TO GET to the heart of a country, cycling is unbeatable.

Recently, I flew into Tashkent, capital of Uzbekistan, from Istanbul on a one-month visa that cost US$75 (S$121), together with two German friends.

We fixed up our bikes at the airport and cycled out at 5.30am when the sun was just warming up the sky.

It did not take too long to reach the city centre. We had little problem with the local signs since both my pals had studied Russian in then-East Germany.

We stayed at a motel for US$6 per person. The city centre was similar to Singapore's housing estates, but the buildings were spaced further apart.

The paint might be peeling and the grass longer than would be allowed here, but the city was clean. Daewoo cars crowded the potholed roads.

It took four days of cycling to reach Samarkand, a city mentioned by James Elroy Flecker in his 1913 poem: 'We travel not for trafficking alone; by hotter winds, our fiery hearts are fanned. For lust of knowing what should not be known.'

To cross over to Kyrgyzstan, I paid US$105 for a visa. Osh, the second largest city there, has the vibrant Jayma Bazaar. It sells almost everything, from the iconic Kyrgyz hat to Chinese tea sets.

The Solomon's Throne, a Muslim place of pilgrimage on a hilltop, is a landmark.

Cycling to the Chinese border was much more scenic, with valleys and mountains common in this country the size of Austria.

As we made our way towards the 3,600m Taldyk pass from the town of Ak-Bosogo, it started snowing.

Fortunately, a couple who manned a road repair station by the edge of the road - maintaining the pass in the winter months - took pity on us and hosted us in their tiny living room with tea and bread.

We arrived in the tiny town of Sary Tash after freezing our fingers coming down the Taldyk pass. That day, it continued to snow and everything was so serene that it felt as if the snow falling on the tombstones in a cemetery was too loud.

The road from Sary Tash to the Chinese border was the worst we had encountered. The snow had melted and everything was slush. But with the picturesque Pamir range in view and the thought of eating stir-fried lamb on the Chinese side, we pushed on.

Kashgar, a major Silk Road trading centre, came as a disappointment to me. I had romantic ideas of getting lost in a maze-like bazaar filled with shops.

Instead, traders are now housed in a huge market with neat stall numbers.

A gem seller mistook me for a guide and told me that I would get a commission if I could get my German friends to buy some precious stones.

Wu Jia, a town 100km west of Kashgar in the desert, was astonishing. It was as if the Chinese had taken a town like Tampines, together with its trees, and transferred it to the desert.

Equally amazing is the Karakoram Highway, the 1,200km route that links Kashgar in China to Rawalpindi in Pakistan.

It winds through the highest concentration of lofty peaks in the world and glaciers that come straight up to the edge of the highway.

One morning, we were in Pasu taking a day off to admire a glacier when we met an old woman taking her young daughter home.

We were invited to join them on their walk back to their simple thatched-roof house at the foot of a hill in the middle of nowhere.

Day trips to see glaciers, shepherds' huts, lakes and suspension bridges are possible from Pasu, which sits at 2,400m.

Gilgit and Karimabad are the two major towns where most travellers stock up on food and gear before embarking on their trekking, skiing or cycling adventures.

The Wagah (Pakistan) - Attari (India) border closing ceremony in the evenings is a must-see. Both sides field soldiers in full ceremonial uniforms to out-shout and out-march each other.

We also visited the Golden temple in Amritsar, where anyone can walk in for free food, drinks and accommodation.

About 500km of mountain road starts from Manali, with several passes over 5,000m before the highway goes through a valley and ends at Leh, the capital of Ladakh.

The gompas (monasteries) of the Buddhist-dominant town of Leh are further attractions for those interested in the religion.

But if they are not your thing, other roads beckon to take you onward to your next adventure.

The writer is an adventure cyclist.