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Away From Here: Ireland to the East
My final day at work was uneventful. Indeed, my 5 years in a car dealership in Ballymoney was uneventful. I wonder what the dominant memories of it will be as I get further away from it. Will I miss the almost daily procession of the James Mullan funeral cortege as it passes the showroom window each day? Sometimes I wondered if my face was more glum than the mourners who trailed the coffin. There were many days when I felt that if just one more person phoned and in their thick Antrim accent shouted 'stores' down the phone at me in the hope of me magically materialising a front strut for an MOT test due in an hour, I would of my own volition, climb into the cold deathly silent sanctuary of the passing coffin. The dark hordes of the general public had become far more fearsome to me than an army of Orcs would be to any given hobbit, probably.
One of my final acts at work was to be interviewed by a friend who also happened to be a journalist for the local Coleraine Chronicle newspaper. The Times this is not. It's generally filled with attention grabbing headlines like 'Man burgles garden nursery', or 'Man marries woman', or 'Man wins Annual Derry Banty Hen Meet'. That I was heading off on a trip like this is probably not as interesting as the missing Asparagus from Damhead nursery, or the matrimonial ecstacy of Jim and Sandra or even Robin's exceptional skills at breeding 'catwalk' birds, but any chance of it sounding in the remotest bit adventurous will be immediately undermined with the title Clare will be forced to adopt. My money is on 'Man gets on motorbike and rides somehwere'. Granted, 'away from here' isn't exactly a turbo/testosterone/adrenaline-charged rubric, but I'm not trying to pay salaries never mind make money off of it! A day after I departed the car trade, I had to make another departure, from my parent's house. In fact, on thinking about it now, this journey is going to be about continual departures, but each departure will have, I hope, an equal and opposite arrival, for that is the way of travel. When those two acts cease to be in intimate relationship with each other, it's probably too late to worry about it! Having had some restless sleep I was first up and did some final re-organising and securing of luggage. As per usual, I had the 'don't be doing anything stupid' instruction, which, I presume, doesn't cover mistakingly packing bike body polish and consequently giving my chain a liberal coat of it in Cambridge (because Motul don't help big picture people like me who go by the colour of the can and not the name on it), but rather encompasses more life-threatening occurences like base jumping with my bike attached to me, slapping up some Russian border official for the sheer craic of it, or asking a Siberian bear if he'd watch over my bike while I sleep etc. Sorry, that was a long sentence. We had some good time together over breakfast, said a few prayers/blessings for safety etc, and awaited the arrival of a clutch of pikey's to accompany me to the docks in Belfast. After we all had coffee and a bit of banter, my now renowned laid-back approach to sailing schedules, flight times and general travel arrangements, had them pushing me out the door for fear of 'the away from here project' being stalled at the Stena port. We got on the road and it dawned on me that perhaps I needed to get a groove on. Unfortunately the headlights of the convoy disappeared from my rear-view mirror at around Cultra. I just made check in and had the bike lashed down in the vehicle deck when Jed (spikerjack) called to say they'd arrived and where was I for the obligatory farewell photo shoot. Sorry Jed, Mike and Andy, my bad, and thanks for seeing me off! There were 3 other erstwhile bikers on the boat. One of which was very erstwhile, two slightly less erstwhile, and my being least erstwhile at this point. You're wondering what constitutes 'an erstwhile biker' now, be honest. Duncan and Liz were at the Isle of Man TT and toured Ireland after. They were now making their way to Newcastle to get back home to Holland. Yannick was a 20 year-old Swiss fella who'd been on the road for 2 months on his 650 Dakar. He'd begun off-roading in Tunisia and was now working his way around Europe with 2 months remaining. Duncan and Liz kindly donated one of those furry things with the sticky feet and instructed that if possible I bring him to Siberia. They called him 'Duncliz' and he now sits proudly on Pietro's binnacle. I got off the boat into a beautiful Scottish day and began making my way through Scotland to the borders. Time was short as I had to meet Jon (everywherevirtually) at the Windmill near Manchester and then beat it down to Cambridge to watch the England vs USA match at a bit of a reunion with some old friends. Jon and I sat in the sun catching up, laughing, watching a wedding party and some sports bikers paw over my laden bike bemused that I'd be going so far. It was then time to saddle up and ride some of the roads Jon had planned to take me over. The highlight was obviously the Cat and the Fiddle road across the Pennines down into Buxton. The local authorities have seen fit to clamp down on the speed of this road resulting in 2 way facing average speed cameras to prevent further biker fatalaties. It is a nice road, but still isn't up to the pleasure of the north coast road of Ireland. It was good to be out with Jon again and to see the great job he's done on the substitute bike. From here I pressed on at pace to Cambridge and ran out of fuel 10 miles from my destination, with an alleged 15 miles left in the reserve. Deja vu to my European trip 2 years ago. Now, for some 16 months this has never happened. After my trip around Europe where I ran out at least 4 times owing to a faulty fuel gauge reader, it was replaced and when the computer said '4 miles left' it meant 'there are four miles left'. A week before I was due to leave, Hurst Motorrad informed me that there was a recall to be done which would see them drop a more accurate fuel reader into the bike. More accurate it is not. Luckily I had a couple of spare litres in the tool tubes and so was quickly able to get back on the road and catch the last 15 mins of what was apparently a fairly dull footballing encounter. The following evening I left Cambridge and headed down the M11 for London. As dusk was approaching I thought I'd ride through the centre and get a shot of Westminster and the London Eye with the bike in the foreground. I lived in this neck of the woods for many years, so the photos here are more for the benediction of the readers than the writer. Yesterday morning I made for the Kazakhstan consulate to request a visa. I needed more passport photos. So I rode on up Brompton, parked the bike in a 'motorcycle's only' bay, went into Snappy Snaps and had some photos taken. While that was being done I filled out the visa form, and returned 15 mins later to a kind message from the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea to pay a 120 note fine or 60 if paid within 14 days. Cue some anger. I noticed that it had been issued 2 mins before I got to the bike, so I ran around looking for the attendant in question. Clearly, out of shame he/she had disappeared because there wasn't one to be seen. Anyway, I made it back to the embassy and submitted my application. It's a 3 day turnaround and they wouldn't do it quicker. So if the Mongolian embassy have the same inflexibility, I'll have to buy my visa for there at the Russia/Mongolian border. On returning back to Pete and Becca's close to Peckham Rye, I was almost outside their house when 1 min before I arrived, armageddon was unravelling before my eyes. Some black guy had, it would transpire, stolen a big old Merc and driven it down Peckham Rye on the wrong side of the road at a speed in excess of 100mph. Now back in the sticks where I've been living, this wouldn't offer much collateral risk, other than maybe to a few sheep at the side of the road. In congested London, this is like dropping your foot on an ant trail. He buried the front of the Mercedes into a car which then hit 3 others and spun them off into walls. Somehow he managed to get out of the Merc and tried to make an escape. Being dazed from the airbag explosion and the force of the collision, he was easy to stop, so I saw a couple of civilians throw him down on the ground until a couple of police arrived. Ambulances, fire trucks, dozens of police and air ambulances then began to arrive. Cars were cut in half to get the occupants out and this blood stained idiot was lying on the road trying to resist arrest. In the end it took 4 police and 2 civilians to get the cuffs on. I was tempted to go and make their job easier by introducing his face to my motocross boot, but they're white and I didn't want criminal blood on them. On top of that, while the police might have chosen to ignore my momentary act of assistance had I've actioned it, if they didn't, trouble with two London boroughs in a day might have contravened the afore mentioned 'don't do anything stupid' instruction. While in Cambridge, my friend Anthony, who, incidentally, has a reputed and unparalleled speed of wit (seriously, Stephen Fry or David Mitchell are tardy in comparison) cocked his head, looked at me and said 'so you're going to Mongolia on a motorbike.' pause, 'And why?' I think my answer now would be along the lines of 'given if I'd appeared at this scene barely a minute earlier I'd be picking a three pointed star out of my arse, the open steppes of Mongolia are a lot less hazardous than the streets of London town.' Today I'm having a quieter one which will be spent sorting out this little netbook (PC's are a curse) for the trip, trying to procure chain lube safe in the knowledge that polish isn't a worthy replacement for a continent hopping journey, writing, scrawling a letter to the Borough of Kensington and Chelsea pleading ignorance, for I genuinely had no idea that a bike in a bay like this was subject to the 'permit holders only' statute. Added to that, the only other bike in the bay must have had some kind of sophisticated cloaking device making it either invisible or immune to the pestulent predatory parking attendants of said borough FOR IT DEFINITELY DIDN'T HAVE A PERMIT! If they don't offer me discretionary mercy, they can send in the bailiffs. I'll be the one in the green tent at 145 degrees long and 80 lat! It has been wonderful to get up and bask in the freedom of not having to tend to tedious administration, or appraise cars...that groundhog has been well and truly exercised. On top of that, I've been able to catch up with people who helped make life so good here back in the day, but I'm switched into 'trip mode'. Giving my devoted attention to the endless unfurling of tarmac is my job for the next weeks. Sitting still in a city feels a little like I've stalled. Pietro is locked up out the back (I hope!) and I imagine him to be unimpressed with this temporary interruption to proceedings. And so unless there's anything worthy of posting, this'll be me until I hit the road to cross to Europe at the weekend. Best, S http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1278/...908fccf3_m.jpg http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1301/...df5a287a_m.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4044/...611b28f6_m.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4009/...6c4491b1_m.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4037/...07b329e5_m.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4005/...b46082aa_m.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4024/...e19bdd9d_m.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4041/...70e68df0_m.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4060/...7175f2b2_m.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4006/...f212cc20_m.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4011/...d4c2b531_m.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4025/...365da019_m.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4061/...8c756cfd_m.jpg http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1276/...b22faafa_m.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4069/...70dee5bb_m.jpg Away From Here |
I'm from Portstewart, it's a small world!! Look forward to hearing more about your trip. All the best.
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England to Cologne
I returned to the Kazakhstan embassy and now understanding the unspoken protocol of these places, walked to the front of the queue, dropped my pass, and was duly handed my passport/visa. I then high-tailed it to the Mongolian embassy, descended their stairs (putting the visa office in the cellar is the done thing for embassies, they clearly aren't interested in putting their best foot forward on initial exposure) and rather than the tiny sweatbox of the Kaz consulate, it was a reasonably plush air con'd room with leather sofas, framed black and white photos of msrs McGregor and Boorman thanking them for their assistance and a very beautiful and helpful Mongolian girl behind the desk. Knowing that the Kaz embassy point blank refused a groveling German woman an overnight issue meaning she'd have to cancel her flight, I thought I'd adopt the charm offensive and see if they'd issue me with one overnight meaning I could blow town and get on the road. 'Overnight', she said in response, 'if you give me half an hour I'll have it ready for you'. Mongolia just shot to the top of my worldwide list of favourite countries...ever.
So back down to South London, met with some more friends, went home, packed the bike up, and departed for my cousin's place in Bexhill on the south coast. Now, for the uninitiated, Bexhill is not a place you would send your football scouts on a reccie to (unless you're name is Rafael Benitez maybe?). It's the only place - outside of Florida maybe - where having a paper round, owning a confectionary store, or being a binman, can all be considered palliative care. Rosie moved there to work in the police, which other than tracking down amnesiac street walkers who can't find their homes or returning a zimmer up the promenade because old Wilbert fancied Frieda's new model and made off with it, probably doesn't have the liveliest beat. Shame she works in Hastings though!! From there, I made it to Dover and learned that it's cheaper to book your ferry crossings online. I got on board, made a few final phone calls to say cheerio, and settled into watching some Stewart Lee. I'm now learning some diversionary tactics rather than perenially going through the biking equivalent of the Spanish inquisition every time I stop somewhere. 'So where are you going?', 'why have you 4 tyres?', 'what are you afraid of?' are now standard fare and as such, I'm going to try and print out an answer sheet pre-empting this consistent line of questioning. It's not that I mind that much, I'm just bored of hearing my own voice issuing the same stock answers. With the white cliffs of Dover gradually disappearing into the mist, the sense of 'it's all about to kick off' went into hyper-drive. I rode off the ferry, punched ehrenstrasse, Koln into my GPS and began what will, at times, seem like an endless trek east. England to France to Belgium to Holland to Germany. A fellow couchsurfer - Sarah - has been an incredible host. When I pitched up outside her apartment, which is several floors up, and began unloading my bike, I don't think that she'd quite bargained on a mountain of stuff cascading around her place. However, her hospitality has been extraordinary and greatly appreciated. Others to thank until now are Debs Wray at McCurdy Hamilton travel in Ballymoney, who in my estimations are better than the often used Nutt travel, for they kindly sponsored my first ferry sailing from Belfast to Stranraer. Pete and Becca who hosted me in London and couldn't do enough. Kester Brewin who cooked me dinner on my way through London and gave me a copy of his new book 'Other' which he photographed on my bike and wrote about in connection with my trip here, and finally to my cousins Rosie and David for the craic and hospitality on the south coast. Tomorrow I trek it over to Prague via Nurnberg by which time I'll hopefully have had a good enough connection to post some photos. Sorry that it's just text for now. S |
ok, so where were we?
Now that i've just gotten home and have some time and internet to bring it all up-to-date, I thought I'd put a sample on here. I don't have time to triplicate everything onto the various forums I'm part of, so hence I created my own site.
The entire trip was quite incredible, with Mongolia and Siberia being the obvious highlights for me. 70kms from Moscow saw disaster hit, but that will come in time. For now, here's some of the Altai stuff before I get to Mongolia. All of the notes were written in my tent each evening, so are 'real time' and not as flowery as they would be if I was sitting at a table and charged with mental energy. Go to Away From Here for the full effect. There's a day or two more to cover in the Altai, then we're into Mongolia: We rode all day among the lovely twisties of the Altai mountains. Hundreds of kms of stunning scenery. Along the way we met a crew from Australia who had just come out of Mongolia. One of them, named Cain, was on a KTM 990Adv. I had a good chat with him about his route through and he recommended that instead of the oft taken northern and southern routes, we have a crack at the middle route. I liked the sound of it, for he too, unlike his crew, was a dirt man. There were so many photo stops that it took us a while to make progress. However, we did and later that evening, we pulled off by a river in a green field near the road. After we got established, Toumas and I set about getting firewood so that we might get some atmosphere going tonight. We both went off in different directions, and in the woods that I went to, I heard these very distressed yelps and groans from some kind of animal. Owing to how loud they were, I knew this wasn’t going to be a guinea pig. In fact, I wondered if here be a monster. I crept into the stoney and tree enclosed enclave and found a horse on its back. Was it giving birth or dying? I took some video of the situation but will put them up at the end. Gesa and I went back 2 hours later and it was dead. Quite a morbid end to the night, made worse by the fact that we heard the baying of wolves or wild dogs who had clearly found their next meal. Gesa barely slept. I too didn’t sleep much, but mainly because Pawel had sent me a text saying that the Russian/Mongolian border had been closed for 3 days over the weekend because of a festival in Mongolia. Was he joking me?? http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4150/...8291bf28_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4113/...5b00f495_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4092/...b0d1815d_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4151/...7d042742_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4106/...77630532_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4144/...ff16ef33_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4094/...d6b39211_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4145/...ba3deeb3_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4154/...911b04fe_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4085/...08212dd5_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4133/...c7209226_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4123/...401eca5d_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4154/...7af8d090_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4108/...097e27eb_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4099/...2ff3de18_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4107/...beab9925_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4140/...1002cf2f_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4141/...01913261_z.jpg |
Just spent some quality time reading all the entries on your website from beginning to end Si, what a trip. But your style of writing makes it 'unputdownable' once you get started.
I'm really inspired for my trip next year now - thanks. Phil |
Thanks, that's kind. I'm going to sit and write a couple of articles about it and see if they can make Bike or Ride. Need to start paying the credit card off ;-)
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Into Mongolia
another quick excerpt, the full video, photo footage and descriptions of which is on awayfromhere.org
I got up, stoked that there was a day of good riding coming up, although I knew it might be hard owing to the deluge the night before. Sami, with a still swollen and painful wrist, toppled twice within a mile of where we camped. He wouldn’t be the first today, as in fact pretty much everyone had a drop. We spent some time discussing routes, as many travellers we had met who were going in the opposite direction had said that due to noahic rain, it was better to go the circuitous route (adding 4-500kms) via Olgiy and Hov’d to Ulangoon, but we had heard from one other source that the more direct route was possible. The locals appeared to be telling us that the route from Nogoonuur would be impassable for motorbikes. For whatever reason, we threw caution to the wind and enjoyed some spectacular passes, canyons, gorges, and then open steppe and mountains. Truly, it was breathtaking. The value of local knowledge was then brought home in spades as we ploughed into a marsh where bikes were now getting stuck with regularity. I have to say, as tiring as it was, and as frustrated as a few were getting, for the most part, it was very fun…in a masochistic kind of way. The mosquitos loved it too and all of us would be nursing head-to-toe weals this evening. Armoured cordura gear was simply an inconvenience for these Mongolmozzies who enjoyed some gourmet foreign food for several hours. Later we passed through an area that resembled Nevada more than Mongolia, and after that Sami and I somehow got lost from the rest of the group. He is using Ozi-explorer and it took us far too far south. We ended up in some seriously ropey places and at one point my front wheel skipped out from under me and I binned the bike at about 25kms in the mud. Nothing was damaged, except my ego as I hadn’t had any spillls with us altogether. Eventually Sami and I got on the right road and being quicker than the rest of the group, we gave it some throttle to catch them up. We would stop at the occasional Ger to confirm that 5 bikes had passed and to have a chai, but for the most part, our navahoe skills enabled us to see that their tyre treads had passed this way. Eventually we could see them standing on some rocks and were glad to have caught them. They’d been stopped dead by a forceful river. A Uaz tried to cross but was toppled in the current. A drunk Mongolian man then tried to wade across but was carried about 300m downstream before he could pull himself out on the other side. Once he got there, he proceeded to get more plastered with some boyo he met. It already seemed that in Mongolia, nothing is too pressing to distract one from a vodka session with a new friend. My feet were already soaking from wading in marshes and hitting some small rivers and many puddles today, so I waded in to see if this was do-able. There were a couple of deep channels that I feared would catch us, and if we got my bike through, the chances of getting everyone through would be slim. This would mean camping for the night. We were now starting to run low on fuel and had enough to cook a substantial meal for everyone, but we were clean out of water. This river water was liquified mud and no purification pump or tablets would sort this, so we shared whatever little water we had and made do. Sami, doing his usual, decided to hit the road back to a lake to load up on water for us, but half way there he didn’t hit a horse this time, but his fuel pump died on the Africa Twin. We got him on the walkie talkie and he eventually got it running again, so pulled a U turn and came home…frustrated. It was a glorious and equally frustrating day, finished off with the mozzies driving everyone to their tents early. Hopefully the rain will stay away tonight and the river will drop, for we really do need to cross tomorrow so that we can get to Ulangoon, get money changed, get provisions, and get fuel. A hotel tomorrow night would be a welcome possibility. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4084/...8f0cd1ef_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4154/...b8b884e0_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4086/...7117b820_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4144/...2a9e17c4_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4107/...757797ed_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4139/...5d355b9b_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4112/...4875aca4_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4145/...6b8e7a7a_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4079/...b924a85d_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4107/...687c1285_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4112/...b0ff9844_z.jpg |
Si.....
enjoyable report. Funnily enough I need to get over to Ireland/ NI as I have never been there.
Over to your website now |
27th July - first Mongolian river crossing
further excerpts from awayfromhere.org
I awoke first eager to listen to the river. Either it was still in full flow, or Tuomas’ guts had taken another turn for the worst. I knew I couldn’t tell until I actually got out of my tent and looked. On doing so, the river appeared to have dropped little as it hadn’t rained during the night relieving me of the need to go and inspect Tuomas’ guts! I forgot to write that before he went to bed, Kristian got his Isambard Brunel on and started digging meticulous trenches around his tent. Like the night before, his tent was on a slope, and consequently, the torrential rain flowed right into the storage part of the tent, soaking his and Gesa’s gear. His preventative measures were not needed last night, and so the lack of flooding was good news all round, or at least I thought so. The guys from Finland were still of the mind that it was still to heavy a flow, and in the absence of truck-sized sanitary towels, we’d never get across. It was crunch time for our group. Tuomas on his V-strom wasn’t happy with the situation and preferred to go the 150km loop to avoid this river. Only Tuomas and Sami changed money at the border, so they could buy fuel and top up if they could find some, but the rest of us had no Mongolian money yet, no water, and whatever fuel we were carrying. So, on top of the fact that we couldn’t be bothered, this re-route wasn’t an option. It appeared that our group was about to split. Tuomas admitted that his bike wasn’t Mongolia friendly and as he had to be back at work in 3 weeks in Finland, he and the others would head back west again and play in western Mongolia for a few days before exiting at the same border. I took a photo of the discussions, and they were heated. I was for going on as all of Mongolia beckoned and I didn’t come this far to pull a U-ey. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4088/...7fea38f5_z.jpgwaiting out for the river to drop http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4125/...c72545d9_z.jpgdrying the boots after the first wade http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4152/...7cd5a895_z.jpgPawel in on a preliminary wade http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4083/...c1d8204e_z.jpgdifficult conversations http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4091/...795bbfdb_z.jpgPawel returns excited After about 30 mins, the Finns decided to plough on with us all. It was great knowing that we’d all still travel together for another while yet. Without further ado, Pawel was in the river trying to finalise a route through. It was a good bit further up than where the couple of Uaz’s had gotten stuck and submerged, and it involved an intricate series of steps through the river. First you’d ride with the current but across. Then you’d make a straight cut across, and then finally with the current. Pawel had the small Yamaha and so went first. He took off the luggage and successfully breached the animal that had caused Kamaz trucks to park up for the night. Next Tuomas went on his Strom. He’s usually a bit fearful, but for some reason, when we stripped him of luggage, his kahunas doubled or maybe even trebled in size, for he really went for it. By the time he got over he couldn’t take his hands off the bars as his fingers has seized solid in fear to the grips. After the first two crossings, Pawel and I split the river up so I’d take the first half and help people across while he’d take the second half. Everything went smoothly until Kristian binned it towards the end. He dropped the bike in the deepest water and came swimming off the saddle. We were very glad nothing happened to him and the bike fired up again without any trouble. Eventually all were across, leaving the difficult task of carrying ALL the luggage from one side to the other. With no breakfast and barely any water worth speaking of, we were all so so tired. The pain and struggle were evident on the faces of all, as we trudged back and forth with boxes and bags. Finally, all the bikes were put back together and we took off, ready to explore the next part of Mongolia. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4144/...223cb74e_z.jpganother one over http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4112/...74cf7242_z.jpgmy turn http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4083/...8c345e23_z.jpgthis team photo was very satisfying. all of us were exhausted, soaking and starving...but we'd negotiated our first river. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4089/...8a127c5a_z.jpglater in the day http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4130/...b3964917_z.jpgrarely does a day of riding leave me this tired, but feeling great. beer |
Mongolia continued
more from awayfromhere.org
The sheer expanse of the country and the countless ranges of mountains were stunning. The colour of the terrrain you ride can change from green grass, to red clay, to white sand, all within about 10 mins. You crest hills to see vistas that you’d never thought possible. It is truly the most spectacular land I’ve ever seen. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4153/...344ce07e_z.jpg cresting a hill http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4112/...0ee7d84e_z.jpg the wind gets so strong on these summits, you can really lean Today we had a couple of issues. Descending a mountain on a stoney track, Aga’s pannier caught a boulder on the edge of the track and knocker her off her bike. She scratched her arm a bit and deformed the pannier good and proper. It took Pawel a little time to reattach it, but gave him a good bit of work to try and knock it back into shape at camp tonight. Later it was Sami’s turn. Normally I would be leading, but then would hunker up, take some photos and wait for everyone to pass. At one point I crested this pass and the wind was howling. 10 mins later the Poles checked in, but there was no sign of the rest of the them. Finally Kristian and Gesa came in, and they are usually last. Apparently Sami’s AT had packed in and Tuomas was waiting with him. He requested Pavel to come as he was a qualified bike tech. Pawel took off, and we spent some time with various Mongol families who appeared in their 4×4′s. Across the valley we would see a couple of Ger’s, so we told Aga that everyone could meet us there when they got sorted. We spent time with the family drinking chai, vodka, and eating Arold. It was an interesting and slightly surreal experience. The boss of the Ger wanted to swap my bike for his horse. Whilst I’m sure it was a loyal beast, it was no sea biscuit, and Pietro and I had a pact to come home together, so it was a no go. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4130/...36d03400_z.jpg Aga 30 mins before her intro to a Mongolian boulder http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4109/...7d1f9d8a_z.jpg one of the many mountaintop prayer shrines, with a lone horseman http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4108/...e201f69f_z.jpg Up close and personal with K & G http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4126/...021061a2_z.jpg Pawel in a puddle http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4113/...8a951be9_z.jpg Sami in the same puddle http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4150/...2c93de8b_z.jpg i have no idea what i'm up to here http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4091/...95ef417d_z.jpg Kristian doing his Isambard Brunel engineering feat Eventually Pawel and the guys arrived. Sami’s fuel pump had given up the ghost again, and so it they just bypassed it so that he could still ride, albeit with the fuel consumption of a Hummer. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4127/...520ac8d0_z.jpg Entering a Ger http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4112/...f887114c_z.jpg Mongolian hospitality http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4112/...a39084c3_z.jpg Gerry can vodka it's tiredness, not vodka http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4131/...1aa76114_z.jpg laughing with new friends hospitality http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4073/...24c53443_z.jpg 'arold', it's horrible stuff http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4110/...ea07a0a2_z.jpg Yak's milk. The substance from which everything else is made. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4125/...3bca1553_z.jpg his horse for my bike? i think not. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4110/...681cac80_z.jpg here comes Pawel and Sami http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4129/...6f4acbc4_z.jpg Pawel coming towards us at the Ger http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4154/...30769aac_z.jpg capturing the moment Normally we try to camp by a river, and tonight is no different. Fortunately we don’t have to cross this one tonight, so we can worry about who’ll do the Moses and try to part the waters tomorrow. If a big beard constitutes doing a Moses, we wouldn’t need to be waiting for any of the Fins, as I’ve seen 4 year old boys and nuns grow better facial hair. In any case, that’s it for tonight for I’m dead beat. Goodnight all. |
28th July...deeper into the Mongolian middle route
from Away From Here
Before I get into the 28th, there were a few photos from yesterday which I forgot to post… http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4139/...d5f98885_z.jpg dust plumes from the bikes. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4086/...9c738747_z.jpg Sami approaching http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4081/...211f5747_z.jpg Me approaching http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4146/...21eb43b7_z.jpg still approaching http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4091/...3bea9a52_z.jpg enjoying every moment http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4121/...723c03db_z.jpg actually, we've come the wrong way http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4133/...17c0183c_z.jpg In the words of a famous Kazakh, 'I like!' http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4088/...2882a272_z.jpg Waiting for Sami before Pawel departed to help him OK, to business… Everyone got up and had a leisurely breakfast. The sun was shining, so we could try and dry our boots out some. Everyone made something different for breakfast and we shared our food and chatted about national identity and the holocaust with Kristian and Gesa. Conversations began about whether or not we should split up began, as the Finns said they needed to rush on and couldn’t really wait around much. I agreed to continue with Pauli, Sami and Tuomas, as I too wanted to ride more quickly and also get to Ulan-bataar. I didn’t really want to get to UB for UB’s sake as from what I understood, it has all the attraction of a bout of Jardia, but I wanted to get there early so that I could leave most of my luggage at the Oasis guest house and take a 2 day blast down to the Gobi desert, before Pavel, Aga, and my favourite Germans got there. So we left. I took us back to the route that had a solitary signpost to Narambulag, but it turned out to have 2 river crossings, one which we did, the other being too big. Tuomas complained and it was clear we were starting to make plans to top each other during the night. It was just a question of who set their alarm earliest. I told him to go the Alps next year, as there’d be less of a risk of wetting his feet. So, frustration was setting in for us all and I began to want to ride on my own again. We turned around, and about 45 mins later we caught up with the 2 couples who were the tortoise and who somehow seemed to stay ahead of the hare. I was out ahead of the guys and so had a break with the Poles and Germans until the Finnish boys arrived. We made it to Narambulag and as was normal, Pietro got me there first, so I went into one of the little stores on the main street and sat and had a beer in the heat before everyone else arrived. Eventually they did and we all agreed to press on and meet at the Hot Springs, north of a Lake on the middle route. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4146/...63797a49_z.jpg Breakfast http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4145/...5526a761_z.jpg Drying boots before another river http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4144/...821d9325_z.jpg more time being wasted beating Aga's metal pannier. did i say that i don't have any time for aluminium boxes yet? http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4144/...e7037f3b_z.jpg Sami gearing up, or gearing down...I can't remember. still sporting the wrist support though. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4147/...6111a64b_z.jpg but he was wearing two at one point! Sami, have you always had a problem with limp wrists? ;-) http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4104/...a3c14775_z.jpg shaking previous countries' currency and dust out of my tent http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4089/...55a446a9_z.jpg Kristian, my photography teacher, showing me a new trick http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4086/...7af2e183_z.jpgKristian always admired my bike mounts. This was too difficult for him due to some 'organisation procedure' he goes through as he get on? http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4096/...6ce374ac_z.jpg one of today's river crossings http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4154/...cd57399c_z.jpg easiest cross to date http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4095/...d802f8be_z.jpg still come up like a drowned rat http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4094/...0c2a751c_z.jpg Waiting at Naraambulaag http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4097/...4424c92e_z.jpg this chap insists that the only way to ride a bike, is to do with with a large bottle of vodka in his hand. he and the rest of the Mongolian men http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4089/...a65b767e_z.jpg Kris waiting in line for fuel. he actually dropped his bike about a minute after this photo, but he still looked cool as he did it!! When we got there, or at least we think we did. The springs seemed to be quite elusive and since we were all starting to smell like turnips with leprosy, we had in our minds, radox adverts shot in Iceland. What we got was a concrete building with some students who allegedly were English majors but who barely had ‘yes’ or ‘no’ down. Either the Mongols or the Bradt guide to Mongolia (which is incidentally much better than the Lonely Planet guide to Mongolia if you’re planning a trip) had oversold on the springs and underdelivered. Again there was some angst – partly fuelled by the heat and the springless springs – as no definitive decision was made as to how much further we’d get and whether we’d camp by the saltwater lake as some wanted a swim since we hadn’t had a chance to wash somewhere clean since the Russian Altai. It was agreed that we’d ride another 15kms or so, and then try to camp by the lake. The boys took off first and I caught up with them. They wanted to keep going, and aware that we’d told the rest that we’d ride for 15 clicks, I said ‘you ride on and I’ll let them know we’re going on further’. I waited and asked Aga to take a photo of me sitting on a rock. She and Pawel then had a barney because the wind blew her bike off the side stand and broke the mirror, irritating Pawel, so I took off to let them sort it. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4131/...aac3a83b_z.jpg view of some camels by the salt lake http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4128/...334ee4a8_z.jpg the photo before the war between P&A before i left to go on my own before the hurricane. I knew I was about 20 mins behind Sami, Pauli and Tuomas, so I gunned it to catch them. 45 mins later I stopped a 4×4 and he said that 3 bikes had just gone past. I saw no dust plumes and was surprised at how much ground they’d covered. So, I blasted it once more and half an hour later a jeep stopped to chat and one of the girls in the back spoke pretty good english. She said that no motorbikes had past, so I figured the guys had pulled off somewhere to camp. I was on my own now as I knew that Aga, Pavel, Kristian and Gesa wouldn’t ride this far today, and now the Finns were behind. Enjoying the freedom of no responsibility or decision making processes, I got up on the pegs and moved quickly across the steppe. It was wide open and the most open land I’d seen since I started on this trip. There were no yurts, livestock, and the only sign of life in this remote part, was the occasional 4×4 kicking up a plume. By now, dusk had kicked in and I was getting tired and not seeing the road so well. I narrowly avoided dropping the bike the in a few big holes and the final straw was when a squall hit me from the side and nearly blew me and the bike over. ‘Time to stop’, I thought. I spent about 30 mins looking for somewhere out of the wind, as it was fearsome. Eventually I found a place which I figured to be the most sheltered spot. I tried pitching the tent, and almost, inadvertently, began kite surfing across a Mongolian steppe. This wasnt’ going to work as the whole side of the tent went concave and on one occasion went flat when the frequent squalls took leave of the hurricane. I walked a bit further and finally found somehwere which offered at least a little protection no matter what direction this changebale wind blew from. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4082/...37ac3fd9_z.jpg contrary to what this photo suggests, this is quite a sturdy Mountain Equipment tent. Once camp was set, I cooked up some Korean noodles, opened a tin of tuna, and sat in the solidude of my tent. As I sit here writing, it is strange to be on my own. We have lived in each others pockets for several weeks now and the guys are camped somewhere within 100 kms behind me. My big disappointment now is that I forgot to zip up my tank bag for a large section of the ride today. In it I keep my netbook, camera and lenses, Leatherman, spare key, high def flip camera, and peztl headtorch, ie, all the really important stuff. When I realised that I’d left it open through a very bumpy 40 kms or so, I checked that that camera etc was all still there. Everything seemed to be in its place, so I was relieved. But tonight when I was getting ready for the evening in my tent, I discovered that I’ve lost the torch. How disappointing! It has been one of the most used items to date and now I’ve had to resort to this crappy wind up thing that cost about 2 quid in some backwater pound shop in Coleraine. The redness of my nose is, at present, giving off more light. Well, the battery in this netbook is about to die, I need a pee, and should brush my teeth and check out on this windy night in Mongolia. I’ve no idea what tomorrow holds, but there are not other directions for me to go for 140 kms or so, so directly east to Sangino it will be. There’s some kind of vole hole at the front door of my tent, I hope it doesnt’ hassle me during the night! Thanks for reading and goodnight. Si |
Great write up on what must have been a fantastic trip/experience
also spent hours reading you website, very entertaining, thank you for taking the time and effort :cool4: Did you plan to meet up with the others... or did it just happen ?? I'm planning a longer trip on my own but have some safety worries Cheers Geordie |
thanks Georgie. I met the Finnish guys through this site and agreed to meet them in Volgograd. I too like riding on my own, but as this was the longest trip I've done to date, I thought that it might be wiser to take on the dubious part of it with others. on reflection, it would've been nice during the day to be riding on my own, because of the pace i prefer to ride at, but it's great to sit around the fire in the evenings with others. if you choose to ride on your own, you will meet people on the road. we met 2 other couples, as you see, and it was just a joy to ride part of this trip with them. my next trip will likely only be with people i know well, or two of us. any more than two and it becomes complex i'd suggest.
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Some facts about Mongolia
some more from Away From Here
A few facts that I’ve learned about Mongolia before I get into today’s goings on. Outer Mongolia (the country that I’m in) became a separate state from China when the Qing dynasty collapsed in 1911. Inner Mongolia was swallowed by China, even when outer Mongolia appealed to all Mongolians to unite. China put the foot down and prevented this unification. Today, most Mongolians still live in China, south of the Gobi desert. The Soviets then offered protection to Mongolia to prevent any incursions from China, and so it became swallowed by the USSR. The USSR put some money in here during the 50′s to fund industry and agriculture, but shafted Mongolia when communism collapsed in that they quite literally pulled the plug on all of Mongolia’s electricity (since it was coming from Russia). Even the capital – Ulan-Baatar – was in the dark for months. Prior to 1992, Mongolia was pretty much closed to foreigners and in particular westerners, which is why it is great being here before the secret of its beauty is blown and before it is covered in roads and tourists (there is already evidence of heavy machinery moving into places to lay down ribbons of asphalt). 99% of the Mongolia’s land ‘belongs to the people’ and is owned by the State (if that doesn’t sound like an oxymoron to the western mind). This means that you can camp anywhere you like. Having majored in genetics at uni, I was interested to find out that Oxford Uni conducted a study and found that 1 in 200 men alive on planet earth today, is related to Genghis Khan. Over 10 years, scientists collected blood from 16 populations in and around Mongolia and worked on the Y chromosome that shows a signature which passes from father to son. A fifth of all Mongolian men alive today carry this gene which can be traced back to the Khan. He, his brothers and senior troops, apparently had access to thousands of women, and so shortly afterwards they wrote a song about ploughing the fields and scattering, good seed on the earth. The Mongol Empire, prior to the Manchu’s outmanoeuvering them in Risk, was the biggest empire (geographically speaking) in history. Brutal and violent horse mounted warriors (horse riding is still massive here and they have some of the most exceptional and rarest horses in the world on these steppes) swept across the Asian steppes, and gate-crashed the European party. The Europeans had no idea what lay beyond the Ural mountains, and so these were strange looking folks that were pouring in and putting to death everything (except the hot women) that stood in their way. Being out here, it’s easy to see why we were such easy prey. Their diet and nomadic lifestyle have barely changed, bar the addition of solar panels, chinese motorcycles, black and white car battery powered TV’s, and black market premier league football tops. Athough, I believe the Great Khan himself would sport a Liverpool shell-suit when relaxing with the ladies at night in his Ger. So the point is, their diet was, and is so simple. They don’t eat fruit or vegetables, only mutton and anything that can be made out of Yak milk. Dried meat and cheese were put in a leather satchel, and they ride and they ride and they ride…west. These men are very strong; perhaps even stronger than Hulk Hogan or George W. When they got to Europe (the Mongols, not George and Hulk), our boys are all sitting around their Rayburn ranges, meticulously following Nigella’s recipe for Grilled Sea Bass, asparagus and chickpea pilaf and raita. Talk about being caught unawares? There was no time to doff the aprons and pick up their Holland and Holland revolvers for as they did so, their heads became another ingredient in Nigella’s recipe. So, they got as far as Moscow, Kracow and a few other places close to where many of you, the erstwhile readers live. Pause for a moment and consider what our history might have looked like if the marauders hadn’t gotten the email to say that a successor to Genghis was in need of election and that they all should promptly but safely do a U-turn for the occasion? Finally, Mongolia has the most incredible night sky. This land has no light pollution. One third of its population live in the capital city, and the rest pretty much scattered across the steppes and mountains in Gers (their moveable tents). If shooting stars are your thing, then you see them on a frequency of about once a minute out here. The sky is vast and the stars are uncountable. This picture of the world by night will give you a feel for what I’m saying. Unfortunately I’m on a new computer with no software capable of writing on a jpeg, but if you look to the left of the very lit up Japan and above the lit up China, you’re into Mongolia and Siberia. It’s quite dark here…and I’ve lost my Petzl head torch :( http://awayfromhere.org/wp-content/u...0/09/night.jpg |
29th July - towards the heart of Mongolia
more from Away From Here
I was awoken early at 6 by footsteps and mens voices approaching my tent. Wondering if Genghis Khan’s marauding and invading progeny had spotted me and were going to pillage my meager belongings, I poked my head out of the tent to see what the craic was. Three smiling Mongol men were coming towards me. Regrettably, they seemed fascinated by my situation. After wondering how they found me up in my little nook, and watching them circle my bike through a very partially opened tent door, I quickly threw on some more clothes so that I could get out and verify that they meant me no harm. Once the easy bit was done and my clothes were on, in what was necessarily a very short series of steps in cognitive processing, I quickly realised that I had a sum total of no Mongol language. Still, I thought, in spite of my normally trusting posture towards newcomers, it should be somewhat obvious if they want to cut off my head. I remembered whilst at seminary, studying Missiology under a certain Lish Eves, that having lived in Indonesia for many years, she learned that blending into the indigenous ways of life – technically known as ‘inculturation’ – was of paramount importance in the process of acceptance. So, in order to diffuse a potentially hostile approach, I thought that either chai or vodka would be my suitable attempt at practicing the native hospitality. Again, I thought quickly, or rather my tastebuds thought quickly, and rejected the 6:01am (you see, I was thinking very quickly) vodka option, which was just as well, as I didn’t have any. I put the stove on to brew some tea and just as I was about to get smug with my improvised ambassadorial efforts in international relations, I realised that I had enough water for 4 very small cups, but alas, I didn’t have 4 cups! Surely this wasn’t my own petard from which I’d be hoisted. How would their chai drinking mores cope with this offence? Very quickly, the chai became of secondary importance. Their constant up and downward motion with both hands together, suggested one of three things; either they were in need of one of those devices that Wiley Coyote used to explode dynamite in a bid to terminate Road-runner, or they needed a few space hoppers as their horses had died, or they needed a pump? Since my neural synapses were now on fire, I very very quickly eliminated the first possibility, and then, nanoseconds later, the second with it. ‘You need a pump’, I shouted victoriously, pointing at a tyre on my bike. All smiles and expectation, they confirmed my announcement. ‘No, sorry, don’t have one’, I said. This was true and not true. I didn’t have a manual pump, which strictly speaking, is what they were looking for. But I did have one better, in the form of a Slime Compressor. Call it selfish, but I didn’t want to volunteer my little compressor if these boys were wanting to pump up the tyre of a Kamaz truck. I know from the experience of others that you can burn them out blowing up a double air bed, so a truck tyre would likely end up with the same result. Still curious as to how they were able to find me but realising that finding an answer would require more gesticulating that would probably not deliver an answer, I asked them to take me to the fallen vehicle. Surprisingly it was around the corner by a nearby Ger I hadn’t seen. It was only a Toyota Hiace and the model was, amusingly, a ‘Moto Gimp’. The rear right wheel was well deflated and showed all the signs of a slow puncture. I thought that the slime would cope with this, so I told them I’d be back in a few mins. I got back to the tent, jumped on the bike, and rode back to the waiting posse. They stood there wondering what I was about to do. With the expectation building, I pulled a white rabbit out of my helmet and everyone laughed. For my next trick I dug into the bottom of my pannier and pulled out my little black compressor box. After unravelling a few leads, I plugged it into the bike, connected it to the tyre valve, and switched it on. The looks of amazement and the chit-chat between them all was hilarious. 10 mins later the job was done and one by one, people of all ages and sizes sleepily appeared out of the Ger. What had probably happened is that this Hiace had arrived at 2 or 3 in the morning, and unable to go any further in this deep sand with such a load on a half inflated tyre, they just pulled into the Ger of this family, and found somewhere to sleep. This is the way it works here. Nice huh? Who needs motels or the AA? After everyone had been shoe-horned into the Toyota, I was beckoned in for some breakfast. A bowl of Chai was handed to me and then a bowl with mutton and strips of some kind of bread they make. My instruction was to put the mutton/bread mix into the chai and slurp it down. It was foul, but I didn’t want to offend, so persevered. Knowing that the guys were a bit behind me, and with various SUV’s pulling in to this Ger, I found one containing a chap who spoke moderately good english. I asked him if he had passed 3 bikes, and he said yes, about 20kms back. I knew that it would take them 30mins (on these roads) to get to me, so I sat in the Ger and watched the family get set up for the day. It was fascinating. They were so industrious and from the youngest to the oldest, everyone had a role. It appeared to me to be so ritualised that they went through these motions almost robotically every day. 8 big thermos’ of Chai were made on the stove, presumably made to refresh all the weary travellers who would pass this way today. I could go on, but I’ll spare you the details. A couple of hours later, the boys did pitch up. I was doing some colouring in with the youngest of the family, when I heard the exhausts roar up outside. Sami then poked his head through the door and blurted ‘what’s the craic?’, a phrase I’d taught the Finnish contingency earlier in the trip. I invited them into my new family’s abode and offered them some chai. We all had a good laugh about last night’s wind and the fact Sami had to forget about his tent and just bunk down on the ground in his sleeping bag. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4106/...5750253d_z.jpg my little friend http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4141/...a4853d95_z.jpg this little boy's mum. two ladies and their kids and the grandfather all lived in this Ger. the husbands had died. sorry about the quality of the pic. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4112/...55cde1c2_z.jpg the little fella's cousin, with some passing travellers in the background. about 20 people had slept in this Ger last night! http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4149/...f974ab75_z.jpg 'weetabix or bones?' 'weetabix please.' 'sorry we're out of weetabix'. 'so my options is "or bones" then?' just kidding, not weetabix on the menu here. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4128/...07c4aa9a_z.jpg gramps http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4125/...422eb615_z.jpg i tried 'doing an angelina' on him, but neither he nor his mum were too happy about it. actually, i felt like i could've stayed with these people for a month if i'd wanted. It was time to go. We sped off in the direction of Sangino and encountered some majestic scenery once again. It was like a movie, every moment it cut to a different scene, with differing back drops and new things to notice. There was a lot of deep sand today, and Sami and I put the bikes down more than once. We got to Sangino and found a cafe which was very clean. I went into the little kitchen at the back as there was no menu, hoping I could just point at something and say, for me! The lady was preparing food and it looked great, so the 4 of us ordered 4 bowls of it. Again we watched the whole town descend upon our bikes. Well fed and in good spirits, we set out again for the rest of the day. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4145/...a935df79_z.jpg edible food, at last! http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4097/...8a2cd8de_z.jpg shopping http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4127/...ef706293_z.jpg a random riding shot Tonight, after a day of gruelling terrain, we’ve pulled off to the side and found a suitable place to set up camp. The sunset was glorious and as we sat there sipping beer and regaling the day, it was one of those unforgettable evenings. Off to bed. Goodnight, Mongolia, Goodnight world. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4104/...6ddef323_z.jpg sunset... http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4142/...f5db9963_z.jpg and me watching it. |
30th July - misfortune bites me
excerpt from Away From Here
After a breakfast of tinned fish, pickles and nescafe, which I'd now no option but to like, we packed up and rode east...again. This time we were bound for Tsontsongel. I think today was affording me some of the prettiest scenery I'd come across. The valley's were so fertile and verdant, with rivers running through, forests, group of Ger's surrounded by livestock, and people riding horses everywhere. Every moment I was stopping to take photos, so decided that this was getting me nowhere and that I needed to ride. When we got to Tsontsongel, we stopped for some food. Some ladies outside the cafe were clearly taken by the black lambs wool on my saddle. They kept rubbing it and chatting among themselves. I made the sound of a sheep and said 'Irlandia', which they thought this was hilarious. Now, Sami had been wanting one of these saddle accessories for some time, for they keep you cool in the heat and warm in the cool, and a Mongolian fleece would be a nice souvenir. After all, wool (camel, yak or whatever) is one of their main exports. Thus, he tried to make his desires known these women. One of them called over a bloke who sped off on his little motorbike. Moments later he pulled up with a white canvas bag. Would this be Sami's lucky day? Out of it came this massive fur coat, which I can only presume is the sort of thing these folks wear when it gets to -45 in the winter. The price was equivalent to $50 which was a steal for this authentic fur, so I told sami to buy the coat, cut the bottom off for his seat and donate the rest to the poorest looking punter in the assembled throng of onlookers. Sami felt this wasn't the best course of action, so I tried the coat on, much to the amusement of all. We left Tsontsongel on the right road, but Tuomas didn't think it was. We spent the next hour taking various tracks out of the place, but ended up back on the first one we'd chosen. When you're trying to cover ground, this feels like a colossal waste of time. How and ever, we were one the track now, and the scenery just kept getting better. Before long 2 Polish lads on African Twins, riding from Vladivostok pitched up in front of us. I can't remember their names, but they were good boys. After some banter, we moved on and started climbing higher. After passing through countryside which looked particularly 'Flintstone-esque' we got to 2600m. This peak hosted the biggest prayer shrine we'd seen to date. There were a few people gathered at it and a woman was sprinkling vodka over it, while someone else was putting money under a stone at it. Reverently, and with Pauli's help, I placed my final 'awayfromhere.org' sticker high up on the sign close to it. I got this old Mongol gent to point to it for comedy purposes. If you manage to reach this point at these GPS co-ords (coming soon) and take a photo with the sticker, I'll buy you a beer! http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4079/...c9aec93c_z.jpg Polish riders http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4113/...64089616_z.jpg Toconsengel http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4126/...f44295e7_z.jpg Our waitress at the cafe ;-) http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4110/...73c7a28f_z.jpg Touching up my sheep http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4105/...22a462e6_z.jpg I really should have bought it http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4127/...751a26ec_z.jpg Horse riding http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4097/...02907cc4_z.jpg a local rider, as Pauli the map king consults a local for directions in the background...who, like most Mongolians, has no idea what a map is http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4133/...0718a6e9_z.jpg tree climbing goats http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4144/...3ddd980b_z.jpg break time http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4100/...883c7e2c_z.jpg Sami (Tirpse) and Tuomas http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4115/...76f67115_z.jpg riding http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4109/...f5bf6133_z.jpg Leaving my mark http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4082/...e7ee424a_z.jpg he found it, so he gets a beer http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4152/...7524bd24_z.jpg shrine http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4125/...5b3e2330_z.jpg pauli http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4104/...0a262d58_z.jpg Sami Again, we moved on. Our destination was 'The White Lake'. We'd heard that the water was so pure that you could drink it and that it was set in a splendid valley with one or two Tourist Ger camps. It was unfortunate that you had to negotiate the worst road in Mongolia to get there. It was a road of sorts, as opposed to just a track, which are often easier to ride. It was host to pot holes my height deep, so you could do yourself some real damage. All of us, trying to nurse our bikes through this minefield, fearing for our rear shocks, got to the end of the lake and could see what we thought were the Ger camps. We noticed a couple of Western girls sitting by their tent with 2 Mongol chaps. So, we pulled over to find out their story. They were French and were hitchhiking and walking across Mongolia. Their 2 friends were a little behind and if we found them we were to instruct them as to where they were. The guys pulled away first as I finished practicing my French. Two mins later I was after them. . Sadly, misfortune was about to befall me. As I was riding this track and doing 50-60 mph, this dog started running alongside me. This wasn't an unusual situation because it happens out here with great regularity. I'd already given one dog a taste of my boot about 3 days ago. All of a sudden I became fearful of this dog and having no back brake after realising earlier in the day that the pads were really shot and the brakes were down to metal on metal (I was going to change them at the Ger camp that evening), I didn't want to anchor up on the front brakes on this stoney gravel road, so I blipped the throttle to leave the dog in my rear view mirrors. I knew instantly that it was confused and in a fraction of a second, it pulled out in front of me causing me to hit it full tilt. There was no way I was holding the bike up, and I, with it, went down hard and slid up the road. I recall my head hitting the deck and the next thing standing up and seeing two Mongol lads approaching me on a motorbike with mine lying upside down on the road. I knew this wasn't good. I looked around for the dog and saw it yelping up the road hobbling. If I hadn't broken its back, I'd certainly broken ribs and most likely punctured its lungs, leaving it maybe an hour to live. I was all out of sympathy after its foolishness. The Mongol guys were keen to get my bike up, but I was in a fit of rage kicking a post at the edge of the track. I realised that it was a precipice leading down to the river, so it was good I was on the right side of it, if indeed there was anything good about this situation. Eventually, we righted the bike and I knew that it was poorly. I was aware of pain in both wrists, but a quick inspection revealed nothing severe. Truly, I was more concerned about Pietro. His binnacle and screen had nearly been ripped off, and the engine bars on the right side were contorted into the most bizarre shape. 'This is the end of away from here', I thought. I tried calling the boys to get them to back up to me, but couldn't get through. 3 mins later Sami rode up and saw the mess. He got me a bottle of water from his bike and told me to sit at the side of the road while he checked out Pietro. His recommendation was that we could cable tie the binnacle together and if the bike started, it might yet be rideable. Tuomas arrived and sawed off the remains of the engine bars on the right side. I was sad; Pietro my trusty steed was badly injured. I managed to get on the bike, started it, and discovered that it sounded like a bag of bolts. Something was wrong, but diagnostics would be reserved until we hit our lodgings for the night. I and the bike, limped the few kms into the tourist camp, where our hosts took my stuff off the bike as my wrists were too sore to do anything. We were taken to our two two person Gers that had the stoves lit and were very cosy. Under normal circumstances I would've loved this, but my mind was elsewhere. As I attempted to ride back to the camp I was rehearsing the incident in my mind. I was also going through a battery of diagnostics on the bike as I listened for the slightest noise which might indicate a fault. It was already clear that the engine bars cross bar had bounced back and hit one of the header pipes. Pietro's new found flatulence was because the header pipe had been separated from the engine block, causing it to blow out. On top of this, I would be a mirror down for the rest of the trip, a creak in my neck up from the angle of the instruments, and sore from turbulence owing to the screen no longer working. The handlebars were pointing all directions, and my bags now had a few holes in them. As for me, I hadn't spilled any blood, but the wrists kept getting more painful, and the left one began to balloon, discolour and feel like it was on fire. I remembered the same thing happening when I broke my wrist snowboarding a few years ago. At the time, I didn't know it was broken, and plied it with deep heat and went back up the mountain the following day. Sick of the persistent clicking, 18 months later my sister forced me into her work for an x-ray. The doctor then looked at me like I had had a frontal lobotomy and said that my wrist had been broken in 3 places…18 months ago and what did I expect him to do now? Long story short, I suspected that I'd fractured one of the bones in my wrist, as I couldn't rotate my hand at all, but a cast was the last thing I'd need, because as long as Pietro could still ride, then so must I! This entry was written about 3 days later as I couldn't type. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4140/...e99b4840_z.jpg moments before my spill http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4102/...55c23934_z.jpg moments after my spill http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4140/...867070a0_z.jpg our Ger http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4128/...83da9b9a_z.jpg trying to sort my wrist http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4094/...842df883_z.jpg gotta keep smiling though |
Great write ups Si.
I'm rapidly thinking of not going to Scandinavia as planned next year and maybe doing Mongolia! |
you should...it'll cost you less and it'll be much better craic and more satisfying!:thumbup1:
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31st July
It must’ve been a combination of worry and pain which kept me awake last night, for sleep eluded me. I was dropping Nurofen Forte’s like Jacko and I may as well have sat there whistling dixie. It wasn’t long before I could hear Sami scratching around the Ger. He said he was getting cold, and to be fair, when the little stove in the centre went out, they weren’t a warm place to sleep. It was now obvious why Mongols live on a diet of fat lardons, for it was a good 40 degrees higher than what they’d be getting in a few months time. Sami tried to light the fire, as I looked on, as good as useless. Which was more to the pity, because he was making a real ham-fisted effort at lighting it. I then rummaged around in my bag and threw out a toilet roll, which he soon got to work on. When that had burned through without the wood catching, I threw him all my duplicate documents from my tank bag, when that didn’t work, he burned his duplicates. For just a moment I longed to be back home for the 12th July, when northern Ireland shows the rest of the world what a fire is really all about. Actually I didn’t, I hate the 12th celebrations and Mongolia was sufficiently far enough away for me to forget about them.
Anyway, Sami eventually pulled on all of his training in the Finnish army, and got enough of a fire going to heat a small marmot. He then went to sleep, leaving me to ponder my canine induced afflictions. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4104/...3ed9895c_z.jpg Sami and the fire that wouldn't light It was a beautiful morning. I had looked forward to a shower, as it had been a good few days since my last ablutions and as I couldn’t ride today, I fancied at least sitting around in a state of moderate cleanliness. We were told that the hot water wouldn’t be on until 5pm. Unhappy, and watching my hand swell by the hour, we set to work on the bike. Tuomas and Pauli took off what was left of the engine bars, straightened the front wheel, yokes, and handle bars, and put in new rear brake bads. There was nothing that could be done about the blow out, so Pietro not only looked like he’d been in the war, but sounded like he’d been dropped out of an airplane at high altitude. After the necessary repairs were completed, Sami, Pauli and I trekked up a hill, relaxed in the sun, did some laundry, and read. Dinner that night was Yak meat, and was very very good. We had a couple of beers, looked back through photos on my netbook and had a good laugh at some of our situations. Much of it seemed so long ago and so many miles ago. It was time to turn in for another night in our Ger’s. We hoped that my wrist was up to the job of clutching tomorrow. As for holding the bike up if it started to go down, it no longer mattered. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4111/...53855a5d_z.jpg taking off the adv-spec engine bars http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4128/...3ec65b86_z.jpg my gift to Mongolia http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4147/...a2f4bbc4_z.jpg back on with the handlebars http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4106/...9688683d_z.jpg still not set right http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4104/...69ac5725_z.jpg hours later http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4116/...3738e671_z.jpg Tourist Ger camp in the background behind Pauli http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4135/...0a04a145_z.jpg A young 18,000 year old volcano in the background with the crater in it http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4106/...ef2d2b32_z.jpg Sami doing his best Beavis impression with the lower mandible of some animal's skeleton http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4087/...533d76fc_z.jpg a little local kid |
1st August
We all got up and had a leisurely breakfast. I then sat in front of the computer and updated my journal entries. During this time I was wondering how I’d ride further with my left hand being virtually incapacitated by now.
I knew there was a doctors place in the nearby village of Tariat, but frankly, I trust my own skills more than I would these fellas. They’d probably try and splint it with a yak bone or rub the Mongolian equivalent of a docken leaf on it. Anyway, plaster cast was not an option as I didn’t need immobilisation. Sami and I joked that so far we’d a cow, a horse and now a dog between both of us, and through various incidents we’re both sporting very painful and slightly limp wrists. Note to others, bring good wrist supports when travelling out here! And beware of animals, they seem to fling themselves with gay abandon at sizeable motorbikes. It was soon time to pack and go. We rode all day on some dubious roads. Very soon there were patches of tarmac which were kissed by all of us after the seemingly interminable sand and dirt. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve been lamenting the end of the dirt, but as it was, I was more grateful than anyone else. While we were waiting for Pauli whose tool tube had opened and spilled tools over the place, we met an Italian guy – Enrique – who had been riding his bicycle from Italy for 4 months and was riding to Australia. He was a brilliant bloke and I hope he gets on well. As we were chatting 2 Slovakian lads pitched up who were riding a Yamaha trail bike and one they’d rented as they had a camper van parked somewhere nearby. Again, some great chat with good people. However, it was time for us to go again. We pulled into some village for lunch and had some very mediocre (being generous here) eats. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4083/...daa5da69_z.jpg Enrique That night we pulled off onto a hill and it looked like rain was looming. The thing about this part of the world is that when it rains, it really rains. Dry land can be completely submerged in no time. This means that at worst the ground gets saturated and your bike falls over (as had already happened on our first night in Mongolia with Pauli), or you awaken on your thermarest/lilo! We tried a few different places and settled on a spot. I have to say, I felt really sick and it was all I could do to get my tent up. In fact, Pauli had to help me with it. It was clear that things were going from bad to worse for me. Somehow, I’d gone from buzzing every morning when I got up and claiming that it was the best day of my life every evening when I turned in, to losing heart in the adventure. Travelling had now become purely functional for me, as I just wanted to get me and the bike back home by now. The riding was too painful, my bike was in tatters, and now something else was starting to hit me. The boys believed it was self-induced bad karma. I wanted to tie one of those blue prayer rags that you see on the shrines on the mountain tops onto my bike. However, I couldn’t find any to buy anywhere, so we passed a small bush at the side of the road which appeared to have one wrapped around it. I backed up, had a quick look, and decided that it wasn’t worthy of the term ‘shrine’, and that it would suit my bike better. Minutes later, as you’ll see from the photo after the accident, it was tied to me left handguard. A couple of hours after this, I hit the dog, and now, something else was nipping at my heels. I told the guys that I couldn’t stand up and Sami would have his evening beer on his own. Climbing into the tent and lying down offered some relief, but it felt like the mother of all battles was going on in my guts. All night I was dizzy, burping, belching and rolling around in extreme discomfort. I wondered if it was some kind of vertigo that I’d gained after the dog affair, because normally my guts would be immune to less than good food. This made for yet another night of patchy sleep. Sorry I haven’t many photos for a few days. Getting my helmet on and off and taking out the camera was too much like hard work now. |
2nd August
Today we rode to Karakorum. This town was build by Genghis Khan’s son in 1235 and was the hub of the Mongol empire and the former capital.
Like everyone does, we visited the Erdene Zuu (Precious Buddha) temple there. This is the oldest temple in Mongolia and was one that pretty much survived the destruction of religious establishments in the 1930′s. None of this meant much to me at the time as I still felt really crock. I walked around the place waiting for tidal diahorrea and was desperately hoping that it wouldn’t happen in one of the little rooms with the religious adherents. So, we looked at Buddha, and Buddha, and Buddha, and Buddha, each of them differing only in their facial gestures. Pauli and I got somewhat bored after our second one because we both felt that once you’ve seen one Buddha, you’ve seen them all, and given I’ve been to Thailand and seen the sleeping Buddha, the standing Buddha, the fighting Buddha, the farting Buddha and the Buddha Buddha, it wasn’t terribly novel. I was partially restarted at the fact that this was religion turned commercial paradise. Priests were praying for people when money was handed over, and everything cost money. Taking a photo inside was 10,000 Tugrick. When they wanted a photo beside my motorbike, I suggested that that too would be 10,000T. I was almost tempted to throw some money out and ask one of the monks to lift the curse of the stolen prayer rag off me, or else just pray that he’d invoke the divine imodium for me. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4152/...9cf78bc4_z.jpg Karakorum monastery/temples http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4084/...b06164fa_z.jpg i hope this door knows what it's in for http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4151/...f0e0c0ca_z.jpg not good times http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4076/...407756b9_z.jpg The Pauli Khan http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4086/...ddfeb5f0_z.jpg a monk http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4129/...d6dec24d_z.jpg Mongolian hunting equipment Some time later, we left Karakorum eager to get to the Oasis Guest House in Ulann Baatar. We rode the 400kms and half way along, the road was under construction, so we were back on the dirt for 30kms for the last time. The rain came on pretty heavily and we finally got to the outskirts of the city. UB has a population of around 1.4 million, which is more than the rest of Mongolia put together. I had heard it was an absolute armpit, but the degree of armpit-ness exceeded our expectations. The poverty here was really in your face. People attempted to live in Gers close to the city, I guess aspiring to have some of the riches that were here, but instead they lost all the advantages of living in a Ger on the steppe (no yak shit for the fire, so you need to pay for fuel, no running water like they have in the streams on the steppe etc). 15 years ago, there was not a car in this city, everyone was on horseback. Now, as in most cities, you’ve a glaring gap between some of the poorest people in the world, and the SUV toting yuppies. The Oasis Guest House was showing on my GPS as 10 miles from where the traffic became intense. Rather than sitting there in deluge rain and traffic which obviously conformed to no road laws whatsoever, I started lane splitting hoping that the guys would stick with me. About 1 mile from Oasis, we lost Sami, but hoped he’d find us. We checked in and there were 4 places left, it was so busy. This was to be in a Ger out the back. We got the stove lit and dried our gear. While we were doing this, we met Hubert (from Paris/New York) who is travelling for 10 years on a Ural. He sold up everything he had when he was 58 and reckoned he could stay on the road for 10 years. He’s done 6 years to date and has some cracking photos and stories to show for it – The Timeless Ride Hubert Kriegel BMW Motorcycle Raid World Travel Sidecar Adventure Gespann. He arrived in Mongolia in November in the snows and spent 30 days staying with a nomad family in a Ger on the steppe. He’s picked up Mongol well and has a great understanding of life here owing to the depth of relationships he’s built with the nomads. Sami found a suitable drinking partner in a German adv rider called Faulker (sp?). I crashed pretty early. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4138/...fd136353_z.jpg Hubert and his Ural |
3rd August
At 5:30 I still hadn’t slept as my stomach was doing somersaults. Knowing that it was 10:30 at home and she’d be up, I texted Siobhan, a doctor friend who had put together one of the medical kits for me and told her I was confused as I had a very sick stomach but no sign of the runs. She told me to start on the Ciproxin anti-biotics she’d given me which is best for bad diahorrea etc. I went out to the bike, saw Hubert still sitting in the cafe at his computer (where he stayed until midday the next day!), fetched the tablets, took one, and tried to sleep for an hour or two. I attempted some breakfast and then sat in the cafe catching up on the internet. I was sitting with the guys when all of a sudden I jumped up from the table and made for the nearest toilet. I was so glad I had some ceramic to sit on and not one of those ski-jump wooden boxes with a hole in some 2×4′s they prefer here. On that ceramic, everything became clear. I had food poisoning. As though further clarification was needed, I went to the Ger 1 hour later, then spent quite some time throwing up. Oh the relief. I knew this was going to be the road to recovery. The irony was that I’d longed for some pasta, a burger or something resembling home cuisine for weeks now, and now that I’ve finally arrived in a place that had a menu I could understand and enjoy, I couldn’t eat any of it!
http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4142/...1c36dcae_z.jpg The holy grail - the medical kit with cyproxin at 5am We met a lot of travellers, in overland vehicles and bikes. Oasis is a great set up. It began when Rene and Sybille went out to Mongolia 15 years ago to work with Help International Christian Mission. Since then, they’ve started this sustainable business model which gives locals employment and it opens its services beyond tourists like me, but showers, launderette, hairdressing salon etc, to locals. I was very impressed and it’s definitely the place to stay if you visit Ulaan Baatar. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4088/...88de3986_z.jpg at the back of the Oasis guest house http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4106/...72bc4e7c_z.jpg Rene and Sybille |
4th August
We tried to get up early and hit the road, but as Hubert says, we're worse than women to get out in the morning. I think it's because we've achieved what we set out to do, and now everyone is in lazy mode, knowing that it's a pretty dull and long run home.
Eventually we got squared up and packed up, and took off back through the hole that is UB. I would've taken photos, but I didn't want to ruin your day. Having back-tracked around 10 kms through traffic, we took the road north to Darhan, which would then lead us to Altanbulag and the delights of yet another Russian border. It was rather inclement and the guys all stopped to put on their rain gear. Seeing the temperature drop and not needing rain gear, I thought I'd join the party and put my heated vest on for the craic. I wasn't especially cold, but I figured that since I'd brought it, I might as well use it. I'm glad I did, for it dropped to 5 degrees; the coldest temperature thus far on the trip. After some 400kms we made the border. Believe it or not, I got through the whole process from Mongolian exit to Russian entry in exactly one hour. This goes down as the fastest border crossing to date, with the most pleasant and efficient officials too. Once across, we stopped at the next town, fuelled up, got some food for the camp, and then pulled off the road 30kms later in a nice little secluded spot in the woods. We sat around reminiscing and I continued to experience a weird stomach. I didn't take the full course of Cyproxin as I only had 2 days as opposed to the 3 days, so I wondered was this responsible. I knew one thing, I needed to eat. I think I've already lost about 7 or 8 kgs on this trip and with this gut issue, each day saw me getting closer to the gulags, in more ways than one. Tuomas had brought about a 15 of these pukka dehydrated camping meals at over 8 euros a pop. Given I had to eat something and I didn't want to cook anything, I bought one of these gourmet dry packs off of him. Perhaps foolishly, I took the chilli con carne, and it gave me a sleepless night. Note to anyone coming this way, invest in about 10 of these meals and reserve them for Mongolia, you'll be glad you did! |
Mongolia to Siberia - 5th August
I was up early as yet again, I hadn’t really slept well. The sun was arcing into the sky and it looked set to be a beautiful day, so as everyone arose, so did the optimism. Sami was singing ‘Back in the USSR, don’t know how lucky you are…’ and everyone seemed glad to be homeward bound. We did the usual stove fire up for teas, coffees, porridge and whatever else, and then ablutions, and hit the road. From the outset, today seemed like it would be a feast for the motorbike rider, from the stunning Siberian wilderness, to the twists in the roads. I rode most of the way to Ulan-Ude on my own because the guys seemed to be doing a bit of faffing around with something or other, and I have to say, that feeling of not having to look out for someone or hang around, brought back the feeling of freedom you get when it’s just you and the road.
When I reached Ulan-Ude, I saw the sign for Chita and Irkutsk. As I contemplated this trip, I seriously considered heading to Magadan, and this filter lane to Chita would spell the beginning of that long section. While I was still somewhat tempted on this beautiful day, my budget, my guts and wrist, and the state of the bike kept me firmly on the road to Irkutsk. In addition, I didn’t see the point in riding to Magadan if you weren’t then shipping to Japan or the US. It would be a long ride home and with all the Kamaz trucks building the new federal highways in high Siberia, it was a fight I didn’t want to pick. Magadan can wait So I kept on the bypass around Ulan-Ude and stopped at what looked like a fast-food truck stop kind of cafe. It was closed, so I jumped back in the saddle and was stopped at a Police checkpoint. ‘Documente, passport, motorcycle passport’ was barked at me. Seriously, how did this tulip think I had got this far, on my charm and wit alone? These guys are like robots, they’re switched on in the morning and go through the same old mechanised routines daily. As I was finishing up with him, Toumas and Pauli pulled up beside me. Since I’d done the dirty work, they were signalled straight through. And so cue the fun and frolics of South Baikal. This was a hoot. It was like the north coast road of Ireland stretched over 200 kms. The bends and switchbacks just kept coming. The only thing you had to be careful of was the occasional wrongly cambered corner or green tarmac, but on the whole it was riding paradise. In fact, I’m going to dedicate today’s ride to Richard McVicker from Ballymoney. Richard was paralysed after a very bad bike accident in Ballymoney 2 years ago when someone drove out on him. That he survived at all is a miracle. I was working when the news came in that a few streets away, there’d been a bad bike accident involving a local fella. Shortly afterwards I found out it was Richard and it was touch and go as to whether he’d make it. Suffice it to say, he’s wheel chair bound and paralysed from the waist down…for now;-) but still being a brilliant father, son, husband and inspiration. Anyway fella, this one was for you! This road needed full attention, but it was difficult to give it that when you were riding the side of Lake Baikal. This lake is the deepest in the world owing to the fact that it sits between two tectonic plates, and yet is only 30-40 kms wide. Its water is so pure that you can drink it, and it freezes over in depths of feet in the Winter with completely transparent ice. I’ve seen photos, but someday would like to witness this steel ice myself. Separating us from the lake were the tracks of the Trans-Siberian railway, and often a huge Russian train would rumble along beside you. We got very up close and personal with these tracks because at the very southern tip of the lake there’s a railway crossing, but there was a traffic queue of about 2 miles leading to it. We didn’t know what was going on, and knew that while Russian freight trains are large, they don’t take so long as to cause a 2 mile traffic tail-back. Being on bikes we filtered to the front of the queue, and could see a big crowd of railway workers and various bits of machinery obviously dedicated to laying new tracks etc. I got speaking to a lass who had some English and she stated that they were replacing 1 km of track. ‘How long will this take’, I asked, ’6-7 hours I think’. We all gasped at this and then began wondering if it might be possible to ride the bikes over. Tuomas got the bit between his teeth and I could tell he wouldn’t rest until we were on the other side. When the repairing carriage had gone over and there was some space, he grabbed some planks to lay across the tracks. Some of the officals started shouting and the berated Tuomas backed down. 10 mins later after some more machinery passed, the same officials we building bridges over for us. Civilians and railway workers alike all gathered around to cheer and help. Tuomas shouted, ‘Simon, you go first’, and so with apparently no option, I ‘dropped in’ and with a few heaves and pulls from the workers, eventually got across. The others followed suit, and the cheers went up from all the workers for the welcome distraction of fixing the tracks. Meanwhile, car drivers looked on jealously! http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4085/...b0ece26d_z.jpg railway workers http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4124/...0d0cd3a2_z.jpg new track being laid http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4104/...0f4a4e82_z.jpg getting Pauli across. only in Russia! we all rode away thinking 'you've just got to love this country'. health and safety is not a concept yet thought of. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4144/...63991a6a_z.jpg The south end of Lake Baikal http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4083/...ec028d38_z.jpg Sami We pressed on to Irkutsk with me and Tuomas reaching it first. I was couchsurfing there and the others were going to try and find a biker bar and some cheap accomodation. As Tuomas and I waited at the side of the road for what seemed like an hour for the others, a very kind random lady had bought us a huge watermelon and a bottle of water. Quite how she thought we were to transport this colossal fruit on a motorbike I’ve no idea. I needed to be at my Couchsurfing hosts place, so I flagged a taxi, threw the watermelon in the back and told him to drive me to Pervomaiski. I would catch up with the boys later. As it happened, later Sami had flagged down a local biker who was no help at all and decided that they’d ride through the city and find somewhere to camp out the other side. This would be the last I’d see of them, and sadly didn’t get a chance to say farewells. My plan was to sit tight in Irkutsk, shake off this lingering tummy problem and wait for Kristian and Gesa who were on their way up from UB. |
Si
Keep them coming mate.. I think ive read them over and over !! I did try to follow your blog but got a bit lost on the page !! If your ever over in the North of England I have a spare bed going.. and will probably pick your brains for hours lol Ive decided come 2012 Im off on my RTW... Cheers Geordie aka Will |
6th-12th August
I sat around Irkutsk for the next few days. I spent a good bit of time reading my mate Kester Brewin’s new book ‘Other’ and listening to the new Arcade Fire album ‘Suburbs’. Around this I was visiting the toilet about every 15 minutes, and wondering how I could possibly have anything left in me. It turns out I didn’t, I was just shedding body weight…quickly. Things did begin to pick up though and I did start to feel considerably better. On the 8th October, Tatiana, my most gracious and generous host, wanted to take me to Listvyanka on the west side of Lake Baikal. It’s a bit of a tourist resort around 60kms from Irkutsk, but was well worth the ride out. We bought a couple of beers, ate Omul (smoked fish out of Baikal), sat in the sun, and chatted to some locals. When it was time to turn back, we stopped off at her parent’s Dacha where her mum had just made fresh Borsch from vegetable in their vast allotment while her granpa was making a massive pot of blackberry jam. I admired the simplicity and purity of their life out here. When not working, the whole family drive a few miles into the country to their Dacha, where they sit around in the Banja (sauna), and eat their own grown food around the table together.
http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4078/...fc02cd73_z.jpg With Tatiana at Listvyanka http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4085/...aa85f273_z.jpg Enjoying the late Siberian summer sun Kris and Gesa eventually arrived at Tatiana’s. It was great to see them again as it felt like some much had happened since we parted ways half way through Mongolia. After all of the gear was brought up to the apartment, we got dinner on the go, had a few beers, and caught up on everything. We spent a few days hanging out around Irkutsk and did very little but eat, wash clothes, and laugh. One evening, Tatiana took me to the Banja at her parent’s Dacha. She got the fire in it going and some friends arrived. It was an interesting experience and one I’d definitely repeat. You put on a little felt hat (to protect your head allegedly, as the heat is so intense) and go into the hot room. You’re then to lie on the bench and someone beats you with wet Birch leaves. I had no idea what the purpose of this ritual was, but it does leave you feeling like you could take on the world. Tatiana and Sergei took turns to whip me with the branches and it was all a little ridiculous. I was thinking, ‘if only my mates back home could see me wearing this ridiculous felt hat and enduring such flagellation!’. After several days recuperating and recharging at Tatiana’s, it was time to get on the road. We knew that it was going to be an absolute trek to Moscow, along straight, flat tarmac with nothing but Birch forests to look at. Since she was out at work and didn’t know we were going to be leaving this morning, we wrote a letter and left Tatiana some gifts, so that she wouldn’t be too disappointed to return and find the smelly bikers had departed. In the evening we’d be camping and we didn’t really want to waste time by having to dive into various towns for food stops etc, so we went to a supermarket and bought as much stuff as would fit on the bikes. The long trek west of 5000kms to Moscow began. On the way out of Irkutsk I stopped at a few car mechanic places to try and get some chain lube. I’d been running it dry since early Mongolia as the oil and sand creates an emulsion which just trashes your sprockets and chain, but now with long straight road, I was in desperate need of some. I had no joy anywhere. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4086/...0df9151a_z.jpg got any chain lube? About 70kms later, I was gearing down from 6th gear, and things were not well with Pietro. I pulled in at the side of the road and blew the horn to K&G in front to do the same. I knew the clutch had gone. With 37,000 on the bike and much of that off-road, it was about time. To confirm my hunch, I phoned Alan at Hursts in Belfast who on speaking to one of his techs, said, ‘yup, your clutch is shot, you’ll be needing a new one’. I got him to hold off on posting one to see if I could find a new one in Russia. In the meantime, I needed to get the bike back to Irkutsk. Not having roadside recovery for Siberia, I called Tatiana who had arrived home from work by this point and was saddened by our leaving. I told her what had happened, and asked if she could arrange a recovery truck. A little while later she called back to say it was far too expensive and that she’d drive out. To be honest, I didn’t see what that’d achieve given she drove a little Toyota and there was no way we could tow the bike or get it into her boot. Nevertheless, I had come to understand Tatiana as being beyond capable, so it was just a waiting game to see what she’d magic up. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4084/...72fbd4aa_z.jpg On the phone to Hursts Motorrad http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4089/...09b06039_z.jpg nothing to do but wait |
and back to Irkutsk
3.5 hours after we pulled in with Pietro limping, Tatiana did arrive. Before long she was on the other side of the road trying to flag down a trucker. As you can imagine, it wasn't long before a few vans, cars, and trucks arrived - the power of the feminine huh?
http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4122/...1c41a880_z.jpg flagging a truck down. roadside recovery Russian style None of the first batch worked, as we’d no way of lifting the bike up into some of the Kamaz trucks or vans that were stopping. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4088/...9ef3c084_z.jpg willing, but how? Eventually she saw one with a crane, and the boyo pulled in. A quick exchange in Russian between him and Tatiana saw him leaping out of the cab and instantly transform into a superhero, minus the cape and red undies. Well, he might have had red undies, but I wasn’t so concerned that he need be in uniform for this occasion. He started working his mojo on the crane while Kris and I started trying to figure out a way to get it lashed up for a hoist. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4103/...8c53bde5_z.jpg giving Pietro a g-string http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4125/...4ef4fbe5_z.jpg more of the same http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4090/...2fdfbb2e_z.jpg our superhero http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4133/...1cf35355_z.jpg more straps needed after the first attempt http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4112/...c1f869d6_z.jpg Kris, focused http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4110/...8c4e9427_z.jpg clearly i'm slacking on the job http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4092/...68b2f99a_z.jpg the lift again http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4112/...a47f8141_z.jpg dusk http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4149/...bb6f26d6_z.jpg Pietro in traction http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4105/...18dcbc5b_z.jpg swinging http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4144/...0f6a6edb_z.jpg a more unusual angle of the BMW F800GS anyway, more to come later…got to run out the door here. |
back to irkutsk continued...
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going places now http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4125/...2a6dee0d_z.jpg onto the ambulance http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4088/...6b5709d1_z.jpg landing http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4085/...6c920854_z.jpg the recovery team at work http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4092/...86e1730a_z.jpg detaching http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4151/...5fe70171_z.jpg in place http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4086/...8ff6a88e_z.jpg a well worked rear end http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4084/...b5f85681_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4127/...6fc6b721_z.jpg securing So as was definitely not in our plans, we headed back to Irkutsk, one bike down and heavily laden with food. I jumped in Tatiana’s car and K&G tailed us to the town centre. Our superhero didn’t have a permit to allow him to drive down to the railway station, so he took me to the top of a hill from where I could almost completely freewheel the bike to the front door of the terminal. After unloading the bike, I offered him about $30, which he at first wouldn’t take. He claimed that he knew what it was like to be stuck on the road and just as he has received help, he likes to help others. In the end I forced it into his pocket and he was quietly grateful. This was yet another instance which highlighted the supreme generosity of the Russian people. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4111/...098060e2_z.jpg unloading in Irkutsk http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4090/...8e5761a0_z.jpg On getting the bike down to the railway station, I bartered with some fellas to see if I could store the bike in their container. 400 rubles for the night was steep, but not know the area, it gave me peace of mind. I would go back down in the morning and remove it before trying to stick it on the trans-sib to Moscow. All that remained to be done that evening was for us all to go back to Tatiana’s again, cook up a good meal, and laugh about the fact that we seemed destined to not get out of Irkutsk. If this continued we’d have to start working out rental splits. I did wonder about this road out of Irkutsk, as it wasn’t long into the same journey that Pauli’s bike stopped going. After messing about with recovery trucks and tampering with the bike, they discovered that his battery had no longer any water in it, and it merely required a top up before he would be off again to Finland. Other than the roads through Europe, it seemed ironic given that this was the most plain sailing part of the ride thus far. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4126/...bb49bea2_z.jpg The following morning I got up early and headed down to the railway station to rescue the bike. As would be common practice in Moscow, I had to awaken some boys sleeping in some cave of a container to get it out. I pulled it over to where I saw another guy up on the platform putting his in a container. The closer I got, the more I thought that I recognised him. Hardly possible I was thinking, owing to the fact that I’m not terribly well connected in these parts. Anyway, I needed to know the protocol for getting the bike on the train and how much it would cost. He looked up, saw me, and we realised we’d both met over a month ago in Barnaul. He turned out to be Michael, the doctor who took Sami to the hospital to get his hand x-rayed and was a very decent lad. Apparently he’d been riding some off-road around Baikal when the bike went down and since wasn’t working, so he was freighting it to Novosibirsk. Anyway, I got some pointers from him, tried a couple of offices, and ended up speaking with a legend of a guy, Yvgeney in office 18 of a freight company at the station (make note of this if you’re passing through this area). His prices were a quarter of the price of everyone else’s, and as he spoke a few words of English, it made life a bit easier for me. From there I waited around for the passenger ticket offices to open so I could find out how much it would cost for the 3 of us to get a coupe to Moscow together. Female Russian officials are not a little scary. They generally bark in contempt at you, and I thought if this is her at 10am, I certainly wouldn’t want to be seeking information at 5pm! Anyway, after some plaintive questioning, I got the relevant info, parked the bike up against a wall where I as assured it would be safe until the next day, and was then picked up and brought home. The next day, Kris and I were to ride his bike down to the station, meet our friend Yvgeney, and build our crates to freight the bikes. It turns out that they had no crates, so the cost came down from 135 euros to 95 to freight them all the way to Moscow. With our 250 euro tickets pp on 2nd class, this wouldn’t be a whole lot different to riding them, when you take into account tyre wear and fuel expenses etc. We spent pretty much the whole day in our new friend’s office and it was actually very good craic. Tatiana came down after work with Gesa and ironed out anything we couldn’t translate. By this time, Yvgeney had gone out and bought a bottle of Capatainski rum and was shouting us all to a few celebratory shots. He hadn’t made very much of us that I could understand, so, ever the cynic and former car salesman, I thought that there must be some kind of sting in the tail here. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4091/...35fae5b7_z.jpg riding with Kris http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4113/...91f7ecc0_z.jpg doesn't she just look lovely? http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4093/...b2dd8ac8_z.jpg Kris and Yvgeney http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4154/...e1d06954_z.jpg waiting to be weighed We wondered how we’d weigh the bikes, as the scales were about 2 feet off the ground and were clearly not long enough to get the bikes onto. Yvgeney kept harping on about having all the benzine emptied out of them, which was easy on Kris’ bike owing to the simply removal of a fuel hose, but with mine it was more difficult. We’d just filled them for the start of the run to Moscow, so we weren’t keen on throwing good fuel away. I think he understood and told us to pretend they were empty. With some pushing and pulling,we got them onto the scales diagonally and found that mine was 233kg and Kris’ 270. Prices were worked out accordingly and then we left the bikes in the corner of the loading bay, where apparently they’d be put on at 1am that evening. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4103/...87780b09_z.jpg in the cargo bay http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4146/...4e5452e2_z.jpg buying our tickets http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4154/...03e1e426_z.jpg Irkutsk railway station Later that day, we spent some time on the phone and internet trying to source me a clutch in Russia. We went to various aftermarket parts supplier stores, the BMW car dealership, and other possibilities, but there appeared to be no clutch for an F800GS in all of Russia. Motorrad dealers in Moscow were all quoting 28 days before they could have one in. I then asked Alan at Hursts to stick on one in the post to me and Simon Race, who was a great help, forwarded me the address of Tom Reiter who works in Moscow and would be the willing recipient of it. Tony who rode with Walter Colebatch in Sibirsky Extreme last year advised us to grease the part up some and put in a beaten up old box so that it looked second hand and thus not get stuck at the Russian customs. All things being well, it will be there in Moscow when the bike arrives, the day after I do. Administering peace in Israel/Palestine would’ve been a more straight forward task than all of this, but eventually we got it sorted, so we went off to celebrate in the Bierhaus in central Irkutsk. After the privations of Mongolia, it was so good to be nursing a pint of the black stuff! http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4150/...95040cdc_z.jpg The Bierhaus The following morning it was time to pack up and vacate Tatiana’s yet again. After several elevator rides down, we shoe-horned all our gear into her car and onward to the train station. Having everything on the motorbike and the ease of packing it in the morning and riding off was something I took for granted. Lugging baggage around and using public transport was such a pain in comparison. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4107/...8277b703_z.jpg packing again http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4112/...91196b7d_z.jpg Gesa is the lead singer of a band called Munavoi and when I saw her in this picture in the lift I thought it’d be a good band shot…if she were with her band. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4108/...3fc80a85_z.jpg departure http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4107/...9dc1a4df_z.jpg |
Trans-Siberian Railway 12th-16th August
Sometimes journeys are long. Sometimes journeys are very long. And just occasionally, sometimes journeys are far too long! This was my experience of the trans-sib from Irkutsk to Moscow. Honestly, I didn’t know what to expect. My experience of trains was limited to the Bangor West to Holywood to Belfast Central as a child, the First Great Western when I worked in England, or the London Underground. Frankly, if I’d been stuck on any of these for 4.5 days, it wouldn’t have been a whole lot different.
Kris and Gesa got a cabin with a wonderful lady by the name of Lara, who was Italian, but spoke fluent Russian, French and English. She was a big advocate of Russia having once lived and studied in Leningrad as it was then known. Also in their cabin was a little old Ukrainian man who seemed to have got his day and night back to front, owing to the fact that he’d sleep all day and when people were bedding down for the night, he’d get up, make a massive bucket of coffee, and read while the rest of them slept. I, on the other hand, had a wholly different experience. My coupe was like a wild west brothel, minus the sex and prostitutes. It started off just dandy when I had an elderly couple from Omsk who between them had ‘you’re welcome’ or possibly, ‘your welcome’ as their only English. One would have thought that words like ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or ‘where is the…’ might have been more useful, but ‘you’re welcome’ was all their teacher deigned useful for whatever sortees they might have had to make into an English speaking world. Actually, I say ‘English’, but we all know that it’s really an American phrase, said in response to almost anything. I often wanted to abuse this limitation in language by asking her if I could, just for the craic of it, swot her husband around the head when he wasn’t looking. When he looked at me in a fit of red rage, I could then feel vindicated that she approved the action. Back to the point. They got out at Omsk, which was sad as I actually learned most of the precious little Russian I have from this couple. Let’s face it, when you’re stuck on a train for 4.5 days with nothing to look at, it’s a good use of your time. The brief silver lining was that I’d have the whole coupe to myself. Or so I thought. I say brief, because at the same stop, a Russian bloke got on. Watching the speed at which he made up his bunk and settled in, made me think that this guy is a professional trans-sib traveller. I struck up some conversation with him, and it turned out he was a terribly decent chap too. He mustn’t have thought the same about me, because he only lasted 12 hours. Through Chelabinsk, Yekaterinburg and Samara etc, I had countless Russian men in and out of my room, much to the amusement of Kris and Gesa. It’s quite disconcerting when you go to bed (bed=generous description for a top bunk just wide enough but too short to get much beyond foetal) in a room with one group of (russian) men, and awaken to a completely different set. I was grateful that nearly all my stuff had enough Kazakh and Mongolian desert remnants to make it look entirely worthless for theft and subsequent resale. So the carriages alternated between 1st class, 2nd class, and then at the back you had the ‘Gulag section’, which to all intents and purposes looked like it was full of people being transported to the Siberian gulags. It was open plan and was largely Russians who were travelling here, aside from the odd pommie school teacher or student. In our carriage you had a big hot water urn, and a toilet cubicle. The urn was for preparing ‘dinner’. Masterchef this was not. You had to somehow programme your brain that the only remaining food in the world was Korean noodles, requiring steeping for 3 mins in boiling water, by which stage the enclosed chemicals could sufficiently tenderise the plasticised noodles.There was a restaurant cart, but it was distinctly ‘Russian’ (used pejoratively this time) and about as inviting as dinner at a landfill site. Needless to say, we passed on it. Reading, playing cards, taking photos of the same thing over and over again, looking out at impoverished villages, monitoring how rapidly your BO was evolving and in relation to the speed of others, getting off at the odd place to buy a blini off a be-scarfed little local lady, or counting the hairs on your arm, were about the sum total of the activities on the train. One of the highlights of the day was when one of our two carriage attendants would mop the floors. The journey got a little more interesting when we passed many of the peat fires in the distance which had been responsible for emptying Moscow when we got there. If you had ever considered the trans-siberian, my recommendation is to make sure you do the Beijing-Ulaan Baatar-Irkutsk leg for sure, for here lies the scenery. Birch forests get a bit same ‘ol same ‘ol after the first 100kms (with 4900 remaining). Also, the lower the train number, the better quality, ie., number 1-9 (and in particular Baikal no9) are the hoi polloi, with anything over that slowly degenerating. We were on number 81, and very nearly booked 395, which presumably is full of decaying bodies and half-wits. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4154/...51647998_z.jpg I think she's saying 'you're welcome' http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4150/...b96bff43_z.jpg Kris, taking another photo, of another Birch tree http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4147/...e4f96ece_z.jpg Gesa buying raspberries from a platform business lady http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4150/...09b800f0_z.jpg medicine http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4124/...0d67c238_z.jpg stretching the legs http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4152/...a7d5ca42_z.jpg relieved to be off for 10 mins http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4133/...032df6e6_z.jpg reflections on the trans-siberian http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4125/...8414d7f2_z.jpg back on the wagon In Ykaterinburg, we knew there was a Kremlin which was worth a visit, but we only had 30 mins. On the way, I clocked the golden arches, normally filtered out on principle by me when at home, but on this occasion, a McDonalds was like air to a drowning man. Gesa and Lara had the Krem in their sites, and while Kris and I wanted a few photos, Ronald McDonald’s house of hospitality was very much on our agenda. We told them we’d see them back at the train, and thanks to their persuasive skills we did. It turns out that the train had loaded and was ready to depart, when we were nowhere to be seen. We rounded the corner and saw the doors all closed and could hear Gesa gulderin’ (‘shoutin’ for the non Ulster-Scots readers) out the door ‘schnel’. With thick shake and coke flying everywhere, we usain bolted down the platform and lept onto our dreamboat to paradise. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4133/...3df97298_z.jpg towards the Krem http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4103/...249f406c_z.jpg burger bliss http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4148/...2879c4c9_z.jpg loosing it Finally we got to Moscow. This journey, which had reminded me of CS Lewis’ epic book ‘The Great Divorce’, terminated at 4am in Kazansky train station. We lugged our stuff out of the carriage and got a taxi – which, incidentally, was our first intro to Moscow prices ($30 for 4kms) – to Godzilla’s hostel. |
Moscow 16th-19th August
After we checked into Godzilla’s, which was a hostel of impeccable standards, we lay down for an hour or two, and then took off around the centre of Moscow. I was astounded at how empty the place was, as I had heard that it was on a par with London or New York in terms activity. It was later that I learned most of the city was still elsewhere because only days before it had been under a cloud of smog from nearby fires. True enough, we noticed that everything was still too hazy to take any decent photos and the air quality wasn’t even blackwall tunnel never mind alpine.
We wandered around Red Square, the Kremlin, St Basil’s onion temple, the Duma, Lenin’s mausoleum, and various other places of historical and non-historical significance. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4114/...e504191e_z.jpg St Basil's in the background http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4084/...27fe0574_z.jpg Tourists, us? No. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4081/...9912c500_z.jpg the railings were allegedly because they were setting up for a big red square U2 concert in front of Mr Lenin's mausoleum. I'm sure his waxiness was enthralled at the prospect. I just hope, for the sake of the Russian people, he doesn't respond to Bono's singing of 'Rise Up', should that feature in their set! http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4086/...c88f9a56_z.jpg Shane MacGowan on the underground. Let's face it, if I looked like him, I'd want to be kept underground too. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4081/...d9f6dca7_z.jpg Russian Metro Our bikes were supposed to arrive that evening at 1am at Jaroslawski station, so we managed to stay awake through the day in order to head out there in the evening to be reunited with our machinery. On getting out of the taxi (I was now down a kidney), we messed around at the train station and generally only saw scores of homeless people and wild dogs. We were passed from pillar to post, in and out of warehouses and rooms with largely naked men sleeping in bunks. I think I’ve covered this before earlier in the blog, so I’ll not rehearse it all again. Suffice it to say, the bikes got lost and arrived later than they should’ve done. Better late then never though. We were still faced with the task of how to get mine back from the station. We asked a few guys with trucks, but it soon became apparent that however generous people outside of Moscow were, people inside it were inversely proportionately generous…ie., selfish. Unless I parted with my final kidney, all of my money, my parents money, and the crown jewels (like I had a say over these), such an act of altruism was as likely as George W. being invited to headline at this years Mecca Television Awards (MTV). Our only other alternative was for Kris to tow me. There was one obvious problem with this plan – from where do you tow a bike? There’s nowhere to attach a tow rope too, so we figured the only way was for me (with my still gamy wrists) to hold the rope, while Kris deftly guided us through Moscow rush-hour traffic. Mercifully, they have unbelievably long periods between green and red lights here, so that meant we could dive across roads when necessary. Eventually, and much to the relief of my right arm and general well-bring, we made it back to the hostel and were greeted with cheers from the few sitting outside. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4150/...8848821b_z.jpg Inspecting the bikes after their arrival http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4106/...90a37663_z.jpg a cylinder head http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4084/...747af3bc_z.jpg leaving the railway station http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4148/...88d0e3e7_z.jpg fun...like heart failure http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4125/...512fb6ec_z.jpg on the pull http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4131/...a07bca53_z.jpg so when do we get there? http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4129/...91c5aece_z.jpg slipstreaming http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4150/...f865c4a9_z.jpg a new cocktail idea - the moscow tow-rope - ingredients on a postcard http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4139/...b07841f2_z.jpg the bikes' new home for a few days Go back into the archives and you can read Moscow in real time. For now though, let it be said that I went to the ballet and thoroughly enjoyed it. Godzilla’s is very central and everything pretty much a short walk away. In addition, the police station is outside the front door, so it’s very safe. So safe in fact, you can, as you see above, leave your bikes outside the front door of the hostel as the hostel also has got a 24hr security camera looking down on them. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4150/...1d4dc230_z.jpg at the ballet http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4092/...2efaaa5b_z.jpg he thinks i'm not enjoying it Waiting for the clutch was getting to be a pain. I was constantly checking parcelforce to see if it had moved on their tracking page, but it was very definitely stuck like a kipper bone in the oesophagus of Russian customs. Different people were telling us different things, and it ranged from ‘ah, y’all have it tomorrow’, to ‘make yourselves comfortable, you might be collecting the pension here’, which, according to Moscow standards, would be quite the windfall I suspect. Kris and Gesa were brilliant and sucked up the expense of staying longer so that we could all ride back and end this adventure together. Eventually though, I got tired of the uncertainty. Partly out of boredom and partly to be ready for when the clutch did arrive, I got stuck into stripping it down. In the absence of a workshop, I got out my tools and camping stool, and just turned the pavement into an impromptu workshop. Scott, who was the American manager of the hostel and a brilliant lad, had no complaints with me doing this. That he was a rider too and was, later that week, about to go and take delivery of his new GS helped my cause I think. In fact, his presence was invaluable, because before he moved to Russia, he was a transmissions mechanic in the US, so when I got the clutch taken apart, he was able to look at it and tell me what had actually happened to it. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4116/...ff6a1b7a_z.jpg Scott, on his favourite perch http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4131/...0327274f_z.jpg dismantling http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4153/...cdd8f633_z.jpg a broken clutch http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4125/...cbecabcc_z.jpg lining the plates up http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4087/...0f6848cb_z.jpg inspecting http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4110/...1949db7a_z.jpg housing http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4129/...edc4cabe_z.jpg refitting http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4120/...e5d5704b_z.jpg pretty much done. time for a test-ride It turns out that the main nut on the thrust pin in the clutch had completely come off. All of the friction plates were in surprisingly good order given that the bike was nearing 40k miles and had seen a lot of 1st and 2nd gear work. We put the whole thing back together and were sure to douse the main nut with thread lock. I struggled to get the gear change groove into the right place inside the clutch as it seemed to be a case of trial and error. I summoned Scott down, who sat staring at it on his lap for 3 mins, silently, and got it first time. It’s always a pleasure to watch a professional work! My one concern was not having a new gasket for the housing, but Kris meticulously cleaned the whole thing with WD40. I took the bike for a quick ride around the block and concluded that I didn’t need to wait for the new clutch. It would get me home as was. We packed up the room the next morning, said some final farewells, and pointed to the road out of Moscow. I still needed chain lube as I still hadn’t managed to get some. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4127/...8f33d1c7_z.jpg leaving moscow http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4150/...48b7cc13_z.jpg farewells |
20th August - disaster strikes
We were relieved to be leaving Moscow. Not that it’s an unpleasant place, because when it’s empty and there’s a nice relaxed vibe in the city, it’s not. But we were on a bike trip, and what with the train ride and the stalling in waiting for the clutch, everything had become more static than we were used to. I found that on a trip of this longevity, something switches in your mind; your focus becomes the road, passing scenery, the feeling of movement and progress. You make allowances and even, by necessity, build in times that aren’t like this, whether to be to recharge the overland batteries or absorb more of a place you’ve entered. If you get stuck, particularly where the people, like you, aren’t locals and are there on their own personal missions, and the environment isn’t indigenous, it feels contrived and inauthentic. I felt this after a few days in the hostel. Normally I’m a pretty sociable guy, but in this instance, I wasn’t concerned about hearing the stories of other travellers, or to answer questions regarding my own journey. I was supposed to be moving, and to that perpetual motion I wanted to return. Having said that, I knew that it was the home straight, and very soon the perpetuity would grind to a halt. I was under no illusion that, on my return, the simplicity of bike travel would be overtaken by questions of finances, occupation, accommodation, and other humdrum responsibilities which a sabbatical of this nature allows us to temporarily leave behind, in order to make space for us to address other questions in our lives.
By way of illustration, my main concern that morning was trying to find chain lube. About half an hour after we had navigated our way to the main road out of Moscow which would take us into Latvia briefly, then Lithuania to Poland (passage through Belorussia would be quicker, but requires a $100 transaction for the privilege), I caught site of one of Moscow’s BMW Motorrad dealers. Knowing from experience that they always make their highly branded punters welcome with coffee and whatever else, we pulled in. As well as chain lube, I was hoping to pick up a right hand wing mirror replacement from the accident as I knew that when I got to the UK and moved to the left side of the road, it’d be more important for passing. As usual, we were ushered to the cafe for refreshments and I told them what I needed. A wing mirror they hadn’t, but my usual Motul chain lube they did…at Moscow prices. What normally costs me £7.99 at home, was priced at a difficult to believe £20 here. Asking if Dick Turpin was the proprietor of this particular dealership I said ‘I’ll run the chain dry, thank-you very much’, and hit the road again. It felt good to be back in the saddle with ground to be covered and places to be reached. That feeling was short-lived, for 20 minutes later we were hit with the biker’s worst nightmare. Blasting down the dual carriageway, I was aware of some commotion on my right, but a bike lying on its side in the grass in the central reservation caught my attention. The closer I got, the more the thought ‘I recognise that bike’ registered. When I was right up on it and saw the Polish plate, I knew it was either Pawel or Aga’s Yamaha. About 50m beyond it I saw the other bike of the pair on its side stand parked in the central reservation. I hit the anchors hard, jumped off the bike, and ran back to where the people had gathered at the side of the road. To my relief I saw Aga, who was running towards me. She put her head on my chest and was weeping. ‘Where’s Pawel, where’s Pawel’ I asked, while trying to comfort her, in what I had already surmised was a pretty awful situation. ‘He’s been taken to hospital in an ambulance, but I think he’s ok’. What a relief, as the number of people around indicated that it was more serious. In time, I came to realise it was more serious. It transpired that there had been a car accident an hour or two previously, with two cars involved. No one had been hurt, and one of the cars had already been transported away. The one that remained had been put on the recovery truck and there were obviously two guys – one the owner of the car, and the other the owner of the truck – securing this car on the back of it. Pawel had been riding along on the inside lane and on doing a shoulder check over his left shoulder to move into the fast lane to check for Aga, noticed a car passing him. As he looked around again, his metal pannier on the right side, caught the two guys standing on the road at the side of the truck. In the mayhem of what was taking place, I could see clothing, belongings, blood and more, belonging to the men on the road. After the impact, Aga narrowly avoided hitting Pawel who was sliding up the road. She parked up, ran to him lying prone in the middle of the road, and managed to ascertain that he wasn’t too bad, so pulled him off the road. She then went to one of the two men, and could see that he was very badly injured and struggling to breathe. She tried to comfort him in her best Russian while the wife of the other man was leaning over her husband telling him to not go to sleep. A whole 25 minutes later, the ambulances arrived to take them all to hospital. Aga was left, helping the police and detectives make sense of the scene. We then pulled in. I knew that Pawel and Aga had thought about freighting the bikes back to Moscow as he’d been texting me to find out prices etc, when they were in Mongolia and I was in Irkutsk. I turns out that they’d put them on in Ulan-Ude, but we didn’t know that they’d reached Moscow that morning and that we were all setting out at almost the same time. As it turns out, they must have passed us while we were sitting in the BMW dealership only moments earlier. That we happened upon this was a pure coincidence. The convergence of all these events turned out to be awful, for as we stood there trying to communicate to various people, the phone call came through to one of the bystanders that the two men had both passed away. I got my camera out and started taking photos of the scene as I knew that when this goes to court, Russian road traffic legislation might not be terribly objective when a non-national is implicated. At least if we had some independent evidence, we might have a leg to stand on. For obvious reasons I’ll not show the photos of the scene, but it wasn’t pretty and it’s actually incredible that Pawel when we arrived walked away from this. After a couple of hours when details had been taken and the detectives had done their measuring and evidence gathering, we were given directions of the hospital. Aga had rightly decided to not tell Pawel anything at this point, but for us to just go and make sure he was ok. One of the victim’s family’s had already shown up and in their understandable anger, was threatening Aga. They followed us to the hospital to identify the bodies and as I sat at the back of our little convoy with Aga in the middle, I was not a little worried about having to pick a Land Cruiser out of my rear, so I kept a close eye in my rear view mirror for this brief run. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4126/...e2bd0992_z.jpg Pawel's bike being inspected http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4133/...46197cff_z.jpg Aga and I, leaving the scene for the hospital On getting there, I was glad that no surgery was required for Pawel. The hospital was truly awful and the staff were less than helpful. He was lying in a little room on his own with his jacket over him to keep warm. Still pretty gaunt and in shock, he was utterly surprised to see Gesa, Kris and I, walk into the room with Aga. In fact, since he hit his head, he thought he was seeing things. According to him, while he couldn’t raise his right arm and was in quite some pain, nothing was broken and they were happy to let him go. I was sceptical, but anyway. I understand that normal precaution at home would be to keep someone in overnight who had delaminated one side of their helmet when their head hit the deck. The police then arrived and we all made our way to the police station. We went to the head of the police station’s office where all kinds of languages were being spoken to communicate what was happening. Aga told Pawel that the two men had passed away, and he, understandably, fell apart. So much so that nothing more would be achieved in us being there, so they suggested that we all stay in a nearby hotel that night and come in and do statements the next day. Aga and Pawel wanted us to stay and so they put us up in the hotel. We had dinner and tried to process the day and then went to bed. Since she was so tired, emotionally drained and in need of a good night’s sleep before the next day, I agreed with Aga to set my alarm for 4am to check in with Pawel and ensure that the was ok. In the morning our Police escort arrived and took the three of us back to the station. We spent the day giving statements (Pawel’s and Aga’s) and then I was taken out to the compound where Pawel’s bike was temporarily stored in order to ride it back to the station, where they’d keep it for up to 6 weeks for him. I have to say, the police were brilliant. There was clearly an affinity between us all. They went out to the local shop and bought us food and drinks. Anything we needed, they provided. As a thank-you, we took two of the main detectives out for dinner the evening we left. How we’d get Pawel home was an urgent question. None of us particularly wanted to put him on a plane on his own and leave him with a 500kms train ride from Warsaw to Suwalki. So we all agreed that we’d split my luggage up a bit and he’d ride home pillion on the back of my bike, subject to him even being able to get onto it. After a couple of trial run and a few grimaces, he was able to clamber on behind me. At last, and with a wave off from the police, we hit the road for an hour prior to camping that evening. Pawel was still lost in his own world, and would be intermittently until we got him back. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4121/...2b94207b_z.jpg The boy in pain http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4129/...7f932133_z.jpg The side of his suit that he wasn't injured on http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4104/...68cd0f1a_z.jpg Camp that night |
Wow. Really sorry to hear about your friend's accident. No words can really speak to that.
Thank you for sharing your trip, I have really enjoyed reading the rest of it. Again, sorry for the bad experience. Brian |
hi Si
Sorry to hear about your misadventures..... Im sure you must all be shocked by it Looking forward to my next read Cheers Geordie |
21st-22nd August - the Baltics and Poland
Morning came and with it, the ritual sounds of stoves. A communal pot of porridge was prepared, eaten, and we got down to the business of packing up and heading off. Bound for Latvia, we soon made it to the border. This exit from Russia took longer than we had hoped as a coach load of Poles arrived after us and yet somehow were processed before us. We sat around, glad that this would be the last border crossing on this trip. All hereafter would be the gloriously invisible and highly permeable borders of the European Union. Knowing that fuel is ridiculously cheap in Russia compared to a few miles down the road in Latvia, we all stopped at a local fuel station and filled up. As we had a coffee and sat outside, it was funny watching Latvians who, obviously having loads of time to wait their turn in the queue, felt it worthwhile as they shook their cars to get air pockets out of the fuel pipes and even jacked the cars up to allow them to get the last cubic mm of fuel into their tanks. Some even had the entire boot area converted into an auxiliary tank so that they could carry 180 litres of fuel??
http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4090/...09e43857_z.jpg Breakfast http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4083/...50124010_z.jpg having a break http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4113/...3e1a4ce5_z.jpg riding with the wounded http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4152/...71873da1_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4091/...fa5d7436_z.jpg Map reading in Latvia We got into Latvia and found the roads to be excellent. It definitely had a more European feel to it. Even though we were still a good distance off home, it very much felt like I was riding in my own back yard now, relative to how far we'd gone. Owing to the lengthy border crossing, we didn't make it as far as we'd wanted, so we pulled off by a river and set up camp again. It turned out to be quite a subdued, and indeed submerged, night. Everyone was quite quiet and yet in good enough spirits. We knew that we were in for a deluge that night, so battened down the hatches and turned in. Sure enough, the next morning, Pawel and Aga were floating on their thermarests as the water had streamed down the hill straight into their tent. Apparently Aga was so tired she hadn't even noticed and slept through. Pawel, still in a lot of pain and now becoming immune to his painkillers, was up most of the night anyway. After some tinned fish breakfast, we made it through the rain to Lithuania. This was a country with utterly exceptional roads, a complete absence of any traffic on them, sunshine, and stunning river and forest scenery. I did think to myself that if anyone wanted somewhere a little different than the usual France, Spain and Alps ride in the summer, the Baltics would be a great place to come and explore. On exiting Lithuania we were heading to Pawel's mum and dad's place in Suwalki, a short way across the border into Poland. We pulled into the parking area behind their apartments and enjoyed a warm welcome from his family. He had to explain to them that he'd had an accident and hence was riding home on the back of my bike. The precise details of the accident would be saved until we'd all left the following morning. In the meantime, his mum had prepared a feast for us, including the traditional Polish dish of 'Kartoshka'. It was really a fantastic evening with some faultless Polish hospitality. After being reunited with his son Tytus, we were all really glad to see Pawel laughing again. Pawel and Aga had been on the road longer than the rest of us, and had gone through Iran (which was their favourite country) and had some many great stories to tell. I just hoped that the experience of this trip and the sharing and memory of stories wouldn't be marred by the final chapter. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4147/...ec0a0008_z.jpg Pawel and his parents http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4104/...04eba083_z.jpg Polish hospitality http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4092/...236f9608_z.jpg going through photos of our trip http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4118/...9f70bfaa_z.jpg Tytus getting a taste for it |
Another brillaint read :-)
I did UK to Finland and return via Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania and back thru Europe. It was a great ride but just wished I had done more stops to do some sight seeing Cheers Geordie |
23rd-25th August - Back through Europe
I awoke at 5am knowing that we had a long ride all the way across Poland to Berlin. It wasn’t long before the others surfaced too. Aga, in her own inimitable style, threw together a plush breakfast to send us on our way. Tytus, who definitely had the biking bug, wanted a little scoot out on my bike before we departed. I took him to the end of the street, returned and loaded up. I have to say, I didn’t for one moment mind having Pawel on the back of my bike for a few days, but it felt great to have the whole saddle to myself again. I really wondered how Kris and Gesa had achieved what they achieved.
Unfortunately it wasn’t all motorway to Warsaw, and in fact, the road had us going through every little town and village possible. This made for slow progress and the ride was largely uneventful…which is good given how eventful things had been of recent times. In the early evening we were passing out of Poland and into Germany. Kris and Gesa were understandably excited, so I went ahead of them and shot some video of them riding home, past the German border sign. We all stopped and marvelled at the sunset and they wondered if the architect of the heavenlies had laid this on especially for their return. Our destination would be the apartment of their friends ‘Danijel and Sylvie’. It goes without say that the Berlin Wall information centre/museum was top of the list of places to visit, as well as the historical buildings, Brandenburg Gate and the Jewish memorial. I have to say that it was sobering being at the Berlin Wall. I have vivid recollections of my mum setting me in front of the TV on the 9th Nov ’89 and saying ‘you have to watch this, it’s history in the making’. As a 13 year-old boy, I was more intrigued by the graffiti on the wall than the political significance of the circumstances. However, it all came home when I stood there and pulled up those memories. On reflection, this trip was a comprehensive education on communism, nicely rounded off here, in Berlin. I spent a good deal of time wandering the city and thinking about walls and their use in segregation; from my own homeland, to Israel, to E/W Germany, to Korea etc. I was particularly fascinated with this church, ironically called ‘The Church of Reconciliation’, which stood alone in the death strip. If walls are metaphors for segregation, I thought, what would be the equivalent metaphor for unity and reconciliation? I wondered if it was the very thing that this church and other churches like it render impotent by building walls around and thus preventing its true transformational power from taking effect in society: the table? At table, eucharist, communion (or whatever your tradition calls it), our own dinner tables etc, barriers are dropped and everyone sits, together. A level of intimacy, otherwise unachievable, is experienced, as strangers are welcomed and our humanity encounters ‘the other’. Perhaps this is why most of the successful Protestant and Catholic reconciliation work was done over dinner? These reflections were taken further when I visited the impressive Jewish Memorial, build on the site which hosted Joseph Goebbel’s bunker. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4092/...6a56682c_z.jpg Arriving in Berlin http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4096/...876f7ba3_z.jpg Kris and Ges in the morning http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4125/...3029a070_z.jpg Checking that the bikes are ok http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4152/...54be17c9_z.jpg Breakfast, and no canned fish in sight http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4152/...044d6133_z.jpg One of Berlin's cool cafes in the background. I chose to focus on the Guzzi though. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4144/...e63d02cc_z.jpg Berlin has great Graffiti. A salutary reminder that...nobody is perfect. This city is proof of it. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4133/...473113c7_z.jpg at what's left of the wall http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4090/...e41233fc_z.jpg standing alone in the death strip, the ironically named and soon to be destroyed 'Church of Reconciliation' http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4115/...c78856fc_z.jpg The Holocaust memorial http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4129/...2c128b9f_z.jpg When in Germany... http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4147/...d9cc0e77_z.jpg far too talented and cool for their own good Excited to be in Berlin as I’d only heard good reports about the city, we rolled in in the dark and parked up under their balcony. It wasn’t long before Danijel was down and welcoming us. I knew instantly that these were good people and it was going to be a good couple of nights at their place. The plan was to spend the whole of the following day sightseeing around the city, have dinner in the evening when Gesa’s sister Adja would come over from Hamburg, and then break for Cologne the following morning. Even more impressive were Danijel and Sylvie. Dan is Croatian but speaks fluent German and English and is pretty good in French. Sylvie is from Hamburg but her mum is French, so she’s fluent in French, German, English, and Croatian. They have a 2-year-old son Mijo whom she converses with in French, he converses with in Croat, and he’s obviously learning German, as well as English when people like me come through. It’s not often 2-year-olds can make you feel educationally challenged! As it happens, the day after we left, Syvlie gave birth to a Marie Yvonne. Congrats you two!!!! I’ll be over to give English lessons next month;-) http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4127/...8f9574ff_z.jpg D and S's, just who you want to be with and where you want to be after an epic adventure It was time to leave these new friends. I had a deadline to be back in England for, and wanted to spend at least one night in Cologne again, but with two people whom I didn’t know on the way out when I visited, but would share some rich life experience with in the weeks following. Kris and Gesa were understandably excited about this final run home along the autobahn. After a final farewell to D and S, we made it to the famous German autobahns with some alacrity. I’d say that normally, Kris was quite a conservative rider, partially owing to the fact that he had his missus on behind him. Not now though. They were maxing every drop of hp out of that R100GS that they could muster. Their excitement was vicarious, because I could feel it too. I’d no idea what or to whom we were returning to, but when you’re friends are this stoked, it’s very hard not to feel it yourself. Kris was texting that we’d be back at a certain time, but with loads of road works, and torrential torrential rain, we were delays by some 2 hours. It wasn’t helped by the fact that my fuel reading sensor in the tank, replaced x4 by BMW and guaranteed by Hursts Motorrad before I left, went on the blink twice. On both occasions it showed in excess of 70 miles left and then here I was on the autobahn freewheeling. Not good. With the smallest hard shoulder in the world, I’d pull in, Kris would detach his fuel hose, and gift me some from his voluminous tank. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4107/...9f3d8ae3_z.jpg Perilous refueling The closer we got to Cologne, the more I could see them getting excited. Kris passed me at a speed I had not yet seen him go, and then I tailed them into the city on this horrible wet evening. We pulled down into the street his flat was on, and there standing in the rain, was a gathered throng of expectant family. Just as they had all gathered to send them off some 4 months ago, here they were, suffering the rain, to welcome them home. The shouting and whooping was great craic as Kris and Gesa pulled up and tooting the horn. Then began the hugs, and then came the little beers and pizzas from his local pub underneath his flat. It was a good evening and even though a stranger to all of these people, I felt incredibly privileged to be part of this and was made to feel welcome. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4083/...13f7494f_z.jpg Father and Son. Kris' dad rode from India on a motorbike 30 years ago, so he knows the score http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4092/...f5fcc6a3_z.jpg Reunions I stayed the night and would leave the following morning for the final run home. Tomorrow should finish the ride report. |
27th-31at August - To Greenbelt and home
It was the sort of morning you know you have to face, but will take little pleasure from. I could hear the incessant rain all night, and there was still no let up by the time I was getting ready to leave. Gesa put on a spectacular breakfast for me, and then they helped me carry my stuff down to the waiting bike. I got everything set and braced myself for a wet ride to the port. Goodbyes were said, and these splendid people waved me off until the next time.
http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4147/...da1b4da4_z.jpg Cheerio to Kris and Gesa in Cologne It was about 500kms in total, during which you exit Germany, blip through a small part of the Holland, then Belgium, and finally France. Again, there was nothing to report about this leg of the journey, it there was little of any interest to me, and presumably anyone reading this ride report. I got to Calais and attempted my check in at SeaFrance. Apparently my booking hadn’t worked, so instead of the £27 fare I had expected to pay when booking online, I was now looking at £84. Fearing that SeaFrance had seen me coming and wouldn’t hear of my accusations that while I tried to book online, something happened their system preventing me from doing so, I walked out and tried the neighbouring P&O office. They were £10 cheaper, but their sailing was much later. Angry but without much choice, I went back to SF and bought a ticket for the sailing leaving in 50mins. This, I thought, would be my last sailing with a company whose customer service was distinctly, let’s say, French! I jumped on the ferry and settled down for the crossing. I remembered that on the way out I had a photo taken up on the deck and so decided that it might be interesting to have a ‘before’ and ‘after’ shot. The ‘before’ shot is at the beginning of this blog but I’ll repost it here. With all of the gear on, it’s difficult to tell, but I’d shed 6-7kg in body weight, and maybe picked up a few grams of embedded dirt. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4120/...a29c397e_z.jpg Before http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4090/...638982fd_z.jpg and after In any case, I rolled off, switched riding mode to the other side of the road, refuelled in Dover, and took off towards Cheltenham for the Greenbelt Festival. I was looking forward to this knowing that I had many friends who’d be at it as well as my brother-in-law who’d be arriving on the Saturday. On arrival the first person I saw out of 20,000 people was my friend Ivan from Belfast. It was fantastic to see a familiar face, and this would be the start of 4 days of catching up with old and new friends. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4084/...d391d7ff_z.jpg The hoods http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4145/...773f740c_z.jpg From expansive landscapes of no one, to being in the middle of 20k people http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4107/...51985399_z.jpg http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4125/...61646316_z.jpg Fellow rev and biker, Ivan with daughter Lucia http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4127/...958f0c85_z.jpg Ryan 'rimmer' Mcanlis http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4126/...038e87fc_z.jpg Friends http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4148/...ab1fa430_z.jpg Fellow Bangor lad on centre stage - Foy Vance http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4085/...f8eca0be_z.jpg an adopted Bangor lad, biker, and always brilliant - Gentry Morris http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4149/...564b64ae_z.jpg Port of Holyhead With the festival finishing on Monday night, I awoke early on Tuesday to pack my tent and load the bike for the final time. It was a strange feeling to know that tomorrow I’d awaken in a bed and not have to clip down any boots, or secure a tank bag, or lube a chain. Fearing that I’d left things a little late and knowing that my folks had prepared a little welcome home for me, I knew that I’d have to average around 90mph to make it to Holyhead for my scheduled ferry. Wales has a burgeoning amount of speed camera traps etc, so I knew it was risky business. My sailing was at 12 and I pulled in at 11:45 fearing that I’d missed the boat, literally. I had. My pleading to let me on was in vain, and so I was rescheduled and had to make the not-so-interesting port of Holyhead my home for a few hours. This delay had a double whammy in terms of my time. Not only did I have to catch a later sailing, but it was on the slow boat, so it’d be later into the evening before I’d arrive home to the waiting family. I felt bad. I pitched onto the boat, fell asleep, and woke up in time to unroll. On getting off the ferry, there was a brand new Triumph Hypermotard beside me, a 1200GS, and a few custom bikes. Pietro sporting his grime and war wounds, looked for all the world like he was on his last legs next to these polished machines. Still, I think the other bikes cowered before his achievements and even though I now had to spend some money on ‘righting’ him, I wouldn’t have swapped with any of them. Here I was, back on Ireland’s soil. I took a right out of Dublin and pointed my front wheel towards Donaghadee for the final 150 miles. Sitting on the main road from Dublin to Belfast, I remembered the day I left the driveway of my parents house and revisited the stand-out moments of the last 3 months. To be sure, it was the best experience of my life thus far and the days ahead would give me the space that I needed to process all that I’d experienced. Hearing an exhaust in the distance, my dad and sister had come out the front door and were first to greet me as I pulled up onto the spot from where I’d left. They’d put together an amusing banner for my return, which on saying ‘Welcome home from there Simon and Pietro’, had the neighbours all wondering if I’d ‘come out’ on my travels and was bringing home my gay Italian fella. I got off the bike went inside, and the return of the prodigal celebrations began. Thanks folks! Indeed, thanks to everyone who made this trip what it was. There are too many to mention, but most of them are referenced along the way in the story recorded here. Only time can tell what sort of impact a trip of this nature has, but I know that going ‘away from here’ was exactly what I needed after 5 years in business. Now that I’m ‘back from there’, I’m not sure what is next, occupationally speaking. Perhaps I’ll post it on here in a couple of weeks, should the epiphany happen. http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4127/...20b954d8_z.jpg Back to the start http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4106/...0ca2b270_z.jpg with dad http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4089/...f08de770_z.jpg thinner, but still intact...just about http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4084/...060ed699_z.jpg welcomed back http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4086/...9b617715_z.jpg a toast to the return by my sisters In the meantime, to those who have tracked with me, thanks for coming. To those who’ve not simply lurked but have managed to find the ‘post a comment’ button or emailed, a big-thank you for the encouragement in letting me know that the nightly ritual of journal updating wasn’t to no avail. This site is going to be redesigned soon and might be used for whatever is next. In the meantime, after 4 years, I’ve reactivated my facebook account, so you can come and find me on there to stay informed. nb., A quick update on Pawel is that he’s doing well. He’s got a small problem with his neck and his shoulder is healing up. There’s been no word back from the Russian authorities and can’t get through when he’s tried to contact them. His plan is to head up in a van in a couple of weeks to pick up his bike. Briefly and in answer to a few questions that have been pm’d or emailed to me: 1. Trip cost: £3500. The £500 was for the clutch, freighting bike, and trans-sib tickets. If you’re planning a trip budget on £1000 a month. No carnet’s needed for this trip. 2. Group size: my favourite riding was done solo. I really enjoyed the freedom of blasting out through Europe to Volgograd on my own, and I didn’t enjoy the first few days of riding with the Estonian/Finnish guys as their pace and stops were away off what I was used to. Having said that, they were all really good guys and I immensely enjoyed the craic around the fire in the evening. I would day that two people is the ideal for a big trip. I met other riders along the way who were riding in two’s and it made me a little envious. More than three is slow going. Three is a crowd and preferences and alliances can still form. Two is good from a safety point of view and company when not riding, while one is wonderful but is lonely at night and lacks the safety element. The other bonus of riding alone is that you enter into your immediate environment more and will get many more opportunities to experience local hospitality etc if solo (or as a couple). Also try and find people of similar experience if not going on your own. 3. Best kit: Soft panniers. I personally would urge caution in using hard panniers. Every single rider in the big group we had said that they wouldn’t bring them again. We lost days in trying to reattach them when the bikes went down. I would’ve bust an ankle at least a couple of times if I’d had mine on. They’re great for European touring on tarmac, but beyond that, bin ‘em. 4. Do again: as usual, bring less gear. I stripped everything down several times before I left, and realised that I should’ve been more ruthless again. Of everyone, I had far and away the least stuff with me, and still had too much. 5. Favourite country: Russia. The people, the land, and the language were all wonderful. Mongolia is obviously like nothing else on earth and is perfectly enchanting, but there was something about Russia that really got me, and I think everyone felt the same. Most of us are wanting to do some language training in Russian and will certainly be back. See you on the road. Over and out. Simon |
Thanks Si for taking your time out and keeping us all up to date.... going to miss my daily read !
Take care and I might just see you out on the road some day Cheers Geordie |
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Sami |
A great adventure, I really enjoyed reading that, good man!
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