Members of the bike-search team, from left to right, Nancy, Maktar, Niyat Ullah, Columbo, Todd.

Today being Thursday and all, I’m supposed to write about our final day in Karimabad. But truthfully, since I never actually write my Thursday journals on Thursday, I’d rather write about the much-more-exciting things that happened Friday and Saturday. Instead of writing about how we kicked around in town and bid farewell to all of our new Hunza friends, I’d rather write briefly about how we left Karimabad the following morning and drove to the Pakistan border town of Sost to meet up with Nick and Todd. If tomorrow were my journal day, I’d talk freely about how we passed through customs and immigration there, for the second time, and drove up and over the Khunjerab pass…again. Somehow, I’d fit in a road description for that section of the Karakoram Highway (smooth and paved until after the Chinese checkpoint on the East side of the pass, winding and beautiful on the way up, straight and gradual on the way down; the road turns into a big mess for most of the Chinese side), as per Nick’s new journal rule. Then I’d to talk about clearing Chinese immigration and having the vehicles impounded in the customs yard because our license tags and travel permits expired while we were organizing new visas. But Colin will probably tell you about all that in his Friday journal.

Something so personally horrifying and unimaginable happened Friday that I cannot help but usurp some of Colin’s Friday privileges (and even some of Justin’s Saturday privileges) to describe what, to me, has been the most tragic event of the expedition.

The road from the Khunjerab Pass (dividing line between Pakistan and China) to the Chinese border town of Tashikurgan has been completely ripped up and is under construction. It is one of the bumpiest and dustiest we’ve yet to encounter. Migrant road crews are spread out along the entire length of the road, pushing dirt around and making rock piles. Basically, the whole road is one big, bumpy detour. Well, somewhere along that lovely stretch of road, D1 made a $4,000 deposit, for when we arrived at the Chinese customs parking lot, we realized that the whole spare tire assembly had snapped off the back of Nick and Chanda’s vehicle. By “assembly”, of course, I am referring to the mounting bracket, which is (was?) attached to the spare BFGoodrich tire, to which our BVG bike rack is (was?) attached, to which our beloved Santa Cruz Mountain bike was (is?) mounted, the whole assembly being chained and locked together by Kryptonite cables and a U-lock. I looked at the naked rear door of D1, and you military types will know exactly what I mean when I tell you the phrase, “Whisky, tango, foxtrot?” passed through my head. This was not good.

We spent an hour trying to rush the Chinese officials through our check-in process, but they weren’t too impressed with our sense of urgency. I knew one of the truckers or one of the villagers behind us on that road were going to seize every moment we wasted to haul their $4,000 prize off the highway and into hiding. After what seemed like an eternity, Justin and I were allowed to depart in D3 with our issued Chinese guard to backtrack in search of our lost expedition gear.

We searched the dark night with all of our Hella lights shining into the unknown. “Put the spotlight over there, Justin. Is that just sticks, or is it my bike?” It was just sticks. This went on for three hours; an hour and a half out, an hour and a half back. To no avail. Some lucky individual had hit the jackpot. Still, though, Justin and I gave up our fruitless search with hope in our hearts, for we both believe in the kindness and humanity of the people we have met along the Karakoram Highway. Maybe somebody will realize the importance of their find and turn it all in to Chinese or Pakistani customs…We hit the sack at 2:00 a.m., exhausted.

Well, the team woke up Saturday morning, packed, and departed for customs. Todd and I decided we would remain behind to conduct a final search, if they’d let us, and the rest of the team would continue on to Kashgar via taxi. Our vehicles would remain in the customs yard until permits and licenses could be arranged.

After much ado about nothing, Todd and I were finally introduced to the Tashikurgan police, and wheels were set into motion for a solid day of searching and camaraderie. Our guide translated our needs and then left with our team, whom we would meet tonight or tomorrow in Kashgar. The police, one in uniform, one in street clothes, were eager to help, but they had no vehicle. We pantomimed that they should persuade the customs officials to allow us to use one of the Drive Around the World vehicles in the search, and we walked the two or three kilometers to the impound lot. There, the two cops were joined by a friend of theirs, a Pakistani shop owner named Niyat Ullah, who spoke wonderful English. The men adeptly persuaded customs to let us take D1 down the highway to look for our bike and tire, and the adventure began.

Because of his fine interrogation style and his American television cop persona, we nicknamed the plainclothes police officer “Columbo.” His uniformed friend is Maktar, and that’s a name that requires no nickname. We drove down the bumpy, dusty road, stopping at every house and construction camp, and flagging down every truck we met along the way. Each time, Maktar, Columbo, Niyat Ullah, and Todd would hop out of the car and approach the potential witnesses. Oh, the skill and style with which the police officers did this! Columbo would lead, approaching each witness in a friendly but professional manner. Smiles and handshakes told me mutual respect had been achieved. The witnesses would smile, and they’d point down the road, or at our vehicle. They’d nod their heads and chat up a storm. Columbo would lean forward into their personal space and talk to them from the top of his forehead, one hand in his pocket, and the other holding a cigarette. Classic American television cop. Finally, they would all smile, shake hands, and get back into the car. “Did they have any information? Have they seen my bike?” No, no.

This went on dozens of times, and we stopped at about five police checkpoints along the way. At each stop, our friends and heroes told the cops, workers, and villagers that a cash reward has been offered for the missing items. We cased the entire Karakoram Highway. We turned around after a witness said he had seen the four vehicles drive through, and two of them still had their bikes and tires attached. On the way back, we made a final stop at the most westerly police building, and there we found our first shred of evidence. A villager had seen the convoy at the bridge, and he had tried to yell at the last vehicle to stop, but they didn’t hear. They were dragging a bike, and it seemed badly damaged. Yikes. I wonder how long it dangled back there before it finally broke off.

After more than six hours of searching, we returned to Tashikurgan after 9 p.m. Our new friends were very sorry they’d been unable to find our missing gear, but they still had hope it would find its way back. Everybody knows about it, and they know a reward is offered.

During our search, we were informed by Niyat Ullah that the three of them had been on their way to a wedding party when we approached them with our problem. Out of a strong sense of duty and humanity, they each selflessly gave up their plans to help two perfect strangers find a bicycle and a tire that had gone missing. I mean, price aside, when it comes right down to it, we were just looking for a bike and a wheel. Big deal. But it was a big deal to them, and it was a huge deal to us, and they felt they must help.

We were all starving by the end of the search, so we went to dinner at a local place with our new friends. We got a private room , and the wedding party, their wedding party, was going on in the next hall. But our friends chose to eat with us, and at the end of a night filled with camaraderie, adventure, and warm friendship, Niyat Ullah paid for the meal we had wanted to buy for our heroes. We have the most profound respect for our new friends.

So, while we still cling to the hope that our gear will turn up again by the time we return for our vehicles in a week or so, we figure a bike and a spare tire are a small sacrifice for the friendship that their loss has brought to us. Isn’t it funny how everything seems to happen for a reason? Lose a bike, gain three friends. It was a heck of an adventure.

Karimabad: Quite possibly the most beautiful place on Earth.

Help support our cause: The LONGITUDE Expedition is the longest journey ever attempted with a focus on Parkinson's Disease. The Drive Around the World team aims to raise money for Parkinson’s Disease research by driving four Certified, Pre-Owned Land Rover Discoverys around the globe following lines of longitude. Readers are encouraged to pledge small amounts of money per expedition-kilometer via a pledge form that can be found on our Parkinson’s page by clicking HERE. One hundred percent of donations received go directly to Parkinson's research, and all who donate $10 or more will be entered into a raffle to win an expedition-equipped Land Rover Discovery.