The wind blows the tarpaulins around our ears. "Hold on to the tent pole!" Henna simply drops the pole and throws herself after her down jacket, which flies away. Nobody saw the storm coming. But 20 minutes later, we are sitting in our tents without really getting wet. At least that worked. Outside, the world ends for a few minutes. Lightning is immediately followed by thunder, and the rain pelts even louder on the tent. "Do bikes actually attract lightning?" shouts Fabi from the neighbouring tent. But as quickly as the storm has come, it is over again. Nevertheless, we should give it some thought. After all, it's only day 1 of our adventure. Who knows how often and violent thunderstorms normally occur in the Greater Caucasus. Our planned route already looks anything but cosy. We want to cross the Tusheti National Park in the north of Georgia. From east to west in seven days. A route that runs close to the Russian border, close to Mount Kazbek (5047 m) and takes ten days on foot. We want to do the whole thing in seven days with bikes, complete camping equipment and dry food.
It should be doable, I explained to my fellow travellers Henna, Fabi and Moritz a few weeks ago over a beer in a bar in Innsbruck. After all, I already knew the region with its incredibly expansive landscape from a few ski trips. But when we set off towards the Chaukhi Pass on the morning of the second day, I'm no longer sure. We've already been pushing and carrying for two hours, riding is out of the question. The path is too steep, too rough and the closer we get to the ridge, the stronger the wind blows. When we finally throw our bikes off our shoulders at an altitude of 3338 metres, the view of our first descent doesn't cause any cheers. Although there is a view of a glacier on the right, the trail of flat scree rock winds along the edge of the slope in a rather adventurous manner. The cold doesn't exactly make us climb smoothly into the saddle either. But that changes quickly, because we have to lift the rear wheel at every bend. Just as we have found our rhythm, an oncoming, heavily laden horse trek slows us down. We have to press ourselves against the slope so that the column of riders can pass.
I would be terrified to sit on a horse on such an exposed path, Moritz can't believe what he's seeing.
Then we return to our increasingly flowing descent. Unfortunately, we miss an important turn-off to the left due to all the riding fun - and the route that the GPS device suggests as an alternative doesn't exist in reality. So in the afternoon we trudge for hours through knee-high grass against lashing rain. At some point, we are so soaked and frozen through that we decide to rent accommodation. A helicopter is already parked outside.
Inside, the crew of the helicopter have just finished eating. The first bottle of chacha circles the table and its 60 per cent content quickly increases the noise level in the room. Moritz later joins in with a few Georgian songs and everyone else goes to bed after dinner. But as soon as the helicopter pilots' last song has faded away, the first shepherd's dog starts barking outside. Fabi taps on his mobile phone: "Moah, 3:22 am..." and turns back into his blanket.
Two huge shepherd dogs take up the chase
Tired, we set off the next morning and miss the first trail junction again. So we shoot down the gravel road in still frosty temperatures when two huge shepherd dogs suddenly break out of the bushes just behind us and give chase. One of the barking snouts comes so close to my calf that I can feel its breath. Henna locks her rear wheel several times and the giants let go of us. "Wow, you don't need an espresso to wake up," she coughs with relief. Our first climb of the day takes us up a road that must have recently been battered by a storm. We drive round holes as big as cars, and half of the track has been washed away. All the more surprising when a Soviet dump truck suddenly overtakes us from behind. We can see the driver not only through the windscreen, but also through the fist-sized rust holes in the doors. And because he greets us in such a friendly manner, I reflexively stick my thumb out. The patched-up steel vehicle stops with a deafening screech. Not very confidence-inspiring, but if we jump onto the loading area, we save ourselves 1000 metres in altitude. We decide to leave our helmets on. Not least because we rumble over bumps that almost throw us over the rusty railing. The driver stops three times on this stretch, gets out with a bucket, fills it in a stream and tips the water into the radiator. The man grins and then a gold tooth flashes in his lower jaw. Free-standing like the summit of Mount Kazbek.
The rusty dump truck doesn't really make any confidence-inspiring noises. But it helps to save 1000 metres in altitude.
Two days later, my thoughts are somewhere between khachapuri and khinkali. Between flatbread with cheese in the centre and Georgian dumplings filled with meat. The things you think about when you've been carrying your bike for hours and your stomach has long been in the back of your knees. Today we have the Atsunta Pass, the highest point of the whole tour at 3539 metres. This means carrying, and sometimes pushing, 2000 metres in altitude. We reach a kind of border post. We lay our bikes on the grass and have to sign several passes. Afterwards, two soldiers with assault rifles want to know what kind of white liquid is dripping from Fabi's rear tyre. While we patch the tyre, one of the soldiers takes my bike for a spin across the meadow. All this takes time, of course, so there's not enough daylight left for the pass today. At least we make it to a hollow in the grassy slope where we can pitch our tents. There's still time to take care of blisters, hang up our clothes and cook dinner. Today we have lentil curry from the packet and a tin of well-travelled sardines before the rapidly falling temperatures shoo us into our sleeping bags. Our camp spot is well above 3000 metres, so we'll probably get frost at night. I can still hear smelly socks being thrown out of the neighbouring tent and then immediately fall asleep.
"It's practically all downhill for two days now," says Fabi the next morning, stirring his coffee, which only dissolves reluctantly in the lukewarm water. Georgia, the country where descents are not measured in metres, but in daily stages. It is shortly after midday when we finally push our bikes up to the highest point of the Atsunta Pass. The vastness of the Caucasus stretches out in all directions, but our gaze lingers on the towering white summit of Mount Kazbek. "Russia begins behind the giant," Henna reads from the map. We are just lashing our bags down for the long descent when we spot a group of gravel bikers struggling up the pass from the other side. Five steps carrying their bikes, two steps pushing them. Curious, we bump into them on the high alpine path: they are a Finnish woman, two Austrians, a German, two Russians and a Ukrainian. They too have spent two days just carrying and pushing. Their bikes are lighter, of course, but I'm afraid they won't have much fun downhill either.
Treacherous: the trails eaten deep into the turf
For us, on the other hand, the two most beautiful days of the trip start now: the trail first winds in wide bends through a huge scree field, and we have to keep our distance to avoid suffocating in the plume of dust from the vehicle in front. Then greenery sprouts out of the ground again and we curve in wide radii through grassy flanks. Where the slope falls away more steeply, the hairpin bends sometimes narrow. Or the path has eaten so deeply into the turf that we get stuck with the pedals. But in these mountain meadows you fall softly. Several times we have to wade through waist-high, ice-cold river water and pedal uphill again. But thankfully we don't have to push any more until we reach our destination in Omalo.
Info Georgia by MTB
The precinct: Tusheti National Park is located in the Georgian part of the Greater Caucasus, which rises up to 5642 metres. Its treeless grassy slopes are steep and accessible with only a few roads and paths. Accommodation can only be found along the tourist routes. If you are travelling through it by bike, you should therefore take a tent and food with you. However, the more luggage you carry, the tougher the long climbs on often impossibly steep and rough trails.
Guided tours: With a guide, booked accommodation, catering and a shuttle vehicle, you can make your tour through Tusheti National Park much easier. For example, bookable at www.flatsucks.at
Best touring time: Although it gets very hot in Georgia's lowlands in summer, frosty winds blow on the 3000 metre high passes in the Greater Caucasus even in July. You should beware of thunderstorms, which are often severe here. With amounts of rain that not only wash out roads, but can also trigger mudslides. This can be very dangerous in gorges.
