Day nine of the Silk Road Mountain Race, and the cutoff for CP3 is looming. Riders arriving are salt-stained and the fatigue is setting in — peeling faces, wrecked lips, bodies ripped thin on Coca-Cola and M&Ms, one pair swollen with altitude sickness, another kept awake all night by cows licking their tent. We hear from them washing kit and hosing down bikes, still lost in the strange parallel universe of following a little blue line for ten days straight.
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