The ascent began.
It began gradually, and I took advantage of the absence of traffic to cycle alongside David – a rare luxury. I was most familiar with his back, and even that was usually far away and getting smaller.
Before long, I heard the familiar sound of a dog barking. The incongruously small creature charged towards us and began running alongside, snapping at our heels and loudly expressing its displeasure at our presence. I gripped the handlebars more tightly and tried to remain calm, pedalling continuously. Eventually, the dog decided we were no longer a threat to his territory and just stood in the middle of the road, watching to make sure we didn’t turn around.
The ascent continued. A while later, we passed a family of pigs. The tiny piglets trotted towards us curiously, before their caution got the better of them and they scampered away as fast as their little legs could carry them. The adult pigs, on the other hand, were more interested in the mud and grass on the verge.
The road became steeper. David didn’t seem to notice and continued at the same pace – if not faster (I still ask myself how and why) – which meant that the distance between us gradually increased. Trying to distract myself from the fire in my legs, I turned my attention to my surroundings: to the meadows of wildflowers that sloped away from the road and the white-capped mountains behind and in front of me.
At this point, I was familiar with the proceedings. The very first mountain ascent, however, I had been annoyed. Annoyed because at every bend the ascent continued. Annoyed because David didn’t wait often enough. Annoyed because my bike wouldn’t change into the lowest gear.
The second mountain ascent, on the way up to Zagari Pass at 2621m, I was exhausted to the point of tears. We cooked porridge with haribo and salt for lunch. I wouldn’t recommend, but we didn’t have much choice – and I was so worn out that I didn’t care.
The third mountain ascent would have been OK – the road was better and I found my rhythm, head down – if it wasn’t for the rain. English rain. Steady and miserable. Before long, I was soaked through and cold and not enjoying myself at all. I was just about to get annoyed again that David hadn’t waited when I saw that he’d turned around and was cycling back down the hill towards me. Too bad, I couldn’t be annoyed at him after all.
Now we were taking a detour towards the mighty Ushba and its equally mighty glacier – another ascent, but this time somehow more enjoyable.
The climb finally ended – and with it (once again) the paved road, leaving us with mud and puddles. We set off more slowly, passing three Georgian forest workers who invited us to join them for bread, cheese and chacha. We declined, and continued a little way, before passing a herd of cows – who didn’t invite us to join them but instead watched us warily.
It wasn’t long before we found a hidden spot – a clearing next to the river – and set up camp, washing ourselves in the cold, raging torrent of water before cooking a variation on the usual rice or pasta with tomato sauce and vegetables. Occasionally, we took advantage of local guest houses and hearty home-baked Georgian food, but at the foot of this mountain there were no such facilities. At least it wasn’t porridge with haribo and salt.
