Cold Beginnings
I can’t. I can’t get on my bike.
It is only when Marco actually utters these words that I realise just how cold he is. Standing next to his bike, cupping his soaking hands in front of his mouth in an attempt to breathe some feeling back into them, he is shivering deeply and involuntarily. There is a sudden pang of tension in my gut and an accompanying surge of adrenalin that pulls things into sharp focus as I realise that our situation has shifted from one of mild discomfort that we will look back later on as ‘fun’, to one that could have serious implications if we don’t take action.
Nick stands hunched in his waterproof jacket, a pained look on his face, fists clenched to try to retain some warmth in his fingers, also looking deeply cold. Rich, seemingly impervious to the conditions, is perched on a rock having just pulled on waterproof trousers over his shorts, and is nonchalantly changing his socks with a smile on his face. I’m somewhere between the two: still warm enough to function, but cold enough to know that this could change very quickly.
I realise that I’m not sure where Ed and Colin are; I’d assumed they were behind us, but after a quick discussion, it seems that they must in fact be up ahead with Pete. The combination of the grey murkiness, and the internal focus needed to turn the pedals and keep moving through the cold wind, is surprisingly disorientating.
Tom emerges from the impenetrable drizzle, drops his bike to the ground and starts vigorously jumping up and down on the spot, waving his arms around to try to get his blood pumping. It’s a relief to see him. He had been close behind us, but didn’t appear through the cloud when we stopped here to regroup ten minutes ago; the thought had crossed my mind that he’d had an issue with his bike and couldn’t ride. He tells us that he had to stop to don all of his extra layers, struggling with the straps and buckles of his bags with numb fingers.
A number of shepherd’s camps are dotted across the 2200m-high plateau that we have been crossing for the last couple of hours, and as we passed each, the wave and call of an invitation to come in and shelter greeted us. But by then we were scattered along the ribbon of gravel, each fighting our own battle with the headwind, with only the next one of us visible through the haze, and with no real desire to linger up here any longer than necessary.
Our journey across Armenia started just yesterday, after a few hours bumping along rutted roads in a minibus taking us from the capital, Yerevan, up to the Lake Arpi National Park HQ in the far North West. We unloaded the bikes, ate a little lunch, packed (and repacked) our gear and set off, excited to be riding after such a long time anticipating this trip. It’s been over two and a half years since my last big bikepacking journey and, in fact, since I’ve been overseas at all.
We pedalled east for around 35km, over a relatively flat and undulating landscape, through a couple of small villages, across a river. With a strong headwind and mixed weather blowing through, it felt cooler than I’d expected. The sight of rain clouds shrouding the plateau that we now find ourselves upon had led to us camp early in a protective stretch of trees with a small shelter, close to the village of Hartashen, rather than climb up into bad weather late in the day. This is the only passage between the Bazum mountain range to the south and the Javakhk range that stretches into Georgia in the north, as we cross eastwards from the Shirak Province to Lori Province.
Rain overnight turned the trails to mud that mangled Pete’s rear mech before we’d even really left camp. It soon became apparent that it had been a good decision to stop where we did last night: as we have slowly climbed up onto the exposed plain over the last couple of hours, the conditions have deteriorated quickly. The rain returned within thirty minutes of leaving, and we found ourselves pushing into another tough headwind that took the temperature down to 3°C. Consequently, we are now battling that fatal combination of three components: moisture, cold temperatures and strong wind. One of these can be dealt with simply; a combination of two makes things more difficult; but all three together intensifies the situation significantly.
My jacket cuffs are wrapped tightly over my ‘waterproof’ gloves that are soaked from the inside; my buff is pulled up over my chin in an attempt to seal the gaps around my neck, and I’m grateful that I chose to start the day wearing waterproof trousers and socks – they have definitely helped to protect me against the wind, and retain some warmth. But despite these precautions, riding through the cloud, the moisture in the air seeps beneath all of my layers. The wind pummels me, finding gaps to push the cold air inside. Very quickly, we’re all soaked to the skin and shivering.
Nick and I follow Tom’s lead with the star jumps, and with some encouragement Marco tries to do the same, but after the first few attempts, his motion dwindles. Keep going Marco, it will help. He tries again, and manages another couple, but doesn’t have the energy or coordination to continue. He’s already too cold to do anything at all.
During the early symptoms of hypothermia, shivering can become uncontrollable as the brain tries to generate heat through muscle activity, whilst at the same time, constricting blood vessels in order to conserve what heat it has. Normally the heart and liver produce most of the body’s heat, but as the core temperature cools, these organs produce less, essentially causing a protective shutdown in order to preserve heat and protect the brain. Dropping body temperature can cause slowing brain activity, breathing and heart rate. Confusion and fatigue can set in, hampering a person’s ability to understand whats happening and make intelligent choices to get to safety. You lose any focus and just want to lay down and sleep where you are. Unless something is done to change your circumstances, the body will just get colder and start to shut down.
I’ve only been close to that cold once before, and whenever I’m in a similar situation, my mind returns to that experience. I recall losing interest in everything that was going on around me, not just being unable to warm myself up, but not having the energy or motivation to try, or even the understanding that I needed to do so. It’s a paradoxical situation – all you can think about is how deeply cold you are, but you have all but lost the ability to control your body to act to resolve it.
We need to get Marco off this plateau and out of his soaking clothes. It takes some concerted effort to coax him onto his bike, bluntly asserting that this is the only way we’re going to get warmer. We’ll find some shelter, make a hot drink, get you in some dry clothes. But we have to move now. After a couple of attempts, he succeeds in swinging his leg over the large frame, and tentatively takes control of the handlebars as we roll slowly off together. The road is unsurfaced, and although it’s tame for the big tyres of our mountain bikes, there is plenty to catch you out if you’re not fully in control or paying attention. I try to put the thought of the impact of a fall right now to the back of my mind, and just focus on keeping pace with Marco, whilst trying to find different ways of saying ‘we’ll be out of this cloud soon’, and ‘nice and steady, just keep moving’. We coast down slowly, looking for the smooth route, willing Marco along with us.
Following the road as it descends gently across the contours, a shelter comes into view up on the left bank. We wonder whether this will be all that we will find, but with just a roof and no walls, it won’t protect us from the wind and rain, so we continue. Twenty minutes further on, we’ve found something much more suitable – three sides, a solid roof, space for us all and filled with a table and benches – probably used for summer barbecues for the residents of a nearby village. Our new home quickly becomes a hive of activity as this group of eight, who mostly only met two days ago, dig into bags to pull out warm feather layers, stoves and supplies, boil water for hot drinks, make and share noodles. We help Marco out of his wet clothes, and wrap him in dry merino layers, my down jacket and quilt.
An hour later, we are all in much better shape, and although we are all still cold, we’re ready to continue our journey. As we descend further, the temperature rises and the wind drops, although the air is still laden with moisture. Tom offers the tantalizing target of a pizza restaurant that he knows in the town of Stepanavan for a late lunch/early dinner. After a slow trudge across another plain, a brief pause to chat with another shepherd – his intense eyes peering out from underneath a big hood, rifle thrown over his shoulder – we drop down into the outskirts of the town and with some relief, find that our lunch haven is open. They seem unperturbed by our bedraggled appearance, and soon we are devouring platefuls of pizza and reflecting on how much our circumstances can change in such a short space of time, whilst puddles of water collect under our chairs as our wet layers slowly drip onto the floor.
As is often the case, a late lunchtime pause easily slips into a longer, mid-afternoon break, and the prospect of heading out into wet conditions again becomes increasingly unappealing. Both Nick and Marco, who found themselves the coldest, are feeling particularly hollow despite the respite that that the food and warmth provide, and so we all gratefully make the decision to stay in the town for the night and warm up and dry out properly. A couple of hours later, thanks again to Tom’s local knowledge and contacts, we are are squeezed into two breezeblock and corrugated roof cabins in the Lore Adventure Outdoor Activity Centre, clothes drying on every available surface as we take our turns to wallow under hot showers.
The unseasonably cold and wet weather looks to continue for the next few days, and so we are bracing ourselves for some more challenging days. But for now, we are warm and dry, and have a second dinner inside us, and that is all we need.
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.