As we were heading towards the Kazach border, two horsemen made us venture off the main road as they led us into the woods and made us drink water from their favorite source. These were clearly men who had learned how to enjoy the smaller things in life. We bought them icecream and received some vodka in return, which is the way of the world. Each of us enjoyed the well disciplined stallions force as we got to take them for a spin around the flatlands. After a balanced lunch they told us their house was no more than a stonethrow away from the border, so we tried to keep up with the galloping horses. One of the Kyrgyz offered Stef to swap his bike for his stallion, and so they changed saddles. Before he could settle on his new ride, the other horseman kicked his horse from a gentle walk to a fierce gallop, and both horses started racing. Stef, barefooted, felt comfortable and followed the experienced rider side to side, faster and faster. Then the horses started to bang their necks together, as if trying to push eachother off the road. Stef showed the wood he was carved from, didn't let go of the reigns and completed the race, earning a spot in the saddle for the rest of the way to the Kazakh border. He and his newfound companion got separated from the rest of the group when the strange man gestured to follow him to a Yurt camp. After knocking on some doors he found what he was looking for: supplies. Unfortunately there was some miscommunication and the guy spent our last money on bottles of liquor. What an ass! He better has a load of food at his home or he'll experience some hangry cyclers.
On the way to the rest of the group the unnamed rider stopped every five minutes for a drink. Not long after he required a longer break, and then his stomach started to complain about drinking while riding. He let it all go and sniffed some flowers after to cover the scent - at least this is how Stef understood the action. He decided not to give the fellow more drinks and rode on until he reunited with the rest two hours later.
Their house, to our surprise, looked suspiciously like a truck, probably because it was. We cooked a meagre portion of spagghetti and drank vodka until our guests were satisfied with the empty bottle count. After sober guy forcedly put his companion to sleep with a highkick to the nose, we called it a night and fell asleep to the growling sound of our stomachs.