seeking a more exciting pass to cross were not left wanting, as on occasion we ascend and descend on loose and exciting byways - shredding dude!

The highest pass of the tour was 4700 metres, with roads above 4000 metres cropping up on a leg shatteringly regular basis. However with sleeping elevations considerably lower that our highest point each day altitude related health issues never cropped up, save of course for the inevitable breathlessness while crossing an oxygen depleted pass. What was interesting to all was the difference a few hundred extra meters in altitude could have on a fellow, or lass. When 4000 metres seemed OK, an extra 500 metres could take the wind from even the largest lungs. The passes were not only metaphoricaly breathtaking, but also quite literally. 

I feel that I have rambled on quite long enough, now I should leave the pictures to tell the story. 

Before singing off  though, I would like to thank David, Kreg, Marko, Dianne, JP, and Allison very much for not only their participation and good humour, but also their enthusiasm for adventure through a beautiful and challenging wilderness.

Entering Tibet

Ladies of the Yi minority group

The first major climb, 45 KMS of ascent from Daju village

Mani stones - the mantras of Tibetan Buddism carved in stone are a regular feature 

One of many pristine road surfaces...

and one of many gravel roads

Village life

Local ladies at Bao Shan village

Leaving Bao Shan by boat

A chicken

Coffee break

The begining of two days of less than pristine byway

Oops!

Two day's of unexpected road works left us all a tad tired

Lunch at 4500 metres

Desending from 4500 metres  we loose 2000 metres on one wonderful descent

Tibetan architecture 

A buddhist monastery 

Another 40 kilometre descent

Prayer flags

Many thanks to Echo, seen here at 4400 metres, for her endless hard work running the tour, always with a cheery smile

Later in the tour the Tibetan homes are treated to a coat of white paint.

Monastery feline 

KOM Keith

This chap offered us yak butter tea as we crossed the tour's highest pass

Cooking up lunch

Visiting a monestery

We were not always the only two wheeled adventurers 

The final high pass

Descending towards the fabled Shangri-La on the final day

Cycling guide Monk

The group - JP, Dianne, Allison, Kreg, David, Keith, Marko, and at the back Monk

Vietnam's Ho Chi Minh Trail 2018. Review and Testimonials

31 March 18

This year's Ho Chi Minh Trail tour through the mountains of Central Vietnam was, to say the least, great fun. Including Phong and I in the count there were six of us riding this somewhat undulating route from the nations hectic capital Hanoi, to the beautiful riverside town of Hoi An, some thousand kilometres to the south.

The venerable General Arthur, and Kiwi David, both PaintedRoads regulars, were joined by Nicholas and Mark, two chums from the far north of the United Kingdom who’s determination to train for the tour through a bleak Scottish winter can be seen as nothing other that highly commendable. 

Personally I enjoyed the tour tremendously. With  an overcast sky for 99% of the trip we were treated to temperatures mostly in the low 20ºs, with the mercury nudging the 30ºs just once so far as I was aware, and even then for less that an hour. To complement the excellent climatic conditions we had a group of people with a similar approach to their cycling, meaning a relaxed bunch with the occasional turn to a light hearted touch of competitiveness. And when the day’s ride was over, and the chilled beer emerged from the guest house fridge, the aprés ride atmosphere was every bit as good as the riding.

A fine tour then? I will leave the final word to bicycle tour new comers Mark and Nicholas.

TESTIMONLAS 

cyclist on jungle road vietnamMark Adams - (47) A portly middle-aged gentleman and recreational cyclist with a penchant for long weekend rides, the occasional Audax, and the odd Sportive.

"I don’t do package holidays and hate guided tours.   It’s been 25 years since I did either and the memory still grates.  My conundrum is I have a window of opportunity for an adventure, no time to plan and a finite window in which to complete it.  With a very clear idea of what I want to do and more importantly what I don’t want to do.  I take to the internet and find Painted Roads.

Point to point cycling in remote terrain travelling through a fascinating country, delivered with a great personal touch from a small independent company - who could ask for more?  David, owner of Painted Roads, cycled every inch of the ride with the group and managed the group in a very non-intrusive way.  His light touch allowed the group and individuals to ride their own ride.   This allowed the group dynamic to comfortably evolve.  This relaxed approach was possible due to David’s extensive efforts in planning the trip, his excellent choice in local guide and the many years’ experience gained cycle touring and delivering trips in SE Asia.

I’m a cyclist and primary goal is to maximise my time in the saddle.  I set out with this objective; with no great desire to be ushered from one tourist attraction to the next.  Travelling through remote and challenging terrain to roll into a small village allows you to unwittingly immerse yourself in the culture.  The flip side is that this requires a degree of patience and expectation management in respect of accommodation.  However, this is a compromise that pays back in dividends through the experience gained.  The juxtaposition between the time spent on the trip and the post trip R&R at one of the more popular tourist resorts was stark.  This really highlighted the quality of the experience gained by travelling by bike in a small group through towns and villages which have been little impacted by tourism.  

One of the very many lasting memories of the trip will be rounding a bend on a particularly long descent to happen upon a troop of baboons crossing the road.  My immediate thought was I know the protocol for unwanted attention from dogs, but don’t remember anything in the briefing relating to baboons.  I stop, watch then make their way back into the jungle and feel blessed to have encountered them.

Having returned home I now long to create the opportunity to join David and Painted Roads on another great adventure.  My confidence boosted by the trip down the HCM Trail I’m looking for something bigger, more challenging, more remote …  Whatever my next adventure maybe, I sincerely hope it is with Painted Roads".

cyclist touring vietnam beneath vietnamese flagsNicholas Croll - Scots man, new commer to cycle touring, and not afraid of the occasional artic run. 

"I undertook my first ever cycle 'holiday' with David Walker/Painted Roads by riding the Ho Chi Minh Trail tour in March 2018. I didn't really have a holiday, instead what I did get was an adventure that far exceeded my expectations and included magnificent scenery, fantastic cycling, great food and top class hospitality.

The highest praise I can offer is that the next time I am seeking a cycling 'adventure' my first point of contact will be Painted Roads. Forget the large tour operators for your next cycle tour - choose Painted Roads and you won't have any regrets. Your biggest problem will be deciding which one of the fantastic sounding tours you will take.......good luck!"

Cyclist on Vietnam's Ho Chi Minh Trail At 75 you would think he would have slown down by now - General Arthur could just be the real life Benjamin Button.

cyclist on old US runway central VietnamAn old US airstrip north of the Seventeenth Parallel 

cyclists and buffalo on Vietnam's Ho Chi Minh Trail Morning rush hour on the Ho Chi Minh Trail 

cyclists crossing a rice field in VietnamRice farmers

Exploring the path less travelled 

Visiting a brick factory 

Bricks

Misty mountain

Final dash to tea brake

 

Throw Back Thursday - Gravel Roads From The Deserts Of Peru To The High Andes

02 November 17

We pull off of the Pan Americana highway for the final time with a feeling a relief. Sometimes hectic, sometimes tranquil, we have been dodging on and off this road for the past 4000 kilometres. In Peru the standard of driving has fallen to an all time low (which is takes some achieving) and we are happy to leave the lorry drivers, coach chauffeurs, and various other homicidal lunatics behind us. 

We pull up at the gate house of the private road, shake hands with the jovial guard who merrily waves us on towards the the highest mountain range outside of the Himalayas, The Cordillera Blanca. 

The road is a gravel track, and will continue so for the lions share of the next month. We are in a desert now with not a sign of life. The desert is beautiful, the contours of the hills the rocks and the sand cast a multitude of hues. 

This is the South America that we came here for, wilderness open space and beauty. Amidst this parched lowland desert it is difficult to comprehend that just a hundred or so kilometres away stand giant snow capped mountains. Come dusk we find a fine camp spot with a magnificent view, the only sound is silence. The sky is clear as we lay outside the tent after dinner watching the stars. We try to identify the Southern Cross. We think we find it, then we find another cross, then another, it is astonishing just how many celestial crosses there are in the night sky. We find Orion's Belt, we always find Orion's Belt, we are happy that Orion's Belt exists for there are few other constellations that we can identify here, then we spot the Plough, larger than in the northern hemisphere and upside down. We discus the size of space and the fact that the universe is expanding at an incomprehensible speed, we wonder how, given that space is infinite, it can be expanding. We discus black holes and white dwarfs and worm holes and light years. We discus things that are really beyond us, we realise that we are becoming very confused and so we retire for the night. This always happens when we camp in a desert.

There is a momentary silence as the roar of the raging torrent bellow is replaced by the crunching of gravel beneath our tyres. It is now the second day of the long climb to Huaraz and we are entering one of the many narrow tunnels hewn into the side of the Canyon del Pato. The single lane track clings to the cliff face high above the Rio Santa, the river that relentlessly gouges out the canyon on its journey to the sea. The tunnels on this rock strewn gravel road are narrow and we are pleased that the traffic is light, to meet a lorry in one of these dark passages would be far from good. 

                          

Finding camping in this narrow valley is a challenge. Tired after a long day in the saddle we fuel ourselves with a sugar hit from a battered bottle of warm cola before clambering to a ridge high above the road. We while away a pleasant evening there laying outside the tent drinking tea and arguing about which constellation is the Southern Cross, we have to date discovered 37 crosses. 

The following morning the wind is kind on the climb to the Cordillera Blanc. When it builds to something closer to a gale in the late morning it is behind us. Still our progress is always slow, we blame this on potholes rocks and piles of loose sand, not on our tired old legs. We stop for a drink break at a small settlement of just a few houses, what do people do out here? There is mining but the level of traffic is so low that despite the occasional appearance of men as black as soot we conclude that it cannot be coal; I see a small restaurant with the word opal in its name, and wonder if this is what they are clawing their way into the rock face for. 

We sit down with a big bottle of something fizzy and full of sugar, the proprietor gives us an apple each and engages us in a short conversation, where are you from? Where are your going? By bicycle? Wow, very strong? We agree about our strength and point our handsomeness as well. He seems impressed.This open friendliness is repeated all along the way. 

Exiting the final tunnel we leave the canyon and find ourselves in another world, metaphorically speaking of course. The valley is green, cultivated, and populated with a back drop of giant snow peaks.  The contrast to the past three days is startling. 

It takes us a total of four days to complete the 330 kilometres to Huaraz.  The final 70 kilometres are on paved roads peppered with potholes and populated by drivers who can most politely be described as incompetent, although we came up with a variety of more colourful adjectives with which to describe them. 

Now at 3100 metres we will spend a couple of days here acclimatising before heading higher into the thin air of the big hills.

 

 

 

Another Archive Tale From A Life On The Road - This Time High In The Andes

26 October 17

My nose bore the brunt of the beating, my face contorted  and my eyes streamed as the violent hail stones raged at us unrelenting. It had been a long tough climb on a rough dirt track to the pass we now crossed, and at five thousand metres the air was thin and dry and breathing was strained. 

The weather hitherto had been kind to us, just about, but the threat of rain had been omni-present with clouds following us up the valley, driving us on each time we stopped to eat. 

Crossing the pass the hail relented, only to be replaced by an ever strengthening wind. As we wrapped up warm for the descent the temperature began to fall and ominous black clouds loomed in on us from the south. We ate a little bread and cheese and sipped from our frigid water bottles before releasing our brakes and letting gravity take us on. 

The road this side of the pass was rougher, strewn with rocks and mud and patches of loose sand. We passed streams of water fresh from the snow melt just above us, we stopped to refill our bottles before it had chance to to freeze, and then the hail returned.

With our faces screwed up tight against the stinging pellets of water we nearly missed the tent and two bicycles just a few metres from the road. We pulled up and hailed the tent’s occupants. “Hello! Good afternoon. Hellooooo”. Our words apparently fell on deaf ears, so we edged a little closer to the tent. The bicycles laying outside were without doubt European. “Ola ciclistas”, cried Sebastian. He was, without a doubt, becoming rather efficient in Spanish I though, and with that the door of the tent popped open and out popped a smiling female face, “ola’” she said. “We too are cyclists” Sebastian explained to her in what to my ears was impeccable Spanish. At this she seemed quite surprised, which struck us as odd, after all we were both holding bicycle heavily ladened with luggage and were clearly not from these parts. Sebastian spoke a little more Spanish, the girl looked even more puzzled and I began to wonder if his mastery of Spanish needed a little polishing after all.

We decide to dispense with the intricacies of the spoken word and gave them some bread, wished them a good evening, and moved on down the valley to where the land lay flatter and a stream flowed, it was time to stop for the night.

It was a little after sunrise and by the time we woke. I opened the tent’s inner door and still laying on my back reached for the zip to the tent's outer door. I gave it a pull, it didn't budge. I rolled onto my front to allow myself a better angle of attack and gave the zip another tug, it gave a little before once more resisting. Deciding to really put my back into the task now I grasped it firmly with both hands and, as though I meant business, gave the zip a vigorous yank, the ice in the zip gave up it’s grip, the door opened, and frosted condensation fluttered into the tent like a little snow flurry - it was a chilly morning.

Peering out of the tent we were met with a joyous sight. The day had dawned bright and the scenery was breathtaking. With the door open and still wrapped in the warmth of our down filled sleeping bags we took our time drinking coffee and bathing in the beauty of our surroundings as we waited for the sun to rise and dry the tent and warm the earth. What a perfect start to the day.

Tent dry and packed we set off. We crossed a five thousand metre pass that gave way to a spectacular gravel road descent through stunning scenery where the occasional horse rider would disappear along loose scree trails, and small herds of lama would graze. At the bottom of the hill legs that thought their work was done were rudely awakened with five hundred vertical metres of winding tarmac climb through a rarified atmosphere to a where a beautiful new valley, fresh and green greeted us. 

We picked up a dirt track and rode on dropping to a slowly flowing river where the grass on the bank, kept short by grazing sheep, cried out for the company of a tent. Awestruck by the beauty I felt sure that were we to camp here we would soon have the company of hobbits to share our wine with. 

Alas camping was not an option, food was needed, and so we pressed on to La Union, a dusty ramshackle middle of nowhere sort of town seemingly in the midst of mighty celebration. Quite what it was that was so worthy of this fiesta we could not ascertain, but a tireless New Orleans style jazz band that played with far more enthusiasm and volume than skill had the town in a frenzy. La Union may not have been the most perfect of towns to overnight, but it sure had been a most perfect day.

 

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