I’ll get to the loopy logistics in a moment, but first a quick perspective on the last two days on the bike.

The ride from Tbilisi to Saghnaghi was supposed to be relentlessly wet, but the inaccuracy of the weather forecast was a relief. After about 20km, having cleared the eastern outskirts of Tbilisi, the roads suddenly dried, and they stayed dry for the rest of the day. Given how dire an accumulation of wet weather can be on a bike (even the explicit promises of the manufactures of my cosy overshoes were broken over the last few days), this unanticipated desiccation of my riding surface was a cause for celebration.

But the greatest joy was to come at the end of yesterday. I’d finished my last of ten climbs for the day (in itself a happy thing), when in a split second the levelling tarmac revealed the most stunning view I think I’ve ever seen so unexpectedly in my life. No photograph will do justice to the feeling that rushed through me in that moment as the vast expanse of the Alazani Valley appeared to roll out a carpet to the splendour of the vast, snow-encrusted Caucasus Mountains.

Perhaps it was the extent and starkness of the geography that took my breath away – Russia visible to the north in the outline of those mountains, and Azerbaijan awaiting me off to the east. The hills that comprised the last climb of the day hadn’t been without their beauty – in particular, wave after wave of budding vineyards pointing to the famed viniculture in this part of Georgia. But the majesty of the scene that revealed itself at their summit struck me with incredible force.

I woke up early today in Saghnaghi to soak up some more of the beauty of the place before heading off on my bike. The early-morning light did nothing to undermine my first impressions. The sights and sounds of this gorgeous hilltop town were reminiscent of a Tuscan or Umbrian counterpart, and the views out across the valley to the Caucasus Mountains were every bit as impactful as they’d been the evening before.

The ride to the Azerbaijan border across the valley floor was sun-drenched and liberating. For the first time since setting off from Trabzon last week, I felt the warmth on my back, with only a base layer and a short-sleeved cycling jersey between my skin and the world around me. Until now, the inclement weather has necessitated multiple layers, as well as an almost constant bracing against the elements.

I reached the Azerbaijan border at about 1pm today, and thereby began a phase of this trip that’s going to convey me an effective 100 metres in five days. The three-toed sloth is apparently the slowest creature on the plant, moving at a speed of a foot a minute (so slow that algae grows on its coat). At that rate, it’d reach the Azerbaijan side of the border crossing some 19 times more quickly than I will.

Azerbaijan closed its land borders to inward travellers during Covid, and has never reopened them (apparently on grounds of national security). To cross from Georgia into Azerbaijan without surrendering my claim to a joined up journey from home, I’ve returned to Tbilisi, from where I’ll fly to Baku, catch the night train up to Balakan, return to the border, and begin cycling to Baku. It’s unorthodox, I realise, but I would never willingly have had it any other way!