If we thought yesterday’s climbs were steep today would blow that out of the water. In the morning clouds stared to close in as we were breaking camp. A light drizzle accompanied the first hour and a half as we negotiated switchback after switchback. Below us patchwork farms lined the valley floor and a few terraces clung to the sides of the valley, but for the most part trees took up the mountain faces.   
The road was very frequently lined with small shops and stalls and houses and passing through them you would always get a friendly ‘Salam Alaikum’. The rain gradually got heavier throughout the morning until we decided to take shelter under the roof of a petrol station and wait for the rain to pass. We stood there for almost an hour as the rain became a deluge and then moved on as it eased off.

  
We were still climbing, after lunch we arrived at the town of Murree, the first biggest town since Islambad and the end of the first part of the climb. Murree is at 2170m. 1500m higher than Islamabad and only 50km away, so the change in environment was drastic. After Murree we thought that the rest of the cycle would be downhill but only a brief decline before the climbing began again, steeper than before.

  
  
The rain came back, only drizzling now which kept us nice and cool on some of the steeper climbs. By evening we passed into a new district of Pakistan, the KPK. This area used to be known as the Northwest Frontier and can be difficult for foreigners to travel through with police sometimes forcing them to get busses. As we passed through the first checkpoint the guard, with a completely unconvincing grin on his face, old us we needed to pay 100 rupees to enter the KPK. What with his grin and his friend snickering behind him it was clear this was blatantly untrue and we moved in after putting up a token fight.
Right after this checkpoint was a series of steep switchbacks and at the end of the day these took the last of our energy. Looking around for somewhere to camp we saw how little flat ground thee was. We had to cycle along a little bit further until we got to a small shack that served food with a flat area beside it for cars and seating. We asked the owner to camp and he said ok.

  
A nice white car pulled up and the occupants started talking to us. In fact the first thing they did was hand over a wallet with an ID card in it. This was to prove that one of them was indeed who he claimed to be – the mayor of Mansehra, the next town north of Abottabad. He talked with us for a while and then presented us with his card, and invitation to lunch and half a bottle of whiskey before speeding off.
We had camp set up and darkness had fallen when a truck pulled up into the campsite, blasting us with its high beams. A policeman got out and came over to talk. He wanted us to move to a hotel for no particular reason. As usual he pulled out the ‘security issues’ line, a phrase they use pretty much everywhere here to scare you into doing what they want without having to come up with any concrete reason. This time when we pressed him for why we had to abandon our camp in the night he said something about wolves which confirmed there was nor real reason and all he wanted was for us to stay in a hotel, as most police desire.

 

 
A bit of a stand off occurred, we weren’t going to leave our camp or take it down in the dark so in the end we wrote out a little contract taking responsibility for our safety and relieving it from him, which seemed to do the trick. He left and we settled down to our omelet dinner and contraband whiskey under the a starry mountain sky.

 

  
 

We left Franks early, at least early for us when trying to leave a city. We were all very eager to start cycling again after the long downtime. On the way out of the city we pulled into the big mall to indulge one last time in some western comfort food before riding out to the remote KPK and Gilgit-Balitistan regions of Pakistan and the Taklamakan desert of Western China thereafter.
For riders if the Karakorum Highwaym, the road we were starting out on now, there are two routes out of Islamabad that both meet in the next big town of Abottabad. A flat route and a decidedly more hilly route. We figured the practice would do us good and so set off along the hilly route.
The Karakorum Highway used to be one of the biggest magnet for cycle tourists in the world. Nowadays, given how difficult it can be to get a Pakistan visa and to travel within the country itself many cyclist crossing Asia into China instead opt for the Pamir highway. Not for us though, the second option, the also-ran. We knew before leaving Dublin that riding the Karakorum was going to be one of the high points of the trip and seven months later we were here.
Out of Islamabad the road climbed gently, easing us back into the ride. Only thirty minutes of riding took us away from Islamabad and back to real Pakistan, where the roads were pitted, the traffic was twisted and the people and buildings spilled out onto the streets, it was great to be back.
We were climbing through thick deciduous forest with running streams that sandy cliff faces would jut out of frequently. Cars waved and people on motorcycles said hello as always. Before too long the gentle climb became steep and the rolling hills grew higher and higher. We were winding our way up a river valley now, the road following one side of it as we pulled away from the valley floor. This was just the beginning of the climbing we would get to do, but after so much flat cycling through Iran and Punjab it was a joy, a breath of fresh air to look back and have a view, a reward for lugging these piles of steel halfway around the world.

 

   We got higher and higher as the evening drew in. The landscape was very steep, finding somewhere with flat ground to camp would be hard so we stopped a big earlier than usual to find a spot. We eventually settled on a small patch of flat ground under some low hanging trees on a small hummock next to the the road.

   
 

   
 

The last day to Islamabad hopefully, we were about 100km away from they city. We left our campsite and unluckily André had received a flat tyre for some of the big thorns. At these stage we’re all pretty effective at repairing flats so it wasn’t long before we were going again.

For me this day was by far the hardest. Not kept any solid food down for the last three days was really catching up. Knowing that we could make it to Islamabad to day helped me along though and I didn’t want to have to cycle again tomorrow.
It was too bad then that the hills had gotten steeper and longer and the wind was blowing fiercely in our faces. There was a really great view from the ride, out over the rolling hills and valleys and gorges carved into the soft soil but with almost no energy each climb was a challenge.
It was like yesterday, riding for a while and then pulling over to the side of the road for a break or to get sugary drink. Tried to eat something at the start of the day but it came right back up after a big climb.
We might have been able to make it all the way had the sun not come out, but it did and it was hot. The hills, wind and heat was too much and at the bottom of another climb I had pull over and lay down.
A guy on a motorcycle came over to see if I was ok. He had perfect English, lived there in fact and was back on holiday. He said we were only five minutes from the next town and could get a ride on a bus there to Islamabad. He then pulled me to the top of the hill with his motorcycle and was off into.
He was right, we were able to get a bus these last 50km to Islamabad from this town. I don’t know if we would have been able to had we not press-ganged two students who came up to say hello into helping us find the bus station and then catch the bus. They were able to find out which bus we should take and then explain to the driver we wanted to put our bikes on, made our day a lot easier.

So we had to take a bus the last 50km to Islamabad but it was ok, we had made it most of the way there by bike and in my state I didn’t feel too bad about having to ride the bus.
We got into Islamabad nearly. The bus dropped us off between that city and Rawalpindi its sister city. We got in contact with Frank, our host here and then cycled the final 15km to meet him at last. Frank was a well travelled Dutch fellow now living and working in Islamabad, he was also hosting two German hitchhikers at the time also in the city to get visas, it was great to finally meet some other western travellers out here and compare experiences of Pakistan.

Getting to sleep in a bed indoors last night was beneficial no doubt, but I still felt pretty wretched. We had breakfast with Nadeem and went on our way.
Turns out I was worse that before. Constantly feeling like you’re about to thrown up while cycling isn’t all that pleasant. The terrain changed from the complete flat we had been riding through before to hilly riding as we slowly but surely progress northwards towards Karakorum and the Himalaya. It would have been a very nice ride that I would have really enjoyed if I felt a bit better than I did, but as it stood I had pull over every 30 minutes to rest.

  
We made really slow progress as a result, Andre was understanding of course. He had contracted a parasite in his gut at the start of his trip in Romania, so he knew what it was like. Still, having to stop every hour or half hour really limited how far we could cycle. 

  
We only made it 60km today, which isn’t a lot at all but we were ready to make it to Islamabad tomorrow. Riding in the hills had the benefit of campsites being easier to find. When we couldn’t go on any longer there was a nice spot right off the road in which to set up.

  

In the morning I didn’t feel any better and André was starting to get something too. The owner of a roadside eatery next to where we had camped saw us taking down our tents and came over. He invited us back to have some breakfast and we were more than happy to accept the invitation. 
He brought us over and gave us eggs, roti (a fried bread in Pakistan) and of course, chicken curry. I was afraid to touch the curry, André gladly ate it. I stuck to the eggs and bread. Afterwards I felt ill, the owner took us around the back where there was a small garden to drink tea and rest. I lay down on one of the benches and slept while André mercifully fielded all the questions from the people as they came by.
We got going again a bit after ten. It wasn’t s hard tide at all but I really couldn’t keep up the pace. I had not energy and felt like I would throw up at any minute. I can’t remember much about the cycle as a result, I was focused more on just pedalling.
After an hour or two we passed through a checkpoint and on the other side, a McDonalds. An air conditioned building where we could sit as long as we wanted, it was too good to pass up. And we were both in need of a rest anyway. We sat in that McDonald’s for two hours, not eating thing just waiting to feel up to cycling again.

 

 
When we finally did get going we both didn’t still didn’t feel so great. It finally happened that it wasn’t able to keep breakfast down, and from then on the cycle was a slog. On the bright side we had found a host for Islamabad, a Dutch guy who seemed really friendly from our messages with him so if we could make it there we’d have somewhere to rest and recover at ease.
So we kept cycling, but it was tough. Not being able to keep down solid food I got energy from sugary drinks, but that isn’t a sustainable way to cycle. By late afternoon I was really struggling, André was a bit better but his stomach was at him occasionally. We really must have eaten something bad. 
A change in fortune is just around the corner though, we met two very nice Pakistan guys, young guys who wanted to buy us a cold drink and of course get a photo. While drinking this cold drink at yet another petrol station (apple juice) one of them invited us to stay with their family. This was Nadeem, he lived close by in the village and we took up the offer, the prospect of getting s good nights sleep in a bed seemed like just what we needed.
Nadeem led us to his village (he requested we put in trousers over our shorts as we passed through it) and to his house, a large building with comfortable couches a welcoming family. We left our bikes in his big garage and collapsed onto the couches where we drank tea and spoke to his family.
They gave us a dinner, which I politely tried to eat as much as I could while André, like a champ, made up for what I couldn’t finish. Nadeems friends came around in the evening to talk with us some more, all of them so curious as always about us, our lives back home and what we thought of Pakistan. 

 

 
We went to bed early, they had hoped to stay up late with us but in this front we had to disappoint. We hit the hay and slept for 10 hours.

Today the suffering started, not right away but by the afternoon I was finding it hard to cycle. I’m not sure what caused it but from here to Islamabad I was very sick in my stomach. 
This morning though, everything was ok. The owner of the orchard returned early with breakfast for the both of us, more curry and more fresh naan. It had rained last night and this morning the air was clear, welcome after the oppressive smog of Lahore.
We continued riding along the Grand Trunk Road, a busy highway alive with activity at all times. Orange salesmen (amongst other produce but orange was the most common) lined the road. Roadside eateries, concrete windowless building with tables, chairs, and bed like platforms of taut rope outside were placed regularly between towns and cities.
This being one of the oldest routes in Asia it’s not surprising that many towns and cities have grown up along it. On this first day there wasn’t an hour that passed that we weren’t cycling through some settlement or another, and it was always exciting. Each one seemed more busy and anarchic than the last. The ever present auto rickshaw weaving between big school busses with some of the pupils riding up top, these towns were where they all gathered to stop and pick up their passengers. And of course, amongst it all, the colourful but noisy trucks, blasting their horns as they pushed through the traffic.

 

 
After an hour of cycling we stopped, a guy on a motorcycle had been talking to André and wanted to buy him a cold drink. At the rest station everyone wanted to take photos with us. We left and I was starting to feel not so great, like I was going to throw up, though I didn’t. It was not pleasant. 
We stopped for lunch at petrol station, where one of the guards (they all have guards with Kalashnikovs) brought out chairs for us to sit in a shady patch of grass at the back. 
During the riding after lunch I at last vomited and by now was feeling feverish too and cycling was getting hard. At one point a man on a motorcycle rode up and after talking a while began extolling the virtues of Islam and how I was going to hell if I didn’t accept the word of Mohammad. A nice guy otherwise, but it wasn’t helpful in my current situation.
After 75km of riding I had to stop. André agreed and we found somewhere, an old petrol station where we could wait unseen around the back for night to fall. Which we did, and as it got dark put up the tents. I was in and asleep immediately.

 

  
 

We left Lahrore in the the afternoon after getting ready in the morning. Richie and Finn had left so André and I will ride to Islamabad and meet them there. The ride out of the city took a quite a long time, not entirely because it was big (which it was) but also because there were a lot of traffic jams delaying progress out. The jams seemed to be caused by either a) police checkpoints, which funnelled all traffic into one lane or b) the numerous auto rickshaws that would pull in and out if the road specifically at places where a lot of commerce went on, like near the markets, this was the cause of all sorts of chaos. 

 
But it was fun, on the trip there had never been riding like this before. It took a lot of concentration to weave through the traffic properly on a fully loaded bike. We got out of the city centre in a bit under an hour and joined up with the route that would take us to Islamabad, the Grand Trunk Road.
Of course these days the the GTR, one of Asians oldest routes running from Bangladesh to Afghanistan is just like any other highway. But the historical significance wasn’t lost on us. As we left the city the farms returned gradually and intermittently. There were loads of satellite towns and villages around Lahore though, so we were still riding through busy Punjab settlements as the sun began to set.
We were getting a bit worried that we wouldn’t be able to find somewhere to camp when suddenly we passed through a town and found flat empty fields to our left and some trees to boot. We pulled off and had a look around. There was an orchard that would be perfect to camp in, if we could find the guy to ask. There were some kids playing cricket in a nearby field but they didn’t know who to ask.

 

 
André went off to find someone to ask permission and returned ten minutes later with the owner of the orchard who let us in and opened up an empty shed for us to store our bikes in. He watched us set up our tents and then left, indicating he was going to bring us something to eat. He came back an hour later with two bowls of chicken curry and fresh Naan. He also brought his neighbour to say hi. Before he left he gave us his phone number in case anything happened. Everyone in Pakistan is at pains to make us feel at ease and their hospitality and concern is an endearing highlight of the country.