Across the Geghama
After the wet, cold and mud of the past week, today is a great relief. In the relative comfort of our hostel in the centre of Dilijan, we dry clothes that we had cleaned in the bath before dinner last night (the washing machine was for some reason not available, frustrating since the previous few days had involved a lot of mud), and give the bikes some attention.
The first couple of chapters of our journey across Armenia have not only given us a bit of a battering, but the bikes too. Most notably, Tom's rear derailleur was destroyed a couple of days ago when it ended up mangled in his rear wheel, and he has been singlespeeding since (although to be fair, we have been mostly walking through sloppy mud since then, so perhaps this has not been as big an issue as it might). Pete got away more lightly with a similar, but less catastrophic, issue with his rear mech that he was able to fix, Ed's rear hub has been playing up, and my rear brake could do with bleeding, as the lever needs to be pumped a handful of times before the pads bite the rotor. It's been pretty disconcerting to grab the brake and for nothing happen, although it has improved my anticipation of where on the trail I'm going to need to brake, as I gently pump the lever in advance so it’s ready to bite at the critical point.
It's always a good feeling to have a little reset, fix and clean things, but I'm sure that the main reason that we feel good this morning is because the sun is shining. Yes, after a week of cold, rain and mud, the weather looks like its improving, and we are hopeful that the next stage of our journey will be less of a slog.
After spending a few hours tinkering, we head back to the restaurant owned by Tom’s friend in which we had gorged ourselves the previous night, for a leisurely (and lighter) lunch, piling our loaded bikes up outside whilst we delay our inevitable departure. Nick and Marco are feeling much better after their couple of days off the bikes and so, when we eventually drag ourselves away, we are a full gang of 8 again as we pedal west on a graded track before rejoining the main road to climb away from Dilijan.
We find supplies in a small shop in the village of Fioletovo, populated by a Russian sect of spiritual Christians exiled in the 19th century, picking up beer as well as a whole Pannier.cc-inspired watermelon, and fresh bread from a bakers van that pulls up outside just as we are leaving. We turn south onto a small dirt road to start what will be a slow 1000m climb up onto a ridge that will take us back east towards Lake Sevan, although our target for this evening is a public bbq and camp area just across the valley from Fioletovo. As camp spots go, this is pretty luxurious, with running water, a solid roof and a massive picnic table - and we happily end a short day here.
Most of us sleep without tents that night, lined up next to each other under the shelter, happy to be able to lay out belongings by our sides without risk of them getting covered in mud. In the morning, after polishing off the rest of the watermelon - we've no intention of carrying that with us - we continue on the gravel track, slowly twisting and turning up the valley side from 1800m to 2500m, before turning east. The trail climbs up past a 2800m peak and then flattens out as we start to traverse a ridge. It's tough going: the climb to the peak is steep, we are mostly walking. Marco and I find ourselves losing sight of the rest of the group and wandering off the trail. It's one of those situations where what looks like the faint track that we’re following on the ground slowly diverges from the line on our GPS that we are also trying to follow. Eventually the two are heading in different enough directions, and the going is rough enough, that we decide to cut across country to try to pick up the actual trail again, which of course proves more elusive to find underfoot now that we’ve lost it. We slowly drag our bikes over lumpy grass and rock onto the shoulder of the peak in order to get a high vantage point from which to spot the track and the rest of the group.
As we follow the ridge, the trail becomes beautiful but tough going alpine singletrack. Narrow, off-camber, at times slightly sunken and flanked by tufted grass waiting to grab at our pedals as we pass: challenging for everybody but particularly those without much mountain biking experience. Most of us spend large stretches alternating between pushing, riding and pushing, as we skirt around the curved walls of each valley, resisting the temptation to take a more direct route that would involve losing height and then facing another awkward climb.
As the sun starts to drop in the sky, we find ourselves on the edge of a ridge above the clouds, mountain peaks visible in the distance. The light is starting to fade, as is the temperature, and we feel a growing urgency to get down from the hills. Our plan had been to stay at rather unique hotel on the shores of Lake Sevan, but we are nowhere close right now.
We aren’t really prepared for night riding, but the light fades as rapidly as we descend, now on a more substantial track, and soon we need to pause to dig out as many lights as possible. My dynamo powered Supernova E3, combined with a Petzl headtorch on my helmet works well in combination, and those of us with more powerful front lights try to ride alongside those without, to light their way. I'd forgotten how much fun night riding is, only being able to focus on the portion of track revealed by the beam of white in front of you, trying to interpret the long shadows that exaggerate every minor bump and dip on the trail.
We pause again and regroup to deal with a puncture but soon find ourselves on the edge of a main road, still some 15km from Lake Sevan. Putting ourselves into a tight convoy, and spreading those with lights through the group, we ride the edge of the road as quickly as possible, with cars and trucks thundering by our shoulders. It’s a stark contrast to the day spent high on the ridge, suddenly thrown back into the noise and exhaust fumes, and we're all relieved to turn off onto Sevan Island; a tiny peninsula jutting out into the north west corner of the lake, upon which is located, amongst other hotels, the Sevan Writer’s House. This cantilevered concrete slab of a building, that looks like something out of a Bond movie, was a writer’s retreat during Communist times, and is now a unique but dilapidated hotel. It has an interesting history, with the architects thrown into an arctic gulag by Stalin, before completing the building as it is now some 30 years later. It has most definitely seen better days, but we are happy to have beds, warm showers and a table full of food in front of us.
Our two days of riding as a full team of 8 is somewhat short-lived: yesterday’s long day has taken its toll on Marco, whose body is still suffering from his near hyperthermia experience a few days ago, rewarding him when he exerts himself with an upset stomach and a feeling of exhaustion. Coupled with that, just before we leave, Tom discovers significant play in his rear hub, and determines that he's going to need to replace the freehub. With a few long days in the mountains coming up, we quickly make a change of plans and they both opt to grab a taxi back to Yerevan (which is now surprisingly close) to get Tom's wheel repaired, and then to come back out to meet us that evening at our planned camp spot, in Georgina the Land Rover.
As they load their bikes onto the roof of a ubiquitous, but in this case, classic, and classy black Lada taxi, the rest of us roll down to the town of Sevan to stuff a few days worth of food and snacks into our bags and pockets, before following the main road around the coast of the lake to the village of Chkalovka, where we then turn south and head towards the Geghama Mountains, an imposing and remote chain of volcanic mountains, surrounded by high altitude plateaus stretching 70 km in length by 48 km in width.
The days riding is beautiful as we follow jeep tracks across golden, rolling plains, slowly climbing into the foothills. The dirt is mostly dry underneath our tyres, and the terrain is not steep. We maintain a steady pace when moving, but it's hard not to extend those snack stops, enjoying laying in the warmth, absorbing the expansive views. As the kilometers pass, the wind and the our effort build, as we climb steadily up to 3200m. Late into the afternoon, each time I allow myself to think that we're reaching the flat top of the pass that we’re aiming for and will soon be coasting down the other side, I find myself in this familiar conversation with the mountains:
You thought you were at the top...?, they say.
Yes, this must be it!, I reply
Well, nearly... Just a little further. Perhaps just over that next horizon...?, they respond.
The mountains are teasing me, just as they do with all those who travel through them, and this exchange is destined to be repeated over and over.
We pause to chat briefly with a family of nomads from the lowlands who bring their livestock here to graze during the brief weather window when the mountains are not covered in snow, living in a bright orange caravan on a plateau during these summer months. Most such nomads are Yezidi, a distinct ethnicity from Armenians, and the largest minority in the country.
The light is falling and the clouds that have slowly been building in the distance are now catching us, and it is suddenly clear that both dusk and a storm are imminent, and we find ourselves in a race to get over the final pass and descend before we get caught out.
As we finally see the views opening up as the ground starts to drop away in front of us, we spot the headlights of Georgina the Land Rover in the distance below us, guiding us down to the edge of Lake Atka, our planned rendevous point with Tom, Marco and some of the TCT team. I feel a rush of adrenaline as we rip down the trail, our own lights picking out the rocks and channels in front of our wheels, and announcing our approach to those below. We arrive to the sight and smells of a huge bbq stacked with freshly cook pork chops and chicken, and rush to get our tents set up before the storm hits, then huddling under the lakeside shelter to devour the meat and accompanying cheese and bread. The weather dictates that we soon retreat to our tents, and I wear all of my clothes to get through the cold night, with sleep interrupted by short intermittent downpours accompanied by thunder and lighting.
We awake to a hailstorm, which thankfully gives way to blue skies as we eat breakfast. More repairs are needed this morning, with Ed having pinged two spokes on his rear wheel on the way down from the pass last night. We set off to traverse the Geghama Mountains, followed away from Lake Atki by the TCT Team in Georgina, before they turn off and head back to Yerevan. We spend the day pedalling along undulating jeep tracks, across endless plains, past more nomadic herders. One, out on the plains with his son and herd, tells us that they have 8 dogs to protect their 1000 sheep from 3 wolves in the area.
The landscape and colours here are finally what I'd expected of Armenia from photographs that I'd seen previously: that light green, brown tinged grassland, backed by hazy layers of distant mountains, snaking tracks leading from one to the other. The landscapes immense, almost otherworldly, with the scale hard to capture. We pause for an hour to investigate petroglyphs - stone carvings dating from prehistoric times, largely depicting men in scenes of hunting and fighting, as well as the Sun, the Moon, constellations and lightning - and eventually camp in daylight in the shadow of a protective cliff face, leaving just one climb for the following morning.
Topping out at 3200m again the next day, we can just see the snow capped top of Mount Ararat in eastern Turkey some 80 km away, behind the ridge of mountains in our foreground. Starting our descent, which will see us lose 2000m in altitude in one go, we tear along faint jeep trails, down dusty tracks, down, down, down, until our wheels meet tarmac again. We pause at around 2410m on the southern side of the Vardenyats mountain pass, to see Orbelian's Caravanserai, a stop on the old Armenian silk route, built in 1332 by prince Chesar Orbelian to accommodate weary travellers and their animals as they crossed from, or into, the mountainous Vayots Dzor region. Constructed of blocks of basalt, this is the best preserved caravanserai in Armenia, and as such, is a popular stop for coach loads of tourists, which gives us something of a culture shock after a few days in the mountains.
We toy with the idea of following in the footsteps of centuries of other tired travellers and using the caravanserai for its original purpose to shelter here for the night (or perhaps nearby if it seemed inappropriate to actually sleep inside such an ancient building), but it’s only mid-afternoon, the tourists are still passing through, and we know from Tom that there is a campsite with huts, showers, beds and fridges of beer at the end of an amazing tarmac descent that drops another 1200m over 25km. It’s an easy choice to make, and so we take the contemporary option and glide down the tarmac to this slightly more comfortable lodging for a couple of nights and a full day off the bikes tomorrow…
In September 2019, Tom Allen welcomed a group of bikepackers from around the world to ride the route of the Transcaucasian Trail (TCT) across Armenia. The TCT is an ambitious project to build a world-class trail network stretching 3,000km along the Greater and Lesser Caucasus Mountains through Georgia and Armenia, allowing the dramatic landscapes of the region to be explored by all. Tom led the Transcaucasian Expedition in 2016, supported by the Royal Geographical Society and Land Rover, to explore the potential southern route of the TCT. He co-founded the TCT Armenia NGO in 2016, led the country’s first trail-building project in 2017, and now coordinates the exploration of the future route. Our journey was partly to test rideable route options close to the main path of the hiking trail, and partly to raise funds needed to complete the blazing and marking of the trail in Armenia by the end of 2020. You can continue to make a donation of any size to help the TCT, by following this link.