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Asia Rivers Expedition Fundraising!

It’s official- the Asia Rivers Expedition is going to happen, and our fundraising page is up!  We need your help to bring this exploration into being, and to make sure that the story of wild rivers is told to as wide an audience as possible.  Please, whether or not you can spare a few dollars to help us make it to the Pacific, share the Indiegogo page on Facebook, Twitter, and by e-mail.  Text your friends.  E-mail your dentist.  Tell… everybody.  Spread the fire, and you can help make our dream a reality!  We are seeking $11,000 in funding to cover the substantial costs of executing an international expedition.  The vaccines alone cost $1900, not to mention flights, visas, gear, food, and communication technology.  Anything you can give is much appreciated, and rewarded with lots of cool stuff!

The Facebook book page is also live, so head over there for more updates and be sure to ‘Like’ the Asia Rivers Expedition!

 

 

 

Polartec Piece

Polartec just added a short piece I wrote to their Just a Zipper blog. The text is below, but jet over to their blog for the photos that accompany it as well heaps of other stories from explorations near and far. I am so pleased to have the support of a company like this, it is hard to really get down on paper.

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Biking and Paddling Across Asia-Polartec Challenge Style

“I found out I was being awarded the Grant in Zonguldak. It is a grim, coal-stained port on the Black Sea coast of Turkey, and I was in a shabby concrete room overlooking the slate sea, searching desperately for a bike shop over a 56k modem. My partner was outside, fixing a flat and cursing our pump as it failed to build pressure. I passed by the note from Polartec, hurrying to the mission at hand. Eventually, that problem was put to bed, as where many others, and on the road with a cleared mind hours later, I realized the impact of what had happened. After 16,000 kilometers of paddling and cycling, I now had the backing to reach the Pacific. I knew without the Grant I would never be able to afford the final link- 4,000 kilometers of lakes and rivers in Mongolia and Siberia- and so had set winning it as the pivot on which the decision to attempt the last leg would be made.

Success has been in doubt since the beginning. Indeed, the project itself- paddling around the world – began as the far-fetched, damn-fool idea of a just-out-of-college and jobless person – me – without the resources or the skills to bring it about. I started with a paddle home, from Portland, OR to Portland, ME, leading expeditions for NOLS to save up enough to paddle east for another month or two, failing and struggling and eking my way across the continent. Europe followed, and Central Asia. Bikes were thrown in for sanity and rational movement across endorheic basins, deserts, and mountain ranges. As each leg materialized out of the mist of what is possible, I cast about for structure and for ending. Siberia was the keyhole through which could barely be discerned the great ocean where I began, years ago and as a different person. The maps of Siberia told of capillaries of blue etched amidst mountains and wedged between the steppe and the sea, and with false starts and the dizzy soar of Google Earth, I sketched a route through the difficult and the unknown, as I had done in successive pushes across three continents. Still, it was all a sort of a dream. Only on the last day- reaching the Atlantic, the Black Sea, and the heart of Asia- did I really believe it had ever been possible. Now, though, with the grandest exploration on the horizon due to the support of the Challenge Grant, I at least have a bit chance of putting my hands in the Pacific. I’ll need help, a team, and probably a heap of new tricks, and like each step along the way it will have to be earned, with success far from certain.

Our route begins in central Mongolia, on the edge of the vast endorheic basin of Central Asia, where rivers disappear into deserts and dying seas. We will travel by canoe through the canyons of the Chuluut into the rushing waters of the Ider, to the major flow of the Selenge, to Baikal, the biggest lake by volume on Earth. From there, we will move into the Amur watershed, moving east towards the Sea of Okhotsk. Human-powered expedition travel is our means, canoes are our craft, and our goal is to move across the land in the best style possible, gathering stories as we go to share with those unable to visit this last, best place, and perhaps inspire them to further river conservation there and at home.

Shots and visas are on the immediate time horizon, boats and maps in the middle, and camping gear way off. I’ve become a bit casual in preparations, seeing how it always works out from country to country and river to river, perhaps forgetting that 1500 days on the ground in six years has built a few neural pathways I’m not aware of. We train for expeditions as we always do, by going on expeditions. Bria Schurke, my expedition partner for Mongolia and Siberia, will be mountaineering in Nepal and volunteering in Somalia before joining me in in Ulaanbaatar. I’ll be leading two whitewater expeditions for NOLS in the Utah river canyons, and nailing down details from maps to sat phones during time off. It’ll come together, as it always does: piece-by-piece, with quality, details a bit fuzzy, planning (invaluable) and plans (useless), thoroughly, and probably at the last minute.

Stay tuned.”

(Text and photos by Zander Martin)

Team Awarded a Polartec Challenge Grant!

I am thrilled to announce that my team and I have been awarded a Polartec Challenge Grant! The Challenge Grant program has been funding far-reaching expeditions for 22 years, and has gone to many big names over the years- I am in august company, the company of adventurers like Conrad Anker, Jon Turk, Erik Boomer, and Jimmy Chin. Polartec, the leader in technical outdoor fabrics, kindly funds this Grant each year as part of their commitment to pushing the limits of exploration and adventure, and as a sign of their cognizance of where their mana comes from. I am very excited to be partnering with a program and a company like this.

So, after many years of effort and 16,000 kilometers traveled by canoe and bicycle, I now know I will be able to finish what I’ve started. We’re Mongolia-bound come summer, and it’s (mostly) downstream to the Pacific. Stay tuned for more details and fundraising pushes over the coming weeks!

Polartec Press Release

The Last Camp

There is cleaning to be done. The bags have to emptied out and packed anew, breaking set habits; calls need to be made and arrangements confirmed. A bag of trash consolidated and fuel shuttled off, and all things separated and divorced from their expedition-spun meanings. The goal needs to be put to bed, silenced, zip-tied to shattering conclusion.

But that is tomorrow. Tonight, those thoughts flutter, but forwards is balanced with backwards and the reel of recognition has begun to play. What might not have seemed real that morning, or the many mornings before, has come to pass. The trip is over, you did it, you’re finished. All the structures and efforts up to this point tomorrow break down and their meaning fades.

Last camps are places of rushed preparation, for reentry into that more harsh environment, but also of last quiet, last meal (if you planned right), and last untroubled laughter. The subtle temperature fluctuation that in a few days time you just won’t notice anymore. The empty food bag, and the empty fuel bottle; the full memory card. The last camp is the pivot on which the experience turns, from internal to external; you will lose yourself tomorrow, so today, look at the peaks around you, at the river current folding gently around the bend, at the tanned cheeks and dirty hair of those who lifted to this point.

We revere last camps each time they come, and so we set up just upstream, just up valley, half-afraid of the trailhead or take-out, of what it will bring to us and our team. These points come in succession and mark our real ending, in golden light.

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We pedaled into Almaty at 7:30pm last night after 11 hours in the saddle and 160 kilometers on the road, our biggest day. With that, we finished what we set out to do: cycle from Istanbul to Kazakhstan, a shade less than 4,000 kilometers, in two months time. Through geographies sensible ( snow bound mountain ranges, ancient rivers and inland seas ) and not ( jigsaw borders and boundaries fortified in bureaucracy ), we moved east from the edge of Europe to the center of Asia. We relied on the generosity of peoples of steppe, desert, and mountain, as well as scattered expats and the high tide traces of the great Russian and Soviet empires. Now, we beat the streets of Alma-Ata, ‘Fatherland of Apples’ for bike boxes and the biggest bucket of plov we can find.

Cycling the Celestial Mountains, in Winter

Kyrgyzstan has been good to us. Our first pass over 3000m was bright and sunny, making sunburn a new and oddly welcome hazard. The good weather followed us almost all the way to Bishkek, giving out in a fit of cold and snow as we skated out of Kara Balta. Thankfully, friends were awaiting our arrival in town, and we’ve been posted up being tourists for the last few days. With the passes through the Tien Shan completed, no major obstacles remain, and with 222 kilometers between us and Almaty, the end is at hand.

Our egos were tempered just as we gained the top of our first 3000+ meter pass.  There we met the family that lives at the very top of the pass in humble buildings buried in 15 foot snowdrifts.  The father of the family's job is to drive the bucket-loader and clear the wind-loaded snow from the road as it is deposited.  Even on a gorgeous sunny day, we hurried off the pass as the wind howled.

Our egos were tempered just as we gained the top of our first 3000+ meter pass. There we met the family that lives at the very top of the pass in humble buildings buried in 15 foot snowdrifts. The father of the family’s job is to drive the bucket-loader and clear the wind-loaded snow from the road as it is deposited. Even on a gorgeous sunny day, we hurried off the pass as the wind howled.

Entering the mountains, the frequency of towns dropped off precipitously, meaning we had to carry more food and for longer periods.  It was a small price gladly paid to leave behind the flat, populated plains.  Here, the only shop for 120 km offers juice boxes, meat-flavored potato chips, ramen noodles, and fresh naan.

Entering the mountains, the frequency of towns dropped off precipitously, meaning we had to carry more food and for longer periods. It was a small price gladly paid to leave behind the flat, populated plains. Here, the only shop for 120 km offers juice boxes, meat-flavored potato chips, ramen noodles, and fresh naan.

The loneliest little cell phone store in the Tien Shan.

The loneliest little cell phone store in the Tien Shan.

We passed a large artillery piece just wrapping up some control work along the road, and an hour later encountered its leavings.  This wet-slab buried the road in a 300-foot long block of cement fifty feet high.  We carried our bikes and bags over it in an hour's effort, smirking at the hundreds of cars lined up for 14 hours.  Bikes win.

We passed a large artillery piece just wrapping up some control work along the road, and an hour later encountered its leavings. This wet-slab buried the road in a 300-foot long block of cement fifty feet high. We carried our bikes and bags over it in an hour’s effort, smirking at the hundreds of cars lined up for 14 hours. Bikes win.

In the shadow of spruce, the snow is deep.  Work-hardening a tent platform, usually the province of winter ski trips, felt novel on a bike trip.

In the shadow of spruce, the snow is deep. Work-hardening a tent platform, usually the province of winter ski trips, felt novel on a bike trip.

The difference between the north and south sides of the final pass on the Osh - Bishkek highway was stark.  Here, on the north side, the deep cold continues but the air is dry and the hillsides bare.

The difference between the north and south sides of the final pass on the Osh – Bishkek highway was stark. Here, on the north side, the deep cold continues but the air is dry and the hillsides bare.

Getting into Bishkek, we reunited with friends and immediately returned to the mountains for a blissful ski tour.

Getting into Bishkek, we reunited with friends and immediately returned to the mountains, this time with a pair of planks strapped to our feet. Truth: skinning muscles are different than cycling muscles.

From the Sea to the Mountains

After a rushed week of visa hassles, decrepit Soviet cargo ships, and a series of overnight trains across Turkmenistan (our visa only gave us 5 days to cross the country), we crossed into Uzbekistan and rattled northeast to Bukhara, a beautiful and gritty Silk Road waypoint. The Caspian was our last tenuous connection to obvious representatives of the hydrologic cycle, and leaving the ferry terminal we were staring east into the planet’s largest mass of land untouched by the water of the sea. From the sea, we now trace a line across endless desert and oasis to the base of the next great range, the Tien Shan.

The Soviet-era cargo ship Dagestan took us safely across the Caspian in 15 hours, a record crossing for the rusty train ferry.

The Soviet-era cargo ship Dagestan took us safely across the Caspian in 15 hours, a record crossing for the rusty train ferry.

Our canvas backgammon board proved its worth once again in the cramped cabin of the Turkmenabat to Ashgabat overnight train.  The crusty gray-haired Red Army paratrooper we shared our cabin with didn't speak a word of English, but he sure could roll a pair of dice.

Our canvas backgammon board proved its worth once again in the cramped cabin of the Turkmenabat to Ashgabat overnight train. The crusty gray-haired Red Army paratrooper we shared our cabin with didn’t speak a word of English, but he sure could roll a pair of dice.

Uzbek single-track.

Uzbek single-track.

Bukhara has a gritty, inhabited feel to it: people walk freely through occasionally crumbling medieval monuments, groceries in hand, while shop keepers hawk wares from under the domes of ancient bazaars.  With no tourists about in mid-winter, we were able to wander undistracted through the madrases, mausoleums, and mosques.  Here, the Po-i Kaylan ("Foot of the Great") complex, showing the minaret of the Kaylan mosque and the turquoise dome of the Mir-i Arab Madrasah.

Bukhara has a gritty, inhabited feel to it: people walk freely through occasionally crumbling medieval monuments, groceries in hand, while shop keepers hawk wares from under the domes of ancient bazaars. With no tourists about in mid-winter, we were able to wander undistracted through the madrases, mausoleums, and mosques. Here, the Po-i Kaylan (“Foot of the Great”) complex, showing the minaret of the Kaylan mosque and the turquoise dome of the Mir-i Arab Madrasah.

Leaving Bukhara, we pedaled by the Ark, or central fortress, stopping for our photo op close to the spot the scheming Stoddard and Connolly were executed by the Emir a century and a half ago.

Leaving Bukhara, we pedaled by the Ark, or central fortress, stopping for our photo op close to the spot the scheming Stoddard and Connolly were executed by the Emir a century and a half ago.

In the Shadow of the Greater Caucasus

Celebrating your birthday in a foreign capital is a special experience. The strange displays of wealth and the contrasts of Turkic history overlaid with inept Soviet industrial management and modern oil booms make Baku an odd and occasionally frustrating place to explore. Still, on my birthday, everything seems to be falling into place: we found the ferry office (“Parom Kassa!”) AND the Turkmenistan consulate (around the corner from the embassy, up an unmarked and muddy alley), a mechanic argreed to tune our bikes for free, the sun finally came out, and I think I might have just been invited to an Azerbaijani wedding. The year ahead looks good.

Walnuts?  Cherries?  Eggs? We can pickle that!

Walnuts? Cherries? Eggs? We can pickle that!

Stealth camping is always a source of minor stress at the end of the day: you want to be off the road in a quiet spot, and out of sight so no body bothers you, but not so far away that you are wasting energy getting there.  Sometimes, I dreamed we would happen on an abandoned fortress that we could hide ourselves away in.  On two occasions, that dream came true.

Stealth camping is always a source of minor stress at the end of the day: you want to be off the road in a quiet spot, and out of sight so no body bothers you, but not so far away that you are wasting energy getting there. Sometimes, I dreamed we would happen on an abandoned fortress that we could hide ourselves away in. On two occasions, that dream came true.

Stalin looks out over waiting train passengers in his hometown of Gori, Georgia.  The greatest mass murderer in human history is revered here, and almost no where else in the world can you find statues and likenesses of him in public.

Stalin looks out over waiting train passengers in his hometown of Gori, Georgia. The greatest mass murderer in human history is revered here, and almost no where else in the world can you find statues and likenesses of him in public.

Looking up successive valleys, each more twisted and inaccessible than the next, gives one a good idea about how the mosaic of cultures and ethnicities came to inhabit this mountainous land.  The stark newness of the road and infrastructure tells how recently some of these communities were liked to the modern world, for good and ill.

Looking up successive valleys, each more twisted and inaccessible than the next, gives one a good idea about how the mosaic of cultures and ethnicities came to inhabit this mountainous land. The stark newness of the road and infrastructure tells how recently some of these communities were liked to the modern world, for good and ill.

Leaving Tbilisi, we raced north and east, eager to be in the mountains again. After tracing the foothills of the Caucasus into Azerbaijan, we stopped for a much needed rest at the restored caravansarai in Seki.

Leaving Tbilisi, we raced north and east, eager to be in the mountains again. After tracing the foothills of the Caucasus into Azerbaijan, we stopped for a much needed rest at the restored caravansarai in Seki.

Filling up our water bottles, buying food, or asking for directions always gave us a nice rest, and gave passersby a chance to ring us and ask questions.  'Where are you from?'  'Are you married?' and 'Do you have an iPhone and how much does it cost?' top the list.

Filling up our water bottles, buying food, or asking for directions always gave us a nice rest, and gave passersby a chance to ring us and ask questions. ‘Where are you from?’ ‘Are you married?’ and ‘Do you have an iPhone and how much does it cost?’ top the list.

The (phallic) contrasts of Baku city.  Oil money has remade the city half a dozen times over the last century and a half, leaving strange contrasts.

The (phallic) contrasts of Baku city. Oil money has remade the city half a dozen times over the last century and a half, leaving strange contrasts.

While the mountains were ever present on the horizon, it was not often that we ventured into them.  The Greater and Lesser Caucasus ranges sandwich the fertile valleys of Georgia and Azerbaijan, giving us fresh produce and good wine, and (mostly) snow-free roads.

While the mountains were ever present on the horizon, it was not often that we ventured into them. The Greater and Lesser Caucasus ranges sandwich the fertile valleys of Georgia and Azerbaijan, giving us fresh produce and good wine, and (mostly) snow-free roads.

To see the supposed smallest book in the world, pay the Museum of Miniature Books a visit.  You won't be sorry.  Admission is free.

To see the supposed smallest book in the world, pay the Museum of Miniature Books a visit. You won’t be sorry. Admission is free.

The dreaded Baku Ferry Office.  The only clue as to its true purpose was a couple of Mongol Rally stickers on the sheet metal door.  We waited here for 3 hours before bulling our way to the ticket desk and demanding tickets.  This won us another 5 hours wait, and a bunk on a cargo ship across the Caspian.

The dreaded Baku Ferry Office. The only clue as to its true purpose was a couple of Mongol Rally stickers on the sheet metal door. We waited here for 3 hours before bulling our way to the ticket desk and demanding tickets. This won us another 5 hours wait, and a bunk on a cargo ship across the Caspian.

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