My final day at work was uneventful. Indeed, my 5 years in a car dealership in Ballymoney was uneventful. I wonder what the dominant memories of it will be as I get further away from it. Will I miss the almost daily procession of the James Mullan funeral cortege as it passes the showroom window each day? Sometimes I wondered if my face was more glum than the mourners who trailed the coffin. There were many days when I felt that if just one more person phoned and in their thick Antrim accent shouted 'stores' down the phone at me in the hope of me magically materialising a front strut for an MOT test due in an hour, I would of my own volition, climb into the cold deathly silent sanctuary of the passing coffin. The dark hordes of the general public had become far more fearsome to me than an army of Orcs would be to any given hobbit, probably.

One of my final acts at work was to be interviewed by a friend who also happened to be a journalist for the local Coleraine Chronicle newspaper. The Times this is not. It's generally filled with attention grabbing headlines like 'Man burgles garden nursery', or 'Man marries woman', or 'Man wins Annual Derry Banty Hen Meet'. That I was heading off on a trip like this is probably not as interesting as the missing Asparagus from Damhead nursery, or the matrimonial ecstacy of Jim and Sandra or even Robin's exceptional skills at breeding 'catwalk' birds, but any chance of it sounding in the remotest bit adventurous will be immediately undermined with the title Clare will be forced to adopt. My money is on 'Man gets on motorbike and rides somehwere'. Granted, 'away from here' isn't exactly a turbo/testosterone/adrenaline-charged rubric, but I'm not trying to pay salaries never mind make money off of it!

A day after I departed the car trade, I had to make another departure, from my parent's house. In fact, on thinking about it now, this journey is going to be about continual departures, but each departure will have, I hope, an equal and opposite arrival, for that is the way of travel. When those two acts cease to be in intimate relationship with each other, it's probably too late to worry about it!

Having had some restless sleep I was first up and did some final re-organising and securing of luggage. As per usual, I had the 'don't be doing anything stupid' instruction, which, I presume, doesn't cover mistakingly packing bike body polish and consequently giving my chain a liberal coat of it in Cambridge (because Motul don't help big picture people like me who go by the colour of the can and not the name on it), but rather encompasses more life-threatening occurences like base jumping with my bike attached to me, slapping up some Russian border official for the sheer craic of it, or asking a Siberian bear if he'd watch over my bike while I sleep etc. Sorry, that was a long sentence.

We had some good time together over breakfast, said a few prayers/blessings for safety etc, and awaited the arrival of a clutch of pikey's to accompany me to the docks in Belfast. After we all had coffee and a bit of banter, my now renowned laid-back approach to sailing schedules, flight times and general travel arrangements, had them pushing me out the door for fear of 'the away from here project' being stalled at the Stena port. We got on the road and it dawned on me that perhaps I needed to get a groove on. Unfortunately the headlights of the convoy disappeared from my rear-view mirror at around Cultra. I just made check in and had the bike lashed down in the vehicle deck when Jed (spikerjack) called to say they'd arrived and where was I for the obligatory farewell photo shoot. Sorry Jed, Mike and Andy, my bad, and thanks for seeing me off!

There were 3 other erstwhile bikers on the boat. One of which was very erstwhile, two slightly less erstwhile, and my being least erstwhile at this point. You're wondering what constitutes 'an erstwhile biker' now, be honest. Duncan and Liz were at the Isle of Man TT and toured Ireland after. They were now making their way to Newcastle to get back home to Holland. Yannick was a 20 year-old Swiss fella who'd been on the road for 2 months on his 650 Dakar. He'd begun off-roading in Tunisia and was now working his way around Europe with 2 months remaining. Duncan and Liz kindly donated one of those furry things with the sticky feet and instructed that if possible I bring him to Siberia. They called him 'Duncliz' and he now sits proudly on Pietro's binnacle.

I got off the boat into a beautiful Scottish day and began making my way through Scotland to the borders. Time was short as I had to meet Jon (everywherevirtually) at the Windmill near Manchester and then beat it down to Cambridge to watch the England vs USA match at a bit of a reunion with some old friends. Jon and I sat in the sun catching up, laughing, watching a wedding party and some sports bikers paw over my laden bike bemused that I'd be going so far. It was then time to saddle up and ride some of the roads Jon had planned to take me over. The highlight was obviously the Cat and the Fiddle road across the Pennines down into Buxton. The local authorities have seen fit to clamp down on the speed of this road resulting in 2 way facing average speed cameras to prevent further biker fatalaties. It is a nice road, but still isn't up to the pleasure of the north coast road of Ireland. It was good to be out with Jon again and to see the great job he's done on the substitute bike.

From here I pressed on at pace to Cambridge and ran out of fuel 10 miles from my destination, with an alleged 15 miles left in the reserve. Deja vu to my European trip 2 years ago. Now, for some 16 months this has never happened. After my trip around Europe where I ran out at least 4 times owing to a faulty fuel gauge reader, it was replaced and when the computer said '4 miles left' it meant 'there are four miles left'. A week before I was due to leave, Hurst Motorrad informed me that there was a recall to be done which would see them drop a more accurate fuel reader into the bike. More accurate it is not. Luckily I had a couple of spare litres in the tool tubes and so was quickly able to get back on the road and catch the last 15 mins of what was apparently a fairly dull footballing encounter.

The following evening I left Cambridge and headed down the M11 for London. As dusk was approaching I thought I'd ride through the centre and get a shot of Westminster and the London Eye with the bike in the foreground. I lived in this neck of the woods for many years, so the photos here are more for the benediction of the readers than the writer.

Yesterday morning I made for the Kazakhstan consulate to request a visa. I needed more passport photos. So I rode on up Brompton, parked the bike in a 'motorcycle's only' bay, went into Snappy Snaps and had some photos taken. While that was being done I filled out the visa form, and returned 15 mins later to a kind message from the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea to pay a 120 note fine or 60 if paid within 14 days. Cue some anger. I noticed that it had been issued 2 mins before I got to the bike, so I ran around looking for the attendant in question. Clearly, out of shame he/she had disappeared because there wasn't one to be seen. Anyway, I made it back to the embassy and submitted my application. It's a 3 day turnaround and they wouldn't do it quicker. So if the Mongolian embassy have the same inflexibility, I'll have to buy my visa for there at the Russia/Mongolian border.

On returning back to Pete and Becca's close to Peckham Rye, I was almost outside their house when 1 min before I arrived, armageddon was unravelling before my eyes. Some black guy had, it would transpire, stolen a big old Merc and driven it down Peckham Rye on the wrong side of the road at a speed in excess of 100mph. Now back in the sticks where I've been living, this wouldn't offer much collateral risk, other than maybe to a few sheep at the side of the road. In congested London, this is like dropping your foot on an ant trail. He buried the front of the Mercedes into a car which then hit 3 others and spun them off into walls. Somehow he managed to get out of the Merc and tried to make an escape. Being dazed from the airbag explosion and the force of the collision, he was easy to stop, so I saw a couple of civilians throw him down on the ground until a couple of police arrived. Ambulances, fire trucks, dozens of police and air ambulances then began to arrive. Cars were cut in half to get the occupants out and this blood stained idiot was lying on the road trying to resist arrest. In the end it took 4 police and 2 civilians to get the cuffs on. I was tempted to go and make their job easier by introducing his face to my motocross boot, but they're white and I didn't want criminal blood on them. On top of that, while the police might have chosen to ignore my momentary act of assistance had I've actioned it, if they didn't, trouble with two London boroughs in a day might have contravened the afore mentioned 'don't do anything stupid' instruction. While in Cambridge, my friend Anthony, who, incidentally, has a reputed and unparalleled speed of wit (seriously, Stephen Fry or David Mitchell are tardy in comparison) cocked his head, looked at me and said 'so you're going to Mongolia on a motorbike.' pause, 'And why?' I think my answer now would be along the lines of 'given if I'd appeared at this scene barely a minute earlier I'd be picking a three pointed star out of my arse, the open steppes of Mongolia are a lot less hazardous than the streets of London town.'

Today I'm having a quieter one which will be spent sorting out this little netbook (PC's are a curse) for the trip, trying to procure chain lube safe in the knowledge that polish isn't a worthy replacement for a continent hopping journey, writing, scrawling a letter to the Borough of Kensington and Chelsea pleading ignorance, for I genuinely had no idea that a bike in a bay like this was subject to the 'permit holders only' statute. Added to that, the only other bike in the bay must have had some kind of sophisticated cloaking device making it either invisible or immune to the pestulent predatory parking attendants of said borough FOR IT DEFINITELY DIDN'T HAVE A PERMIT! If they don't offer me discretionary mercy, they can send in the bailiffs. I'll be the one in the green tent at 145 degrees long and 80 lat!

It has been wonderful to get up and bask in the freedom of not having to tend to tedious administration, or appraise cars...that groundhog has been well and truly exercised. On top of that, I've been able to catch up with people who helped make life so good here back in the day, but I'm switched into 'trip mode'. Giving my devoted attention to the endless unfurling of tarmac is my job for the next weeks. Sitting still in a city feels a little like I've stalled. Pietro is locked up out the back (I hope!) and I imagine him to be unimpressed with this temporary interruption to proceedings. And so unless there's anything worthy of posting, this'll be me until I hit the road to cross to Europe at the weekend.

Best,
S

















Away From Here

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I'm from Portstewart, it's a small world!! Look forward to hearing more about your trip. All the best.

I returned to the Kazakhstan embassy and now understanding the unspoken protocol of these places, walked to the front of the queue, dropped my pass, and was duly handed my passport/visa. I then high-tailed it to the Mongolian embassy, descended their stairs (putting the visa office in the cellar is the done thing for embassies, they clearly aren't interested in putting their best foot forward on initial exposure) and rather than the tiny sweatbox of the Kaz consulate, it was a reasonably plush air con'd room with leather sofas, framed black and white photos of msrs McGregor and Boorman thanking them for their assistance and a very beautiful and helpful Mongolian girl behind the desk. Knowing that the Kaz embassy point blank refused a groveling German woman an overnight issue meaning she'd have to cancel her flight, I thought I'd adopt the charm offensive and see if they'd issue me with one overnight meaning I could blow town and get on the road. 'Overnight', she said in response, 'if you give me half an hour I'll have it ready for you'. Mongolia just shot to the top of my worldwide list of favourite countries...ever.

So back down to South London, met with some more friends, went home, packed the bike up, and departed for my cousin's place in Bexhill on the south coast. Now, for the uninitiated, Bexhill is not a place you would send your football scouts on a reccie to (unless you're name is Rafael Benitez maybe?). It's the only place - outside of Florida maybe - where having a paper round, owning a confectionary store, or being a binman, can all be considered palliative care. Rosie moved there to work in the police, which other than tracking down amnesiac street walkers who can't find their homes or returning a zimmer up the promenade because old Wilbert fancied Frieda's new model and made off with it, probably doesn't have the liveliest beat. Shame she works in Hastings though!! From there, I made it to Dover and learned that it's cheaper to book your ferry crossings online. I got on board, made a few final phone calls to say cheerio, and settled into watching some Stewart Lee. I'm now learning some diversionary tactics rather than perenially going through the biking equivalent of the Spanish inquisition every time I stop somewhere. 'So where are you going?', 'why have you 4 tyres?', 'what are you afraid of?' are now standard fare and as such, I'm going to try and print out an answer sheet pre-empting this consistent line of questioning. It's not that I mind that much, I'm just bored of hearing my own voice issuing the same stock answers.

With the white cliffs of Dover gradually disappearing into the mist, the sense of 'it's all about to kick off' went into hyper-drive. I rode off the ferry, punched ehrenstrasse, Koln into my GPS and began what will, at times, seem like an endless trek east. England to France to Belgium to Holland to Germany. A fellow couchsurfer - Sarah - has been an incredible host. When I pitched up outside her apartment, which is several floors up, and began unloading my bike, I don't think that she'd quite bargained on a mountain of stuff cascading around her place. However, her hospitality has been extraordinary and greatly appreciated. Others to thank until now are Debs Wray at McCurdy Hamilton travel in Ballymoney, who in my estimations are better than the often used Nutt travel, for they kindly sponsored my first ferry sailing from Belfast to Stranraer. Pete and Becca who hosted me in London and couldn't do enough. Kester Brewin who cooked me dinner on my way through London and gave me a copy of his new book 'Other' which he photographed on my bike and wrote about in connection with my trip here, and finally to my cousins Rosie and David for the craic and hospitality on the south coast. Tomorrow I trek it over to Prague via Nurnberg by which time I'll hopefully have had a good enough connection to post some photos.

Sorry that it's just text for now.

S

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Now that i've just gotten home and have some time and internet to bring it all up-to-date, I thought I'd put a sample on here. I don't have time to triplicate everything onto the various forums I'm part of, so hence I created my own site.

The entire trip was quite incredible, with Mongolia and Siberia being the obvious highlights for me. 70kms from Moscow saw disaster hit, but that will come in time. For now, here's some of the Altai stuff before I get to Mongolia. All of the notes were written in my tent each evening, so are 'real time' and not as flowery as they would be if I was sitting at a table and charged with mental energy. Go to Away From Here for the full effect. There's a day or two more to cover in the Altai, then we're into Mongolia:

We rode all day among the lovely twisties of the Altai mountains. Hundreds of kms of stunning scenery. Along the way we met a crew from Australia who had just come out of Mongolia. One of them, named Cain, was on a KTM 990Adv. I had a good chat with him about his route through and he recommended that instead of the oft taken northern and southern routes, we have a crack at the middle route. I liked the sound of it, for he too, unlike his crew, was a dirt man.

There were so many photo stops that it took us a while to make progress. However, we did and later that evening, we pulled off by a river in a green field near the road. After we got established, Toumas and I set about getting firewood so that we might get some atmosphere going tonight. We both went off in different directions, and in the woods that I went to, I heard these very distressed yelps and groans from some kind of animal. Owing to how loud they were, I knew this wasn’t going to be a guinea pig. In fact, I wondered if here be a monster. I crept into the stoney and tree enclosed enclave and found a horse on its back. Was it giving birth or dying? I took some video of the situation but will put them up at the end.

Gesa and I went back 2 hours later and it was dead. Quite a morbid end to the night, made worse by the fact that we heard the baying of wolves or wild dogs who had clearly found their next meal. Gesa barely slept. I too didn’t sleep much, but mainly because Pawel had sent me a text saying that the Russian/Mongolian border had been closed for 3 days over the weekend because of a festival in Mongolia. Was he joking me??

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Just spent some quality time reading all the entries on your website from beginning to end Si, what a trip. But your style of writing makes it 'unputdownable' once you get started.

I'm really inspired for my trip next year now - thanks.

Phil

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Live life now - you only get it once.

Thanks, that's kind. I'm going to sit and write a couple of articles about it and see if they can make Bike or Ride. Need to start paying the credit card off ;-)

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another quick excerpt, the full video, photo footage and descriptions of which is on awayfromhere.org

I got up, stoked that there was a day of good riding coming up, although I knew it might be hard owing to the deluge the night before. Sami, with a still swollen and painful wrist, toppled twice within a mile of where we camped. He wouldn’t be the first today, as in fact pretty much everyone had a drop. We spent some time discussing routes, as many travellers we had met who were going in the opposite direction had said that due to noahic rain, it was better to go the circuitous route (adding 4-500kms) via Olgiy and Hov’d to Ulangoon, but we had heard from one other source that the more direct route was possible. The locals appeared to be telling us that the route from Nogoonuur would be impassable for motorbikes. For whatever reason, we threw caution to the wind and enjoyed some spectacular passes, canyons, gorges, and then open steppe and mountains. Truly, it was breathtaking.

The value of local knowledge was then brought home in spades as we ploughed into a marsh where bikes were now getting stuck with regularity. I have to say, as tiring as it was, and as frustrated as a few were getting, for the most part, it was very fun…in a masochistic kind of way. The mosquitos loved it too and all of us would be nursing head-to-toe weals this evening. Armoured cordura gear was simply an inconvenience for these Mongolmozzies who enjoyed some gourmet foreign food for several hours.

Later we passed through an area that resembled Nevada more than Mongolia, and after that Sami and I somehow got lost from the rest of the group. He is using Ozi-explorer and it took us far too far south. We ended up in some seriously ropey places and at one point my front wheel skipped out from under me and I binned the bike at about 25kms in the mud. Nothing was damaged, except my ego as I hadn’t had any spillls with us altogether. Eventually Sami and I got on the right road and being quicker than the rest of the group, we gave it some throttle to catch them up. We would stop at the occasional Ger to confirm that 5 bikes had passed and to have a chai, but for the most part, our navahoe skills enabled us to see that their tyre treads had passed this way. Eventually we could see them standing on some rocks and were glad to have caught them. They’d been stopped dead by a forceful river. A Uaz tried to cross but was toppled in the current. A drunk Mongolian man then tried to wade across but was carried about 300m downstream before he could pull himself out on the other side. Once he got there, he proceeded to get more plastered with some boyo he met. It already seemed that in Mongolia, nothing is too pressing to distract one from a vodka session with a new friend.

My feet were already soaking from wading in marshes and hitting some small rivers and many puddles today, so I waded in to see if this was do-able. There were a couple of deep channels that I feared would catch us, and if we got my bike through, the chances of getting everyone through would be slim. This would mean camping for the night. We were now starting to run low on fuel and had enough to cook a substantial meal for everyone, but we were clean out of water. This river water was liquified mud and no purification pump or tablets would sort this, so we shared whatever little water we had and made do. Sami, doing his usual, decided to hit the road back to a lake to load up on water for us, but half way there he didn’t hit a horse this time, but his fuel pump died on the Africa Twin. We got him on the walkie talkie and he eventually got it running again, so pulled a U turn and came home…frustrated. It was a glorious and equally frustrating day, finished off with the mozzies driving everyone to their tents early. Hopefully the rain will stay away tonight and the river will drop, for we really do need to cross tomorrow so that we can get to Ulangoon, get money changed, get provisions, and get fuel. A hotel tomorrow night would be a welcome possibility.

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enjoyable report. Funnily enough I need to get over to Ireland/ NI as I have never been there.
Over to your website now

further excerpts from awayfromhere.org

I awoke first eager to listen to the river. Either it was still in full flow, or Tuomas’ guts had taken another turn for the worst. I knew I couldn’t tell until I actually got out of my tent and looked. On doing so, the river appeared to have dropped little as it hadn’t rained during the night relieving me of the need to go and inspect Tuomas’ guts!

I forgot to write that before he went to bed, Kristian got his Isambard Brunel on and started digging meticulous trenches around his tent. Like the night before, his tent was on a slope, and consequently, the torrential rain flowed right into the storage part of the tent, soaking his and Gesa’s gear. His preventative measures were not needed last night, and so the lack of flooding was good news all round, or at least I thought so. The guys from Finland were still of the mind that it was still to heavy a flow, and in the absence of truck-sized sanitary towels, we’d never get across. It was crunch time for our group. Tuomas on his V-strom wasn’t happy with the situation and preferred to go the 150km loop to avoid this river. Only Tuomas and Sami changed money at the border, so they could buy fuel and top up if they could find some, but the rest of us had no Mongolian money yet, no water, and whatever fuel we were carrying. So, on top of the fact that we couldn’t be bothered, this re-route wasn’t an option. It appeared that our group was about to split. Tuomas admitted that his bike wasn’t Mongolia friendly and as he had to be back at work in 3 weeks in Finland, he and the others would head back west again and play in western Mongolia for a few days before exiting at the same border. I took a photo of the discussions, and they were heated. I was for going on as all of Mongolia beckoned and I didn’t come this far to pull a U-ey.
waiting out for the river to drop
drying the boots after the first wade
Pawel in on a preliminary wade
difficult conversations
Pawel returns excited

After about 30 mins, the Finns decided to plough on with us all. It was great knowing that we’d all still travel together for another while yet.

Without further ado, Pawel was in the river trying to finalise a route through. It was a good bit further up than where the couple of Uaz’s had gotten stuck and submerged, and it involved an intricate series of steps through the river. First you’d ride with the current but across. Then you’d make a straight cut across, and then finally with the current. Pawel had the small Yamaha and so went first. He took off the luggage and successfully breached the animal that had caused Kamaz trucks to park up for the night. Next Tuomas went on his Strom. He’s usually a bit fearful, but for some reason, when we stripped him of luggage, his kahunas doubled or maybe even trebled in size, for he really went for it. By the time he got over he couldn’t take his hands off the bars as his fingers has seized solid in fear to the grips. After the first two crossings, Pawel and I split the river up so I’d take the first half and help people across while he’d take the second half. Everything went smoothly until Kristian binned it towards the end. He dropped the bike in the deepest water and came swimming off the saddle. We were very glad nothing happened to him and the bike fired up again without any trouble. Eventually all were across, leaving the difficult task of carrying ALL the luggage from one side to the other. With no breakfast and barely any water worth speaking of, we were all so so tired. The pain and struggle were evident on the faces of all, as we trudged back and forth with boxes and bags. Finally, all the bikes were put back together and we took off, ready to explore the next part of Mongolia.
another one over
my turn
this team photo was very satisfying. all of us were exhausted, soaking and starving...but we'd negotiated our first river.
later in the day
rarely does a day of riding leave me this tired, but feeling great.

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more from awayfromhere.org

The sheer expanse of the country and the countless ranges of mountains were stunning. The colour of the terrrain you ride can change from green grass, to red clay, to white sand, all within about 10 mins. You crest hills to see vistas that you’d never thought possible. It is truly the most spectacular land I’ve ever seen.

cresting a hill

the wind gets so strong on these summits, you can really lean
Today we had a couple of issues. Descending a mountain on a stoney track, Aga’s pannier caught a boulder on the edge of the track and knocker her off her bike. She scratched her arm a bit and deformed the pannier good and proper. It took Pawel a little time to reattach it, but gave him a good bit of work to try and knock it back into shape at camp tonight. Later it was Sami’s turn. Normally I would be leading, but then would hunker up, take some photos and wait for everyone to pass. At one point I crested this pass and the wind was howling. 10 mins later the Poles checked in, but there was no sign of the rest of the them. Finally Kristian and Gesa came in, and they are usually last. Apparently Sami’s AT had packed in and Tuomas was waiting with him. He requested Pavel to come as he was a qualified bike tech. Pawel took off, and we spent some time with various Mongol families who appeared in their 4×4′s. Across the valley we would see a couple of Ger’s, so we told Aga that everyone could meet us there when they got sorted. We spent time with the family drinking chai, vodka, and eating Arold. It was an interesting and slightly surreal experience. The boss of the Ger wanted to swap my bike for his horse. Whilst I’m sure it was a loyal beast, it was no sea biscuit, and Pietro and I had a pact to come home together, so it was a no go.

Aga 30 mins before her intro to a Mongolian boulder

one of the many mountaintop prayer shrines, with a lone horseman

Up close and personal with K & G

Pawel in a puddle

Sami in the same puddle

i have no idea what i'm up to here

Kristian doing his Isambard Brunel engineering feat
Eventually Pawel and the guys arrived. Sami’s fuel pump had given up the ghost again, and so it they just bypassed it so that he could still ride, albeit with the fuel consumption of a Hummer.

Entering a Ger

Mongolian hospitality

Gerry can vodka
it's tiredness, not vodka

laughing with new friends
hospitality

'arold', it's horrible stuff

Yak's milk. The substance from which everything else is made.

his horse for my bike? i think not.

here comes Pawel and Sami

Pawel coming towards us at the Ger

capturing the moment

Normally we try to camp by a river, and tonight is no different. Fortunately we don’t have to cross this one tonight, so we can worry about who’ll do the Moses and try to part the waters tomorrow. If a big beard constitutes doing a Moses, we wouldn’t need to be waiting for any of the Fins, as I’ve seen 4 year old boys and nuns grow better facial hair. In any case, that’s it for tonight for I’m dead beat. Goodnight all.

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from Away From Here

Before I get into the 28th, there were a few photos from yesterday which I forgot to post…

dust plumes from the bikes.

Sami approaching

Me approaching

still approaching

enjoying every moment

actually, we've come the wrong way

In the words of a famous Kazakh, 'I like!'

Waiting for Sami before Pawel departed to help him

OK, to business…

Everyone got up and had a leisurely breakfast. The sun was shining, so we could try and dry our boots out some. Everyone made something different for breakfast and we shared our food and chatted about national identity and the holocaust with Kristian and Gesa. Conversations began about whether or not we should split up began, as the Finns said they needed to rush on and couldn’t really wait around much. I agreed to continue with Pauli, Sami and Tuomas, as I too wanted to ride more quickly and also get to Ulan-bataar. I didn’t really want to get to UB for UB’s sake as from what I understood, it has all the attraction of a bout of Jardia, but I wanted to get there early so that I could leave most of my luggage at the Oasis guest house and take a 2 day blast down to the Gobi desert, before Pavel, Aga, and my favourite Germans got there. So we left. I took us back to the route that had a solitary signpost to Narambulag, but it turned out to have 2 river crossings, one which we did, the other being too big. Tuomas complained and it was clear we were starting to make plans to top each other during the night. It was just a question of who set their alarm earliest. I told him to go the Alps next year, as there’d be less of a risk of wetting his feet. So, frustration was setting in for us all and I began to want to ride on my own again. We turned around, and about 45 mins later we caught up with the 2 couples who were the tortoise and who somehow seemed to stay ahead of the hare. I was out ahead of the guys and so had a break with the Poles and Germans until the Finnish boys arrived. We made it to Narambulag and as was normal, Pietro got me there first, so I went into one of the little stores on the main street and sat and had a in the heat before everyone else arrived. Eventually they did and we all agreed to press on and meet at the Hot Springs, north of a Lake on the middle route.

Breakfast

Drying boots before another river

more time being wasted beating Aga's metal pannier. did i say that i don't have any time for aluminium boxes yet?

Sami gearing up, or gearing down...I can't remember. still sporting the wrist support though.

but he was wearing two at one point! Sami, have you always had a problem with limp wrists? ;-)

shaking previous countries' currency and dust out of my tent

Kristian, my photography teacher, showing me a new trick
Kristian always admired my bike mounts. This was too difficult for him due to some 'organisation procedure' he goes through as he get on?

one of today's river crossings

easiest cross to date

still come up like a drowned rat

Waiting at Naraambulaag

this chap insists that the only way to ride a bike, is to do with with a large bottle of vodka in his hand. he and the rest of the Mongolian men

Kris waiting in line for fuel. he actually dropped his bike about a minute after this photo, but he still looked cool as he did it!!

When we got there, or at least we think we did. The springs seemed to be quite elusive and since we were all starting to smell like turnips with leprosy, we had in our minds, radox adverts shot in Iceland. What we got was a concrete building with some students who allegedly were English majors but who barely had ‘yes’ or ‘no’ down. Either the Mongols or the Bradt guide to Mongolia (which is incidentally much better than the Lonely Planet guide to Mongolia if you’re planning a trip) had oversold on the springs and underdelivered.

Again there was some angst – partly fuelled by the heat and the springless springs – as no definitive decision was made as to how much further we’d get and whether we’d camp by the saltwater lake as some wanted a swim since we hadn’t had a chance to wash somewhere clean since the Russian Altai. It was agreed that we’d ride another 15kms or so, and then try to camp by the lake. The boys took off first and I caught up with them. They wanted to keep going, and aware that we’d told the rest that we’d ride for 15 clicks, I said ‘you ride on and I’ll let them know we’re going on further’. I waited and asked Aga to take a photo of me sitting on a rock. She and Pawel then had a barney because the wind blew her bike off the side stand and broke the mirror, irritating Pawel, so I took off to let them sort it.


view of some camels by the salt lake

the photo before the war between P&A before i left to go on my own before the hurricane.

I knew I was about 20 mins behind Sami, Pauli and Tuomas, so I gunned it to catch them. 45 mins later I stopped a 4×4 and he said that 3 bikes had just gone past. I saw no dust plumes and was surprised at how much ground they’d covered. So, I blasted it once more and half an hour later a jeep stopped to chat and one of the girls in the back spoke pretty good english. She said that no motorbikes had past, so I figured the guys had pulled off somewhere to camp. I was on my own now as I knew that Aga, Pavel, Kristian and Gesa wouldn’t ride this far today, and now the Finns were behind. Enjoying the freedom of no responsibility or decision making processes, I got up on the pegs and moved quickly across the steppe. It was wide open and the most open land I’d seen since I started on this trip. There were no yurts, livestock, and the only sign of life in this remote part, was the occasional 4×4 kicking up a plume. By now, dusk had kicked in and I was getting tired and not seeing the road so well. I narrowly avoided dropping the bike the in a few big holes and the final straw was when a squall hit me from the side and nearly blew me and the bike over. ‘Time to stop’, I thought. I spent about 30 mins looking for somewhere out of the wind, as it was fearsome. Eventually I found a place which I figured to be the most sheltered spot. I tried pitching the tent, and almost, inadvertently, began kite surfing across a Mongolian steppe. This wasnt’ going to work as the whole side of the tent went concave and on one occasion went flat when the frequent squalls took leave of the hurricane. I walked a bit further and finally found somehwere which offered at least a little protection no matter what direction this changebale wind blew from.

contrary to what this photo suggests, this is quite a sturdy Mountain Equipment tent.

Once camp was set, I cooked up some Korean noodles, opened a tin of tuna, and sat in the solidude of my tent. As I sit here writing, it is strange to be on my own. We have lived in each others pockets for several weeks now and the guys are camped somewhere within 100 kms behind me.

My big disappointment now is that I forgot to zip up my tank bag for a large section of the ride today. In it I keep my netbook, camera and lenses, Leatherman, spare key, high def flip camera, and peztl headtorch, ie, all the really important stuff. When I realised that I’d left it open through a very bumpy 40 kms or so, I checked that that camera etc was all still there. Everything seemed to be in its place, so I was relieved. But tonight when I was getting ready for the evening in my tent, I discovered that I’ve lost the torch. How disappointing! It has been one of the most used items to date and now I’ve had to resort to this crappy wind up thing that cost about 2 quid in some backwater pound shop in Coleraine. The redness of my nose is, at present, giving off more light.

Well, the battery in this netbook is about to die, I need a pee, and should brush my teeth and check out on this windy night in Mongolia. I’ve no idea what tomorrow holds, but there are not other directions for me to go for 140 kms or so, so directly east to Sangino it will be. There’s some kind of vole hole at the front door of my tent, I hope it doesnt’ hassle me during the night!

Thanks for reading and goodnight. Si

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Great write up on what must have been a fantastic trip/experience

also spent hours reading you website, very entertaining, thank you for taking the time and effort

Did you plan to meet up with the others... or did it just happen ??

I'm planning a longer trip on my own but have some safety worries

Cheers
Geordie

thanks Georgie. I met the Finnish guys through this site and agreed to meet them in Volgograd. I too like riding on my own, but as this was the longest trip I've done to date, I thought that it might be wiser to take on the dubious part of it with others. on reflection, it would've been nice during the day to be riding on my own, because of the pace i prefer to ride at, but it's great to sit around the fire in the evenings with others. if you choose to ride on your own, you will meet people on the road. we met 2 other couples, as you see, and it was just a joy to ride part of this trip with them. my next trip will likely only be with people i know well, or two of us. any more than two and it becomes complex i'd suggest.

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some more from Away From Here

A few facts that I’ve learned about Mongolia before I get into today’s goings on.

Outer Mongolia (the country that I’m in) became a separate state from China when the Qing dynasty collapsed in 1911. Inner Mongolia was swallowed by China, even when outer Mongolia appealed to all Mongolians to unite. China put the foot down and prevented this unification. Today, most Mongolians still live in China, south of the Gobi desert. The Soviets then offered protection to Mongolia to prevent any incursions from China, and so it became swallowed by the USSR. The USSR put some money in here during the 50′s to fund industry and agriculture, but shafted Mongolia when communism collapsed in that they quite literally pulled the plug on all of Mongolia’s electricity (since it was coming from Russia). Even the capital – Ulan-Baatar – was in the dark for months.

Prior to 1992, Mongolia was pretty much closed to foreigners and in particular westerners, which is why it is great being here before the secret of its beauty is blown and before it is covered in roads and tourists (there is already evidence of heavy machinery moving into places to lay down ribbons of asphalt). 99% of the Mongolia’s land ‘belongs to the people’ and is owned by the State (if that doesn’t sound like an oxymoron to the western mind). This means that you can camp anywhere you like.

Having majored in genetics at uni, I was interested to find out that Oxford Uni conducted a study and found that 1 in 200 men alive on planet earth today, is related to Genghis Khan. Over 10 years, scientists collected blood from 16 populations in and around Mongolia and worked on the Y chromosome that shows a signature which passes from father to son. A fifth of all Mongolian men alive today carry this gene which can be traced back to the Khan. He, his brothers and senior troops, apparently had access to thousands of women, and so shortly afterwards they wrote a song about ploughing the fields and scattering, good seed on the earth.

The Mongol Empire, prior to the Manchu’s outmanoeuvering them in Risk, was the biggest empire (geographically speaking) in history. Brutal and violent horse mounted warriors (horse riding is still massive here and they have some of the most exceptional and rarest horses in the world on these steppes) swept across the Asian steppes, and gate-crashed the European party. The Europeans had no idea what lay beyond the Ural mountains, and so these were strange looking folks that were pouring in and putting to death everything (except the hot women) that stood in their way. Being out here, it’s easy to see why we were such easy prey. Their diet and nomadic lifestyle have barely changed, bar the addition of solar panels, chinese motorcycles, black and white car battery powered TV’s, and black market premier league football tops. Athough, I believe the Great Khan himself would sport a Liverpool shell-suit when relaxing with the ladies at night in his Ger. So the point is, their diet was, and is so simple. They don’t eat fruit or vegetables, only mutton and anything that can be made out of Yak milk. Dried meat and cheese were put in a leather satchel, and they ride and they ride and they ride…west. These men are very strong; perhaps even stronger than Hulk Hogan or George W. When they got to Europe (the Mongols, not George and Hulk), our boys are all sitting around their Rayburn ranges, meticulously following Nigella’s recipe for Grilled Sea Bass, asparagus and chickpea pilaf and raita. Talk about being caught unawares? There was no time to doff the aprons and pick up their Holland and Holland revolvers for as they did so, their heads became another ingredient in Nigella’s recipe. So, they got as far as Moscow, Kracow and a few other places close to where many of you, the erstwhile readers live. Pause for a moment and consider what our history might have looked like if the marauders hadn’t gotten the email to say that a successor to Genghis was in need of election and that they all should promptly but safely do a U-turn for the occasion?

Finally, Mongolia has the most incredible night sky. This land has no light pollution. One third of its population live in the capital city, and the rest pretty much scattered across the steppes and mountains in Gers (their moveable tents). If shooting stars are your thing, then you see them on a frequency of about once a minute out here. The sky is vast and the stars are uncountable. This picture of the world by night will give you a feel for what I’m saying. Unfortunately I’m on a new computer with no software capable of writing on a jpeg, but if you look to the left of the very lit up Japan and above the lit up China, you’re into Mongolia and Siberia. It’s quite dark here…and I’ve lost my Petzl head torch

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more from Away From Here

I was awoken early at 6 by footsteps and mens voices approaching my tent. Wondering if Genghis Khan’s marauding and invading progeny had spotted me and were going to pillage my meager belongings, I poked my head out of the tent to see what the craic was. Three smiling Mongol men were coming towards me. Regrettably, they seemed fascinated by my situation. After wondering how they found me up in my little nook, and watching them circle my bike through a very partially opened tent door, I quickly threw on some more clothes so that I could get out and verify that they meant me no harm.

Once the easy bit was done and my clothes were on, in what was necessarily a very short series of steps in cognitive processing, I quickly realised that I had a sum total of no Mongol language. Still, I thought, in spite of my normally trusting posture towards newcomers, it should be somewhat obvious if they want to cut off my head.

I remembered whilst at seminary, studying Missiology under a certain Lish Eves, that having lived in Indonesia for many years, she learned that blending into the indigenous ways of life – technically known as ‘inculturation’ – was of paramount importance in the process of acceptance. So, in order to diffuse a potentially hostile approach, I thought that either chai or vodka would be my suitable attempt at practicing the native hospitality. Again, I thought quickly, or rather my tastebuds thought quickly, and rejected the 6:01am (you see, I was thinking very quickly) vodka option, which was just as well, as I didn’t have any. I put the stove on to brew some tea and just as I was about to get smug with my improvised ambassadorial efforts in international relations, I realised that I had enough water for 4 very small cups, but alas, I didn’t have 4 cups! Surely this wasn’t my own petard from which I’d be hoisted. How would their chai drinking mores cope with this offence?

Very quickly, the chai became of secondary importance. Their constant up and downward motion with both hands together, suggested one of three things; either they were in need of one of those devices that Wiley Coyote used to explode dynamite in a bid to terminate Road-runner, or they needed a few space hoppers as their horses had died, or they needed a pump? Since my neural synapses were now on fire, I very very quickly eliminated the first possibility, and then, nanoseconds later, the second with it. ‘You need a pump’, I shouted victoriously, pointing at a tyre on my bike. All smiles and expectation, they confirmed my announcement. ‘No, sorry, don’t have one’, I said. This was true and not true. I didn’t have a manual pump, which strictly speaking, is what they were looking for. But I did have one better, in the form of a Slime Compressor. Call it selfish, but I didn’t want to volunteer my little compressor if these boys were wanting to pump up the tyre of a Kamaz truck. I know from the experience of others that you can burn them out blowing up a double air bed, so a truck tyre would likely end up with the same result.

Still curious as to how they were able to find me but realising that finding an answer would require more gesticulating that would probably not deliver an answer, I asked them to take me to the fallen vehicle. Surprisingly it was around the corner by a nearby Ger I hadn’t seen. It was only a Toyota Hiace and the model was, amusingly, a ‘Moto Gimp’. The rear right wheel was well deflated and showed all the signs of a slow puncture. I thought that the slime would cope with this, so I told them I’d be back in a few mins. I got back to the tent, jumped on the bike, and rode back to the waiting posse. They stood there wondering what I was about to do. With the expectation building, I pulled a white rabbit out of my helmet and everyone laughed. For my next trick I dug into the bottom of my pannier and pulled out my little black compressor box. After unravelling a few leads, I plugged it into the bike, connected it to the tyre valve, and switched it on. The looks of amazement and the chit-chat between them all was hilarious. 10 mins later the job was done and one by one, people of all ages and sizes sleepily appeared out of the Ger. What had probably happened is that this Hiace had arrived at 2 or 3 in the morning, and unable to go any further in this deep sand with such a load on a half inflated tyre, they just pulled into the Ger of this family, and found somewhere to sleep. This is the way it works here. Nice huh? Who needs motels or the AA?

After everyone had been shoe-horned into the Toyota, I was beckoned in for some breakfast. A bowl of Chai was handed to me and then a bowl with mutton and strips of some kind of bread they make. My instruction was to put the mutton/bread mix into the chai and slurp it down. It was foul, but I didn’t want to offend, so persevered.

Knowing that the guys were a bit behind me, and with various SUV’s pulling in to this Ger, I found one containing a chap who spoke moderately good english. I asked him if he had passed 3 bikes, and he said yes, about 20kms back. I knew that it would take them 30mins (on these roads) to get to me, so I sat in the Ger and watched the family get set up for the day. It was fascinating. They were so industrious and from the youngest to the oldest, everyone had a role. It appeared to me to be so ritualised that they went through these motions almost robotically every day. 8 big thermos’ of Chai were made on the stove, presumably made to refresh all the weary travellers who would pass this way today. I could go on, but I’ll spare you the details.

A couple of hours later, the boys did pitch up. I was doing some colouring in with the youngest of the family, when I heard the exhausts roar up outside. Sami then poked his head through the door and blurted ‘what’s the craic?’, a phrase I’d taught the Finnish contingency earlier in the trip. I invited them into my new family’s abode and offered them some chai. We all had a good laugh about last night’s wind and the fact Sami had to forget about his tent and just bunk down on the ground in his sleeping bag.

my little friend

this little boy's mum. two ladies and their kids and the grandfather all lived in this Ger. the husbands had died. sorry about the quality of the pic.

the little fella's cousin, with some passing travellers in the background. about 20 people had slept in this Ger last night!

'weetabix or bones?' 'weetabix please.' 'sorry we're out of weetabix'. 'so my options is "or bones" then?' just kidding, not weetabix on the menu here.

gramps

i tried 'doing an angelina' on him, but neither he nor his mum were too happy about it. actually, i felt like i could've stayed with these people for a month if i'd wanted.

It was time to go. We sped off in the direction of Sangino and encountered some majestic scenery once again. It was like a movie, every moment it cut to a different scene, with differing back drops and new things to notice. There was a lot of deep sand today, and Sami and I put the bikes down more than once.

We got to Sangino and found a cafe which was very clean. I went into the little kitchen at the back as there was no menu, hoping I could just point at something and say, for me! The lady was preparing food and it looked great, so the 4 of us ordered 4 bowls of it. Again we watched the whole town descend upon our bikes. Well fed and in good spirits, we set out again for the rest of the day.

edible food, at last!

shopping

a random riding shot

Tonight, after a day of gruelling terrain, we’ve pulled off to the side and found a suitable place to set up camp. The sunset was glorious and as we sat there sipping and regaling the day, it was one of those unforgettable evenings. Off to bed. Goodnight, Mongolia, Goodnight world.


sunset...

and me watching it.

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