Words by Mike Dawson
Images by Adam Kadervak

The idea for this mission kicked off in classic style; a post-ride beer session in Rotorua, talking big dreams and wild ideas. Ideas like:

What if we rode Pakistan? The thought of biking a region bordering the Himalayas, Hindu Kush, and Karakorams, with its mind-blowing scenery and raw, undiscovered trails, was too good to ignore. Fast-forward months of meticulous planning, permit wrangling, and local connections, and we were on a plane bound for Skardu, ready to ride where few had ridden before.

Pakistan is rarely the first place that comes to mind when you think of world-class MTB destinations. But that’s exactly what made it so intriguing. This wasn’t a place packed with bike parks and guidebooks—it was terra incognita, a place where every trail was a new discovery and every ride an exploration. This was adventure riding in its purest form, with no safety net.

Our dream team was made up of a killer crew of riders from Rotorua, New Zealand, bringing the perfect mix of skill, stoke, and a positive attitude. Leading the charge was Jamie Garrod, mastermind behind New Zealand Mountain Biking, whose guiding expertise was invaluable.

Matt Miller, the tech wizard and founder of Brake Ace, pushed gear performance to the edge, while Jeff Carter, a world-class trail builder, had an unmatched eye for perfect lines. Adam Kadervak, the cinematic genius, captured every insane moment through his lens, ensuring the adventure was documented in all its glory. Rosie Clarke, a Rotorua ripper, was ready for the ultimate challenge, bringing fearless energy to the group. Rounding out the squad was Mike Dawson, a whitewater kayaker turned MTB explorer, diving headfirst into the unknown.

Rolling into Skardu, the gateway to the world’s highest peaks, was the moment it all got real. The town buzzed with life and rich culture, dwarfed by 7,000m+ peaks standing like ancient giants. Local hospitality was next-level—warm welcomes, endless chai, and curious smiles on weather-hardened faces set the tone.

We loaded a couple of old Toyota Hiluxes, using a little local ingenuity (plus some sleeping pads and carpet), and had the bikes strapped in. The road to our first trail was an adventure all on its own— leaving Skardu, we ascended onto the Deosai Plateau in a chaotic mix of dust, rocks, and sheer drop-offs that kept us white-knuckled the whole way. Our local crew, Taju and Hamish, navigated the hairpin bends with the casual confidence of people who’d done this a thousand times, dodging cows, boulders, and the occasional landslide as we climbed higher into the mountains.

Our first taste of Pakistan was an ordeal. From the Deosai Plateau, we had spotted a faint shepherd’s trail climbing over a high pass, dropping into the Sok Valley and tracing the river from its mountain source thousands of metres down into the Indus Valley. It looked like an absolute dream—an untouched descent of epic proportions.

But reality hit us hard.

Almost immediately, the altitude kicked in like a hammer. We crawled up the climb, battling brutal headaches, stomach discomfort and waves of nausea. It was survival mode—legs like lead, lungs burning, bodies completely unacclimatized to the thin air. The higher we climbed, the worse it got. Finally, we crested the pass, convinced we were about to drop into endless hero dirt. Instead, what lay ahead was a nightmare of boulders, relentless bike carrying, and scattered sections of rideable trail barely enough to keep our spirits alive.

Darkness fell and suddenly we were lost; cold and dangerously unprepared. No proper food, little warmth; our bodies running on empty. Desperation kicked in as we stumbled upon a derelict rock shelter, where we built a small fire and huddled for the night, teeth chattering against the harsh alpine air.

Morning brought a new mission: survival riding down to Sok Valley. Sore, exhausted, but driven by sheer necessity, we began our descent. With every metre we dropped, the trail transformed—what started as a mess of scree and loose rock slowly turned into bedded-in singletrack, winding through exposed ridgelines and sheer drops. It was technical, sketchy and terrifying—but also completely exhilarating.

Later that afternoon, we finally rolled into the first village; drained but stoked beyond belief. It had been one hell of an introduction to Pakistan—a brutal, beautiful lesson in what adventure really means. This was definitely Type 2 fun.

We continued on our mission, driving through the Indus Gorge to the Gilgit Valley for our next stop: Rakaposhi (7,788m)—climbing to the base camp of one of the most stunning peaks on Earth. After a rest day exploring the dusty town of Gilgit, we pushed deep into Hunza Valley, arriving in Minapin. From here, we shouldered our bikes and began climbing. The ascent was brutal—endless switchbacks, scorching sun, lungs burning. But our altitude adaptation was improving, and our excitement fueled us forward. Alpine meadows gave way to glacier-fed rivers, scree slopes, and ridgelines begging to be ridden.

After a night at high altitude, we woke to sun-drenched peaks and began perhaps the best descent on the planet. Over 1,500m of drop, over 10km of wild singletrack. The mix of fast, flowy sections, steep rock gardens, and tight technical moves kept every rider on their toes. This was raw, natural riding—nothing built, nothing groomed— just pure stoke at the discovery of an epic trail.

After refuelling on slow-cooked lamb curry and a few Cokes, we set off for our final mission—Fairy Meadows; the legendary alpine pasture beneath Nanga Parbat (8,126m).

The journey up was insane—2,000m of elevation gain, bikes strapped to the back of tiny Jeeps, inching up a sheer cliffside road. By nightfall, we were hiking in complete darkness, and the altitude was hitting us hard.

The payoff? Waking up to an unreal sunrise over Nanga Parbat. Then—time to ride. The descent was absolute madness—natural flow sections, chunky rock gardens and exposed ridges. Donkeys popped out of corners, the views were unreal. By the time we hit the valley floor, high fives were flying and stoke levels were through the roof.

Pakistan delivered the adventure of a lifetime. Gilgit-Baltistan is an untamed paradise for mountain biking—huge elevation, jawdropping scenery and raw, technical terrain. But this trip was about more than just trails—it was about the people. The hospitality of northern Pakistan was unmatched—locals welcomed us like family, sharing their food, stories, and endless cups of chai.

As we packed up and boarded our flight out of Skardu, still covered in trail dust, we knew this had been no ordinary adventure. It was a fullblown expedition into the unknown—one that redefined what’s possible on a mountain bike.

The trails are untouched, the mountains are calling, and the next great ride is waiting.