Distance: 47.81 miles

Time: 5:40:18

Elevation Gain: 5,769 feet

Average Speed: 8.4 mph

Leaving the guest house, Karak Castle towered above me, previously a stronghold in the crusades, and later for the Ottomans. Normally I would have been keen to have a look around, but sadly I had to be underway.

While planning the trip I’d read that the reason there was no public transport that connected the whole way along the King’s Highway, was Wadi Mujib which I’d crossed the day before. I’d thus assumed that that was the only major wadi to cross, which it turns out was inaccurate. In fact, Wadi al-Hasa which I would be crossing today, actually had a greater height differential, but perhaps the gradients were more forgiving to a bus.

As soon as I dropped back down to the Highway, I pulled over and started uncoupling the chain. In diagnosing my drive-chain-based-issues I’d decided that the chain was too long. Removing one of the links caused a few more gears to come to life. Enough to be getting on with at least. Eventually another link might have to go.

The road continued to climb through the outer reaches of Al-Karak, I soon stopped at a small grocery store to buy some provisions. Chiefly some water, and a large bottle of Pepsi: It was hot today. Only 14 or 15 degrees, but the sun was low and there was only a light breeze to stifle its effects.

Sure I’d left my sun tan lotion in the bathroom of the previous night’s accommodation, I cycled through the upwards-tilted sprawl of Mu’tah looking for a pharmacy. The helpful girl in the shop tried to ascertain whether my skin was oily or dry, I looked back blankly, not something I’d ever considered while making similar purchases back home.

The road was still rising when I reached the small outpost town of Al-Hussayniyah, topping out at 1250m, I could see that the road would be dropping down into Wadi al-Hasa soon after. Turning off the main road onto the small high street, I stopped to get my bearings and was soon noticed by some young boys. ‘Hello’, ‘I love you’, ‘are you lost’? Well actually… I’m looking for something to eat. The boys pointed me in the direction of a takeaway outlet along the road, using a translator app to tell me it was 50 meters away.

Ordering a large shawarma box, the two assistants set to work. Receiving one and a half large shawarma and some fries along with some pickled veg, I was led to the shop next door to sit on their chair whilst I tucked in. It was a hearty portion and I stuffed some of the wrap and most of the fries into my panniers for later.

Reaching the top of Wadi al-Hasa, I was stunned, this seemed to be in a different league of scale than Wadi Mujib, ‘the Grand Canyon of the Middle East’. The scenery was, it had to be said, majestic.

As I dropped further down into the canyon, the dogs were out in force, a first one came along side me at speed, then, after I’d unclipped my right foot to try and fend it off with my foot, another appeared to join the chase, with only one foot clipped in I couldn’t accelerate away and in the end I was saved by a truck coming down the road behind me.

Moments later, another dog rushed out to the side of the road so aggressively that I got off and started walking, quickly deescalating the situation and only climbing back on when the dog was far behind.

Down at the bottom of the valley, I passed a small mosque, and I’d only just reached the lowest point of 430 metres when I was stopped at another police checkpoint. ‘Where are you going?’ Dana. ‘Are you alone?’ Yes, it’s just me and the dogs out here.

It was a long slow climb, the altitude increased at a glacially slow rate, the distance gained, barely at all. It was hard work in the full glare of the sun, and I was relieved when, towards the top, I was mercifully cast in shadow.

As I finally reached At-Tafilah, after 21Km in which I’d dropped from 1250 metres, down to 430 metres, then climbed all the way back up to 1250 metres again, I should have been happy to be back out the other side, but I knew the road would only continued to ascend. It’s time to let my accommodation know that I’m going to be late, I decided. 7 o’clock should be ok…

The road continued to rise and fall, up over 1300 metres, then over 1400, as the sun set, I was twisting and turning through a remote landscape a long way from the King’s Highway – which this road would lead me to again later. The dogs seemed even more ‘excitable’ at this hour and my nerves were officially shredded when a pack of 7 dogs all converged around me angrily, I stood in the middle, flinging my bike around me to ward them off, out of ideas, until a farmer came running up the hillside, struggling to get his animals under control. Exasperated, he told me to go, he’d handle it from here.

Shortly afterwards, the tarmac ran out, and as I climbed over the 1350 metre mark, up a steep slope on a stony track, I despaired, until I saw a van passing by up ahead, I knew there must be tarmac close.

As dusk fell, I dropped down a steep hill into Al-Ain Al-Baida, a man outside the mosque pointing me in the direction of the road to Dana Village, my stop for the night. Another long climb was required, though, and as I started to climb out of the penultimate town of Basira – with 6 miles to go – a loud hissing came from my back wheel. It was half past 6, I think I was going to be late, again.

No sooner had I started to remove the inner tube, when I dropped one of my tyre levers, it bounced off the cage of rocks that I was resting the wheel upon and disappeared between the rocks, never to be seen again. Luckily, I had a spare lurking in a box down at the bottom of my pannier. But I couldn’t lose another, I moved operations onto the tarmac.

Quickly I changed the puncture, with a steady stream of locals – and the police – checking to see if I was ok, I got my bike back on the road, and started on up the hill. Out of nowhere, my chain was skipping relentlessly. Before the puncture, the one thing that I could rely on was that my lowest gear was working well. Not spotting anything obvious, I was puzzling over what had changed, when two men in an MPV stopped on the other side of the road. ‘Are you ok’ the driver yelled over. Yes I was fine I replied, and that I was headed for Dana Village. ‘Oh yes, I know that place’, the man responded. ‘Maybe they can give you lift’, now there’s an idea, I thought. ‘Or I can give you lift, but it will cost you’.

Now in normal circumstances, when I was completing a significant route or challenging my cycling capabilities on a longer route, I could refuse a lift in almost any circumstances – the only time I’d accepted a lift on a previous trip, it was during an out and back extension on Orcas island in the San Juan islands of Washington State, and I justified that to myself because I was taking the ferry from Canada to mainland USA, and the ride on Orcas Island was just an additional side tour. This trip was to be an experience as opposed to a cycling challenge, ergo, I was taking this lift.

Jumping in the back, I was surprised to see that the road actually flattened off quite quickly, and the rest of the route wouldn’t have been so bad, but I knew that if I’d struggled to get my bike working at the side of the road and pedalled the rest of the way, I wouldn’t have reached my accommodation until half past 8 at the earliest, and realistically my chances of reaching Petra the next day, in time to see it, would diminish considerably. And that would be a shame.

‘Ah, the route to Petra from Dana Village is not so bad, you know, the driver said. Once you get back up to Al-Qadisaya it is all downhill or like this’, he said, while holding his outstretched hand out flat.

Well, that’s a relief, I thought.

• cycle-touring