At first, the best part about planning a trip to Georgia is the confusion which happens without fail because apparently Georgia-the-country is on nobody’s mind.

• Hey mom, how’s it going? Yeah, things are cool I guess, or whatever.
• Yeah.
• Nope.
• Yup, they played this weekend, won 4 to 1, coach says Otto is the real deal and Oliver saved a PK.
• Oh wait, you know what, I’m actually pretty excited about planning the next Dead Reck. We’re going to Georgia. They got horse peoples, towers, hot-pockets and the mountains are big-as-fuck, like glaciers and shit.
• Wait what, no, no, nonononononono, the Appalachians don’t have year round snow, that’s not what I’m saying.
• Listen, Mom, the other Georgia, the fake-Russian one with the cool flag and the Caucasus.

But then, after weeks of similar exchanges, it gets tedious and you think wow, this is a problem. I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking you can’t say that about Georgia, you can’t call it fake-Russia. You’re like, dude, that’s racist or xenophobic and/or possibly just callous and inconsiderate. First of all, lighten-up. I was on the phone with my mom and I was trying get her thinking about the right continent—which that brings up two other issues which are: on which continent does the former Soviet Republic lie, Europe or Asia?, and is Eurasia a continent or a notion? Second of all, saying Georgia is fake-Russia is as good as saying it’s the real Georgia. So boom.

More importantly, a year ago we had a choice to make. We knew that in the late summer/early autumn of 2016 we had one more international once-in-a-lifetime ride to plan. And as I’m sure you’re aware, the world is a pretty pretty big place. Antarctica was out for obvious reasons, though apparently you can fix your bike to a packraft and drag it while skiing for days/weeks/months through a featureless whiteout, which dooooes sound exactly like the kind of riding we’re into. Africa was also out, but only because of snakes and lions. Also, Africa, let’s talk, I’m sure we can work something out but seriously those mambas are a buzzkill. Lions I can work with, I’ve seen The Revenant. Australia and New Zealand, been there done that. South America, same. And Europe—we have a friend (Marko!) in Slovenia, that would have been easy—has soooo many rules and designations, just like America. Boring. At any rate we had a short list that went like this:

1. The Canol Heritage Trail in the Northwest Territories (Canada). Between Ross River and Norman Wells. Mostly riding but lots of packrafting too, and bush planes. I’m sure it would have been EPIC. I’ve been to Norman Wells and it is, literally, the proverbial end of the road. But also, more bears than people and not exactly the birthplace of culture.
2. Iran. Right! We were so into it. Kyle was SO INTO IT. But you still need a guide (at all times), at least legally. And it’s still not the best place to take peculiar photographs which, as you likely know if you’re here, reading this, are kind of our favorite photographs to take.
3. Kashmir. For so many reasons we wanted to go to Kashmir. Here’s the thing. We know a guy. For various reasons that will soon become clear, we need to protect his identity, but for the sake of the story let’s give him a name, how about Dave, David Marchi? Anyway, “Dave” has been there several times leading back-country Alpine ski expeditions. That’s what he does, Dave is a guide. Anyway, he’s been there several times and he’s got it all figured out. Where to go, where to stay, how to not accidentally ride into Pakistan or Afghanistan, or any of the other ‘Stans. But here’s the other thing. Dave almost killed Kyle and I once in Northern California. And I mean, dude, if you can almost get your company lost and dead from starvation in Northern Fucking California, what trouble are you going to get them into in a border dispute conflict zone in space at the top of Himalayan Mountains where you don’t speak the language–not even kinda. In spite of all this, most of the way through the year, Kashmir was clearly in the lead. But then we piled timing and scheduling difficulties onto this problem and Kashmir lost its luster.
4. Georgia. I don’t know why. Georgia was my idea and I don’t (really) know why. I mean, I think it must have something to do with the mountains, the Caucasus range. And the Olympics in Sochi. And Google image searching Black Sea beaches. And Anthony Marra’s A Constellation Of Vital Phenomenon, wherein (spoiler alert) eight-year-old Havaa watches from the woods as Russian soldiers abduct her father in a midnight raid, accusing him of conspiring with Chechen rebels. And, finally, Bike Magazine’s Kazbegi trip. Also, come on, it’s the Alpine intersection of everything. Russia to the north. Azerbaijan, Armenia, Iran and Turkey to the south. To the west, the Black Sea. The east, the Caspian Sea. It’s in, when you think about it, a magical spot.

At any rate, the deciding factor was some miscommunication about dates. The details are boring. The bottom line is this: a month before our trip, in a mild panic, we booked tickets to Tbilisi, the capital city. We figured that in time, the rest would work itself out. We had no guide, no route and no plan, just plane tickets. Also, no internet access or time to properly plan the trip for another two weeks. Which, when you do the math means this: we did all the planning for our trip (from scratch) in the 14 days leading up to our departure. Maybe that sounds easy to you. Maybe it is easy, who knows? But it stressed us out, like big time. I mean, we can and do run loose sometimes, but this felt egregiously, maybe even gratuitously, loose. But it worked out; here’s how it all worked out,

1. With Kyle’s help we called Joey Schusler, an adventurer, photographer, and videographer who was integral in pulling together the Bike Magazine Kazbegi project. He told us about Rooms Tbilisi. Soooo good. Thanks, Rooms Tbilisi.
2. We found this site and emailed its author. He responded, we skyped, he was SUPER helpful. We could have done it without him, but only because his site is so detailed and accurate.
3. Kyle found a guide in Armenia, who put us in contact with Tamaz aka Tazer. Who, really, when it comes right down to it, made so much day-to-day shit either easier or just plain possible. He was a wealth of historical and cultural insight. Also, side note, this is the first time we’ve ever travelled with a guide; in the past that piece was always built-in in the form of a friend or friend of a friend. But Tamaz was 100% an unknown quantity. He was tough and he can ride. But we brought him a bike. This was his first time bikepacking. Maybe that’s irrelevant and/or maybe it at least adds a little dimension to an already dimension-full experience. You be the judge.

Regarding Georgia, one more thought. My whole life, I’ve been fascinated with intersections. And incongruences. Intersections should be obvious, that’s where things meet, duh. Have you ever sat on a corner and just watched shit? I mean, you have, right? Comings and goings, goings and comings. Language, fashion, culture, trade, spices, whatever, all of it, it’s all coming together at intersections. Now look at a map. Africa meets the Middle East meets Western Europe meets the Mediterranean meets Russia and Siberia and the Baltic meets Asia (India, China, Japan, Korea, et cetera et cetera) in Georgia. So, I mean, if I’ve got a thing for 14th and Everett in NW Portland, you can only imagine how I feel about Georgia. Incongruences is harder to explain. I think I like shit that’s confusing. And you know what, intersections ARE inherently confusing. And double you know what, Georgia is a confusing intersection. It’s in the middle of everything and has been since forever which means it’s seen its fair share of comers and goers. As such, and not surprisingly, many (maybe most) parts of it have been conquered several thousand times by everyone from everywhere, while other parts of it have never been conquered not once by nobody. And those parts, the parts that have never been conquered are, no surprise, in the middle of a frosty plate tectonic fortress called the Caucasus Mountains. Which is exactly where this story takes place. So yeah, Georgia, it’s amazing, let’s talk about it.

1. The Caucasus Mountains are no joke. They are glacier nurseries. Climbers die on them all the time. They are insanely beautiful. Be prepared.
2. In mid-August the temperatures in the Svaneti are nice, bordering on too hot. We suggest that you come prepared with a rain jacket and some cold weather clothes. But plan on sweating—a lot.
3. Water is readily available on this route. But so are cows, so be sure to bring a filter and use it.
4. There are many hostels, trekking lodges, and guest houses on this route. You should come with back up food, but the right move is to plan on eating in the towns along the route.
5. You need to keep and eye out for Turs (the local big horned mountain goat), the Georgian Sheepdogs (these things are massive and it’s obvious that they can inflict danger), and Delica drivers who are in a hurry.