I felt a sense of elation as the wheels on my sleeper train started turning at Baku railway station at ten to midnight on Tuesday. It had been difficult dealing with the disappointent of being prohibited from travelling with my (fully constructed bike) 24 hous earlier. And it had been especially tough dealing with the uncertainty of whether I would be turned away again (this time with a bike deconstructed across two makeshift carboard boxes!) and forced to enact a ‘plan C’ for getting back up to the Georgia/Azerbaijan border.

My apprehension about my second appointment with the Azerbaijan Railway authorities was eased considerably by Elzamin, one of the staff at my hotel in Baku, who accompanied me to the station after his evening shift had ended in order to act as my interpreter and try to help me overcome any issues that might arise. It was an act of pure kindness, and I was incredibly grateful for it. In the event, it helped that a different roster of railway staff was on duty at the station on Tuesday night, shorn of Monday night’s particularly inflexible manager (who, in fairness, appeared to be traumatised by the fact that my request to travel with the pariah of a bicycle was captured “on camera” and thus presented a threat to his continuing employment prospects).

There is a romanticism to sleeper trains that always animates me, and I delighted in being onboard. I stayed up late to watch the lights of Baku fade into the distance behind and the largely dark and indeterminate landscape of south-east Azerbaijan assert its role as the backdrop to the early part of the journey up to Balakan.

The train was hot (uncomfotably so for sleeping), but nonetheless I felt fresh and alert arriving in Balakan on Wednesday morning. There was a sense of mission accomplished, despite the fact that I was every bit the passenger rather than the pilot that I am for most of the assignments on this adventure.

At Balakan station, I rebuilt the bike (in front of an audience of fascinated local men) and caught a taxi up the border; having lost a day in the schedule, I felt no compunction about avoiding distance on the bike that doesn’t count towards the overall mission I’m on to cycle a continuious route from home. But don’t ask how the bike fitted into the boot of a modestly sized Lada!

The ride from the border down to Sheki was beautiful, but was surpassed by the landscape that unfolded between Sheki and Gabala today. I felt an enormous sense of privilege to be able to see the spectacular world I was navigating – framed for most of the day by the Caucasus Mountains to the north of my route.

I met some lovely people today, and interacted with hundreds more along the way. They will never know how much it meant to me to receive their constant warmth and encouragement – the day being peppered with constant waves, fist pumps and “salaam, salaams”. I stopped to chat to a shepherd, Jamal, whose flock occupied the full width of the road until he cleared a path between them for me. He spoke enough English for us to be able to introduce ourselves, explain where we were from, and share reflections that were so powerful for the soul. We shook hands and wished each other well as I rode off along the valley.