Kyrgyzstan, 40°C, endless dirt roads, hike-a-bike, broken tires and a crash: my Silk Road Mountain Race 2026 turned out very differently from what I had planned. In the end, I had to abandon the race for health reasons. A difficult decision – but the right one.

And even though the race ended much earlier than I had hoped, I am left with a lot: experiences, encounters, lessons learned, and the certainty that the journey continues.

Because for me, ultracycling is not just about riding as many kilometers as possible. It is also about collecting kilometers for the street children of Malabon in the Philippines.

The preparation: Everything was going according to plan

Until mid-June, my preparation for the Silk Road Mountain Race had actually gone pretty well. Of course, you can always use more kilometers, but overall I was on track.

The B^Hard Ultracycling Race in Bosnia and Herzegovina had turned out to be excellent preparation.

For the final weeks before the SRMR, I wanted to focus more on mountain bike training, particularly on improving my technical skills.

Then came bursitis in my right elbow.

Suddenly, meaningful training was hardly possible. Two short Zwift sessions and two Sundays with my training group – wearing a brace on my arm – were essentially my entire training program in July.

So I had to rely on the famous “life miles”. They are supposed to sort things out in the end. Or maybe not.

On top of that, there were professional and personal challenges. The final weeks before the race were therefore far from ideal. I simply couldn’t focus on the Silk Road Mountain Race as much as I would have liked.

But I was still going.

23 kilograms to Kyrgyzstan

It became clear while packing: this was going to be interesting.

Turkish Airlines has a rather strict 23-kilogram weight limit for sports equipment. The bike, reinforced cardboard box and an empty Tailfin Cargo Rack already brought me dangerously close to the limit.

So the rest had to go into an old suitcase. The motto was: if necessary, the suitcase would simply be disposed of in Kyrgyzstan.

The electronics went into my backpack, and on Sunday, August 9, I headed to Cologne-Bonn Airport.

The first flight to Istanbul passed quickly. Getting to the next gate was another matter. The connection time was short, the airport was huge, and I had to walk practically from one end of the building to the other.

During the approach, I noticed that I couldn’t equalize the pressure in my ears. Normally, I have absolutely no problems with that. Only when I have a cold. I quickly pushed the thought aside.

In the end, I could even see my bike and suitcase on the luggage cart waiting outside the aircraft for the flight to Bishkek.

At least that was something.

Welcome to Bishkek

I arrived in Bishkek at around 4:30 in the morning.

My luggage took a while to appear. Instead, I was immediately surrounded by two of the three mobile phone providers. They really wanted to sell me a SIM card. I had other things on my mind. Eventually the luggage arrived. The bike box had clearly not survived the journey completely unscathed, but it was still usable.

Outside, the taxi driver I had booked was already waiting with a sign bearing my name. There was just one problem: Jonathan, a South African living in Switzerland who was supposed to travel to the start with me, was still missing. About 40 minutes later, he arrived too.

That gave me enough time to finally get a SIM card after all. Four weeks with limited data cost the equivalent of about eight euros. Then we spent several hours in a taxi travelling from Bishkek to Talas. And during that drive, one thing became very clear:

Kyrgyzstan has mountains. Real mountains. We crossed two or three passes, all of them above 3,000 metres.

In the early afternoon, we reached Talas and our guesthouse.

A guesthouse full of ultracycling stories

The guesthouse was run by a family. The grandmother had worked for many years as a German teacher at the local school and was delighted to have the opportunity to speak German again. The children were also learning German. And the host could cook extremely well. I felt very comfortable there.

Gradually, the other participants arrived: South Africans, Australians, an American, a Taiwanese rider and, of course, Jonathan. Quite an international mix.

As is typical among ultracyclists, it didn’t take long before stories from previous races were being exchanged. Experiences, tips and strategies were shared. Although, with most of those strategies, it was probably already clear that they would be modified again as soon as we hit the course.

My initial strategy was to spend the day at around 2,800 metres and return to the guesthouse in the evening. The roughly 40 kilometres to get there, however, turned out to be much harder than expected. It took four and a half to five hours to make the climb.

After discussing it with Paul Thelen, I changed the plan. On Wednesday afternoon, I rode up, spent the night at 2,800 metres and came back down Thursday morning for breakfast. Friday was supposed to be a recovery day. It was my first night at that altitude. Low oxygen saturation and a high heart rate included. Fortunately, I had an oximeter with me and could regularly monitor my levels. If necessary, I would have descended during the night. But everything went well. Restful, however, that first night at altitude definitely was not.

Registration and bike check

Thursday was spent taking care of the final errands and packing the bike. Friday was registration for the Silk Road Mountain Race. One particularly good service: we could hand in our suitcases and bike boxes, which would then be transported to the finish.

Registration itself was quick. Afterwards, I walked back to the accommodation, bought some more food and headed out with the bike for the afternoon bike check. Already then, I had the feeling that the rear tire was losing some air. I couldn’t see why. So I added some more sealant, pumped it up and hoped that would solve the problem. Spoiler: it didn’t.

At 5 p.m., the official briefing began. Rules, course sections and everything we’d already read what felt like 20,000 times were explained once again. Then it was early to bed. The start had been postponed to 9 a.m. One hour later than originally planned. That one hour would come back to haunt me more than once later on.

Saturday, 9:00 a.m.: The start

The alarm went off at 6:30 a.m. Quick bike check: the rear tire was holding air. Good.

At breakfast, however, my Garmin informed me that the batteries in my power meter needed replacing. Only one problem: where had I put the spare batteries? So I quickly went to a shop. Standard batteries? Apparently not quite as standard in Kyrgyzstan. Without the batteries, I headed to the start.

At exactly 9 a.m., we were off.

I started relatively far back and used the first 20 kilometres to gradually work my way forward. Up to the spot where I had stayed previously, at around 2,800 to 2,900 metres, things went reasonably well. Not quite as smoothly as during the previous days, though. At first, I blamed perhaps an extra kilo of luggage. Then came the final 700 metres of climbing. Over roughly ten kilometres. Ride, push, carry – and above all: swear.

At 3:40 p.m., after a total of 6 hours and 40 minutes of riding and pushing, I finally reached the pass. At that point, I was still exactly on schedule.

The first tire starts causing trouble

The descent was technically challenging. I had to walk many sections as well. Then the road continued downhill. The temperature rose with every metre. At around 6 p.m., I spotted a blue container by the roadside. A supermarket.

Not shown on the map. Perfect. Cold drinks, some food, and off I went again.

The roads became wider and better, with some asphalt sections. I made good progress towards Toktogul and managed to overtake several riders. Then darkness fell. Just before Toktogul, the route followed a busy road for several kilometres. My radar rear light reliably warned me whenever vehicles were approaching from behind.

Then right onto a dirt track. Another supermarket. More water. Then through villages and across singletrack between fields and into the night. We bypassed Toktogul. I had actually planned to eat something hot there. But I was in the flow. So I kept going.

At around 10:30 p.m., I saw several participants sitting in a restaurant. That convinced me. Soup, something to drink – and back on the bike. Just before that, however, my rear tire had started losing air more noticeably. On a sharp corner, it almost slipped off the rim. Pump it up. Surely that would get me through until morning?

12:40 a.m.: Good night, Milky Way

Shortly after midnight, the tire was flat again. I couldn’t figure out why. No visible sealant, no obvious hole. So the plan to ride through the night was suddenly replaced by another plan. At 12:40 a.m., I was lying in my bivy, looking at the Milky Way. That’s ultracycling too. You plan to cover kilometers. And instead you find yourself lying under an incredible star-filled sky in the middle of Kyrgyzstan.

The next morning, at 5:15 a.m., I started working on the tire again. I wanted to stay tubeless for as long as possible. Switching to a tube on the very first day didn’t seem like a good idea. Finding the problem took a very long time. Eventually, the cause became clear:

The rim tape was damaged.

Air was escaping through the spoke holes. More than two hours later, I had a tube installed. At around 8 a.m., I continued, frustrated. Breakfast at the next supermarket consisted of yogurt, bread and milk.

Heat, dirt roads and hike-a-bike

At 8:15 a.m., my motivation was back. Asphalt, climbs – my kind of terrain. I was making good progress and had plenty of food. By lunchtime, the asphalt disappeared. The heat arrived instead. And dirt roads. And steep climbs. So once again: Push.

At a river, I was able to refill my bottles and cool myself down a little. Then onwards. More climbing. More heat. More pushing. But in between there were also beautiful gravel descents.

At around 5:30 p.m., I reached a small village with a supermarket. The ramen I bought could be heated up next door. Something hot to eat felt really good. I also used the break to charge my phone and power banks. After all, a dynamo hub doesn’t exactly produce excess energy when you’re walking.

I continued in the evening. My plan: ride until 10 p.m. and then sleep until 4:30 a.m. I actually found a suitable place around 10 p.m. Clear skies, above 2,000 metres, incredible stars. Bivy again. The tent stayed packed. Just before falling asleep, three more participants arrived and settled down next to me. Once again, the Milky Way was spectacular.

The long road upwards

At 4 a.m., I became restless. Slowly pack everything up while eating something at the same time. It generally takes me about an hour from the alarm going off until I actually start pedalling.

Then it was uphill again. Hike-a-bike included.

Eventually, I reached the top. During the descent, I suddenly turned onto a singletrack – or rather, initially rode past it. So I turned around. Checked the maps and apps. Yes, that really was the right way. Down below, I was able to refill my water at a river.

Then it was back into the middle of nowhere and uphill again. It took 2 hours and 15 minutes to reach the next water source. Mostly on foot. After a longer break at the stream came the final climb. Almost another three hours to the top of the pass. A lot of walking, a little riding. At the top, it was pleasantly cool. Almost too cool. Jacket and warm hat came out.

The descent, on the other hand, was definitely a case of “let it roll”. With the small side effect that I lost a water bottle. The search was unsuccessful. Down in the valley, it was almost 40°C. Fortunately, there was a supermarket. A lot of participants gathered there.

Including Eneco, who had crashed heavily on the descent and briefly lost consciousness and was waiting for the medical crew. Stephen Gow, whom I had met at the guesthouse, was also there.

128 kilometres without resupply

After dumplings and bread, I bought enough supplies for the next 24 hours. There would be no further resupply for the next 128 kilometres. The break ended up being a little longer than planned. But the heat was brutal. Once the temperature finally dropped below 35°C, I continued along the dirt road.

The dust increasingly became a problem. I had been coughing for a day. The dust was about as helpful as sand in a gearbox.

At around 10:15 p.m., I found a place to spend the night. I opened the pannier containing my food and sleeping gear. And there it was. That smell. Strange. At first, I couldn’t identify it. My clothes smelled of it too. Whatever. Too tired to care. Into the bivy.

The breakfast from hell

The next morning at 5 a.m., I was hungry. The smell was still there – even stronger. The cheese and bread smelled strange. But hunger is hunger. So I ate some of it. It tasted awful. Still, I forced myself to take small bites. After ten to fifteen minutes, however, I had to vomit several times. The explanation was quickly found:

A tube of tire vulcanizing fluid had burst and leaked throughout the pannier. Everything smelled of it. Even through the plastic packaging, the smell had penetrated.

All of my food was ruined.

This was going to be fun. Initially, I had no choice but to continue riding hungry. Later, I tried eating something again. No chance. My last bars from the food pouch had long since been eaten. I struggled onwards. The flow was gone for good.

When the bike starts complaining too

At around 10:15 a.m., I stopped and worked on the bike. Since the previous day, there had been a scraping noise from the front wheel. The right pedal also seemed to be sticking. New brake pads at least eliminated the noise from the front wheel. The pedal problem wasn’t so easy to solve.

So: Keep going.

At around 2:30 p.m., I reached a larger river. A few biscuits that had absorbed relatively little of the smell had to serve as lunch. By then, I was carrying a small famine on board. Progress was correspondingly slow. At around 4:40 p.m., I reached the next pass. Hike-a-bike again. Glaciers were visible on the mountains in the distance. The climb was brutally hot and completely exposed. And then the weather changed.

Just a few metres into the descent, I had to completely rethink my clothing strategy: leg warmers, long gloves, down jacket, softshell. A storm was moving in. Thunder echoed through the valley. Then, just before the next village, another setback:

Rear tire blowout.

Too little air. And, of course, the regular pump was no longer working properly. So I had to use the suspension fork pump that I had brought as a backup. Inflating the tire took a while. It wasn’t fun. But eventually I was moving again. Half an hour gone. Still within the margin.

Noodles, tea and 13°C

At around 7:20 p.m., I reached the supermarket. Shopping. The owner even cooked noodles for me and some of the other participants. Tea as well. And a shed that served as an improvised restaurant.

After eating, it was dark. And cold. Only 13°C. The rain had stopped and the sky was clear again. The rain had turned many of the tracks into mud. Small streams were carrying considerably more water. Riding or wading through streams in the dark is not particularly enjoyable. Together with Chung Chiao Yang, I fought my way onwards. He was fighting his stomach. I was fighting sleep.

Around midnight, we left the main road and returned to a small track. Another river was waiting for us there. We decided not to continue. Set up the tent. It was going to be a cold night. The bivy would probably have been too cold.

The snail had eaten us

The next morning, I woke up well rested. The snail had just eaten us. But I was convinced that we could still make the checkpoint. First, however, we had to push our bikes uphill again. Getting to the summit by 8 a.m. was one long struggle.

The descent was extremely technical. Many sections were simply too dangerous for me to ride. So I walked.

At 9:20 a.m., almost down in the valley, we came across a climbing section that I considered unnecessary and dangerous. One wrong step – and you could fall several metres into the river.

Why take this route when there was a normal road running along the flat ground on the other side of the river? Somehow, Chung and I got through it.

Short break. Refill water. Eat something. And keep going.

The crash

Then I made a small, stupid mistake. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that my jacket was no longer secured to the rack. Automatically, I turned around.

On a road, that’s not a big problem. Off-road, it is.

When I looked forward again, my front wheel was already touching a rock.

Balance gone. And suddenly I was flying about a metre and a half to the right, into a riverbed. Fortunately, it was made up of river stones rather than a sharp edge. Still, the impact wasn’t exactly pleasant.

I collected everything that had landed in the water, put the bike back on the trail and walked back to where we had stopped. Fortunately, the jacket was still there. Another participant was already coming towards me with it. Phew. Lucky. Without the jacket, a change in weather would not have been much fun.

Things were getting tight

Keep going. Was there still enough time to reach the checkpoint? It was getting tight.

The next mountain was another hike-a-bike adventure. My legs were heavy. I was struggling to breathe. The climb was much harder than it had initially appeared.

At 1:38 p.m., I finally reached the pass. Two hours until the checkpoint closed. Twenty-eight kilometres to go. This probably wasn’t going to happen. Still, I tried to summon every last bit of energy.

Down the descent as quickly as possible. But with every kilometre towards the checkpoint, my strength disappeared. I could see it on the other side of the lake for a long time. But somehow I wasn’t getting any closer.

The final 20 kilometres were more crawling than riding. For the last seven kilometres, I could barely move forward. No strength left. Pain in my lungs and legs. I couldn’t produce more than 70 watts on the flat anymore. Ridiculous. But true.

At 4:44 p.m., I reached the checkpoint. 44 minutes too late.

First things first: food

Of course I was disappointed. But more than anything, I was relieved to finally eat something decent.

I quickly found a place in a yurt and, incredibly, got the last available spot. Tea, conversations with other participants and a shower later, I went to bed at around 10 p.m.

Full. Content. And with a plan to attack again the next morning after a good night’s sleep.

I had slept extremely well. The bike was ready before breakfast. I wanted to leave shortly after 9 a.m. But something was holding me back. Like a magnet. I simply couldn’t get moving. No air. No strength. The pedal was seized. Coughing. Pain from the crash.

And suddenly I had to ask myself a question I really didn’t want to ask.

Health before racing

The next supermarket was 50 kilometres away. After that came a long section along the military zone and the Chinese border. Lots of climbing. No easy way to get help quickly if something happened.

And my body was making it pretty clear that it wanted nothing to do with any of it. My right foot was completely blue. My lower leg had deep wounds and was painful. My back hurt as well.

The cough was getting worse. Overall, I felt unwell without initially knowing exactly why. It was time to make a decision.

Was it worth the risk?

Or does health come first? I chose health. And that was the right decision. Abandoning the Silk Road Mountain Race was nevertheless anything but easy.

I was devastated.

I knew how many people back home were following my progress.

I wanted to ride through Kyrgyzstan for those two weeks.

I wanted to collect kilometers.

And above all, I wanted to raise more donations for the street children of Malabon.

But continuing at any cost is not automatically courage.

Sometimes courage means stopping.

14 hours in a Car

Together with three other riders who had also abandoned the race, I was able to take a van to Cholpon-Ata. My suitcase and bike box were there. From there, we were supposed to return to Bishkek that same day.

The next 14 hours in the Jeep, however, were anything but pleasant. I could barely move. Everything hurt.

A flat tire on the van was almost a minor inconvenience by comparison and was quickly fixed. Around midnight, we finally reached the hostel in Bishkek. I was looking forward to a shower. And then I was shocked when I looked in the mirror.

The crash had obviously been much more serious than I had initially realized. There were deep abrasions in several places across my back. There was also significant swelling. By then, the cough had become considerably worse. The colour of the sputum had changed, with a strong green-yellow appearance.

I exchanged photos and my observations with my “ultracycling Doctor”. His recommendation was clear:

Get home as quickly as possible.

Heading home

On Friday morning, I had breakfast first.

Then I took a taxi to the Turkish Airlines office to change my flight. The new departure was at 5 a.m. on Saturday.

Just enough time to repack the bike, buy a few souvenirs and have a very good pizza that evening at a local Italian restaurant with Pierluigi from Turin and Johann from Eindhoven. The flight home was uneventful.

I was able to sleep a lot.

When I collected my suitcase and bike at Cologne-Bonn Airport at 2 p.m. on Saturday and my wife hugged me at the exit, I was above all else:

happy to be home.

What remains?

Sometimes plans and dreams simply don’t work out. Of course, I would have loved to spend the full two weeks riding through Kyrgyzstan. Of course, I would have liked to collect more kilometers. And of course, I would have liked to raise more donations for the street children of Malabon.

But sometimes abandoning a race is harder than continuing.

Nevertheless, continuing in my condition would not have been medically responsible.

As it turned out afterwards, I had suffered poisoning as a result of the leaked tire vulcanizing fluid. The blood tests were clear. My entire body felt like it had permanent muscle soreness – combined with a cough and a cold.

I would never have made it through the next section of the SRMR.

So the decision to stop was not only right. It was necessary.

What I learned from this defeat

Yes, defeat. That’s what it was. But you can learn from defeats too.

1. The preparation has to be right

If the preparation is far from optimal, you should consider stopping the project before the start and trying again at another time.

The bursitis in my elbow set me back significantly.

2. More technical training

I should have done considerably more mountain bike skills training.

3. A 30-tooth chainring up front would have helped

Sometimes it’s the little things.

4. Less luggage

About 1.5 kilograms could have stayed at home.

5. Keep food and chemicals strictly separated

I definitely don’t need to repeat the experiment with the tire vulcanizing fluid.

6. Check the rear tire thoroughly before the start

The warning sign was there.

I should have taken it more seriously.

And yet: there was a lot of good

Not everything went wrong.

Quite the opposite.

The acclimatization worked well. The medication I had brought as a precaution gave me some peace of mind – even though fortunately I didn’t need it.

The bike was extremely comfortable and perfectly set up. TPU tubes proved to be a good alternative.

And above all, I met many great people. We are still in touch through a WhatsApp group.

And then there is Kyrgyzstan. A wonderful country. With wonderful, hospitable people.

I am grateful to have been there.

Surprisingly little got broken

Considering everything that happened along the way, surprisingly little equipment was left behind:

• Handlebar tape on both sides
• Rear tire
• One TPU tube
• The helmet, which was damaged in the crash
• Various bags and dry bags that came into contact with the tire vulcanizing fluid
• The bike pump

So the bike went through quite a lot.

Apparently, so did I.

And 2027?

Will I ride the Silk Road Mountain Race again?

No.

I’ve put that chapter behind me. It is what it is. And who knows what it may have been good for.

I will continue ultracycling.

And I will continue raising money for the street children of Malabon. Perhaps once again on the road. Preferably on gravel.

What exactly will happen in 2027 is not yet decided. I don’t currently have a concrete plan for any further ultracycling races. First, I need to make a full recovery. Then we’ll see. Perhaps the next adventure is already waiting somewhere.

Maybe even one where the tire stays inflated, the vulcanizing fluid stays in its tube, the luggage is 1.5 kilograms lighter, and I don’t suddenly discover somewhere in Kyrgyzstan that 70 watts is my personal maximum.

But one thing is certain:

The journey continues.

For me. For ultracycling. And above all, for the street children of Malabon.

💛 You can support the children of Malabon

Every kilometer I ride should be more than just a personal adventure. Through my ultracycling projects, I want to raise awareness and collect donations for the street children of Malabon in the Philippines.

If you would like to follow my next adventure and support this cause at the same time, I would be very grateful for your support.

Because even though this race ended differently than planned, the real journey continues.