Chapter 6:
Russia

1/8/10

After nearly 5 months travelling we are finally in Russia.

Crossed the border from Kaz yesterday, we are in Barnaul to get new boots for the bikes tomorrow.

I had my first fall off the bike at speed on a highway, roadworkers had sprayed wet tar on the road without any warning signs and down i went, pannier got hammered again but I was lucky not to break the tank!

I'm fine too.

More by email soon, sms is costing me a fortune!!

Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan ; The Mythical Landscape… 

 It’s been a while indeed, since I last committed my thoughts to the screen. The skin on my fingers is thick and thus stands me in good stead to rip off a belter. Unfortunately, I’m a little thin on material as far as my traditional ‘tales of woe’ are concerned…so, forgive me if there’s a little too much ball scratching in this one, I will try to keep it interesting and informative; perhaps even a little humorous. 

I’m sitting on the balcony of great little hotel we found, in Barnaul, Russia. Yes, you heard right, RUSSIA. (Thanks again to Valentina, who put us on to her friend, Anna, who put us on to her friend, Nick, who took us to the hotel) What was mere fantasy, not so long ago has become reality. When we set off on this journey, our plan was clear; well clearish anyway. It was to take us through Africa, some of Eastern Europe, Central Asia and ultimately to far Eastern Russia and the town of Magadan. As little as six months ago, I had reservations as to whether we’d actually achieve this, and despite still being about 7,000 k’s from Magadan, we’re looking good for a result. 

Before we left, I remembering having a conversation with Michelle, expressing my fears at the enormity of what we’d committed to, and with so many variables to consider, whether we’d actually achieve what we’d set out to. I remember saying… 

“it’s a little unrealistic to think that we can ride through 40,000 k’s of snott, and not suffer some form of personal injury…not to mention the plethora of other shit that could go wrong…” 

I’m not counting my chickens just yet, but so far so good. 

“Eeeer, look at me, I’ve got 10 chickens” (this is one of my best lines) 

“How far will you need to get, to feel satisfied that you’ve achieved something” Miss asked… 

“I suppose that if we cross Africa, and for some reason it all goes to shit, I think that’ll be something” 

Well, guess what? We’re in freakin’ Russia everybody! 

We crossed the border yesterday, and we’re processed by a very beautiful Russian woman who refused to exhibit any emotion whatsoever. She was like a machine, scratching out notes and punching stamps. We like these kind of officials, as it becomes a real challenge to break the cold façade. We start with the random words, which have worked a treat in the few weeks prior, as we struggle to get a basic grasp of the Russian language. 

She passes something through the window, 

“Phajiausta!” one of us says. This means you’re welcome; the correct word is ‘Spaceebah’ which means ‘thank you’. This almost always gets a laugh, as the word is incorrect, our pronunciation is way off and the emphasis is slanted poorly. On this occasion we got nothing, zero; she wasn’t even so courteous as to give us the ‘stoopid tourist’ look. Ok then Lady, we’ll just try harder… 

Another couple of words we drop at random, when we need to break someone’s concentration (usually the Cops or Border Officials) are; Yaitza, which means ‘egg’, (it’s so random it’s funny) and Skolka, which means ‘how many’. These words sound cool, so we like to toss them in whenever we can. Unfortunately they make no sense in the context that they are delivered, so it usually serves to get a laugh or avoid a speeding fine. 

“Gate Pass and Moto Passport!” she stammers through the tiny hole in the plate glass window…. 

Dean says “Yaitza!” and I say “Skolka!” which translates to “Eggs, how many”, literally. If you think it makes absolutely no sense, you’re bang on. In any case it’s a strange response to her initial demands… 

She looks up at us, with one eyebrow raised on her perpetually blank, expressionless face. We smile and blink a little… She picks up a walkie talkie and mutters something in Russian, by which time we’re sniggering, mimicking what she might be saying. 

“Vladimir, I’ve got two smart arsed Aussies here, come chain them to a fence for the rest of the day, then we’ll see who’s funny…” 

She doesn’t seem out rightly annoyed, it just seems as though she’s trying desperately not to succumb to our irresistible, albeit childish humour. She continues with the job at hand, filling in forms and trying her best to ignore us, as we try to read all of the signs on her window, out loud. 

“You smell soup?” I say to Dean. 

“Yeah, smells real good, Borsch I think…” 

So we start sniffing, following our noses around the room, jostling for position; we start sniffing faster, as though we’re obsessed with the location of this yummy Borsch. To and fro, were sniffing, giggling, 'til almost by accident our noses end up in the tiny hole in the plate glass, simultaneously. We butt foreheads, and erupt with laughter. That’s when our spunky little Russian friend loses her grip on the situation, and she too is laughing, hard. 

So the three of us are laughing now, and pretty much everyone else in the long line up for the window is too; we’re slapping each other on the backs and motioning to Lady behind the glass approvingly; she’s wiping Mascara from the base of her eyes at this point, conceding that it was only a matter of time… 

“See, that wasn’t so hard, you should’ve just smiled to start with!” 

Martinello’s One, Rusky Lady None. Good result. 

Satisfied that we’d achieved our usual standard of border antics, we marched into Russia, bought some Manti and Borsch for lunch, and drank a beer for the first time on Russian soil. It felt good. 

Thanks again, to Valentina, Larisa and Oxana who forced us to take some Russian rubbles that they had stashed away. 

“You never know, it’s not much money, but you might need some food or petrol when you cross the border” they insisted. 

We protested to no avail, and in hindsight I’m glad we accepted their offer. It’s a pain in the ass having no local currency the moment you cross a border, so having even 10 bucks, makes life simpler until you get to a major city with cash facilities. 

The country before Russia was Kazakhstan. Almaty is a beautiful and modern city, however beyond that there is not much more than vast expanses of barren land. Crossing Kaz, if nothing else, has afforded me significant time for reflection inside the helmet. 

“Kazakhstan; famous for Oil, The Step, and Borat” 

Dean read, from the ‘Lonely Planet’, as we sat on the shore of the second biggest inland lake in the world, in Kyrgyzstan. I nodded approvingly; I sure as shit know what Oil and Borat are/is, but ‘the step’? 

“The Step is an enormous plain of nothing, found in Kazakhstan” Dean continued, in a tone that smacked of wisdom and knowledge. I’m sure that definition was in the next line of what he was reading though. The Step? As if anyone knows what the freakin’ step is… 

Magically, once again, as we crossed the border into Kaz, it seemed as though the giants had been playing with their sticks again. Such a stark contrast in landscapes we had not yet seen, crazy. This brings me to the original purpose of this post, and although Dean has touched on this in recent updates, I think it’s appropriate to revisit in more detail. Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan; if I could describe these two countries with one word, it would be Yaitza! Unbelievable, fantasy like in some ways… 

We came into Tajikistan with high expectations, as it is home to the world renowned Pamir Highway. There are several possible routes through Taj and at one point we toyed with the idea of doing an enormous loop so as to not miss any of it; alas with time running out we were forced to make a decision and chose as usual, the less travelled route. We entered at a border post near the small town of Panjakent and were immediately struck by a few things. Firstly the border officials; they were brilliant and went to great pains to help us and even gave us some good clues as to where we might lodge on our first night. Much respect. It’s amazing how much information can be shared with a few broken sentences in English and Russian and the now familiar mimes that usually end up in bouncing Kangaroos or snorting Pigs. Odd, you may say, and right you are. 

We were struck by the beauty of its landscape and its people almost immediately, and the kindness of the folks at the Homestay where we slept was truly inspiring. They insisted we share a meal with them and when asked what it would cost they suggested that we pay only if we could afford it, and if so, whatever we thought was reasonable. It’s very humbling to meet strangers that will open their homes for no real commercial gain; it’s as though having us stay is a bit of a treat. Unbeknown to us, this level of hospitality would continue as we steadily tracked our way through Central Asia. 

The route that we chose through Taj, took us from Panjakent through to Khulob, the back way, where we met with the Panj River. From there we followed this majestic stream and the border of Afghanistan for several days. It was a stunning ride; the river always to our right and the mountains of Afghanistan a few hundred metres away. There were waterfalls borne from melting snow, cascading onto the road, amazing mountain passes and cliff faces that disappeared into the menacing river below. 

“One tiny mistake, a car running wide in the opposite direction, a flat front tyre, fuck, anything at all, it’s game over! 

If you survived the several hundred meter fall (highly unlikely) the raging torrent of churning brown water would comprehensively clean up the scraps. Did I mention the complete absence of guard rails…? I guess as in all situations, it’s the adventure that you remember. If it was a fresh tar road, with a shiny new railing, I wouldn’t be writing about this now… 

The road had a bit of everything; from foaming white waterfalls in the mountains face, to the Donkeys scrabbling up the tiny track on the Afghan side, to the occasional destroyed Russian and Afghani Tanks. I stopped a few times to look at the remnants of the once fighting machines, their bellies dismembered, gun turrets torn from the chassis and exploded shells scattered around the wreck at random. The shells appeared not to have been fired, but detonated by the heat of the explosion caused by enemy fire. It was a somber moment for me, as I considered what it would be like to have been a young man, trapped inside this machine as it was engaged upon by an enemy ‘something’. The mind boggles…war?....

We stopped at a Homestay (which is basically just a house, they rent you a room and bedding, and feed you Ooshen and Zaftrac, (Dinner and Breakfast) for about $5 US) where one of the little kids befriended me. After some time I noticed that he had his hands in his pockets, pushing the material of his shorts outwards, away from his ‘thingy’. I didn’t think too much of it, as it’s not uncommon to see a man with his hand down his pants in this part of the world. It’s not for fun; it’s just what they do… 

I started mucking around with this boy; we were throwing small stone at each other’s feet, laughing and carrying on. When I started increasing the size of the stones to pebbles then rocks (just for fun, no intent to hurt. Reminds me of the day Sam and I threw darts into each other’s feet, ‘just for fun’) one of the adults quickly approached, making the now familiar crossed arms gesture, explaining that the boy should be treated with care. Then he took his index fingers and made a cross near his genitals, pulled a sad face and made the ‘snip snip’ mime. 

“Sheet, I’m confused” I’m thinking and the old man can see it. 

Quickly he motions something to the boy and he marches over to me, opens the front of his shorts, and there it is; a freshly shortened winky. 

F U C K M E ! ! ! 

I didn’t know where to look, but he was so proud and the old man was looking concerned at my lack of interest. So I looked, and wowee, there it was; bloodied and blue, a freshly snipped savaloy. Like I said, weird things and me, we’re old mates. I won’t revisit the kind offer I had from old Golden Mouth, with the promise of ‘clean’ intercourse for ‘niet denghi’ ; no money that is. That little ditty is well and truly famous now; in fact I was asked about it on a recent radio interview we did with the ABC. Thanks DEAN. 

The road to Murgab, the central point of the Pamir was equally stunning, and will take words far superior than the ones I have at hand to do it justice. We climbed to peaks that approached 5000 metres above sea level and we actually spent a couple of nights at 4000. The run in saw us both struggling with the thin air, and until that point I think we were both a little skeptical about the notion. We stopped on a peak at 4330 metres to do a ‘video update’ which usually consists of us banging on about where we’ve been and were we're going. On this occasion all that we could do was giggle, for no apparent reason. 

“Gee’s the air pretty thin up here, hey?” 

Raucous Laughter. 

“Yeah, the air’s pretty thin up here, (chuckle) hey? 

…and this went on for about 8 minutes. No story told, just unprompted laughter at nothing in particular. We ended up throwing stones at the camera and with nothing left to say, looked at each other, chuckled some more and agreed to hit the road. 

Just getting the bikes moving at that altitude was a near impossibility and without a doubt, had we been on a Dry Clutch equipped Hypermotard pile of junk, (sorry mate) we’d still be there. I shit you not; it was absolutely merciless clutch abuse in its purest form. I was both embarrassed and ashamed, and the ‘toom has rewarded me for my stoopidity by developing a chain stretching clutch shudder, when cold. I guess this is the advantage of an injected bike, which would run much better under wide range of ambient parameters. 

The other handy thing about Fuel Injection, is that it makes it much easier for the rider and or pillion to accessorise their apparel and stuff. For example, with fuel injection, it makes no difference if you wear a turquoise scarf or royal blue. You can wear whatever colour pants you like and your bum will never look big in them. Carbureted bikes are not so compliant, hence a more careful colour selection is required. Also, they run like SHIT at 4000 metres. No biggie though…   

By the time we reached Murgab, Bro was showing some signs of deterioration, but like the trooper he is, dismissed it as nothing and chugged down some beers with me before hitting the hay. The next morning was not destined to go well. I woke early and dismembered the bikes, to try to improve their performance over the high mountain passes. Without any jetting options available, a small adjustment on the needle and slow air speed screw was all that could be done. This turned out to be enough and in the following days the motors ran better and the clutch was abused less frequently. 

At about 10am Dean surfaced, a little green, but eager to get moving. I won’t go into detail here, as he’s already spent some time on it; I will however reiterate how scary it is to see someone in bad shape, in this part of the world. Terrifying in fact. It makes you feel helpless and stoopid, as there’s not much you can do without proper training. A big thanks to the guys at the Homestay, who went to pick up the Doctor and also to the Doctor and Nurse; who requested a sum total of $3 USD for the drugs and the callout. It’s one of those times when you know, without doubt, that someone’s looking out for us. 

Oh, and did I mention that Dean’s in training to be a 0 to 10 kph stunt rider. I think our Father is channeling him; it was after all one of his favourite pastimes. The speedometer reaches the critical value of ten or less, brain activity stops, motorcycle falls over. Four times in one day actually, nice. 

Next stop, the Computer Generated Landscape that was Kyrgyzstan. As usual, they told us not to go, and as usual, we went. Thank f#%k we did; it was like a fantasy land. In particular the run from Kazarman to Naryn where it was so difficult to ride at any speed, safely, because looking at the mountains was more important than looking at the road. It’s really hard to describe this, as all of the colours seemed to be painted or drawn, or something… There are reds and greens and earthy colours all on the one mountain; the colours a separated so perfectly it seems like they’re cut with a scalpel. Then there are others that look so much like a charcoal sketch; it’s really impressive and as is always the case, the camera does it no justice. If you’ve seen the photos and love them; you’ll have some idea what I mean. To appreciate it fully, this landscape needs to be seen with human eyes. Buy an Adventure Bike, go see it. 

The last few weeks I’ve been thinking of home and work, more than usual. I’ve been thinking about my mate, Bryster, who has undoubtedly derived immeasurable pleasure from the frequent violation I’ve been through, in the form of a man touch. I wouldn’t say that Bryan is homophobic, but I wouldn’t say He’s not either. Usually Bryan is on the receiving end of a man touch at home, only because I know it makes him marginally more uncomfortable than me. So that makes it fun. Lots of fun. I know how you feel now mate, I’ll keep my hands to myself in future… (probably not though) 

Work has been playing on my mind as well; I’m wondering if they’ve scratched my name into the toilet brush and workshop broom. Have they sold my tools and drunk the profits? I can see it now… 

Muzz 

“What tools? Hiccup! Bastard, left us in the lurch, hiccup, what did he expect, hic” 

Laurie 

“Yaeh, sturped old Brastud, wot tools? Ha ha ha, Hic, ha, hic, give me anuthur bear, hic” 

Seriously though, I am looking forward to catching up with Family and Friends and workmates and clients. That romantic notion should last approximately one week. Maybe less… after two weeks I’ll be researching South America…  J

On another note; we were sitting in a net-café in Almaty last week (this post is traditionally all over the shop, is anyone keeping up? The problem is that I think faster than I type, so it becomes disjointed and hard to follow. If I had the time and patience I’d re-write the whole thing, hopefully in some chronological and intelligent order, not likely though) and this guy marches over, shakes my hand and says, 

“Hey, you’re the two guys that crossed the Congo, right?” 

He’s all smiles and thumbs up… 

“Yeah, how did you know?” 

“I read your post on the Hubb, and then took a look at your website. You guys did something really special, and lived to tell the tale, my name is Adam, I did a similar thing in 2005, do you mind if I sit with you?” 

“Hell no, take a seat, finally someone who knows firsthand what it was like, please, sit” 

“Yeah, likewise, I talk to other bikers, they think I talk too much, it can’t have been that bad, they think. First gear for a month, they don’t believe it…” he continued. 

“That’s awesome man, Lubumbashi to Kikwit in first gear; we know exactly what you mean!” 

So we talked to Adam for a few hours; he was a really nice guy and unusually humble despite some pretty amazing overland achievements. So if you’re reading this Adam, it was great to meet you, if you’re ever in Oz, please look us up. 

Well, it’s nearly time; a couple of things before I pull it. 

·        We did a radio interview with the ABC a few days ago that went very well. Aside from being quizzed about a rumored sexual encounter with a prohibitively unattractive, yet ‘clean’ local woman. Thanks to Damian ‘dohnut’ Vears for teeing that up. Hopefully we get some more support for ACRF as a result. 

·        Whilst on the Australian Cancer Research Foundation, donations have topped 4k which is fabby. 5k is a much nicer number though. Hamish reckons were getting 1000 hits a day on the D&M website, so if everyone tips in a buck next time they log on, we’ll be there!  J

·        Big thanks to the Missus, Molly, Laurie and Muzz for keeping the loose ends tidy. It makes a big difference knowing that shit gets done. 

·        Thank you to Steve D, who repaired some cornice that was coming down from the ceiling at my place. Hopefully he’s cleaned my gutters too.  J Cheers Mate. I know you’re always up for a Man Touch, will save up a good one for you. 

·        Ham Samwich to the Izzo, ‘tis superfluous to say that you’re doing a great job for us. Cheers. Thanks again for impersonating me and forging my signature for the IDIOTS at Telstra Corporation of Bumbling Fools. Will you take cash payment when I return, or could I offer you my mate Bryan, for as long as you deem fair? 

·        Liz Bee Anne (her real name) and her gorgeous son, and my Godson, Lee Am to the Izzo (not his real name, it should be though), I miss you guys.  

·        I was going to nut out a list of the people that I miss, but I think that’s asking for a world of pain and guilt for the names I will undoubtedly forget. You guys know who you are, each one of your faces has been in my mind today x x o o N.G.O.C. 

On that note, I shall bid you farewell, and promise not to write again soon. If you’ve made it to the end, I thank you for taking the time. Rest assured it took me 25 times longer to write it than it took you to read it. Nonetheless, cheers. 

Loads of Love 

Donkeeeyyyoooorrrr! 

N.G.O.C. 

P.S. One parting comment; Dean is not amused by my reporting of his recent mishaps and has threatened to make up some crazy story in retaliation. So, if and when he does, rest assured, it didn’t happen. 

 A Retrospective from Kaz.  

We crossed the border into Kaz in a bit of a chaotic scene, not DRC chaos but it was a little crowded. Many people trying to get out of Kyrgyzstan which is not surprising given the recent problems there.

3 mins down the road we stopped for lunch and managed to order with the help of the girls working in the restaurant who knew how to say

“chicken”

“ok”

When we went to leave, they refused any payment saying we were guests in their country and it was their pleasure. Wow.

We arrived in Almaty to find a modern city full of friendly people and spent a few days there while the Mongolian visa came through.

One afternoon we got to talking to a couple of guys in a bar who took it upon themselves to feed us and provide us with beer and vodka because they were so happy to have us in Almaty.

Our Russian is pretty limited, and we have a bad habit of dropping random words to make people laugh, one of which is Yaitzer, which we thought meant egg, but also happens to mean balls!

So while trying to prevent these guys from ordering us any more eggs, I was saying “niet yaitzer” over and over again, and somehow this was interpreted to mean that I have no balls, and am therefore a girl.

I tried to rectify the misunderstanding, but things deteriorated to the point of one of the guys demanding to see my balls, to which I demanded to see his balls, which he was quite happy to show me – IN THE BAR!

In the end I arm-wrestled with him to prove my manhood, and was apologized to profusely afterwards.\

Rereading this it sounds Ridiculous.

We left Almaty and rode into a traffic jam that lasted an hour, arriving in a small town a few hundred km north, and managed to find a small restaurant that served local food. It was here that we met a self proclaimed Kazakh gangster, complete with 2 Russian body guards and a BMW M5.

He originally thought we were American, but on realizing we were Aussie he immediately became our new best friend and once again in Kaz, insisted on paying for our dinner, beers and a bottle of vodka. We were a little bemused by the gangster title, but when a couple of Russian kids came over to say hi, he said a few words which scared the crap out of them and they went running. Odd. Then he wanted to arrange some local prostitutes for us (another theme in Kaz) but we politely declined.

“are you gay” was the response.

Riding across Kaz on the route we took was not terribly interesting from a landscape point of view, a bit like crossing the Nullabore actually. But again it was the people who shone.

Our last night there was spent in a little military town, where we met Artur, a mechanic from Astana, who insisted on paying for dinner and… you guessed it, Vodka and prostitutes.

We declined the girls but to our ultimate demise we took the vodka.

The roads in Kaz were awful, not congo bad, but just crappy bitumen, often broken up and usually potholed badly. On one such road we came up to a section that looked wet, we slowed a little and eventually realized that it had been freshly sprayed with wet tar.

Gooey black slippery tar.

We rode on the verge until it ended and then breathed a sigh of relief and rejoined the road. I was infront and after a little while there was a 90km/hr sign, then a 70, then a 50 for no apparent reason. With a visor full of bugs it was a little difficult to see well, so I slowed a little and looked closely at the road for signs of more tar. Normally I’d drag a foot on the ground to test the grip but the toom is so high I can barely reach, so I have taken to using some rear brake to test the grip. If it slows normally the grip is ok, if it drags the wheel we have a problem.

I may need to reassess my method here, as on this occasion without warning the rear locked, and it was so slippery that even when I released the brake it didn’t fire again, it just dragged the rear wheel.

Locking the rear tyre at about 90km/hr never ends well, and pretty soon the bike was not pointing in the right direction, and then it went skidding down the road on its side.

All I could think of was “no no no not the tank!! We’ve made it all the way here from Africa and now I’ve smashed the tank!!” it skidded to a stop making that awful grinding noise that reminded me of my race track days, and as I got up to run over and pick it up I promptly slipped over again on the tar!

Paul was a way back, so I had to hail a passing car to help me pick it up, the driver of which was only wearing underpants – very strange to be lifting a big orange motorcycle in Kazakhstan with the help of an obese Russian in his undies! For the first time I thought of Borat!

Luckily the pannier took most of the hit, so it was just some gravel rash on the pannier and tank, and a broken clutch lever, and thankfully I was wearing my jacket which did it’s job well. So off we went again.

The main highway from Georgievka to Semey was once a dual lane highway, but is now reduced to one lane that both directions use, sometimes in the left lane and sometimes the right lane. In some places there was less bitumen than potholes. Incredible to see such decay in an otherwise relatively prosperous country.

 Exiting kaz was pretty straightforward, we’re really enjoying these border crossings and it’s a little sad to think that it was our third last one. The final entry into Russia is going to need something pretty special, maybe I’ll do it in my underwear!

 8/8/2010

 230km offroad today across the Mongolian mountains.

Amazing!

We are in Hovd, trying to get to Altai tomowwow.

Lots of eagles and horses, very beautiful.

Xo

6-8-10

Sitting in a homestay just after dinner. It’s the usual act of a local family approaching us (chasing us down in a Lada!) when we lob into a small town and ask us if we need lodging, in this case the Father (Murat) had an English translation hand written in an exercise book.

It said:

I have very nice lodging, cost $10, but is negotiable. We have restaurant with Kazakh food. We have full facilities including shower and toilet.

The room was actually their daughters bedroom, it had 3 small short beds and a babies cot.

We used to feel bad about dispossessing someone from their bedroom, but no we figure that the $20 we give them must be worth it or they wouldn’t do it, so are more inclined to stay in these places than an old dirty hotel.

But… Dinner was pieces of lamb floating in animal fat, accompanied by one piece of pasta surrounded by meat which still had fur on it.

Murat’s son ate with us, he spat pieces of gristle onto the table as he ate. Murat sat in the corner watching and spitting on the carpets.

There was a drop toilet across the front yard, it had no door or roof. (a drop toilet is a hole in the ground usually a couple of metres deep, but this one was shallow, less than a metre, which is boarded over, with a gap about 10cm wide by 40cm long in the floor. You squat and shit. There is also usually a dirty bottle of water for cleaning, (but we stick to paper)

There was a shower – in town. We were asked to get into the family Lada to drive down there, but didn’t bother.

Breakfast was 2 minute noodles, not like 2 minute noodles, it was actually 2 min noodles.

Usually these places are great but this one was a bit crap.

After dinner Murat sat with us and totally at random offered Paul a condom. We have absolutely no idea why, but as it happened Paul looked up at me with a wounded animal stare and said…

“why does this shit always happen to me?”

Murat then offered it to me.

The next morning over breakfast we were asked if we have families, I responded saying I had a big family with 10 boys, (guys our age without families are considered strange in these parts, the bigger the better!).

Murat was very impressed.

Paul said he had no children because he had a downstairs problem. He then told the guy that I was exceptionally well endowed, he even gave the guy a measurement of about 30cm, and motioned a ridiculous girth with hand signals.

Murat was even more impressed with this and asked me if he could see it, (Paul’s encouragement didn’t help) so he didn’t let up for a long time, and when his wife came in to clear the breakfast plates he recounted the whole story to her, and they both then asked for a look.

I declined.

7-8-10

Our ride today took us to Hovd, it was about 230km off road, mainly good piste, but some river crossings and soft sections too. So far Mongolia looks a bit like Kirgyzstan but without such high mountains.

We were told anecdotally that you know when you’ve arrived in Mongolia because the roads end at the border. I thought this was a bit of an exaggeration but it was actually true!

The Russian road to the border was pretty good, but at the border, at the final check point where they ask for your passport for the 10th time, the bitumen stopped and a rough track began.

Welcome to Mongolia!

It hasn’t been too bad though, the road has been pretty good and we maintain a speed of between 60 and 110 most of the time.

Off road riding certainly does take some energy though, standing on the pegs all day and wrestling with a heavy motorcycle while trying to maintain some speed has left me feeling pretty weary now!

Earlier today I had a moment of zen closely followed by a near death experience, it went something like this…

Bike 36 was loving it, and I wasn’t having a bad time either :), we blast fluidly from corner to corner, spitting gravel from the rear wheel in a continuum, between apexes I switch from the left wheel track to the right on the gravel road we are following, and every time the bike gets a little sideways over the loose stones that form a hump in between each wheel track. My mind wanders for a moment as it has many times on this trip, right back to when I was a 12 year old and my dad let me drive his car on the back roads of York Peninsula.

The roads were all dirt and badly corrugated, with similar ruts in them to these roads, and as I struggled with the 2.5t landcruiser that seemed to have a mind of it’s own, Dad encouraged me and taught me a lesson I have never forgotten, he said, “don’t fight the car, just give it a suggestion of what you want it to do, if it doesn’t react straightaway don’t worry, and don’t keep forcing it, just let it go a little, it will come to you eventually”

A few minutes after this lesson I got to some bumps way too fast and braked hard all the way through them, something the landcruiser really didn’t like, and dad gave me two more lessons, firstly, if you need to brake, get it done before you get to the bumps, and secondly, if you try to drive too fast, dad doesn’t let you drive for the rest of the day!

But now I digress… where was I?? oh yes Mongolia!

So here I was 24 years later in Mongolia, giving gentle suggestions to bike 36, that was wandering around all over the road in a desperate attempt to find somewhere to put 100hp on loose gravel, and letting it do so without worrying too much, thinking about my Dad and how the best lesson he ever taught me was to leave nothing undone in life.

My moment of Zen was short lived however, ended by a rather large rock in the road that I somehow hadn’t seen, which hit the front wheel hard enough to kick the bars almost out of my hands.

OK Stop daydreaming Dean, riding at 130km/hr on gravel takes all ones attention, or at least it takes all my attention!

Why was I doing 130km/hr you may be wondering, I know my mother will be wondering if no one else is, well about 10mins earlier I had stopped for a toilet, when first a Lanscruiser and then Paul went buzzing past.

So I was playing catchup, off in the distance I could see plumes of dust bellowing into the air, one really big one, followed by a smaller but faster one which I figured was Paul. Unbeknownst to me, Paul was also moving at a rate in order to catch and pass the Landcruiser which was trying to pass a truck, so I was only gaining slowly, and was riding near the ends of my comfort levels to do so.

After a few more minutes a little ahead of Paul and the car, I noticed a really big dust cloud, enormous actually, and as I got progressively closer it turned out to be a fuel tanker, drinving across the Mongolian plains at about 110km/hr!

It was like a scene from Mad Max. The fuel tanker bucking and twisting as it hit the bumps in the gravel road that stretched to the horizon, black diesel smoke pouring from both stacks, a grey 4wd in hot pursuit, driving right in the dust haze that it generated, and 2 orange motorcycles gaining quickly on both of them.

There was one main dirt track and about 4 older unused tracks that ran parallel with it each spaced by only a few metres. As I narrowed the gap to Paul I saw an opportunity to veer into one of the old tracks and figured this might be a good chance to get past the 4wd and the truck so off I went into the scrub at about 120km/hr.

The driver of the Landcruiser had similar ideas but he went for the outside track where I was right next to the tanker, and Paul at this point was rueing having missed the exit I took and contending with the dust from the tanker, me and the 4wd - he couldn’t see a thing.

I gas up the 950 but the old road is not great, some big bumps and some turns too, meanwhile the tanker is still accelerating down the main straight track, impossibly it seems to be gaining ground on me. I get a bit of an adrenalin buzz, the type you should try to avoid if you want to make it all the way to Magadan, but nonetheless, there it was, it was now a race and I was loving it!

I stretch the legs of the Toom, 120, 130, 140 and pull level with the tanker, I sneak a sideways glance at it expecting to see a crazed manic driver hanging out the window shaking his fist at me…

He must be doing 120 because I’m only just making ground on him, but this is as fast as I’m willing to go on this little track, that is until I realize my little track and the track the tanker is on are converging, a hundered metres ahead they merge…

Oh dear.

With that realization I really should have buttoned off and peeled in behind Paul, but really… have we met? Instead I dropped a gear and gave it all it had, which for a 950cc dirt bike is quite a lot!

I pulled clear of the tanker at an altoghether ridiculous speed, and as I approached the merger I was looking around for the 4wd and Paul, all clear, ok, so I focus back onto the 2 lanes about to become one.

In all the excitement I hadn’t figured on the merger being anything but billiard table smooth,

“Stimpy!! YOU IDIOT!!!”

My track ended at a slight angle to the main oneand there was a line of gravel about 40cm high that skirted the edge of the main track. I hit this wide eyed and with the throttle wide open, bike 36 got seriously airborne and then more than a little sideways when it landed – right in front of a 50t fuel tanker travelling at 120km/hr!

It landed inbetween both wheel tracks on the really loose gravel, and kicked sideways hard, but with the help of the gravel mound on the other side of the track, (and the very smart engineering folk at KTM), it somehow came back straight and we darted off down the road leaving the tanker blinded by dust, and me more than a little chuffed at not having killed myself.

The road deteriorated shortly after that so I slowed a little and the tanker had to slow a lot, I was sitting up in the seat looking back trying to see where Paul was, a little worried but finally in an almost comedic scene, I saw the headlight of bike 38, it was pointing left then right then left then right as Paul snaked down the road, throttle wide open to get through the dust as fast as possible.

We both laughed about it later that day, I still cant quite believe how fast that tanker was going. Mad Max for sure!

 

9-8-10

Last night we met another guy on a KTM, Barton from the US who shared some great info with us about the road ahead and we decided to join forces for the ride today.

This was all going great for about 5km when Barton was caught out by an off camber marbled left turn which sent him and his 640 adventure skidding down the road. He was a little embarrassed but took it well and with the help of Rob and Elenka (a lovely couple frim the UK we have been continually bumping into since entering Mongolia) we got Barton’s pannier reattached and moving again.

The rest of the day was good riding (except for a flat tyre for Barton), we only covered about 230km because of all the delays but it was fun.

We did a bit of off piste riding into the mountains and across some plains, amazing that the ground is smooth enough to just ride off into and you can actually maintain a decent pace safely.

We have also joined forces with Rob and Elenka so for the next few days we are in a bit of a convoy, 2 KTM 950se’s, a 640 Adventure and an 80 Series Landcruiser, and I must admit it’s kinda nice to have some familiar faces around at the end of each day.



10/8/10

We really had some fun on the bikes today, riding off the tracks and into the mountains of Mongolia, we spent a couple of hours just exploring the mountains, trying to get to the top of one, and then spent the next hour trying to work out how to get back down J

It’s been really nice to travel in a little convoy with Rob and Elenka in the Landcruiser and Barton, Paul and I on the bikes. After so many months on our own its reassuring to have some other people around if something else goes wrong too.

Late in the day I ran into a really deep dip in the road travelling far too fast and bottomed out the rear of bike 36. This resulted in a cracked and broken under-tray (the tyre smashed it), a disintegrated lower shock bushing and a hairline crack in the frame in the same place as Paul’s.

We really feel like we are limping into Ulan Bator now, so having the other guys around is really comforting.

11-8-10

Today was a bit of a balls up.

It started with a hangover from the Vodka consumed last night.

We then left town and followed the GPS onto the wrong track.

Then we took another wrong turn and lost Barton.

I fell off while trying to ford a river (that turned out to be much deeper than expected), up to the headlight no less!

Then I fell off again, again in deep water trying to ford another river, resulting in bike 36 breathing in water, and me getting pretty wet.

So it took 2 hours to get started again, one of the exhausts had filled with water so when we pulled the plugs to clear the cylinder, it just refilled from the exhaust again… this took us a while to work out.

Then the water in the oil started to evaporate, fouling the plugs and it ran on one cylinder for a bit.

Then we stopped and drank beer.

Now I’m about to go to bed, a pretty crappy day all in all, we hoped to cover about 350km but only managed about 120...

We really hope Barton is ok, there are a lot of rivers in this part of the country, and most are pretty deep, so I wouldn’t want to be riding here solo, I guess he will be wondering where we are too, hope to catch him again in the next town 200km away.

Goodnight all xo


13-8-10

writing from a fly infested net cafe about 200km from Ulan Bator. The last few days have been interesting. The riding in Mongolia has been great, even if the scenery has been a little dull compared to central asia.

Barton shared his gps map of the area with Paul and Rob 2 days ago, and we promptly got ourselves lost with it's help, and seperated from Barton in the process. We did however see an enormous group of eagles and vultures as a result so it wasnt so bad.

The track the gps sent us down deteriorated slowly until it was just a couple of overgrown wheel tracks heading in about the right direction, at this point we saw Barton off in the distance headed down what we thought was the wrong way.

We doubled back to find him but again blindly followed the gps to our demise. The road led us to a river crossing where we found 3 polish guys who had camped there the night after filling up their motors with water the previous day. Rob went through first with the Landcruiser and then stood on the other side of the bank motioning to me that it was only about 50cm deep, with the added shout that it got much deeper at the end... thanks Rob.

Unfortunately for me i couldnt hear the shouted warning over the ktm and through my helmet, so undeterred i selected first and headed in. It was a river in 2 parts with a small island in the middle, and as i entered the first part i immediately went a whole lot deeper than i expected but the toom ploughed it's way through without too many problems. I landed on the island pretty pleased with myself, steadied the bike and rode into the next part of water, again i was surprised by the depth but all was going ok until about 3 metres from the bank where the river got a whole lot deeper. The water was coming over the dash and into my face and the current slowed the bike too, i accelerated but because of the altitude, the 80 octane and the current, not much happened for a moment, then i hit a big rock and i knew i was going to fall in. Luckily though at the same time bike 36 cleared it's throat and lunged forward as it went over so it just popped out of the water and landed on the bank on it's side rather like a beached whale.

phew!

following this we took a better look at the river and decided on a better route through it a little to one side, paul took off all his clothes, and rode across in his underwear and sandals! Will send pics soon :)

about 30km down the road we came across another river, and repeated the procedure, Rob first to gauge the depth, which disturbingly this time was a little deeper than the first one. So i took off the panniers and tank bag, and saddled up again to have a crack at it.

The three polish guys were on much lower bikes, they took off absolutely everything and rode across in their underwear, riding the clutch the whole way with both feet on the ground. I thought this was a bit soft, i mean if you're going to ford a river it should really be with both feet on the pegs standing up, none of this sissy sitting down business...

But this one was quite deep... and again i was fouled by a big rock a few metres from the bank but this time didnt manage to get the bike out, so over it went in deep water... I jumped up as fast as i could and picked it up thinking i had been quick enough to stop any water getting in the intake. I hit the starter with a little stab and it turned a little then stopped. Not good. I flicked the starter again and it did nothing. BUGGER!

Paul was now really worried about the depth, but like the trooper he is, saddled up and rode across, taking some cues about the depth from my mistakes and did well to get across without incident.

Now we had a bike with water in the intake, or so we thought. To Rob and Elenka's surprise we stripped the tank and moved the radiator forward in about 3 minutes, got the plugs out and cranked the bike. Water and lots of it. With the water almost cleared the battery died so we enrolled the trusty landcruiser to jumpstart it. This time to our surprise the rear cylinder was again full of water and spat loads of it into the air when we cranked the second time...

Much head scratching later we removed the bung from the exhaust and like magic, a stream of water poured out of it onto the ground. The intake was almost dry, but the water had gone in the exhaust pipe, past the valves and filled the cylinder...

So a couple of hours later bike 36 finally roared into life again, we reloaded and moved off again, briefly...

In the process, some water had also got past the rings into the oil and was now evaporating through the breather into the airbox and pretty soon it was running on one. So we stopped and initially tried a fuel filter (which we have needed to replace regularly on the trip), but no joy. More head scratching and when we saw some milk in the oil we popped off the breather and it went back to 2 cylinders. PHEW!

I rode the next hour quite slowly letting the water evaporate from the oil, and replaced the filter that night.

All this drama meant we were a long way behind where we thought to get that day and we stopped in a small town not even on the map, checked into a 'hotel' and licked our wounds. The hotel turned out to be the only source of vodka in town, so we had a steady stream of drunk Mongols bumping down the corridor all night buying vodka from the patron, nice.

Oh and it rained hard all night. Great!

Next morning we tried to find the road out of town in the right direction but after a few minutes in the bog fest the town had become, we lost patience and decided to double back to the wrong turn we had made the previous day, yes, back over both rivers.

The first one was now running a little faster than the previous day but with the extra experience we both forded it without any problems and headed off for the next one.

All the rain from the previous night had really swollen the second one so when Rob's landcruiser had water up at the bonnet we started looking for an alternative. Closeby there was on old bridge in disrepair but we figured that between the three of us guys we should be able to get the bikes over it. All the planks were missing from the top, but the main bearers placed at about 600mm intervals were still sound. We used a couple of planks and leapfrogged them to provide the toom with somewhere to stand between the bearers and slowly made our way across.

That done we rode the next 300km in the rain along the most badly potholed road we have yet experienced to finally arrive soaked at the town we planned to reach the day before!

As we rode towards a hotel we spied Bartons 640 parked in the driveway and were pumped to see him again! As it turned out he had quite an adventure too, and had only rolled into town at 10pm after a puncture repair in the dark!

So the new team is reunited and today we all decided on a down day to sit out some rain and try to get some gear dry.

Hello to all back home, and a big thankyou to all those who have conributed to the fundraising, big and small, thanks to your kind donations we have now exceeded our target of $5000 so we might even extend it a little :)

Mule over and out.

18-8-10

it's 1am and i'm tired.

The newly formed team is asleep upstairs in Ulan Bator, we're staying in the Oasis guesthouse with another bunch of overlanders.

The ride here was pretty harsh on the machines, about 400km of the most badly potholed road we have seen yet, I'm talking big potholes on a dirt road, big deep potholes filled with water from the recent rains, some were big enough and deep enough for the water to reach the headlight.

The whole day getting here was spent trying to find the least destructive path down the road, usually down one side, but sometimes up the middle, and at other times swerving wildly from side to side riding the edge of one hole and swinging into the opposite edge of the next one. I managed to get a few of these wrong too, and went straight into the middle of some big ones at speed...

This resulted in muddy water being sprayed directly into my helmet, up my legs and down into my boots, and generally all over me so i was soaking wet. Each time I had to pull up because I was momentarily blinded... still it was pretty funny and we maintained a sense of humor at it all the whole way in.

Bevan (otherwise known as Barton) got another flat tyre and then lost an earth wire from the voltage reg on his bike, not the greatest day for the American :)

Approaching UB it was hard to believe that a city could materialise in the seemingly endless plains of Mongoila, but steadily the road improved, and then over a crest there it was, a city of about a million people! UB - Not much high rise but the traffic is chaos, and everything is expensive (i.e. same costs as back home).

We have really embraced the Vodka culture of this part of the world, but I have to admit it's been hurting us a little. The other morning the whole team woke up a little bleary eyed...

Paul was still laying in bed saying ridiculous things like 'that is the last time i am drinking wodka on this trip' when he managed to clonk himself on the forehead with a piece of timber he was trying to hit me with. It drew blood and did nothing for the hangover so in bed he stayed.

Sleep was out of the question, so he just sort of lay there wondering how all this came to be, and for some reason he started to play with the bearers in the top bunk above him. In a scene that could win someone a best comedy grammy, all in unison the bearers from the top bunk fell out and landed on him, he didnt even have time to get his arms up to protect himself so he ended up with a badly split lip, then he just groaned with them resting on him for a bit, before he pushed them onto the floor.

Rob and Helenenenenkenkenkenka (otherwise known as Helena) and I were in tears laughing, I managed to get the camera out and took some shots of the whole scene. will post them soon.

So the new team consists of

Helenenkenkenkenkena, (aka Helena) originally from Poland but now living in London with boyfriend Rob. Helena is great value, we even managed to convince her that whoever picks up the full bottle of vodka from the table first must have the first shot "it's an Australian tradition" after all...

Rob, proud Landcruiser owner, who along with Helenkaka is travelling the same road as us for a bit, and has been kind enough to really help out on a few occasions carrying luggage over rivers for us etc, has also been a good sport about us throwing beer cans at him when he came into our room and told us to be quiet one night.

Bevan (aka Barton), riding a KTM 640 Adventure now with very bent and broken panniers/brackets. Our favourite saying from Bev is "dude that is just not right"

And Paul and I.

We figure we will be together until Baikal lake, where Rob and Helena will head back to London (unless Rob can be convinced to join us for the road of bones - You know you want to come Rob!).

Today while returning from an engineering shop I was driving Robs car (bike is in pieces) and was pulled over by the Mongol traffic police for an illegal left turn. Try to imagine this scene...

The policeman smiles as he waves the other cars past but motions for me to pull over at the checkpoint. I pull over and get out of the car as he starts to talk to me in Mongol... I look at him blankly and say

'English'

He nods in comprehension but then starts talking again. He motions for me to follow him as he walks back to where I made the turn and points to the two white lines, i'm wondering since when it was that anyone in Ulan Bator cared about white lines, but I nod in agreement and make a silent apology. We walk back to the car where another policeman has arrived who says to me

'5000' (this is about AUD$5)

At about this point, Paul who has decided that a $5 bribe is not a situation to be taken seriously, leans out of the window and yells out

'tell him I want a chicken schnitzel... with mushroom sauce, make sure it's a mushroom on the side!'

and Bevan chimes in with

'and i want a plum pudding!'

I'm trying unsuccessfully not to laugh, so instead I start talking very quickly in english explaining that the boys are hungry and we're a bit sick of the Mongol food so a schnitzel and pudding would be lovely if he can arrange it, and then start doing mimes of all sorts of random things ranging from the "chicken laying an egg", to a kangaroo jumping around on the street and I think it finished with the "i'm hungry mime" complete with rubbing the policeman's tummy for a little bit of mantouching to break the ice.

Now it was him who was trying not to laugh, and all he could say was "5000" over an over again.

While all this was going on, Paul had removed all the big money from my wallet leaving an enormous wad of small bills. So i grab my wallet and go back to the policeman and offer him a 50. He says "no no 5000", so i try to give him 500.

he's laughing again and this time he takes a 5000 note from his pocket to show me what he wants, but i feign stupidity and do the "oh thanks is that for me?" mime, and take the 5000 note and give him the 500.

more "no no no" and he takes back his 5000 note.

In the last scene, I take out all the notes from my wallet and start trying to count them - on the road in full view of all, very slowly placing each note in the policeman's hand - one at a time.

There were about 20 notes for a total of about 2500, a total he wasn't very happy with, he gave them back and and kept saying "5000" I showed him my empty wallet and started counting them again, but got lost half way through, so i just put them in his hand again and patted him on the shoulder and did the "i'm glad this will be enough" mime.

I took his smile to mean this was ok, and then even managed to get a picture with him before we left.

I think we will be here for another day or two before heading back into Russia where we have another set of tyres on their way to a city whose name I cant spell, so the tooms will get another set of fresh boots for the last run down the road of bones. Bevan is going the same way as we are on a similar schedule, so we have decided to travel all the way to Magadan together, an extra set of hands will be handy for all the river crossings we are expecting.

very tired now, goodnight all
xoxox.

18-8-10

It's 1am and i'm tired.  The newly formed team is asleep upstairs in Ulan Bator, we're staying in the Oasis guesthouse with another bunch of overlanders. The ride here was pretty harsh on the machines, about 400km of the most badly potholed road we have seen yet, i'm talking big potholes on a dirt road, big deep potholes filled with water from the recent rains, some were big enough and deep enough for the water to reach the headlight.

The whole day getting here was spent trying to find the least destructive path down the road, usually down one side, but sometimes up the middle, and at other times swerving wildly from side to side riding the edge of one hole and swinging into the opposite edge of the next one. I managed to get a few of these wrong too, and went straight into the middle of some big ones at speed..T

This resulted in muddy water being sprayed directly into my helmet, up my legs and down into my boots, and generally all over me so i was soaking wet. Each time i had to pull up because i was momentarily blinded... still it was pretty funny and we maintained a sense of humor at it all the whole way in.

Bevan (otherwise known as Barton) got another flat tyre and then lost an earth wire from the voltage reg on his bike, not the greatest day for the American :)

Approaching UB it was hard to believe that a city could materialise in the seemingly endless plains of mongoila, but steadily the road improved, and then over a crest there it was, a city of about a million people! UB - Not much high rise but the traffic is chaos, and everything is expensive (i.e. same costs as back home).

We have really embraced the Vodka culture of this part of the world, but i have to admit it's been hurting us a little. The other morning the whole team woke up a little bleary eyed...

Paul was still laying in bed saying ridiculous things like 'that is the last time i am drinking wodka on this trip' when he managed to clonk himself on the forehead with a piece of timber he was trying to hit me with. It drew blood and did nothing for the hangover so in bed he stayed.

Sleep was out of the question, so he just sort of lay there wondering how all this came to be, and for some reason he started to play with the bearers in the top bunk above him. In a scene that could win someone a best comedy grammy, all in unison the bearers from the top bunk fell out and landed on him, he didnt even have time to get his arms up to protect himself so he ended up with a badly split lip, then he just groaned with them resting on him for a bit, before he pushed them onto the floor.

Rob and Helenenenenkenkenkenka (otherwise known as Helena) and I were in tears laughing, i managed to get the camera out and took some shots of the whole scene.  Will post them soon.

So the new team consists of:

• Helenenkenkenkenkena, (aka Helena) originally from Poland but now living in London with boyfriend Rob. Helena is great value, we even managed to convince her that whoever picks up the full bottle of vodka from the table first must have the first shot "it's an Australlian tradition" after all...
• Rob, proud Landcruiser owner, who along with Helenkaka is travelling the same road as us for a bit, and has been kind enough to really help out on a few occasions carrying luggage over rivers for us etc, has also been a good sport about us throwing beer cans at him when he came into our room and told us to be quiet one night.
• Bevan (aka Barton), riding a KTM 640 Adventure now with very bent and broken panniers/brackets. Our favourite saying from Bev is "dude that is just not right"

And Paul and I. We figure we will be together until Baikal lake, where Rob and Helena will head back to London (unless Rob can be convinced to join us for the road of bones - You know you want to come Rob!).

Today while returning from an engineering shop I was driving Robs car (bike is in pieces) and was pulled over by the Mongol traffic police for an illegal left turn. Try to imagine this scene...

The policeman smiles as he waves the other cars past but motions for me to pull over at the checkpoint. I pull over and get out of the car as he starts to talk to me in Mongol... i look at him blankly and say

'english'

He nods in comprehension but then starts talking again. He motions for me to follow him as he walks back to where i made the turn and points to the two white lines, i'm wondering since when it was that anyone in Ulan Bator cared about white lines, but i nod in agreement and make a silent apology. We walk back to the car where another policeman has arrived who says to me

'5000' (this is about AUD$5)

At about this point, Paul who has decided that a $5 bribe is not a situation to be taken seriously, leans out of the window and yells out

'Tell him i want a chicken schnitzel... with mushroom sauce, make sure it's a mushroom on the side!'

and Bevan chimes in with

'...and i want a plum pudding!'

I'm trying unsuccessfully not to laugh, so instead i start talking very quickly in english explaining that the boys are hungry and we're a bit sick of the mongol food so a schnitzel and pudding would be lovely if he can arrange it, and then start doing mimes of all sorts of random things ranging from the "chicken laying an egg", to a kangaroo jumping around on the street and i think it finished with the "i'm hungry mime" complete with rubbing the policeman's tummy for a little bit of mantouching to break the ice.

Now it was him who was trying not to laugh, and all he could say was "5000" over and over again.

While all this was going on, Paul had removed all the big money from my wallet leaving an enormous wad of small bills. So i grab my wallet and go back to the policeman and offer him a 50. He says "no no 5000", so i try to give him 500.

he's laughing again and this time he takes a 5000 note from his pocket to show me what he wants, but i feign stupidity and do the "oh thanks is that for me?" mime, and take the 5000 note and give him the 500.

More "no no no" and he takes back his 5000 note.

In the last scene, i take out all the notes from my wallet and start trying to count them - on the road in full view of all, very slowly placing each note in the policeman's hand - one at a time.

There were about 20 notes for a total of about 2500, a total he wasn't very happy with, he gave them back and and kept saying "5000" I showed him my empty wallet and started counting them again, but got lost half way through, so i just put them in his hand again and patted him on the shoulder and did the "i'm glad this will be enough" mime.

I took his smile to mean this was ok, and then even managed to get a picture with him before we left.

I think we will be here for another day or two before heading back into russia where we have another set of tyres on their way to a city whose name i cant spell, so the tooms will get another set of fresh boots for the last run down the road of bones. Bevan is going the same way as we are on a similar schedule, so we have decided to travel all the way to Magadan together, an extra set of hands will be handy for all the river crossings we are expecting.

Very tired now,

goodnight all xoxox.

22-8-10

We’re in Russia again, this time it’s final folks, we are now on the way to Magadan!  Barton has been showing us some pics from Adv Rider of a guy coming the other way down the old road of bones, and I can firmly say that it looks pretty tough, lots of big river crossings, trees fallen over the road in many places, mud and bog, brilliant!

We finally left Ulan Bator on Friday morning amidst many sad farewells at Oasis campsite, we met some really nice people there and hope to see some of them in Australia some time.

I was really hoping for a problem free day after the continual bike issues we had in Mongolia, and to be fair we went close, but Barton’s 640 sprung a coolant leak about half way through the day, luckily it was nothing serious so we were mobile again in 15 mins.

The border crossing from Mongolia to Russia was pretty chaotic to put it mildly.  We arrived at the gates to find a line of cars, not overly long but we were informed by team Rob and a Helenka that the line had not moved for hours.

Seasoned border crossers that we now are, we rode to the head of the line (something motorcyclists worldwide seem to be permitted to do), and waited there.  This didn’t go down well with the guards or other motorists, and when Rob brought the landcruiser forward to wait with us things went a little pear shaped.  The official took Rob’s passport and refused to return it until he moved the car again, much shouting and misunderstanding later they reached a compromise that the car would be shifted to the rear of the front line (there were 2 lines, one inside the border area, and one outside), but the bikes could stay put.

As we were waiting there was a steady stream of trucks and buses being allowed to enter the next part of processing without having lined up at all, so we were starting to wonder if we should slip someone a little something to expedite things, (it was late in the day and the border closed at 8pm on both sides).

Paul and Bev went a had a chat to the guard, and for the first time (possibly ever) the guard didn’t want to know about it, we had to wait and that was that.

So we scratched some mud from our radiators, ate some chocolate and fidgeted for the next 2 hours, gradually getting more and more anxious about making the closing time cutoff.

It felt a bit like being in the line for a club somewhere, as locals and other people in the know filed past us I was starting to think we would be spending the night in Mongolia, but finally we were called forward, and Rob was even ushered to the front of the line with us.

The first part of the process was at the gatehouse, where we provided our passports, temporary vehicle importation permits and registration certificates.  This went smoothly enough, if a little slowly, and we even managed to send some locals back to the rear of the line when they tried to push in.

That done we rode the 100m to the main processing area, and started at Customs where we were told we should have started at the Gatehouse.

“but we have been there already”  we protested.

“no no no” they said and pointed to the gatehouse, motioning a missing stamp on my form, and Paul’s form… and Rob’s form… and Barton’s form.

Ok, so we trundled back to the gatehouse, lined up for a bit and were then told we needed to go to customs…

For crying out loud! 

So this time we dragged the guy from the gatehouse up the hill to customs with us to get it sorted out.  More forms to fill in, more counters to visit, a inspection on the bike, (another trip to the gatehouse for Bevan!), and finally 2 hours later we were through customs.

Onto immigration, where we were told the border to Russia was now closed.  WHAT!?  I though we were in luck though because there was actually a duty free store there which stocked Russian Vodka and Australian Red!!

One litre of Vodka and 2 bottles of red were hastily purchased by Paul while I finished off the immigration rubber stamp process, we loaded up again intending to wander into no-man’s land looking for a nice camping spot.

Rob then came running up and told us that the Russian border post was just a little further up the hill and that it appeared to be still open.  So we took off, forded our final desanitisation bath (a small swimming pool you ride or drive through to supposedly clean the vehicle), and rode into the Russian border post.

More forms to fill in duplicate, more waiting for officials to enter data into a computer, more kangaroo mimes, and people ooohhhing and ahhhing at the map on my pannier showing the route we have followed through Africa and Europe to arrive here, and finally we were allowed to enter Russia once again!

By now it was quite late so we detoured into the first town across the border to find a Gustinitza (hotel) for the night.  This took some time, so by the time we had checked in and found a garage to park the bikes and car in, all the cafés and restaurants had closed.

So it was pasta cooked with the camp stove in our room, accompanied by a couple of bottles of cheap Lindemans wine, nice to get a bit of home even in Siberia!

Later in the evening Bevan and I were chatting after the rest had gone to sleep when a drunk Russian man blundered into our room looking for his bed.  We were a little bemused so just let him figure out that it was the wrong room in his own time, and then said hello when he realized we were there.

He stayed for half an hour and then left returning with another 4 or 5 guys, who turned out to be the helicopter crew of a chopper we had seen landing at the border earlier that day.  I tried unsuccessfully to convince them that they should take us for a ride in the chopper but it was a military unit and they wouldn’t budge.

Quite late in the night one of them returned with a bottle of vodka to share, but it had been a long day already and we needed to ride the next day so I stealthily went to bed leaving bevan to kick them out.

The next morning at I don’t know what time, the pilot let himself back into the room to say goodbye, but Paul who’d been asleep the whole time the previous night, took one look at him and said

“what the hell are you doing in our room?!”

He clearly didn’t understand this, so he just tipped his cap and said goodbye.

As we were loading up the bikes the next morning out front of the hotel, we heard the chopper take off and then it came flying straight towards us, hovered for a moment and then left heading in a completely different direction.  I’d like to think he flew past to say goodbye J

Back in Siberia the scenery changed quite quickly, from the rolling plains of Mongolia to lightly wooded hills with lots of pine trees.  Yesterdays ride was enjoyable, we made about 400km before stopping to camp on the shore of lake Baikal.

The camping spot was nice, albeit spoiled by all the rubbish left by other campers, which made me appreciate that rubbish is something that we just don’t see anymore in Australia since the awareness campaigns in the 80’s.

Today we head to Irkukst where we were supposed to have new tyres ready to be picked up, but in the ongoing drama that has been tyre supply on this trip, the guy who was organizing it has dropped the ball and it now turns out that they “might” be ready for collection at the end of the week.

We’re on a mission to get to Magadan before the snow, so don’t think we will wait until then, instead we’re going to try to find 2 rears to get us as far as Yakukst (even some second handies) and have the set that was supposed to be collected today sent there instead.  Sigh.

Right now I’m sitting on my bike with the computer on the tank bag looking out over lake Baikal, I'm just waiting for the gang to get ready for the days travel, and it's a warm sunny day in Siberia.  Lovely.

It’s 350km to Irkukst, i’ve got a full tank of gas, and a half pack of cigarettes.  

Hit it. 

(The Blues Brothers, c. 1980)

24-8-10

Writing this from the netcafe in the bottom of our hotel in Irkutsk (??), we leave here in 10 mins finally with some bike zen, the tyres that were supposed to be here are now on their way to Yakukst (not sure of spelling??) where we will arrive in about ten days. We had a stroke of luck yesterday when looking for supplies, a local bike shop stocked the full range of motul lubricants so we did a much needed fork service and oil change, but more importantly the Metzeler Karoo rear tyres that disappeared before our eyes in Mongolia...

"i have never seen a tyre wear out that quickly" (Bevan 2010)

... after just 3000km they were completely bald and we rode here on the carcas, but they have now been replaced with some Korean specials which are the wrong size and not for highway use, but we think they will get us as far as Yakutsk.

Not much time to write now but the next stage of the trip should be fun, we plan to board a barge in 2 days that willtake us north in Siberia for 3 days to another track otherwise not accessible from here, then it's a few days to Yakutsk, then the boney road, Yeah Baby!

(we have lots of great pics from the last few weeks, will find some time soon to prepare and upload them)

love to all back home, and thanks again for all the kind donations!

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