Siberia to Mongolia

Monika, crossing a  dry river-bed in Northern Mongolia

12 AUG 2002:   WE RODE EAST from Noverserbisk to Ikrustsk where we had planned to meet with other biking friends, Simon McCarthy and Gorgie who were embarking on their own epic adventure -- a one and half year adventure around Asia.  They had been travelling now for six months, having commenced their journey almost two months ahead of our own. We had sent a mobile text to them from Noverserbisk and gave them our ETA of three days. The road to Ikrustsk was a mixture of asphalt and gravel and mud, but we were lucky as there had been no real rainfall, which would have severely hampered our journey.  I was still weak from the food poisoning and decided to pull over at a café which had just been built and looked out of place on the highway.  With its modern fascias it had a distinctly European look, completely different to anything everything else we had encountered on our route.. We parked the bikes and I took a 30-minute sleep on a bench outside the café, only to be awoken by the sound of motorbikes approaching from the east. I struggled to lift myself up from the bench, still half asleep, to gain a better view and saw immediately that it was a couple of Africa twins being ridden by man and a girl.

Best Cafe in Siberia - Martin Barbara (Right)

At first they rode past but, after noticing our bikes, they turned round and parked close by.  They introduced themselves as Martin and Barbara who had been on the road and around the world for the previous three years and now heading west to Norway from Vladivostok. This was the perfect excuse for an early finish to the day.  Martin agreed that we would make camp and have a celebration drink of vodka. Well, it had been weeks since we had spoken English, and possibly two months since we had seen European bikers, so we had a lot to talk about. They were an interesting couple and had many a story to tell.  It was sad for me to hear that they were on their way home, but they said they were ready for normality.  This was hard for us to understand as we were having such a fantastic time on the road.  However, we were only a few months into our dream whereas they had already completed 36 months on the road.  I asked them both what for them had been their favorite location in the world and, without hesitation, they both said Siberia.  Of all the places in the world they have visited, why Siberia?  Easy, Martin replied, “It’s the people of Siberia that make it so special, so warm, generous and kind.  Everyone wants to meet you and everyone wants make you welcome”.

We had a good laugh and a few bottles of vodka which was exactly what the doctor had recommended for my illness and Monika and I just listened with envy about their tales of adventure, and dreamed about visiting all the places they showed us in their photographs. It was a great evening and a little bit of normality had returned if only for a short time.

South of Ulan Ude

The following day we said our goodbyes and took a celebration picture.  They then went west towards Noverserbisk whilst we headed east towards Ikrustsk and our rendezvous with Simon McCarthy and Gorgie.. We arrived in the city without too much difficulty and quickly located the hotel recommended by Simon, only to find them both perched outside the hotel bar drinking ice-cool beer. Gorgy looked really well and I could see instantly that Simon had lost a lot of weight since leaving England. It is becoming apparent that a simply remedy to the mid-life bulge is to grab a motorbike and ride half way around the world  -- the fun alternative to any slim-fast plan.

15 AUG 2002

We booked into a hotel but only after Monika had bribed the receptionist.  Apparently, as the only hotel in Ikrustsk with available rooms it was only allowed to accommodate Russians.  This, unfortunately, seems to be the norm in Siberia.  It’s the militia’s way of keeping an eye on the tourists. After a few days of beer and bike preparations, which included fitting the suspension systems with rubber boots to protect them from the mosquitoes, we departed Ikrustsk and headed for Mongolia via Lake Baikal one of the deepest if not the largest fresh water lakes in the world. We arrived in the early afternoon and made camp on the banks of Lake Baikal. Shiny pebbles and crystal clear water, fresh enough to drink direct, added to the occasion. It was simply beautiful and here we were at last achieving a personal landmark, and one that I have had firmly fixed in my mind since departing Ireland all those weeks before. We left the following day for Mongolia as we were ever conscious of the deteriorating weather and the now falling temperatures.

Georgie,  Simon M and Monika

We descended the slopes to the west of Ullan Ude, the most southern Siberian town, close to the Mongolia border. We were in fact saying goodbye to Eurasia and hello to Asia, and it all happened within a short distance of some 50 or so miles.  The complexion and features of the local people changed quickly from the Euro-Slavonic  features we had grown used to over so many months, to a new and distinctively Asian appearance.  In addition, the landscape changed from the pine trees and wheat fields, which had become so much a daily feature of the previous four hundred miles, to long, rolling hills which now extended in every direction and which were made more beautiful by their rich autumn colors.  This was to be the theme of our surroundings for the next four weeks in Mongolia. Ullan Ude was mixture of the new and the traditional.  In the far distance to the east you could see towering apartment blocks, some ten stories high, while in our immediate surroundings on the outskirts of the town were Siberian  homes made from wood, all decorated with beautiful green and blue fascias. A railway line running parallel to the fast-flowing river provided an incongruous back-drop as locomotives, old and new, whistled by. We became excited when the Moscow to Vladivostok train passed by in a western direction, some 300 meters below us, hugging the southern bank of the river.  One could only reflect that the passengers travelling on board still had four days, seven time zones and 3,000 miles to go before reaching their probable destination of Moscow.  And to think we had already ridden the whole of that route, on two motorbikes, across possibly the harshest terrain of our journey. Time was passing, so we decided to follow the ring-road to the west of the city and then head south, aiming for a point just north of the Mongolian border. Simon McCarthy located our campsite for the night, some 400 meters high in the base of the hills and within one hour's drive from the border. We unpacked the bikes and started to make camp while Simon prepared the campfire. Making use of fallen branches from the surrounding trees, shrubs and brambles as a source of heat, we duly lit the fire.  It wasn’t until later, after much speculation, we realized that we were actually camped in a field whose crop was predominantly the plant cannabis-sativa -- cannabis!  We immediately got the giggles. Upon closer inspection we realized that we were camped iin a herb field.  So here we all were, unintentionally at risk of getting stoned by the fumes from the fire, whilst making apple crumble and tea. After the best night's sleep since we departed from Ireland, we packed and headed south to Mongolia.

 20 AUG 2002

 We arrived at the Mongolian border town of Kyakhta and rode straight to the front of the queue at the frontier control post, without any complaints from the fifty or so Mongolians who had been waiting at least an hour for the Russian border guards to open the gates.  The gates had been closed due to the visit of a high-ranking Russian dignitary. Fortunately, the wait was only fifteen minutes and to our surprise we were asked to go first to start the border-crossing formalities. The crossing was routine but sadly, Simon and Gorgy were asked to return to the town by the over-zealous officials. There crime was to leave Siberia with American dollars, which they had duly declared as requested on the arrival declaration form, but for reasons we still don’t understand, they were not allowed to enter Mongolia until they had exchanged the US dollars for Russian roubles. Monika and I crossed the border ahead of them and waited an hour or so until, finally, Simon and Gorgy crossed.

We rode for a further two hours and with each mile the scenery became more and more breathtaking until finally we found our camp ground for the evening. Situated in a shallow valley, which concealed our presence from the road, we set up camp and rested. Simon McCarthy shaved off his three weeks of stubble, but left a gringo mustache. I located some black leather bandanas we had been given in Odessa, Ukraine and we tried them on and it was fair to say we both looked rather gay in our new head dress, so impressed by our new camp look we posed on my bike for some souvenir pictures. The following morning we departed and rode for some fifty miles until we caught sight of our first Mongolian tending his horse by the side of the road. horse I noticed on my GARMIN GPS that Ulaanbaatar the capital of Mongolia was 200 kilometers to the south east and on the spot.

Out of sheer frustration at putting along at 25 mph on asphalt with the biggest OFF ROAD play ground only twenty feet either side of me, I made the decision to ride there in the most direct route which meant leaving the road and heading off into the hills, Bliss ! So I waited for Simon and Gorgy to pull up and announced my intention to overland to Ulaanbaatar and that I would meet them in the capital and headed south east onto the mountain trail. What I didn’t know was that Simon had misheard me and had not grasped my intention and before he realized I what was going I was on my way. I set the my GPS unit to the minimum track distance so that it would enable me to track back in the event of getting lost, and I also checked my fuel level which gave me a range of 350 kilometers more than enough before the next petrol station and checked my drinking water which gave me seven liters and kicked the bike into the gear and headed south east onto the dust trail which led high into the rolling hills after all this was Northern Mongolia with numerous villages and towns and not the Sahara Desert.

I left the road kicked the bike through the gears and commenced a most exhilarating ascent into the towering hills of Northern Mongolia. Within two minutes I had descended into the next valley leaving Simon, Gorgy and Monika out of sight. The terrain was fantastic.  The gentle undulations of hills were quite unlike anything I have ever experienced as they continually rolling and curving around me as I sped along.  And the landscape was so smooth. I climbed to almost a thousand feet within minutes and descended the other side reaching speeds of over 60 miles an hour and only occasionally was this ride of fantasy interrupted by patches of soft sand or roaming camels, who continued on their way completely oblivious to me and my bike. A rough path followed, the tilting telegraph poles held upright by stacks of stones which in turn were bound by small logs tethered with wire and rope. We were later to learn that the telegraph poles were to be a key feature of navigation in Mongolia as there are no signposts at all outside Ulaanbaatar. My Gamin GPS had no other fixing points except the capital and so we were to learn that telegraph poles go the most direct route from town to town.  If you ride to the left or right of their track you will eventually reach civilization. It was nearly an hour and some sixty kilometers before I realized I did not have my passport as Monika had my Jacket and Mongolia being a former soviet controlled country still had old habits, which meant they had police guarding the entry and exit of every town.  If I did not locate Monika on the road to Ulaanbaatar, I would have some explaining to do and might even risk detention. I took a fix on my GPS and and DR’d a route to intersect the road. I new that the road went west of my current position before heading southeast into Ulaanbaatar which gave me a MLA of 40 kilometers, so I new there was possibility that I could catch them. What I did not know was that Simon McCarthy had perused me as soon as he had realized what I was doing as he was concerned that I would be riding on my own but returned after a couple of miles once he realized that he had no chance of catching me as I was traveling much faster than he.

I intersected the road after 45 minutes and headed south towards Ulaanbaatar and within an hour I descended into a valley, which housed a small city. Before me, in the distance, was a barrier manned by police. I could not risk being detained and I was absolutely confident that I could not explain why I was on my own without a passport nor could I ask them if they had seen three English bikers. I took the decision to head off the road again and ride high almost to the summit of the surrounding valley and slowly rode south with the small city in view beneath me. From the hills I could see a petrol station and next to it was another police check point and I new this was the official exit of the city so I rode for a couple of miles further before descending back onto to the road and continued south towards the capital. This I repeated a further three times, until eventually I pulled up four hundred meters short of the final check point which separated me from the Ullanbaator the capitol. There was no possibility I could ride around this check point as railway lines ran parallel of my position to the west and houses and garages encompassed the east, so I parked the bike to consider my options. I was doing my best to remain inconspicuous but this was futile as almost every car and lorry, which passed, beeped his horn and waved enthusiastically “welcome to Mongolia”. The police, and there were half a dozen, were looking right at me from their observation tower, which was situated in the center of the road and was used to check vehicles entering and leaving the city.  They were curious to why I had stopped. So in an exaggerated fashion I pretended to adjust my luggage securing straps and then continued on. The police waved and smiled as I approached and to my relief just beckoned me on into the heart of the city.

Lake Baikal Siberia

I booked into the Naasan guesthouse situated in the center of the Ulaanbaatar and reserved a room for Simon and Gorgy who were yet to arrive. The guesthouse Is popular with back packers due to the rave reviews received in the Mongolian lonely planet book. It offers small apartments, with both bunk and single beds, with shower and bath and all for $4.00 dollars per person, bliss! An hour later Simon Monika and Gorgy arrived and we all moved into the hostel. For the next three days we prepped the bikes and planned our route for a two – three week tour.

26 AUGUST

 We left all we could afford to leave behind at the hostel to make the bikes as light as possible and departed in a westerly direction to our first destination Lake Hoskov, Mongolians premier tourist attraction. We were in fact at the tail-end of the tourist season and traffic was almost non existent except for Nomadic herders in small convoys of bright blue diesel trucks.  They were heading east, fully laden with their Ger homes tightly packed on the rear as is the custom.  Every winter the nomadic families relocate to the surrounding areas of the cities and relocate to the valleys again in the spring.

The asphalt stopped after about 80 kilometers and because of the rough track our speed was reduced to between 10 and 40 kilometers per hour but it did not matter, as the scenery was breath-taking. On occasions we could just manage only 60 kilometers over a 14-hour period such was the poor condition of the track. You would think being on motorbikes we could make light work of the road conditions but our problem during the ride north was that we had no GPS waypoints to work with, and our maps were proving unreliable.  Every 20 or 30 kilometers the track would split into half a dozen other tracks which in turn would disappear out of sight as they took their own unique course into the surrounding hills with no obvious indication of eventual destination. We could not risk leaving the main track for fear of getting lost and we always knew that eventually there would be further vehicles passing who could point us in the right direction. Incredible outside Ulaanbaatar there are no sign posts or even village names to aid with Navigation.

It soon became clear that water was the number one priority. We were using about 12 liters daily but the further we rode north the less available it became.  On numerous occasions we detoured to small towns and villages in the hope of keeping our water supply topped up.  It was imperative that at a minimum we always had at least two days worth to keep us going. On occasions, as for example when we visited a small town of Zamara situated in the desert, which had been built by the Russian military to house its soldiers, we found at least six general stores and after searching all of them we could only muster an additional two liters of water and three eggs. It was at that moment it really dawned on all of us that, from now on, our onward route would be determined by water and how much we could carry it was the first time in our journey a case of life and death, we had to get it right and there was no room for mistakes.

What was incredible is that we could ride for hours without passing or even seeing another person.  In the same way, whenever we came to set up our tent for the night, we always did so in locations that we believed to be isolated, secure and private. And yet whenever the last peg had been driven into the ground we would always then hear the sound of an approaching horseman investigating the new foreign neighbors. The approach was always the same.  They would advance to about 10 meters of our tent and then just stop, waiting for a sign of friendship.  Typically this would mean us waving a cup or tea pot in the air which means they are invited to enter. There are no fences in Mongolia but the Mongolian are respectful of privacy and they were also respectful of us and our presence.It did not take long before I realized that if I gave a horseman a 10 minute ride on the back of my bike he would give me an hour on his horse, and so this was to be the theme for our stay in Mongolia. I am not a horse expert and I am a very poor rider.  This is loosely associated with confidence, as I never ever feel that I am in control when seated high up in the saddle.  I always have the feeling that if the horse wanted to bolt, it would do so, irrespective of any commands I might care to issue by voice or rein!! The Mongolian families were extremely generous and on most occasions it was difficult to move on, such was the welcome we received. They live such a basic existence but they always looked happy. It has to be tough, living the way they do, always in search of pasture lands suitable for their animals and, again, having to re-locate when the Siberian winter descends, but their smiles are as big as you will ever see and seeing them always warmed our hearts. We were now living our dreams and how we were enjoying ourselves!  This for us really was paradise, the rolling hills surpassed anything we had ever seen before on a post card and the sunrise and sunsets were out of this world. Ok the roads were non-existent, but who cares when you have so much freedom. It is not always about reaching your destination as it is equally important is to enjoy the experience of getting there. We had our bad days, especially in the sand, as the going was both slow and demanding.  When it got really tough, Monika would sometimes cry through exhaustion and frustration but we helped and motivated each other to keep going.

29 AUG 2002

We stopped some 200 kilometers short of LAKE HOSCOV in a small town called Hutakondor where we refueled the bikes and made the decision to drive 10 kilometers north of the city to make camp. It was not until we had erected the tent that I realized I had left my back pack at the petrol station. I was too tired to go back then, and so we decided I would return the following morning whilst Monika packed the tent. I arrived at the petrol station and was told they knew nothing about my pack and they could not recall anybody seeing it and so I went to the police my theory being this village was so remote that it had to be here somewhere. My darting around the village on my bike had attracted a lot of on lookers and word was spreading that there was a pissed off biker looking for the return of his back pack and it wasn’t long before I was approached by an American missionary who lived on the south side who was anxious to find out what was my problem Thankfully he spoke good English and Mongolian and so he was able to communicate to the police. Thankfully to my relief the young policeman found this all too exciting and decided this would be his mission for the day and so we set off with him on the back of my bike to do some detective work.

CAMPING LAKE BAIKAL

We rode around the village stopping at Gers and wooden cabins alike, until, after about two hours we got our first lead! A young Mongolian lady had seen a young boy with my rucksack but unfortunately she had also seen him take a lift at 6am with the bag to the next village some 30 kilometers away, but we had his name and description. Undeterred, we set off in search of my bag and the young man. We arrived at the next village and my policeman now standing on the pegs on the back of the bike to enhance his view spotted a young man on a motorbike coming in our direction. He shouted to him to stop and on instantly seeing the policeman and me he made descriptive motions indicating he had my bag.  “Fantastic I thought, now lets get it, and get on with our journey” but this was not the end as the boy had given the bag to his friend who had  that morning returned back to the village. Not to beaten we returned to the village but this time we had the location of the GER and his full name and it took just another two hours to retrieve my rucksack. Unfortunately the Mongolian owner had deemed all the contents of my bag not important and thrown everything away. Not important to him but bloody essential to me I had lost my repair manual, spare light bulbs and puncture repair kit, SW Radio Why had I not left it on the bike!! In the mean time Monika had returned to the village and had been hosted by the missionary’s wife. I rode the short distance out of town to locate Monika to find that she had packed up camp and returned to the city. I was exhausted from all the running around, and my GPS indicated that I had accumulated a further 200 kilometers that day searching for the back pack.  I had, in fact, spent more than twice the value of the Krug back-pack on fuel searching for it, but it was just a matter of principle. If you were  to add up the total cost of all of my possessions it would represent no real value but it is all I have in the world and, as such, it is special to me.

We were invited to stay for the night by Dan and Chrisy, the town missionaries, and naturally expected to be pitching out tent to the rear of their log cabin.  But when they showed us our accommodation for the night we were delighted. It was a 2-story cabin recently built by American architects after a fire had destroyed the old accommodation. It was a cabin worthy of any setting in the world and it came with a hot shower and drinking water. It’s incredible how you adjust to life on the road where the only thing you want or expect is the ability to have a wash and the opportunity drink water. Memories from England of a night down the pub or popping down to the local supermarket to browse from the selections were so far back that we never even think about it, nor did we want to. It’s about routine and accepting your lot, and although we are living from day to day on reduced rations and the little water available, it is still an incredible experience. We may have lowered our European standards but we are living just as the locals do and we have never ever been happier. We parked the bikes and dragged the bags into the cabin, kicking off the sand and dust as we entered, I almost collapsed as I was so dehydrated and exhausted from another day on the pegs, but morale was about to launch into orbit as Dan asked would we like to join his family for something to eat. We replied we would be delighted, he said good, its Pizza, Beans and Pumpkin Pie. Monika and I looked at each other, did he really say Pizza, Beans and Pumpkin Pie !! Here we were in Outer Mongolia and only 20 minutes away from eating our favorite food. The meal was fantastic and washed it down with fresh orange juice, well not quite fresh as it was two months out of date but for Mongolia that is most definitely fresh. On occasions we would find a store that would have a single chocolate bar and would be delighted.  If it was only 12 months out of date, it didn’t matter, it was the chocolate that was important and not the date. Dan and his wife told us about their missionary work and how their role is so important to the local community. Obviously they bring religious teachings but they do so much more. They educate in all sorts of areas farming, agriculture, language and even medicine. They both met in Mongolia and fell in love and what was intended as a two year tour has now been extended to eight years and now they have four young children. I asked them if they missed home and they replied of course they do, but a two week vacation in the USA every six months satisfies their needs.  The truth is, whenever they return to the United States, it isn’t long before they pine for the simple life, their log cabin which overlooks the mountains and sand dunes and of course their missionary work to which they are both so committed. Dan went on to say that life is good, we get a newspaper every fourteen days and we have a regular booking to phone home at the telephone exchange which gives us ten minutes every Friday night.  We have enough wood to see us through the winter and we have God looking after us.  What more could we possibly want?

Missionaries Dan, Chrissy and Family

We departed the next day for Lake Hoskov.  We still had 200 kilometers to ride and it was not getting any easier. Some days you simply don’t have the strength and just use any opportunity to stop. Maybe we can repack the bikes a little better, 20 minute rest! Maybe we should let some more air out of the tires to gain extra traction in the sand another ten minute rest! Or maybe adjust the suspension a little to accommodate the harsh terrain, 15 minute rest!  What the hell, On each occasion we would flash up the stove and make a brew and just sit by our bikes and stare at our amazing surroundings, this was Mongolia. This was magnificent. This was freedom. When the going gets tough we often alternate in respect of who is full of enthusiasm, who feeling a bit down about things, and we push each other on.  But today all we wanted to do was enjoy the scenery and so it turned out.  We managed just 46 miles over a twelve hour period but it was one of the best days of the trip. I think it has some thing to do with my military background as almost everything used to resolve around time: schedules, shifts, duties and meetings, but here we are in outer Mongolia where time has no meaning.  It doesn’t matter as there are no deadlines to remind us of our organized and domestic past.  Certainly nothing that can link us to our previous careers, which were so fundamental to our lives (in my own case for the past 24 years).  At this moment all of that seemed like a distant memory.  This is our new life now, the new life we have freely chosen, and right now we wouldn’t swap in for anything or any other location in the world.

Campground Mongolia