The Silk Road Mountain Race is regarded as one of the toughest bicycle races in the world. Hannah Simon had her inaugural run at the 2024 race this August and gained insight into what makes an ultra race challenging for her. Read on to hear her discoveries and see the gorgeous views of Kyrgyzstan captured by photographer Nils Laengner.
When I reflect on the 2024 Silk Road Mountain Race (SRMR), the difficulty is not the first thing that comes to mind. My first thought is of the sweeping landscapes from the top of each mountain pass. I see the smokestacks from yurt camps tucked up above 10,000 ft of elevation. I feel the crisp air and hear the crackle of high-altitude creeks where horses graze. The mountains of Kyrgyzstan feel like something out of a fairytale.
These rosy visions have danced through my mind over the last month. While the physical terrain is no doubt a proper sufferfest at times, the experience overall was so exceptional that the rigor of the route made it that much sweeter. I do not mean to downplay how challenging the course was; my experience in ultra cycling lends itself to the less-rideable trails of the world (namely, Colorado Trail and Arizona Trail). I think the most redeeming aspect of SRMR is how rewarding it is. Nearly every massive climb has a fabulous, hours-long downhill on the other side. Every river crossing is in a gorgeous, expansive valley. Each village has little shop with delicious ice cream and ice-cold Fanta waiting for you.
It is much easier for me to endure tough situations when they are not just hard to be hard. There is purpose behind the insanity of The Mountain Races. They follow the only roads that exist in these remote places and are the only means for seeing these parts of the world. So if it isn’t the route that made SRMR challenging, what was it?
Difficulty of Arrival
Before you get to bask in the vastness of the beautiful country of Kyrgyzstan, you must brave the chaos that is the Manas International Airport in Bishkek. It is common to hear an ultra racer say that arriving at the start line is a significant part of the challenge. And it’s true – for a first step, it is quite daunting.
First, you and your bike must make it through multiple flights undamaged and in time to discover anything you may have forgotten. Once you arrive at the destination, countless resources must align: a SIM card for your phone, an ATM to pull cash, and a taxi big enough for you and your bike to get into town. Upon my arrival at the Bishkek airport, one important detail was awry: my bike bag was still tracking in Dallas.
At 4:30 a.m. after 30 hours of travel, realizing I was sans bicycle led me straight to tears. The Kyrgyz man at the Lost and Found office came out from behind his desk to give me a hug, reassuring me in broken English that everything was okay. In my overwhelmed state, it was difficult to believe that everything was going to be okay, but the confidence of this stranger helped calm my nerves. This was my first of many encounters with the exceptional hospitality of the people in Kyrgyzstan.
The Language Barrier
Remember when you were a kid and your best friend asked if you could have a superpower? What would it be? I have always said I’d want to be able to speak any and every language. International ultra races never fail to make me wish with all my might that this were true.
Arriving in Kyrgyzstan, this desire swelled. I was disheartened at the inability to fully express to the Lost and Found attendant how much I appreciated his tenderness and even more at a loss of words when the airport official dropped my bike bag off to me the next day. The Kyrgyz language is Turkic, and Russian is Slavic. Both use a Cyrillic alphabet, and neither is even remotely recognizable to me. I had a ceaseless longing to communicate with all of the people I encountered throughout my time abroad.
I was most mystified when I shared some time with another racer, David Nicholls, an Englishman who is fluent in Russian, and witnessed how language can facilitate connections between foreigners. As we were pedaling through a valley, a rickety SUV pulled up beside us, the driver shouting out to us through the window. Russian, similar to German, is one of those harsh languages that is alarming to have directed your way when you cannot understand what is being said. David was quickly immersed in conversation with the man.
After many quips back and forth, they shared a few belly laughs and he drove off. David told me that the man had been inquiring about what we were doing and where we were headed, as well as common curiosities from locals along a race course. He explained the race and the driver asked what the prize would be when we completed the challenge. David’s simple response of “nothing” ensued all the laughter and the man gave his well wishes. I was so thankful to have shared that experience and comforted by the knowledge that the people witnessing me were cheering me on, no matter the language.
Insecurity
I often wish that I was doing “better”. For years, grades weren’t ever high enough, mile times were never fast enough, and my pursuit of perfection was all-consuming. These insecurities have bled into my adult life and presented themselves in various arenas, the most poignant being ultra racing.
At my healthiest, I can use insecurity as a motivator. You have been here before; racing is what you know best. I go through waves of belief in myself that are often accompanied by low points of doubt. The ugly side of insecurity is sure to slow my progress no matter the circumstance. In the first few days of SRMR, my doubts reared their unhelpful heads.
I wasn’t in the groove yet and my internal dialogue was fixated on wanting to put a larger gap between me and Emma Missale, the woman in second place. Each night, I spent more time than was necessary scouring the map for the best bivvy spots, scolding myself while the time melted away. In those first few days, I would check the tracker each morning to see Emma’s dot stopped a few kilometers ahead of mine, prompting my unhelpful thoughts and reinvigorating my desire to push myself harder.
It has gotten easier to talk myself through each of these moments and understand where the unsureness creeps in. Typically, a bite of food or a swig of water can help stabilize those feelings. A hot shower in the Kyrgyz town of Naryn worked wonders for both my brain and my body halfway through SRMR.
Ultimately, I absolutely love the adrenaline that comes from a close race. When someone is near you, their presence keeps you on your toes and forces you to exercise your decision-making — but this pressure can also be disorienting. If you allow someone else’s position to govern your progress, you run the risk of neglecting key needs that will affect you further down the road. I’ve had to practice wrangling those thoughts and recentering my focus on what is best for me.
The Inevitable Mechanical
As I began the climb up Arabel Pass, around 1200km in on the morning of day four, I broke out of this mental funk. I was fresh from my aforementioned Naryn reset and I felt like I had started the race that morning. I was finally past worrying about where everyone else was and was sincerely enjoying pedaling my bike.
Amidst my bubbling joy, I put on the Detours podcast and immersed myself in the stories of Silk Road from two-time women’s winner Jenny Tough. She was in the middle of saying how SRMR has a way of throwing unexpected adversity your way when the platform of my drive-side pedal popped directly off the spindle. In these unfortunate, momentarily catastrophic happenings, I tend to react in one of two ways: crying, like in the Manas airport, or laughing, either because I’m sincerely amused or because there’s enough disbelief that all I can manage to do is laugh.
This busted pedal evoked a proper mixture of both. Something about the timing of the message from Jenny and a deep, inherent belief that I was going to figure out how to continue allowed my brain to release any concerns as guttural laughter.
I ended up riding on the spindle for a total of 400 kilometers into Kochkor, where I was met with another bout of unwavering support from the Kyrgyz people. The man who sold me the plastic replacement pedal kept repeating “China” whilst shaking his head, as if he were concerned with the quality of the product he was providing for me. It was much better than what I had, and it got me to the finish line much more comfortably than my busted equipment would have.
In all of my preparation and packing for SRMR I had brought a second set of pedals along with me. Somewhere inside, I’d had a preexisting sense that something could go wrong if I were to continue using the very beat-up set of pedals that I had already put through thousands of punishing kilometers. Despite this feeling, I had installed the beat-up pair. This fact contributed to my ability to laugh at myself when the pedal broke, because I knew in my heart of hearts that I was the only fool to blame.
Mental Toughness
It’s easy to tell yourself to build confidence, but where does it come from? The best source for me has been experience. Once you’ve done something the first time, it is much easier to believe that you will be successful the next time you ask yourself to do it.
After completing the 2,745 miles of Tour Divide, nothing feels too long. At the end of the 26-mile portage through the Grand Canyon, no hike-a-bike is too intimidating. The tenth river crossing is much less worrisome than the first few. These skills have amassed over time, allowing me to focus more energy on the weaknesses in my confidence.
The most nerve-wracking part of going to SRMR was being able to communicate effectively in a world so unlike my own. My favorite realization from my time in Kyrgyzstan was how comfortable I felt navigating the country post-race. After spending time immersed in the culture and the landscape, it was much less scary to imagine doing so in other parts of the world.
Why is the end so exciting?
Over many conversations with folks who embark on these hefty endeavors, I have found that we all have different opinions about the end.
Some of us won’t let ourselves dream about the finish line until we’ve made it there. Some people break the route up into segments in their minds and allow themselves to look forward to the accomplishment of completing each one. Others will gauge progress by each mountain pass or the next resupply. I am the type to start imagining myself lounging on the beach with a book in one hand and a cold beer in the other from the moment I begin the race. It has always been a huge motivator for me to manifest the end.
During my time in Cholpon Ata at the end of SRMR, I got to talk to Emma, the woman in second place, about how exciting it is to get to a finish line. If this is what we love, if we put our entire lives on hold, drain our bank accounts, and spend most of our idle time wishing we were racing, why is it so relieving to make it to the end?
I’ll reel myself in and acknowledge that these experiences are also chock full of indescribable beauty and fulfillment, but it is quite silly that in the midst of them, I so desperately want them to be over. Midway through SRMR, I received a text from my dear friend and fellow ultra athlete Mateo Paez. He said, “You’re gonna be looking back at this shit soon enough wishing you were back OUT THERE! Proud of you!” The accuracy of his statement made me chuckle to myself. After each race I complete, it is only a matter of time before I am raring to be back out on my bike.
Returning Home
One of the hardest parts about SRMR was coming home. My time away expanded many of my internal horizons, and when I came back to the familiarity of home, it hadn’t changed at all. This consistency is undoubtedly a privilege and can be reassuring in many ways, but this time around, it has been particularly difficult.
The bubble around the ultra racing world is often described as summer camp. For what never feels like enough time, I am surrounded by like-minded people and reassured that my passion goes beyond more than just bikes. But the tricky part about summer camp is that it ends.
It was challenging to be back home and feel myself sharpened around the edges. I didn’t quite fit back into the role that I had left in my relationship, my social circles, and my day job. It has taken a good amount of time and processing to begin to mold my life back into something that harmonizes with my mindset. My loved ones have caressed this sharpness and reminded me that I do not have to exist in just one world or the other. They want to hear about my time away, just like my friends from the ultra scene want to know about my life at home. Along with sharing these stories, I have found my best coping mechanism for this drop is the desire to plan for the next adventure. My ability to look into the future reminds me that this is my life. None of it has to just be summer camp.
I am grateful to my racing community, as it provides some solace, knowing that I’m not the only one who loves riding my bike this much. It is surreal to remind myself that I completed SRMR. In the end, I came in 1st for the women’s race and 9th overall. In many ways, the 2024 Silk Road Mountain Race feels like my most successful ultra-endurance experience to date. Many things came together for me that significantly overpowered the things that went wrong. It feels awkward to admit, but I did work really hard for it, and I am continuing to learn how to feel proud of it.
As I have gained experience in ultra racing, I have tried my best not to hinge my reputation on where I finish in the field. I don’t want to sell myself as someone who wins races because I want so badly for the experience to mean more than that. While I was able to produce an impressive result at SRMR this year, I am much more proud of my ability to do so while taking care of myself, staying consistent in my approach to doing so, and remembering to keep my head up and look around once in a while.
There isn’t ever a promise that one success will lead to another, but I’m hopeful that I can continue to explore the world from the comfort of my bicycle. There are many more places I’d like to see and time I’d like to spend pedaling around on two wheels. I hope that these adventures will inspire you to take your own, too.