The previous part ended with us hanging on the edge of an incredible descent. We're experienced guys, so we bundled up in our warmer athletic gear, knowing the headwind would chill us to the bone. The descent really did trigger an adrenaline rush. In places, the highway was wide, visibility was decent, and there were stretches long enough for me to risk my neck and try to set a speed record with my new 40-tooth front chainring. Previously, I found it hard to pedal even at 45 km/h, lacking the gear ratio; now that number went up to at least 50. It's a risky business, but the temptation to beat the record was just too great. My previous speed record on a bicycle was 73 km/h, set in the grey days of yore when I just started my cycling career and rode a bike abroad for the first time.
I decided to push my luck one more time. There were almost no cars, there were crash barriers on the edge of the road, and the sun finally came out and was shining properly, so all that was required of me was to tuck in and pedal hard. My heart was beating like crazy, because the short burst of power needed for that kind of speed is massive, even when you're flying downhill. Straining every nerve paid off – the record was beaten, albeit just barely: I saw a speed of 74 km/h on my phone. Another box ticked, something else new and hitherto unknown experienced during this trip.
The frantic race down barely lasted an hour, but during that time breathtaking mountain views opened up before us, a striking contrast with the dusty, trash-filled suburbs of Karak. When we pulled over on the shoulder to catch our breath, a passing police car stopped, a uniformed man stepped out, and asked us five times: “How are you, how are you? You need help? I’m tourist police”.
It's nice when you're cared for so much that they even set up a special branch of the secret services — the tourist police. Later on, we saw their booths and officers a few more times, and although we had absolutely no need for the guardians of the law, the thought that help and protection are nearby if needed adds a sense of confidence.
However, the clock was already nearing noon, and we were only at the beginning of the journey - ahead of us was a whole day of climbing upwards, albeit on decent asphalt. While we were marveling at how the locals manage to grow anything on this sand and rock, a young local punk walked by, drearily begging for money – the first and last time we ran into something like this from someone who wasn't a kid.
This isn't a cloud shadow, it's a rock of extraordinary color, and it makes a stunning impression
It's chilly riding down, but a bit too hot going up, so I shed my second skin
The rock formations are amazing
A dreary climb with a brutal gradient dragged on. I don't know where it came from, but I felt a surge of energy and kept riding ahead of Rybakov all the time. I couldn't even rest in one place for long, because the thought of god knows how many kilometers ahead of us drove me from my spot. If you recall, in Cyprus the situation was reversed, and Sasha rode ahead of me: that's what a past season of full-fledged training does for you.
Pickup trucks scurried past every now and then, and I suggested to Sasha that we slack off and cover the most tedious section—namely, a one-kilometer vertical climb on asphalt—by car. In theory, he wasn't against it, but it didn't go any further than theory: we still had some strength left, and the prospect of climbing another kilometer at night didn't seem to bother Sasha for some reason. Who am I to argue? We keep pedaling, fueling up on Latvian dates and local Snickers, and having Joylent for lunch.
It's very hot in the sun, especially if you're pedaling, but because of the wind it can quickly get cold in the shade
The endless climb was sometimes interspersed with tiny 10-20 meter descents, only for us to have to win them back shortly after
Eventually, we got over the bulk of it and reached a village with a shop. The landscape became a bit more diverse
Another cool truck from the 30s, more alive than the living
Settlement sign
A surprise awaited us here: the track veered off onto a dirt road, and not just any dirt road, but one not marked on the maps
And back home people complain about rocks in the field. Have you seen this?
Surprisingly, they actually manage to grow something on these rocks
The donkey was quite indifferent, so we couldn't find common ground with it
What we, true mountain bikers, adore – mud!
Fortunately, the off-road section didn't last long. Wind turbines appeared on the horizon
At this point, for some reason, I suddenly felt really sick. Whether my strength ran out or my illness made itself known, I sat down on a rock and had absolutely no idea how I would keep riding. Something was rumbling in my stomach, but Sasha fed me a Mars bar so I wouldn't collapse right then and there.
It was getting dark, and we were climbing past the wind turbines, which were becoming more and more numerous—at first dozens, and in total, probably over a hundred. These majestic devices create an absolutely mesmerizing sound, the deep, bassy hum of a taking-off airplane. When there's complete silence all around, no people, no cars, the impression is only amplified. When it got completely dark, it turned out that two red lights blink on top of each turbine, and all of them in sync, with just one proud outlier breaking from the chorus.
This whole slightly surreal picture was one of the strongest impressions in Jordan for me. And to think we stumbled into it completely by chance! We didn't know our route passed right through a wind farm, or that we'd be delayed just enough to get here at sunset. They hardly bring tourists here, and to truly feel it, you still have to slowly climb through the clusters of turbines on a bicycle—just rolling up in a ride to gawk, of course, works too, but it won't leave as deep an impression as it did on us.
My condition improved, my stomach settled down a bit, the chocolate bar gave me a boost of energy, and even though it was getting very cold, my soul was filled with peace and harmony, a rare state for me. Sasha, on the other hand, hadn't eaten properly in a while, so he was very tired, and even admitted that this time the climb was tough for him—it's rare to hear something like that from him. We dressed warmer so we wouldn't catch a cold, because we were well aware: we still had twenty kilometers ahead of us.
Thanks to the courtesy of NASA, which freely publishes elevation data for our planet at all points, we knew that another climb awaited us; the last three hundred meters, promising to be quite tough.
How this day of madness and courage ended, and what other troubles and fears awaited us at the end, you will find out in the next part.