Is it better to travel than arrive…?

OK, so we had arrived at our destination – Ulaanbaatar – exotic city of eastern mystery, fabled centre of Gengis Khan’s legendary empire, magical destination on the Silk Road. Well actually it wasn’t founded until around 1639 (well after Genghis’s time), it’s never been on the Silk Road (that runs much further south of the Gobi desert) and, to be honest, it doesn’t really fit the bill as an ‘exotic city of eastern mystery‘

Staue of Damdin Sükhbaatar in the square named after him

In fact, Ulaanbaatar only became known as Ulaanbaatar in 1924 following occupation by a Communist Russo-Mongolian army. Ulaanbaatar means ‘Red Hero‘ a reference to the leader of that army, Damdin Sükhbaatar (the main square is named after him as well).

So Ulaanbaatar is a relatively modern city. From Wikipedia:

In the socialist period, and especially following the Second World War, most of the old yurt quarters were replaced by Soviet-style blocks of flats, often financed by the Soviet Union. Urban planning began in the 1950s, and most of the city today is the result of construction from 1960 to 1985.^[14] The Transmongolian Railway, connecting Ulan Bator with Moscow and Beijing, was completed in 1956, and cinemas, theatres, museums etc. were erected. On the other hand, many of the temples and monasteries of pre-socialist Khüree were destroyed following the anti-religious purges of the late 1930s.

UB certainly looked like a city that had been in the middle of a ‘tug of love‘ between Russia and China – much of the city had obviously been constructed during the Soviet era and there were many buildings that were partially completed, but abandoned (maybe around independence in 1990?) and many newer buildings now being constructed. My guess is that it is now Chinese money that is pouring in to Mongolia and I am sure it won’t be too long before the fight for Mongolia’s mineral resources begins in earnest. Basically UB is a bit of a mess – and I suspect it will probably get worse over the next few years – hopefully new found wealth will not spoil the country,but judging by experience throughout the rest of the world, that may be a forlorn hope.

Yurt encampment in the back garden of The Oasis

Yurt, sweet yurt

Anyway The Oasis lived up to its name and provided a haven of calm amidst the crazy traffic, dust and fumes of downtown UB. It felt strange to actually be here. There had been times when I thought I might not make it; deep, dark times back in Kazakhstan when I almost quit, but there had also been tremendous highs riding through Mongolia – spectacular scenery and amazing riding. But, above all it had been a pleasure to share it with such a fantastic group of people.

Maybe the tough times we had endured and the friction with the tour leader had pulled us together. If Jeff had been straight with me at the beginning and told me that 18 riders were going on the trip, I would have had serious misgivings. As it turned out many of the problems we had were down to the size of the group – but it was just the numbers – nothing to do with personalities. I would like to think that I could turn up at the door of anyone on the trip and be welcomed as a friend.

The general air of bonhomie and self-congratulation did not extend to Jeff – several members of the group were very angry about the way they had been treated and the way some aspects of the trip had been organised. However, it has to be said that we were here in Ulaanbaatar and had arrived on schedule – virtually intact!

It turned out that Sam (he, of broken ribs), who we had left back in Olgiy had now been flown to UB and was in a five star hotel in town awaiting a flight back to Canada. A few of us jumped in a taxi and set off to see him.

Nearly 50% of Mongolias population live in UB and most of them seem to spend all their time driving around UB. The roads are chaos. If you want to get anywhere, the best system is to either get a bus or just stand at the side of the road with your hand out. Someone will stop – these are not official taxis, just ordinary people trying to make a quick tugrik. It is very unlikely the driver will speak any English, so it is often a bit of a challenge trying to explain where you want to go and then trying to agree a price – especially when you have no idea how far it is!

Anyway, we made it to the hotel where Sam was staying in the lap of luxury and it was good to see him looking rested and fit enough to fly home – even if we had to be careful not to make him laugh too much as we recounted our tales of the journey after we parted.

Jason, Warwick and I wandered off for a couple of beers in the town – we could have been pretty much anywhere in the world – there was nothing particularly distinctive about UB. After a short while we decided to head back to the Oasis as there had been rumours of some kind of final evening event (the last supper!??).

As it turned out, there was no final meal together. Most of us hung around the Oasis and had a few beers and something to eat. Some party animals set out to find excitement in UB (and some found it…but it’s not my place to tell the full tale – suffice it to say that there are good times and distractions aplenty in UB after dark for those seeking them ). Some were leaving very early the following morning to catch flights home.

Jason and Steph were in the first wave of people who left at 05.00 to catch their flight. I think I got up to see them off…but I may have dreamed that  – it was very, very early. It was hard saying goodbye to people that you had spent nearly all your waking hours with for the past four weeks, but it probably wasn’t until later in the day that it really hit home – the big yurt felt really empty with just Warwick and me in it.

Maybe it was better to just arrive and then fly out almost immediately – there was now no focus to my life – it was great to be able to chill out and have a hot shower and a beer and nice food, but this was not a couple of rest days – this was the end. No more hard riding, no more pressing ever onward, no more waiting at the side of the road for trucks to arrive! Life felt a little empty.

It had been an intense, fantastic (at times almost surreal!) experience and it would obviously take time to adjust to the fact that it had ended. I soon began to look forward to flying home and being with Helen, but there was a part of me (after a couple of good nights sleep) that would have gladly carried on.

In fact, 3 of the group were carrying on with Kudu (and a couple of others that were flying in to join them) to travel the ‘Road of Bones’ to Magadan in the far East of Russia, a further 3 weeks or so of battling with dirt roads, broken bridges, dust, swamps, forests and mosquitoes – fantastic! Indeed it turned out to be a full-on adventure for them in many ways – I would have loved to have been a ‘fly on the wall’, but I am probaby quite glad, with hindsight, that I wasn’t tempted by Jeff’s offer to carry on.

I spent the days before my flight doing the touristy stuff around UB. The Black Market is definitely worth a visit – just lose yourself in the place and wander around the acres of stalls selling everything from car parts to Mongol warrior hats,  riding boots to 52″ Plasma TV’s; but don’t expect incredible bargains – the obligatory Mongol hat and leather boots are pretty expensive – practice you’re bartering skills – you’ll need ‘em.

Sükhbaatar Square - ceremony to mark the beginning of the Nadaam festival

Ready for crating

Ian, Mark and Dave had come on ther own bikes and it was now time to crate them up for the journey home. It was all pretty straightforward – apparently the Oasis cafe can organise it for you – and the shipping company sends a couple of carpenters out to build the crate round the bike. All you need to do is to drain the tank of fuel, drop the screen, fill in a couple of forms and wave goodbye to your bike for a month or so.

Ian's KTM ready for crating - sitting a little lower at the rear due to knackered suspension

Wave good-bye to your pride and joy for a month or two!

It was also a chance to survey the damage I had inflicted on my trusty steed and assess how well it had stood up to the rigours of the trip. Mechanically, it hadn’t missed a beat – despite having little more maintenance than the odd top up of oil and some fairly infrequent applications of chain-lube. It had been thrashed at high revs for long periods across European motorways, and abused through the heat, dust and roadworks of Kazakhstan and battered and bounced through Mongolia.

Not looking too bad....considering

Physically it had taken a few knocks, both from the punishment it received from the terrain and the few minor spills I had. Barkbusters handguards (recommended) had saved the levers from any problem (except a stationary drop in Samara, when I ended up with a banana brake lever – bent back fine though). I generally favoured the right hand side when dropping it – so the rear brake tended to get pushed in and needed bending back on a few occasions. The main casualties, on several bikes, were front mudguards. The front suspension is a little soft and even with pre-load fully wound on, the front mudguard tended to smash into the cross piece of the aftermarket engine bars – I stitched my smashed mudguard together with zip-ties in Kazakhstan, several others cracked and Jake lost his altogether after pulling a stoppie trying to avoid a car in Moscow! Many of us also lost rear number plates for similar reasons.

Bit dusty and could do with some chain lube, but the TKC tyre had lasted pretty well - from Almaty to UB - about 4500km

Rear wheel a bit bent after losing out in confrontation with Kazakh pothole

Even the graphics had been re-arranged by the pounding on Mongolian roads...

All in all, the bike had done what it was designed to do – cope with tarmac and off-road – and had done it more than capably – (I was certainly glad that I hadn’t come on my GS1200, I know I would have found it a bit of a handful through Mongolia.) – but I hadn’t fallen in love with the Tenere – it somehow lacked ‘character’ or ‘soul’ . I wouldn’t be rushing home and trading in my GS – except maybe for an 800GS – Dave seemed to have a great time on his.

All too soon it was time to head for the airport and the flight home via Moscow and Copenhagen. Final ‘Goodbyes’ were said to the remaining few and heartfelt wishes of ‘Good Luck (…you’re going to need it!!) bestowed on the intrepid Team Magadan boys.

All that remains for me to say is a huge ‘Thank You’ to everyone. Thanks to all us riders – what a fantastic group of people, what a fantastic time we had – I hope to be able to ride with many of you in the future. Thanks to Tony for keeping us rolling, thanks to Niall for his leadership, patience, tact and diplomacy, thanks to Mad Mike (‘Team America – fuck yeah!!’) and………despite everything……thanks to Jeff and Kudu (‘cos without him we wouldn’t have met and we wouldn’t have been in Mongolia)

Many months have passed since the end of the trip (it has taken far longer to write it up than ride it!). My wanderlust has not been cured – the list of countries to visit just seems to grow day by day – I spend much of my time at work planning/researching possible routes and have already had offers to go to Australia, Southern Africa, the Scottish Isles – I will certainly have no trouble knowing what to do when I win the lottery.

So the answer to your question: ‘Would I do it again?’

‘ABSO-BLOODY-LUTELY!‘ – but not with a large organised group – find a few friends, advertise on travellers/bikers forums or go on your own – but whatever you do – JUST DO IT!

Portrait of the artist as an old dog

portrait of the artist as a helmet troll

Portrait of the artist as a sausage, egg and tomato

Faces of Mongolia

This gallery contains 18 photos.

Riding all the the way to Ulaanbataar my body sweats and my a*** is sore…

Subtle allusion in the title for those of you have read the ‘Why?’ section and they will also get the slight twist on the wording – and you thought this thing was just thrown together!

There was a slightly strange mood as we packed up this morning. We would be hitting UB today (unless the roads suddenly deteriorated – which was always possible), so there was some relief amongst those that had flights booked, a sense of achievement that we had ‘made it through the wilderness’, a sense of anticipation that we would soon be able to have a shower and a sense of sadness that it would soon all be over.

Maybe lurking in me somewhere was a small sense of relief as well – it had been physically hard. The riding itself hadn’t been particularly hard, but the long days combined with a few bruising falls and sleepless nights had definitely had a cumulative effect. Since Kazakhstan it seemed that there had always been a sense of needing to press on to keep up with ‘the schedule’. Anyway, now we were nearly done.

Before we set off on the final leg, we posed for a ‘team’ photo; perhaps the last opportunity to get everyone together in the same place at the same time.

Not looking too bad considering! Just missing Sam...oh and Jeff...

The full team complete with Sam and Ross and Jeff...amazing what you can do with Photoshop...courtesy of Ian!

 

...or another version from Jake..with high flying Mike...Team America...F**k yeah!!!

The tarmac continued pretty much all the way to UB and it was a time to take in as much as possible of the changing scenery – much easier when you aren’t having to concentrate 100% on the riding. Still needed to be aware of wandering livestock though!

Caution hores crossing

Caution cows crossing

Beware, Yaks watching

Beware Steph sleeping

Around midday we actually hit some dual carriageway!

UB is away in the distant haze - just follow the pylons!

Finally we arrived at the gateway to Ulaanbataar.

Gateway to UB - the toll booth

So, after sweeping down the hill on superb dual carriageway, you hit the toll both at the entrance to UB. Pay the small fee, pass through the gate and the tarmac ends! Return to massive pot-holes and dirt and diversions.

Riding into UB

It was a shock to the system having to deal with traffic again! UB was such a contrast to the surrounding countryside. Through the gate and into a city, much like any other; scruffy, dirty, busy, noisy. UB was obviously a growing city – much on-going building work and some hi-tech new buildings among low-rise shops and apartment blocks.

We were heading to the Oasis guest house which was on the other side of town.  As we approached the edge of the centre of town, the road just ended; blocked by barriers. There was no sign or any indication for a diversion. We could see the road we wanted carried on, so we ignored the barricade, manoeuvered our way round it and carried on. We didn’t get too far before the road was completely blocked by excavations and building work so we had to turn round.

All the other traffic arriving at the barricade was following the road round to the left, so we thought maybe we could go that way (which was basically heading back out of town) and maybe cut through to join a road running parallel to the one we wanted. After half a mile or so with no suitable turn we gave up and returned to the barrier for much consultation of satnavs and maps.

There was a train track running parallel to the road, in the direction we wanted, with a dirt track running down the side of it. We saw a car emerging from this direction so thought we would give it a go. We set off down the track trying to avoid pedestrians and dogs – none of whom looked that surprised to see us. The problem was we could see quite a way in to the distance and there didn’t appear any way to cross over the tracks and through the buildings back to the road we wanted to be on. Then we came across Gavin.

There are times when you really wish you had a photograph. Unfortunately my camera had finally succumbed to the Mongolian dust and refused to work. Gavin had stopped at the base of some steep, narrow steps that led up to a pedestrian footbridge over the railway line. Having been through the same loop as us, he was now totally frustrated and was lining himself up to attack the bridge. It was about 10 steps up to the bridge and then there was a kind of metal door frame to get through on to the main part of the bridge, that looked very narrow – it wouldn’t fit two people through without them them turning sideways. The locals had worked out what Gavin was thinking and were shouting encouragement at him. He gunned the engine and set off. Up the steps, no problem – however, because of the steepness of the steps and the fact that he had to stop at the ‘door frame’ because it was just about too narrow for the bars, he grounded the bike on the bashplate as he reached the top. He was stuck in a fairly precarious position, balanced at the top of the steps and it took the assistance of several locals to manhandle the bike free and allow him to continue on his way, to the cheers of the locals and us!

Jason and Warwick were all for following, but Steph and I could see it all going horribly and painfully wrong and we voted to go back and try and find another way round. Back at the barrier, the only option appeared to be to follow the rest of the traffic. We carried on, past the point where we had precviously turned back, and on, and on. It just seemed that we were heading miles in the wrong direction. We tried a few dead end right turns to no avail until eventually there was a major right turn and we could see the road taking a huge loop up the hill and then right and  hopefullyt back towards the city centre. We were now going through what looked like the ‘old’ part of town. All ramshackle, dity and noisy, with the streets not designed to cope with the traffic, pedestrians who obviously believed they had their God with them, horns, dust, frustrated drivers – I loved it! Despatch rider head on – weaving and bullying my way through the traffic – almost in some heightened plane of awareness – memories of riding in India. I always enjoy riding in the back streets of cities, there’s just far more ‘life’, far more to see. For the same reasons, I enjoy arriving by train in big cities, you get to see the bits that the architects and planners and city PR men don’t want you to see – to steal a phrase from Iggy Pop’s, The Passenger – the city’s ‘ripped backside‘. No real idea of where we were headed, just a vague notion that we needed to keep heading to the right and down the hill, back into the city.

About an hour later, as I circled the roundabout I spotted the Oasis. We pulled off down the track and rode through the gates into what was indeed an oasis, in the middle of the city.

I ‘parked’ the bike in a bush in the corner and we all hugged and shook hands – we’d made it! Gavin was there having battled through town and we were almost immediately followed in by Sean. I checked the speedo on the bike:

12237km....it had 1km on it when I collected the bike in Swanage...maybe it's due a service now? It had certainly earned one

….And what a fantatic reception…a massive spread of food and cold beer!

We all dived in!

The Oasis Cafe is a must-stop place for anyone travelling through Mongolia. It is a great meeting place for fellow travellers by bike or car. Rene and Sybille are amazingly friendly and helpful and a huge source of useful information – if they don’t know they will find out for you. There is accomodation in Gers or rooms and hot showers, laundry, barbers, cafe – everything a man or woman could want (well almost everything…) after many days crossing Mongolia. Check it out – Oasis Cafe and Guesthouse

We spent the afternoon drinking and eating, hugging and back-slapping as the rest of the Kudu Krew arrived in dribs and drabs. For most of us it was the end of the line but for some it was only just over half way…

Psssst….wanna buy a used inner tube? Very good, very cheeep.

Wake as it gets light, untangle myself from sleeping bag liner (ripping it more in the process), peer out of the tent and see if it really is time to get up. Roll around in the confines of the very small one-man tent and drag smelly, dusty riding gear on and emerge blinking into the sunlight to face another day.

I wrote that on the third day into Kazakhstan. The morning ritual was still pretty much the same – except the riding gear was now much smellier and much dustier. In fact, the old kit was feeling the strain a bit. The main zip on the jacket had given up somewhere in Kazahstan and the flies had gone a couple of days ago, along with the popper that fastened the trousers (I was actually losing weight on the slurry curry and snickers diet, so no comments containing ‘fat’ or ‘bastard’ from the back row please) – attempts at repair with safety pins and zip ties had proved largely ineffectual, so I was, shall we say, ‘open to the elements’.

The body was not doing too much better. Yesterday I had my biggest fall. Not quite sure whether it was by design or my mistake, but I found myself riding completely off the track – normally this wasn’t a problem as it was often hard to tell the difference between the track and the surrounding countryside. So I just kept blatting along with a view to re-joining the track a little further on. The only problem was I seemed to have wandered into some sort of ancient minefield, full of small craters that had now been covered with sparse vegetation and were therefore hard to see. I hit the first one pretty hard and launched the front wheel as I came out of it. As I hadn’t been ready for it, this threw me backwards – in trying to hang on I opened the throttle even more. I picked up speed through the second and third craters and somehow hung on as I launched out of the third crater and nosedived into the far lip of the fourth crater. The bike stopped…dead…I carried on…and then stopped…not quite dead! I landed on the floor and lay there laughing. I had already replayed the video in my head and I knew just how funny it must have looked. I can’t just remember who stopped to pick me up and dust me down – but he was laughing too!

The only unfunny bit (well i didn’t find it funny – probably you, dear reader, with your warped sense of humour and lack of regard for other’s suffering would have found it highly amusing) was, that as I parted company with the bike I had caught the handlebars with my left thigh and given myself a real good dead leg. As I woke that morning, I felt as though I had been give a right good kicking.

The alarm had gone off at 05.15 – aiming again for setting off at 07.00 – I could hear people up and about outside, but there was plenty of time for another 10 minutes – it felt bloody cold out there as well. When I did finally drag myself out of the pit and stuck my head out, I was quite surprised to see that many tents were already down and people were strapping stuff on to their bikes. Apparently we had crossed into another time zone and lost another hour, so it was now 06.45. Oh well…Snickers and Coke for breakfast at the first stop then.

The better road meant that we made good progress. At times the scenery was almost ‘European’ with rolling hills and trees.

Not quite tarmac , but a proper made up road

We were making good progress. John even managed time for another quick dip.

Quick everyone...make a break for it...John's getting his kit off again!

A little further on we came across this quite unexpected Canyon (Tariat gorge – about 100km short of Tsetserleg). It was pretty much hidden from the road, but there was a sort of parking area, so we stopped for a break and a swig of water and ‘discovered’ the canyon. One by one most of us pulled up. We were just about to leave when Tony noticed he had picked up a puncture – so we all adjourned for lunch while he changed his tyre.

Aye lad tha's reet...'tis a grand canyon

After a relatively relaxed break we motored on to Tsetserleg on mainly well graded roads. The only downside of graded roads is that sections can become heavily corrugated and shake body and machine to bits. There were also sections where the new road was closed off and we were diverted back onto rough tracks (à la Kazakhstan). We managed to ride round or over several of the earth mounds barring our way. The mounds often stood around four or five feet high and were quite steep sided. The technique was to try and hit them with reasonable speed and then come off the throttle straight away, so that you almost stopped on the crest  and then coasted down the other side.

Perhaps I overdid the speed a little, I thought, as the front wheel soared into the air… it crashed back to earth all too quickly and after a token attempt at staying upright I was once again on the deck. It was becoming such a common occurence these days that it warranted little interest from the others – what did instill a little urgency in me as I jumped up up was the sound of another bike fast approaching the other side of the mound – they couldn’t see over, so weren’t aware that I was lying there in the ‘landing zone’ – if I didn’t get a move on  it could all end up like some really bad ‘You’ve Been Framed’ clip.

Evel Steph Knievel took a very similar approach to me and the end result was pretty much the same. She landed short of me but veered off to the left and ended up down the quite steep banking. Fortunately there was no major damage to flesh or machine – just a few more bruises to add to the ever-growing tally.

A little further on we hit our first stretch of pristine tarmac – YEEEHAAA!!!!! We cracked the throttle open and went for it. The Tenere is not exactly a sports machine, but after days of travelling at around 50kph or less it felt quick enough! After hooning down the road with the throttle nailed to the stop. I eased back to a cruising speed around 110kph and then….WHOA! WHAT’S HAPPENING HERE!!!! The bike veered off to the left and then to the right and the steering felt like it had been replaced by a rudder operating in a sea of black treacle.

I ran through the options in my head (How come in circumstances like this, your brain can run through a multitude of options and answers in a millisecond but when faced with a simple question like ‘what do you want for tea?’ or ‘where did you leave the car keys?’ your brain just turns into some sort of sawdust mixed with jelly?).

The options I came up with were:

1. Ice…Unlikely, given that it was about 35 degrees.
2. Oil/Disel…possible, although unlikely given that the road was brands new and had no trucks on it
3. Weird non-grip Mongolian tarmac – now, I know Mongolians don’t have much experience with tarmac, but surely even they wouldn’t think that was a great idea.
4. Catastrophic bike failure – frame snapped in two or swing arm snapped – possible – hard to determine at this precise moment.
5. Puncture – ahhhh yes – this seems most likely.

OK, probable problem identified – now what? – whatever you do don’t touch the f****ing brake!

I became slightly transfixed looking the black tarmac speeding by under my left boot as I veered from side to side. My only thought was that I would soon be in contact with it and it was going to hurt.  Like some mad kind of sailship tacking into the wind, I yawed to the left and to the right, slowly, slowly scrubbing off speed, still convinced that any second I would be falling off. Somehow I stayed on and coasted to a stop. The front tyre was completely flat.

Just before the puncture

With some assistance, I got the tyre off and examined the inner tube. There were no obvious nails or puncture marks, just a huge rip down one of the seams. I can only think that perhaps the tube had been damaged from all the pounding on the off-road sections and as I increased speed on the tarmac the extra heat had finally caused it to let go. Slightly ironic that I had managed thousands of miles on poor quality tarmac, loose gravel and sand and finally had a puncture on the best tarmac I had seen since leaving Germany.

Signs of civilisation!

We stopped in Tsetserleg for fuel and provisions. It was the largest town we had come across since leaving Olgiy and we found the supermarket well stocked with crisps, chocolate, vodka and beer – all the essentials! Tonight would be our last night camping before we hit UB, so it would be rude not to drink a toast or two.

We cracked on out of Tsetserleg for around another 50km before setting up camp for the night. It was now pretty certain that we should be able to hit Ulaanbataar tomorrow. The roads seemed to be improving as we approached UB, so barring nay disasters or unforeseen hold-ups, it was looking as though Jeff’s prediction would be right and we would arrive in UB on schedule.

Setting up final camp

searching for the best spot

We feasted well(ish). Spirits were high, we felt as though we had made it through the wilderness, although the sense of achievement was tinged with a sense of sorrow at the imminent end of the trip. There was a great sense of camaraderie within the group as we sat around the fire. We had been through a lot together. Whether it was the adversity and bad times that had pulled us together as a group, or the fact that we all just got on with each other any way, I don’t know. I do know that it felt as though some real lasting friendships had been formed. Either that or I’d had too much vodka mixed with red wine! Peace and goodwill to all men! I must admit I did have a bit of difficulty finding my tent in the dark.

2 Snickers, a can of Coke and a quarter of midget gems please

Jeff went for Sunday around 17.00 – his was the earliest estimate, mind you he had to go for Sunday really as that was the day we had always been scheduled to arrive. Other guesstimates ranged from late Sunday through to midday on Wednesday! Several people had flights booked out of Ulaanbaatar for early Monday morning, so along with our glorious leader there were a number of us who really had a real interest in reaching UB on Sunday. Not wishing to sound at all smug, but I had booked my flight home from UB on the Wednesday. I had allowed one day for delays and one day for sight seeing in UB. All we could do was keep riding and arrive when we arrived.

07.00 and we were off again from our camp.

Just a little sample of the riding. Getting cocky now, shot this while riding one-handed – that’s why it is only a short clip – soon realised I was likely to regret it if I carried on much longer.

Approaching Tosontsengel....I think!

We had camped somewhere short of Tosontsengel (right on the left hand edge of the map above – it was tricky being that close to the edge, but sleeping on the edge held no fears for me after sharing a bed for many years with a duvet-snatching, arm-spreading wife and anything up to 3 cats).

Gerry comes a cropper. Doesn't look much of a ditch in the pic, but it was a sneaky one and soft sand on landing

Many of us had had a number of falls by now and certainly I was a bit battered and bruised, and the early starts and late finishes combined with little sleep were taking their toll (I am a light sleeper at the best of times, so camping in a flappy tent surrounded by snorers, farters and people that go pee in the night – I include myself in all categories bar snoring – is never going to the best recipe for a good nights kip).  The dramatic scenery, and tricky riding conditions were enough to keep anyone awake whilst riding, but it was becoming noticeable that at each waypoint stop there was nearly always someone flaked out trying to grab a few minutes shuteye (usually me). There were certainly times when I found concentration wavering – it was around this point that I usually fell off.

Dreaming of distant snow-capped mountains...

Waypoint stop. No-one's asleep yet

This picture probably sums up Mongolia for me better than any other (thanks Jake). Fantastic scenery, fantastic riding and fantastic people. I think this was actually from the day before as it shows me and Ross gliding effortlessly acros the landscape.

Riding the serpent

The picture above shows the start of a section of downhill track (much steeper in real life than it looks, honest). I was leading our little sub-group as we started off down it and was trying to pick the route with the least sand. Inevitably, I picked the one with the deepest sand. The received wisdom of riding in sand is to open the throttle to try and gain some grip with the rear wheel and straighten the bike up. This can be somewhat disconcerting down a steep sandy hill when you’re brain is just telling you to slow down not speed up. Somehow I hung on to the bucking, weaving bike and made it to the bottom of the slope – I certainly gained no points for style, my feet and legs had been flailing about all over the place, only occasionally making contact with the pegs. This sand stuff just doesn’t get any easier.

Over the past few days our little group of Jason, Steph, Warwick, Ian and I had pretty much stayed together. Ian often disappeared off into the distance – it was just easier for him at times on the big KTM to go faster, the momentum carrying him through the trickier sand sections. Occasionally Jason just had to go for a ‘blast’ and Warwick was just getting quicker and quicker as he really took to the off-road stuff. I think by this point he was probably the only one of the whole group who hadn’t come off.

I tended to trundle along at the back of the group. Being at the back had advantages and disadvantages. No-one to see you fall off – but no-one to help you pick the bike up. It usually took Steph and Jason a few minutes to realise that I had gone AWOL, so theoretically, I could be back on the bike by the time they had spun around and just pretend I had stopped for a photo or a pee. I say theoretically, because obviously I never actually had to do it…

Good job Ian did get up front, so he could take pictures like this

For the past few days we had been riding through some of the most deserted wilderness you could imagine It was not unusual to ride for many hours without seeing another person or vehicle. The valley floors were dotted with the occasional ger camp and every so often we would pass unstable looking lorries overloaded with yak skins or chinese made motorcycles with Father and son or wife aboard (or all three + baby). There was the odd small village which usually had a shop/cafe and, more often than not a mobile phone shop. The mobile phone signal was pretty good through most of Mongolia – nearly every small settlement had a mobile phone mast. Indeed, many of the Aussies complained that reception was far better than they got back home. I guess it is much cheaper for a country to develop a mobile phone network than invest in all the infrastructure required for ‘landlines’.

2 snickers, a can of Coke and a quarter of midget gems please

Mongolians must have a very sweet tooth – the shops would all have a huge array of sweets – usually displayed in the glass topped counter – together with chocolate bars and crisps and cans of Coke and Seven-Up etc. It was somewhat disappointing to find that the ubiquitous western brands were indeed ubiquitous and had a significant prescence even in the outer reaches of Outer Mongolia – but they weren’t half a welcome supplement to Kit-e-Kat Kurry.

As we headed Eastwards settlements began to get larger and there were more signs of development. Late in the afternoon, we began to hit sections of graded road, not tarmac, but the road was built up above the surrounding countryside and the surface was a little less potholed, just rutted instead! It was nice to get out of third gear although a little sad, because it brought home the fact that we were actually getting closer to UB and the end of the trip. The landscape was becoming less ‘desertlike’ and there were actually a few trees and herds of livestock grazing.

Almost Alpine scenery

All the girls want a photo with Steph

Late in the day we pulled over to wait for the trucks outside a small farmhouse. Within minutes the whole family was out to take a look. Soon dad arrived on horseback and then a few minutes later all manner of people arrived on motorbikes and soon there was quite a party! I passed out a few balloons and pencils to the kids

Dad keeps an eye on proceedings

and that really seemed to break the ice. Before long they were all clamouring to have their photograph taken – all except dad who stayed on the edge – just a little wary of these strange alien invaders.

All too soon the trucks arrived and we had to press on. We needed to find a camp site for the night and decided to keep going for another 30 minutes or so and then try and make camp.

Darkness was closing in as we crested the next pass - but note quality of road

We dropped down and started searching for a camp site. Our luck was in as we found what was the best camp site of the trip. We chucked the tents up and set out on the quest for wood for the fire.

it's great camping by a running stream - until you wake in the middle of the night desperate for a pee

Once again we ate in the dark, which was an advantage for many in not being able to see properly what they were eating. Unfortunately I had been involved in the preparation so I knew exactly what had gone into it. Never mind, after a few beers, a slug of wine and some of Chiggis’s finest vodka all seemed well with the world. We were still pretty high (altitude wise) and it soon got very cold.

If we managed another full day of good progress, it was now seeming just about feasible that we might hit UB on Sunday.

Giant steps are what you take walking on the moon

Basically there are two most commonly used routes from the western border crossing at Tsagaanuur to Ulaanbaatar – the northern route via Ulaangom and Moron ( ) and the southern route via Khovd, Altai and Bayankhongor. We weren’t going to use either of these, we would forge our way by a more central route which would be much quieter in terms of traffic (not that  any of the routes is exactly busy!) and more ‘interesting’ roads.

From the Russian border through Olgiy and onwards - our route is the thick blue line not the purple wiggly one - that's the border stupid.

Now Mongolia doesn’t have much in the way of tarmac,

total: 49,249 km

paved: 3,015 km

unpaved: 46,234 km (2010)

(source CIA website – and those boys know what they’re talking about – US foreign policy decisions can only be as good as the information upon which they are based – say no more)

Roads are predominantly dirt, sand and/or gravel. So those lines on the map that to you and me signify ‘roads’ are pretty meaningless. Even the ‘major’ routes shown by thick red lines that you are probably thinking of as equivalent to a good quality ‘A’ road (UK) or even a dual carriageway…..oh no…think more like the worst road you have ever driven on in the UK…or the sort of road that people with old Land Rovers, with exhausts pointing skywards and unfeasibly wide tyres, actively seek out every weekend in their quest to push vehicle and driver to its limits (and if they’re lucky, annoy a few ramblers on the way). In fact, erase completely from your head any western bourgeois concept you may have of ‘road’ – think more like ‘sandy track’ and you are beginning to get close to what the red lines signify on the map. In fact, erase ‘sandy track’ from your mind and replace with ‘sandy tracks‘ – that single red line on the map, is, on the ground a bewildering number of criss-crossing tracks where vehicles have meandered across the landscape, avoiding each other, (mostly), craters, small lakes, wandering yaks, ditches, large boulders, etc. You pays yer money and you takes yer choice, pick one that is heading vaguely in the direction you want to go and keep checking that you haven’t veered off line and it’s taking you into the wrong valley.

With Sam’s accident and the river crossing, we hadn’t managed to cover many miles on the previous day, so another early start was scheduled. It was now Thursday and we were supposed to be arriving in UB on Sunday – about 1500km away as the crow flies (and crows don’t get to fly very straight in Mongolia, they have to keep dodging the eagles).

If there is no road it doesn't really matter what route you take as we leave camp

We passed through another small village called Olgiy, (which had us worried we were riding around in circles for a few moments) and then we came over a small rise and had a fantastic view down to the shores of an amazing blue lake (Hyargas Nuur for those fluent in Mongolian – from looking at the map and using my amazing powers of deduction and logic I have worked out that ‘nuur’ means lake; either that or Mongolians are very unimaginative when naming their lakes)

How much better can it get?

It was shortly after I took this shot that I had my first fall (I’m not counting silly, stationary drops outside hotels in Russia). After getting through yesterday, in the rain and the mud and crossing rivers, without falling, I was obviously now a fully-fledged off-road super-hero and was contemplating entry into next year’s Dakar and giving Simon Pavey a run for his money. However, even super-heroes need to keep their concentration up. I blame being distracted by the view, one second, there I was happily trundling down the track dreaming of …(I can’t remember exactly what I was dreaming of, but it probably involved nothing more exciting than a good night’s sleep and a decent meal) and the next I was on the floor spitting sand and trying to wrestle the bike upright before anyone else noticed. I had just let the front wheel drift off the main track into the softer ‘lip’ of sand that builds up at the edge, got a ‘bit of a wobble-on’ and pitched off. Luckily it was a pretty soft landing and there was no damage to the bike, bar a bent brake lever and a sky facing wing mirror.

Showing better form - shiny side up!

The lake was absolutely stunning – The picture below of Mark, shows just how beautiful it was and also sums up the effect it had on me, and I think all of us, as one by one, we pulled up and just gazed out. My thoughts were taken by the hand and led slowly away to a far-off magical place.

We rode around the north side of the lake and were treated to many breath-taking views. Despite all this water, the land around the lake was particularly dry, dusty and moon-like (not that I’ve ever visited the moon – but I’ve seen pictures).

We pressed on, making good progress on relatively easy terrain. We would ride for around 25km and then stop to allow the trucks to catch up. The system was working marginally better than it had through Europe as the speed we were travelling at was now much slower, but it was still a source of much frustration to have to keep stopping so often (especially to the more competent off-road riders…mentioning no names, Bruce). Obviously, it was important that there was some control of the group. Maybe some didn’t appreciate that if someone had a problem and the support vehicle had to stop to assist, then, if the front runners didn’t stop, the whole group could end up spread over many, many miles. What would happen then if one of the front group had a problem and needed assistance? So we hopped from waypoint to waypoint.

Jake putting on the style

The geography of Mongolia is varied, with the Gobi Desert to the south and with cold and mountainous regions to the north and west. Much of Mongolia consists of steppes. The name “Gobi” is a Mongol term for a desert steppe, which usually refers to a category of arid rangeland with insufficient vegetation to support marmots but with enough to support camels. There is very little arable land, approximately 30% of the population are nomadic or semi-nomadic and herd sheep, goats, horses and bactrian camels. (Wikipedia) – Given that we were riding through the ‘cold and mountainous’ region, where even camels would have a hard time, there wasn’t a whole lot of choice on the menu when it came to food.

Our camp meals had started off pretty well – for our first meal in Kazakhstan our cooking team had prepared a sumptuous feast, with a choice of two main dishes and a dessert. Since hitting Mongolia the standard of cuisine had declined somewhat. This was probably down to two factors: the quality of the ingredients and the enthusiasm of the kitchen team. After a long, long days hot and dusty ride it was a scramble to get the tent set up before it got dark and then get stuck into preparing some food.

We carried supplies of pasta and rice and dried goods and various packets of powdered sauces, the problem was getting hold of fresh meat and vegetables. There had been talk of trying to buy a goat and doing a full blown Mongolian feast (bollocks and all – it would obviously have to be a male goat), but it never happened. We had to make do with tinned meat bought by the support crew along the way. There was a picture of a cow on the front but little else to determine its provenance unless you were fluent in Mongolian (we never saw any Mongolians buying it). In consistency it was somewhere between a coarse pate and cat food (not the tender succulent morsels that cats get offered these days – more like the old minced up scrag ends that your granny used to feed her pussy).

It was amazing how a few simple condiments and a bit of culinary skill could turn such basic ingredients into a steaming plate of … cat food curry. There was no dressing it up really. All I can say is that it was a good job that it was dark by the time we were eating and we were so tired and hungry that we really didn’t care what we shovelled down – especially if it had been preceded by beer and/or vodka!

As you can see, we managed to find another pretty reasonable campsite. It had been a long day. We had left around 07.00 and began setting up camp at 20.00. That night around the fire we started a sweepstake on the time and day we might arrive in UB.

River deep, mountain high…but mostly river deep

I had woken several times during the night to hear rain battering on the ger (much quieter than a tent – but it does still tend to leak in around the bottom a bit), so it was no great surprise to open the door to a damp and misty Mongolian morning. Whilst we were packing up and sorting stuff out before our departure the rain kept coming and going. The river was even higher than last night and I must admit to some slight apprehension at the thought of our riding today. Any apprehension, though, was outweighed with excitement at the prospect of our first full day riding in Mongolia.

Even the low clouds did little to detract from the dramatic mountain scenery as we set off along the muddy track, now with many deep puddles, back to the road and into Olgiy to find fuel. There had been rumours during our time riding through Kazakhstan that there was a shortage of fuel in Mongolia. Russia had cut supplies to Mongolia and the price had risen steeply and rationing had been introduced in some areas. As a border town, Olgiy was well endowed with petrol stations, but not that well-endowed with petrol. After trying three or four stations without luck we had to settle for filling up with 80 Octane fuel. It would be a good test to see how the bikes went on lower grade fuel, as this was probably about as good as it would get until we hit Ulanbataar.

We headed out of town on tarmac, but before long we were onto a dirt track, heading off towards the hills. As we headed up into the hills the track became more gravelly and shalely. I was really beginning to enjoy myself, even though the rain was coming down harder now.

Then, disaster! I came around a corner to see people in the track and a bike on it’s side. Sam had come off. Somehow he had lost control and pitched off to the right of the track and had landed amongst some fairly large boulders. He was obviously a bit shaken and stood by as we hauled the bike out. The truck was right behind us as, we were only a few miles out of town, so Mike the Medic jumped out to assess the damage.

Man down! Poor Sam

Not sure why we're all looking so happy!

At first it seemed that Sam wasn’t too badly injured, but he didn’t really feel that he wanted to carry on riding so he went off to sit in the truck while we had a look at the damage to the bike. Apart from the usual bent levers and stuff it appeared to have landed pretty well, until we got it upright and we realised that the crash bars had pushed in and split the tank – petrol was gushing out. Tony the mechanic set to work on it but it looked as though that bike would be spending the rest of the day on the trailer.

Sam had started to feel a little worse and it was suspected that he may have broken some ribs, so it was decided that one of the support vehicles would drive him back to Olgiy, where there was a small hospital. The rest of us set off to catch up with the leading group to let them know what was happening

Damp, dismal and muddy - hanging about in the rain

We caught them a little way up ahead after an interesting stretch of very slippery mud. After quite a while the truck caught us up. We had some lunch, wandered about and dozed. We realised we could be here for a few hours.

Cheer up it's only a 4 hour wait in the rain

Aliens in an alien landscape

Catching up on the zeds....

At least it had stopped raining by now

I took a little walk along the track and up the hill.

No chance of getting lost here then...

...but maybe some had taken the wrong road. Perhaps a previous Kudu expedition had passed this way.

After about four hours, Jeff caught up with us in the other truck. Sam had broken several ribs and would not be able to complete the trip. There was actually a small airport at Olgiy and he would be flown to Ulanbataar and then back to Canada. In a way, he had been lucky having sustained his injuries so close to Olgiy.

But at least the sun was out....YEEHAAA!!!

The rain, the mud and Sam’s accident and the 4 hour wait should perhaps have conspired to dampen my spirits, but it is hard to express just how great it was to be in the wilds of Mongolia. We were certainly well off the beaten track. During our four hour wait we had only been passed by about three vehicles and a father and son team on a motorbike, who stopped for a quick chat and mutual bike examination (Mongolians always seemed particularly interested in the suspension – perhaps not surprising given the state of the roads).

We set off, now bathed in sunshine. As we came over the ridge and into the next valley we were greeted with a fantastic vista of criss-crossing tracks stretching into the distance across the wide valley floor. The riding was good, the tracks had very quickly dried out and were quite firm, with a sandy, gravelly surface. Good progress could be made but it was important to maintain concentration as the tracks weaved and crossed each other, avoiding deeper craters and muddy sections where vehicles had churned it up.

We soon reached the river.

At first sight it didn't look much - but this was just the minor tributary before the main event

Mark regrets trying to forge his own way across as he gets swept down the river by the force of the current - we only just managed to grab him and drag him in

After Mark’s little foray we decided to take a bit more time to weigh it up. There were a couple of locals on bikes trying to cross and we decided to follow their lead. The river was pretty full and had spread out over quite a wide area, with areas of shallows and gravel banks. The best approach seemed to be to try to zig-zag across using the gravel banks as temporary havens. Niall waded out and forged what looked like a reasonable route. One of the locals revved his bike and set off. To the sound of our cheers of encouragement he made the first bit and then the second section. He paused for a moment and gritted his teeth and set his jaw for final assault on the deepest, fastest flowing section. With a screaming engine and assistance from Niall he plunged into the water and powered across. We had been shown the way.

We stationed ‘spotters’ on each section to assist. Jason was our first man across and he attacked it in typical Jason style – full revs and full voice, shouting and swearing all the way across. One by one we followed. There were remakably few mishaps, and those that took a dunking didn’t get much wetter than those of us that were knee deep in the river assisting progress. The bikes that went down all started straight away and obviously had not taken any water into the engine, which was pretty good as they had been fully immersed with engine running.

Mark crossing - with team assistance this time

My effort

Drip drying

Eventually we were all across.

It had taken another big chunk of the day to get everyone across the river and we were starting to lose the light. We rode a little further looking for a suitable camping spot…and what a spot we found…

What a day! I finished the day exhausted and totally elated. From the morning of rain and Sam’s accident, through sunshine, superb scenery and excellent riding and the drama of the river crossing to a camp in a totally awe-inspiring wilderness. What a day. This was what I came for – and it had lived up to all my dreams and expectations.  All the trials and tribulations of reaching this point seemed petty now. How glad was I, that I hadn’t bailed out in Almtay.

Sorry Jason – just had to include this clip  – courtesy of Big Al: