From Childhood Dreams to Mountain Adventures: My Story of Mountain Biking in Kurdistan

Riding a bicycle was always a childhood dream of mine. Back then, I didn’t know the difference between casual bike riding and mountain biking. As a kid, I would ride a basic bicycle around the village, looping endlessly through the fields. But I was always afraid of flat tires. That fear kept me from venturing onto the rougher mountain roads. The idea of fixing a flat in a village with no tools or spares was too intimidating. So, I stuck to simple rides — cautious but curious.

As I grew older, I began to see mountain biking differently. Watching videos of daring riders speeding through forests, jumping over rocks, and pushing their limits sparked something inside me. They had specialized bikes, gear, and the courage I lacked. My work as a tour guide gave me the chance to explore many mountain regions across Iraqi Kurdistan. Each location revealed a new perspective, new trails, and new ideas. One idea stayed with me for over seven years — I wanted to ride through the mountains. Properly. Boldly.

Every time foreign guests visited, I’d ask them about their equipment and biking techniques, hoping to learn more. I kept watching inspiring footage online, watching in awe as athletes rode like lightning through rugged mountain terrain. I studied them, admired them — dreamed of becoming one of them.

Then one day, a Norwegian friend visited. “Your region is perfect for mountain biking,” he said. He wasn’t just a casual biker — his name was Kit Mohsen, a skilled skier who regularly participated in ski festivals and a truly excellent mountain biker. We agreed to collaborate — to explore the mountains of Kurdistan together and even design new biking routes for the future, with support from my company and the local government.

We made a plan: Kit would return in October 2025. But before that, something incredible happened.

On August 2nd, 2025, a Dutch visitor contacted one of my company’s guides. He wanted to reach Mount Halgurd — the highest peak in Iraq and Kurdistan, standing at 3,607 meters. After his group’s hike, the Dutch guest became fascinated by the potential for mountain biking in the area. He emailed me:
“Can you help me return next week? I want to bring my bike to the mountains.”

I was thrilled. Even though we never discussed money or guiding fees, I immediately offered to guide him myself — I just couldn’t miss the opportunity.
“I don’t even have a bike,” I confessed.
“No problem,” he said. “I’ll bring one for you.”

My excitement was overwhelming.

We set a date: August 9th, 2025, at 6:00 a.m. in Choman. When we met, I watched in awe as he carefully pulled two professional mountain bikes out of the back of his car. They were beautiful — sleek, strong, ready for the trail. After a hearty breakfast at M. Muzaffar Restaurant, we loaded the bikes into a pickup truck, grabbed some snacks and energy drinks, and headed for Mount Halgurd.

At 2,250 meters, we started riding. The first part was exhausting. I thought it would be easier. My Dutch friend kept encouraging me and explaining biking techniques as we moved. When we reached a deep slope, I had to stop and reload the bike into the car. But he? He pedaled through all of it.

We decided to push further — to 3,300 meters. At that height, there was no turning back. There were no vehicles, only strength and determination. I was able to ride my bike for most of the way. After that, we crossed a breathtaking ridge behind Halgurd. A descent of 700 meters lay ahead. I wasn’t scared — just mesmerized by the natural beauty.

But the way back? It was all steep slopes again.

Eventually, I re-mounted my bike at 3,300 meters and descended. Ninety-five percent of our return journey was downhill — over 20 kilometers. The wind rushed past. It was thrilling and fast — maybe too fast. At one point, I hit a sharp rock and fell. My hand got cut, but I learned a lot from that moment.

Later, my friend’s bike had a flat tire. And suddenly, I was taken back to my childhood fear: a flat in the mountains.

But he wasn’t worried. He calmly pulled out a tiny repair kit from his backpack. With a few tools, he patched the tire. It wasn’t perfect, so he grabbed a mini pump from the same bag, and in less than 5 minutes, the tire was fully inflated. We continued our journey. I was amazed — not just at his preparedness, but at what I was learning.

We ended our ride in Warda, a small village where we joined our driver. On the way back, I suggested we return via Nalmê, a route less known, but more beautiful. As we neared Warda, we saw the asphalt road again — the official trail ending. But I knew a better way back — through untouched valleys, past small villages and wild mountains.

We kept riding. We passed Gelala, then finally reached Soran. Time wasn’t on our side — the return trip took longer than expected. We had to cut it short and return to Choman, where our friend’s car was waiting. Our whole adventure took eight hours.

Reflections

After this trip, I made a big decision.

Many of the mountain roads Saddam Hussein built during the Iran-Iraq war are now abandoned or broken — unsuitable for cars but perfect for mountain biking. I want to use them. I want to help revive adventure tourism in my country. My hope is that one day, people from around the world will ride these hidden trails and discover the majestic landscapes of Kurdistan.

I’m ready to help anyone — anyone who dreams of mountain biking in these incredible places.