We started the day early in order to cover some distance on these bad roads. Anton rode ahead and found himself a nice rock where he could feast his eyes on the scenery during his midday break while his friends were catching up. tears of joy were shed over the beauty of this landscape.
"This feels more like downhill mountainbiking than cycling doesn't it?" Smiled Stef. "Yeah I like it, it requires a certain skill!" Yuri responded shakily, while he tried to minimize the damage of the bumpy road by compensating with bent knees and arms. Some bumps were so big we actually made airtime, two wheels off the ground, arms in the air and legs in perfect split.
The travelling circus paused in a small village at a bridge over a very appealing waterfall. The locals encouraged us to jump and we obeyed, though we didn't take his advice to dive in from the side. This proved to be the right choice as the water was only waist deep. As the villagers lined up on the small bridge they cheered while we bathed and enjoyed the ice cold, not main, stream.
After our 'four o' clocky' we decided to measure the distance to Afghanistan, we felt it was close. Using a precise measuring technique we were able to conclude it was only a stone throw away at this moment. The Iranian rock throwing competitions payed off very well after all. We celebrated by leveraging a 500 kg heavy rock down the cliff and belowed a primal celebrational scream when it shattered into millions of pieces like a mirror falling to the floor. Man-made rock slide, we like!
In every village we pass along the long border road, all the kids come running from afar to welcome us. We hear the loud, continuous 'Hello! Hello!'s ' before we can even see them. Then they line up for an on-the-go high five round. We started to like this and made a stop to hang out with some village kids and while doing so another heavy armed military Patrol passed and said their hello's. Naturally some kids also ran to them for high fives.
All of a sudden the road turned into desert sand and we didn't know where to go, so we followed the trail of passing trucks to get back on the right track. Under a small army encampment we found a perfect hammock spot but all too soon they shooed us away. We are quite sure this was because a guesthouse owner asked his army friends to forbid us from camping under the excuse of taliban at the other side of the river. We know when the bull has gone number two when we see it, and laughed at the guesthouse owner, jumped on our bikes in order to find another shelter for the oncoming rain. Only ten km's further a friendly farmer invited us in and even fed us some yak yoghurt with bread for free.