With no one rushing up in the morning, we took our time getting up and breaking camp. The farmers offered us hot water, which gave us some porridge-and-coffee-induced energy to complete the hike out. We made it about half an hour before a car stopped and offered us a ride into Karakol for $2.50. (In Kyrgyzstan there is no real difference between a taxi and a private car.) Gladly accepting, we piled our bags in the trunks, our bodies in the car, and headed toward civilization.
After being dropped off at our previous campsite, we pulled out all our wet things and set them drying in the warm sun. With time running short, and a body aching from the feet up, I decided to stick around until Aug 6th and then put my bike on a Bishkek-bound bus. Thus, my cycling adventure is over. Having made peace with this reality, I gleefully enjoyed an afternoon lying out in the sun with a book in hand ("Moonfleet" by Faulker). Dinner involved a riotous affair at a local cafe with dishes of Bosso Laghman and pints of pivo flowing all round. We made it back to the campsite at 2330h and then headed into our respective tents. Needless to say, I had to open my tent zipper a few times in the night ... 
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