Next morning kims foot was swollen and it was already painful to only watch him
But he and us didnt really want to stay in the small village another day. The old granny was nice but there was nothing, really nothing to do and somehow there was always fighting and shouting going on between the other inhabitants of the village.
So we gave Kim some painkillers, sat him on his bike and pressed continue.
We will go on slowly and try to finish the last 20 kms of the treatorous dirtroad and then we will ask Kims foot again if he can keep on riding.
And it worked. He had pain shifting gears but after we arrived at tarmac and had a coffeebreak
he was up to going even all the way to Batumi.
While we where preparing to go back on the road another motorbike rider pulled up.
He took his helmet off and - surprise! We knew the Dude.
It was Martin, a dutch guy who we already met twice, once in Samarqand and once in Bukhara. He drove below the caspian sea trough Turkmenistan and Iran into Georgia and it was quite a coincidence that he showed up in this small village where absolutely no tourists where and that only lead to a mountain pass that no sane man would want to take voluntarely... Turns out, Martin is as insane as us and he was about to go on that road too... But to his defense I have to say that he had no idea of what he was getting into - he thought will be trough the pass and in Mestia in about an hour... When we opened his eyes and told him that he should at least plan to arrive 8 hours later - or better the next day - he looked at his bike and shook his head. His Honda Transalp had even less ground clearance than Kims BMW GS and so he decided to skip Mestia and come with us to Batumi.
And so the four of us drove to the black sea coast and into Batumi - And there they lived happily ever after.
Not yet, we still have to go to Turkey and so on...