We had been reliably told by Lonely Planet that the border post east of Mashhad was open until 6pm and therefore we were slightly concerned to find the gates firmly closed when we rocked up at 4. The backpackers’ bible went on to inform us that overstaying our visa would result in a hefty fine, a week of form filling in Tehran and possible deportation. Having just battled against the winds for 200km we were in no mood for this piece of bad news. Pitching up early the next day we were greeted by a sour faced border guard. “Problem… late visa… go to Mashhad office.” We diplomatically suggested that the only reason that we had outstayed our welcome was because he had decided to knock off an hour and a half earlier than the official time. Fortunately after an anxious few minutes a less bureaucratic officer turned up and we were allowed through to be greeted by adolescent Turkmen boys armed with Kalashnikovs.

In Turkey they have Ataturk, in Iran they have Imam Khomeini and in Turkmenistan they have Turkmenbashi; ‘The Father of the Turkmen.’ Since the break down of the Soviet Union this man has been the undisputed leader of the country and he has built up a bizarre and fascinating personality cult. His chubby face appears everywhere, all citizens are required to read his book and he has even renamed the month of April after his mother! George was evidently worried because we had been told that he had recently banned beards, but the checkpoint guards obviously did not think the tangle of ginger face fuzz really constituted an official beard.

Despite the undemocratic leadership, the people of Turkmenistan are far less repressed then those in Iran. It was nice to see women wearing bright dresses and with hair flowing over their shoulders, and it makes things much more relaxing when they don’t have to ask permission to talk to us. Iran is a tourist’s dream but you quickly become aware of the massive social problems they have there. We had been luckily enough to talk to an outspoken teacher in Mashhad who had told us about the gender inequality, the 7 million drug addicts and the 4 million unemployed university graduates. He summed it up with “Great country, great people, terrible regime”.

The landscape has become gradually more arid as we have headed east and the sight of camels between the dunes is no longer unusual. On some stretches we have cycled for up to 90km without seeing any settlements. It was in the middle of one of these long legs that my rear wheel rim decided to give up the ghost in a catastrophic fashion. Unfortunately there was no way I could continue so with a heavy heart I loaded my bike into the back of a passing jeep and sped down the road to the town of Mary. Mary had no bike shops and thus the only solution was to buy a complete bike for the princely sum of $50. I took off the rear wheel, gave the rest of the bike to an elated man who had helped me out and I was ready to roll again! As expected the shoddy new wheel did not last long, but that night team mechanic Wallis stayed up to the small hours rebuilding it around my existing hub (quite a tricky procedure, particularly if it is pitch black, it is the first time you have attempted it and you have the prospect of 160km to tackle the next day).

Whenever we do see some sort of village amongst the bleak expanse we inevitably stop to load up with food and water. One lady with a mouthful of gold teeth emerged from her shack and produced a notebook. Much to our surprise it was a visitor’s book full of entries from foreign cyclists dating back to 1989. With camels having been replaced by cars that are able to cross deserts in a matter of hours, it is only those crazy fools on bikes who still require to stop at these ancient Silk Road oases.