Jeremiah Watt Cycling around God's Creation

Exiting Tashanta, a simple plan in reality but harder to execute than you may think. Thank goodness that we could work thru this as a team, because otherwise it may never have come to fruition. I am getting way ahead of the story so let me set the stage and paint the scene for you.

We wake in our room full of men who have been dining on mutton and goat, me first, as my son tends to indulge in those first glimmers of morning light. The odor is horrendous, partly sulphurous partly that of cordite which is commonly found in artillery shells………….dont worry. Its just the manner inwhich Booz exits the body, not the odor, but it does leave like an artillery shell. Gosh my legs are itchy ( we got seriously bed bugged this night ) as I stand and arrange my ocular devices so that I can then navigate the sheep gut laden mine field of slepping men. No sense stepping on a gas bag by accident. Its an old Mongolian Proverb that we learned, “men who dine on Booz at supper hunt for a bathroom in running shoes”, its a profound truth.

The courtyard at our “hotel” contains the usual very nasty (for the Christian readers please omit this line from the reading expirience) shit slit as we have come to call it. Usually very low roofed, which certainly enables it to hold those fumes down at eye level. Wooden walled if lucky, sometimes it is just an old door set out in the yard and you get behind it is all. This was four walled with plenty of vent space between boards. The wood floor has a little slit cut thru it, central to the human form. The slit is always wet at one end and encrusted at the other, i will allow you to use your imagination and lead between the cracks here to conclude what you will.For me, on this particular morning, I wanted nothing to do with the slit, I could sense that I was going to pass a golden fleece.. I headed for the compound wall and slipped the security knot on the man gate……yes at a run. A learned art, and one every international traveler should practise…….trot to the gate…. immediatly begin a keegle procedure followed by a strangling legs crossed sphincter lock…….throw those fumbling fingers to work with the abundantly clear warning, that should they fail they also get the cleanup detail…..that usually takes all the fumble rignt out the littlebuggers…….oh good, the knot has slipped and the gate is swinging out not in. Warning, its very hard to take a step back and hold a security lock on crossed legs……I,ve done it, but I also practise this stuff at home. To the left I scan……old women with cutoff 45 gallon drum is out collecting  cow pies for the stove……..to the right I scan…..old man pushing a heavy cart full of water buckets……..wait, whats that….off maybe 200 yards to my right, its a partially started adobe house. Like a highly tuned machine,my mind and body worked in unison to formulate a series of steps  and double checks so as to insure a succesful sprint. Tighten the strangling leg lock which then allows a firmer grip by those little sucksion cup things located inside your rectal cavity(thisby the way is the only part of the body that seems not to care about the final outcome) with the sphincter lock firmly in place focus all occular attention is on the terrain between you and the eventual landing sight. Trust me, you dont want to trip and lose the lock. Tell the forward mobilization unit that they have a job to do,and that what they carry dribbles. Engage the shoes and Pray you had the wisdom to lace them before all this began……off you go buddy cause no human can hold that keegle lock forever…..thats it step lively and mind those bigger,smoother wet rocks…….your mind is racing, you are mentally multi tasking…..will I make it……oh that feels like a partial seal lock loss…….crap, did I remember toilet paper…….what in the sam neck is taking those fingers so long to get the knot in my sweat pants undone. This is like landing a fighter jet since there are so many sequences of events that have to unfold simultaneously……just like my pants have to and I am not convinced my fingers yet realize the impending carnage should they fail such a simple task. Jump…….remember there are 4 walls started but no doors or windows yet…..total loss of the protective seal lock……rip down and squat which should be one fluidless motion……………..take a moment to appraise the success as the sligntest breeze will tell the extent of iether damage or success.” Well, isnt that nice “I say to myself as I sit there all hunckered up…..the old guy pulling the water cart stops and waves. I am the one however who is the happiest at this good morning salutation, as my sheepish grin is now behind me.

If you are going to practise this at home, I suggest no more than 2 sets of 3 Keegle holds since it is very tiring. Over time you can work your way up say sets of 5. For the advanced international traveller, I do suggest adding such things as a belt, and maybe a pair of pants with a stuck zipper…..proper field training is very important.I head for the border crossing to speak or gesture with someone so we can find out when things open up….no crossing till Monday 2 pm. Worst news i had heard in quite awhile. Now what are we going to do, what can we actuall do from here.

I have 2 of the newest cell phones made and an up to date tablet, all 4g and you may as well have 2 rocks and a tin can for communications. Unless you have Mobicom up here on an “E” network you are toast. There is no internet, other than the hacked internet we had while one particular guest was in the hotel. So if we want to solve issues we have to do it from a bigger and less remote place than here. Our overnite cost was $55,000.00 Togrik, which really isnt much but a heck of a lot higher than it should have been. We are so low on Togrik, that no matter what we would have had to backtrack. Our collective mind is made up, but Pine wants to double check the border one more time…..good idea.Meantime across the main road I see what looks like a Yurt going up…….off I go with camera in hand. Pine is going to look for a ride out of here. Maybe 15 minutes go by and I hear Pine calling me. I look to see my son squatting Mongol fashion with a group of 7 men and a women haggling about something. I walk over to hear the conclusion of it all, and get a summary of what is about to happen. There is a Russian Jeep sitting there and a young man in complete camo fatigues……could be a Walmart employee from the Ozarks I think to myself. The young guy pours out about 10 litres of fuel in an old open can and gives it to the women as payment for her bringing Pine over. He then hands about 15,000 cash to an elderly man………for? We later learn its his jeep.

He rolls over to where the bikes are and we toss everything in the back and get in our selves. We fire up and roll back across the road and in behind a small hut/shack/adobe cell, what ever way you want to look at it. The elderly fellow with a hefty paunch walks out of the adobe and invites us in for Mongol Tea, which Pine has has all he wants….so we decline. He shrugs, and heads in for his own tea. The young fellow, he makes busy preparing the vehichle for the trip. The hood is up and a gas cap is pulled off a small plastic jug……what the heck. The 6 litre used antifreezr jug is the gas tank for this contraption and it is jammed inbetween battery wiring and radiator hoses to hold it in place…….wow, that quite the way to do things. Next comes an oil top off. 4 cylinder affair, and he adds about 3 full quarts to this beast, not sure how much it holds, but it had to be near empty I am thinking. Both fellows now go on the search for another plastic can to hold extra fuel for the trip. With that found, filled and set in the back of the jeep we think that we are ready. Not quite, we still have the odds and ends of jobs and items to be picked up for the town of Tashanta. That list is compiled, a few bags of???, are tossed in, a cardboard box with pieces of pipe are thrown in. The command to load up, and we are expecting 3 of us to head out. Wrong. The older fellow drives, the younger fellow gets into the back behind the bikes. The old guy pulls up the lever which enables the engine heat and fumes to pass thru the cockpit…..wowser is it ever hot, and we both think we may be taken out by the fumes. Pine is located on the floor behind, since we had to remove the second seat to allow the bikes to fit. He has a rough spot to sit, with bolt heads and a heck of a lot of heat.

Off we go, like a bat out of hell quite literally……truth no. 137, every mongol drives his beat up vehichle as if he may win an imaginary race. Its amazing how hard they push these overloaded and underpowered vehichles. Anyways, we make it about 20 miles down the road, and hit every pot hole and washboard section doing 40 plus, the old fella needs abreak so the army dude climbs in to drive. Maybe 20 more miles down the road, apart from the strong smell of exhaust fumes and engine oil and heat smells, I notice a strong smell of cigarette odor……I glance over my shoulder to see the heavy fellow who is sitting directly on the plastic gas can has lit up a smoke and relaxing with his full wieght compressing the can. There was a point there that I thought we may end up flying to Olgii, rather than arrive in a Jeep!!! We commence the coast routine which will drive you nuts. Meaning we coast down every hill with the engine off till we come to about 5 mile per hour, then shift and gun it to 40 or 45 mph, and repeat……on…….and on…..and on.As I am in the front seat and feeling a little sorry for my boy right behind me on the floor, my job was to hold open the only window that was not taped shut with packing tape. Anything to try and increase air flow and maybe a little less heat for him. My left leg was so hot I started sitting cross legged just to get away from some of it. It took forever to arrive in Olgii with the coast process but arrive we did.

Typical Mongol fashion at the outskirts of town the jeep just rolls off the road into some random to us house…….the young fellow gets out and walks around and commences to unload our stuff. Hey wait, what are we doing here we ask? You stay with my friend whatever…….no says Pine quite emphatically. We are not staying here, you are taking us into town. With that Pine begins loading the bags back up, and points to the young fella to get behind the wheel as we are leaving….now. we do finally arrive, downtown Bayan Olgii, back to the same yurts we had been staying just 3 or 4 days prior. Our dutch friends just returned from the Glacier Explore trip……highly over rated was thier more moderate than my opinion. And some friends we made from Australia just returned from another adventure out towards the Gobi………there advice, avoid it like the plague its a hell hole. So within maybe an hour of our arrival, two of our considerations had holes shot in them. So upset was the Aussie and his wife, they cut the whole trip short, escaped on a plane the next day.Pine and I, we have 10 days tok kill here so we may post something else again if its exciting……like maybe the black market or the hardwarestore?????

Adios Bayan Olgii, and hello RussiaWhat can I say, other than Olgii is one of those dusty little frontier towns, akin to say New Mexico maybe 1930’s. The streets are paved, but mostly badly damaged from winter frosts and very overloaded trucks.quite few of the buildings have that Soviet mid sixties type archetecture. Not exactly say, Green & Green, nor Frank Lloyd Wright’esq……….just big drap cement blocks. I know the world trys to give Pablo Picasso credit for cubism, but really I think the Soviets should get the credit.

We stayed at an intown Ger Hotel, that was just fine for $10.00 per night. The showers, hot water and internet, all worked sporadically. What would you expect for that price. We walked the town, checked out all the Camel and Kashmere shops. Dang they beat us white guys up on that stuff. My own thoughts are that you need to hire a local buyer for yuo to do the buying. So, nothing comes home for me from Mongolia. I did buy a good friend something, but still need to find a PO so I can send it home.We got of Olgii by 7am, good start for the day. Big sunny sky, and huge clouds to diffuse the abundant sunshine. All incline as you leave, just steady 3-5%, so we just pedal and talk business, politics, and soccer. Actually, we never said a word about politics.

Stopped at 25 mile mark to visit with Herve Nobel, a motorcyclist from Paris. Compared notes on roads, places to go see, and places to just get thru and overwith as best you can. All the while our puffy clouds had turned black and ominous. We take our leave, put on our rain gear. While we are pedaling uphill into hail once again, we look back to see the frenchman riding in sunshine. Darned near froze going up over the pass, thermometer is saying 38 degrees at the summit. The last piece is plus 15% and dirt. Poochy Maggie the ol hips,knees and what not are sure getting sore. Zip up, and coast down the other side on dirt. Finally hit blacktop and ride the last 15 miles into Tsagaanuur. What a dismal little hell hole it turned out to be, even though it rests on the shores of a lake. We talked to some little kids for a while, then pulled out, riding due north towards Russia.

Lunch on the menu the morning we left Tashanta was Marmot cooked with a blowtorch.

Only 15 or so miles tomorrow and we pray we can get in earlier than our visa date.Okay, never mind Praying, the darned Russians just flat refused, and we rode thier 5 mile damn hill just to get told Nyet, back to Mongolia, and they closed the gate right behind us. My knees are both sore, but today my left knee with a brace went downhill severely. The pain is minor along the side of the knee when the brace strap is on. But today, the pain moved dire tly under the knee cap and any side load feels like I am going to nust have the leg go out. Both hips are sore as heck. Funny thing is, Pine and I both have sore Achilles tendons. So as it stands, I am at sort of a medical rubicon of sorts, and struggling with what is the best/smartest decision to make for my son/this trip/and my walking future. I do plan on having grandkids to go hiking with, and a beautiful wife to do the same and more with.I will go back a day and set the mood since I am feeling a little”whiskeytangofoxtrot” about the visa thing happening  right now.

Pretty typical grocery store in the parts, this is the selection. On the floor there are sometimes a box with a few potatoes and onions, not always.

We are leaving Tsangaanuur, and have to ride over a swath of very sharp rocks to get back out on the main road. Several miles into our late afternoon ride I can feel myback tire is getti g soft. The sun is shining, but we have mountain to both our left and right, and each has a huge black cloud they wear as a mantle. I tell Pine to spot a camp sight that offers some wind  protection, and he turns off to setup behind a gravel pile. Not so bad, camp is up, sun is out………then the wind turns 180 degrees and just sand blasts us for an hour. OMG, the entire tent is a sand dune…….how the heck did a camel get in there? The wind brought the storm to a head and the rain came just as I got my last guide line tied into place. Strong winds thats for sure, like maybe 40,ish. Had to put in the pegs twice as they kept getting pulled out. About an hour goes by, and we get a break so we cook our supper and get back in our tents for the night. I am right at the point where Lisbeth Salander gets shot in the second book of “Dragon with a girl tattooed on it”…….so I dont mind turning in.

I read my Bible on my phone for a bit- thanks sweaty for doing that for me. God must have a different plan for me/us, since the border was for sure NO, NYET, GET OUT.Well, back track or not things have really changed thruout working on this post. We got turned back at the border as I have earlier eluded to, rode back down that darned hill in the rain and now wind building. Got thru Mongolian side with little problem and rode out into mainstreet Tashanta……wait a cotton picking minute…..its the only street in Tashannta.

We are mostly looking for a place to set our tent where we can get some wind protection, we are not as worried about the rain as we are the wind. A lady with a silk like robe and wearing a sky blue hairnet catches our eye and waves us in…..hotel,hotel she points to her log cabin. Just like that we take her up. The hotel has one sleeping room, with 8 beds, and tonight only 6 men sleeping……oh goody……it will be the “Little house of Snores”. One room contains a long table, where we set our selves down to ask,ponder,consider and regurgitate our collective thoughts on how to deal with the border issues.A huge rucus outside as about a dozen Russians roll up in souped up 4 wheelers. They join us, we join them for a supper of Booz. In this case we had goat, wrapped in a farily thick  chewey dough. These are then steamed and eaten like that, put the whole thing in at one time just like you would do if your wife wasn’t home. We have had them before and they have been sheep and also of Yak, I like the Yak best as it is not as greasy. The mutton are the greasiest for sure. Good thing here, the Russians had a hot chili sauce with them that really added a lot more flavor. They actually went down good, but didnt sit as well…..even harder to hold onto is also what we foundout.

Not much else, we sat staring at 4 walls, hacked some free internet as aguest brought a mobile hotspot with him. Next morning we walked down to check the border crossing opening time…….no border crossing till Monday at 2pm.OMG, what will we do here till then. We have now back tracked 100 miles south, back to Bayan Olgii, where action can be taken if we have anything Visa wise that we can,should do. Sitting in our yurt, rained like heck since we left here. Our bed is two mattresses stacked on top one another……bottom ones have water leaking out…..small odor problem……sleeping with our life jackets on…….gosh I wish I hadnt pulled that cord yet.WE NEVER DID GET MORE THAN 10 FEET INTO RUSSIA ON THIS TRIP, WE HAVE 12 DAYS TO KILL BEFORE WE GET ANOTHER CHANCE AT THE BORDER.

For those wondering. We have been declined at the Russian border. We are stuck in a very tiny mud hut village called Tashanta. We have internet thanks to one guest at this Guest House????. Give you an idea, there are 6men sleeping in one room. When the guest wakes up and leaves, our currently hacked internet connection is done. If anyone has ideas onhow to handle an early border crossing into Russia, pass on that knowledge please.

just about had my fill of wordpress, total pain in the butt. I have spent 16 hours on this blog post update but it does not look like it here. My apologies about taking out images since the Mongol wifi is just to slow. We will update this post further on down the road. Again, I do apologise.

We didnt exactly wake the rooster to get out of Ulan, we had some bike repairs to do, we had a broken Shimano Bar end shifter. Also wanted to get our dyno hubchargers running. We are both so tired of the Mongolian grub, that we just decided we would rather buy food and eat in the room. This is a first for Jeremiah, he is craving some vegetables and fruit……..it is almost non existant here, and its making both of us feel like we may come down with scurvy. We keep asking each other if any of our teeth have fell out yet.

The ride out of Ulan to the N by NW is about 2% steady rise for 40km, but it is very rough black top……the sort of thing that drives a seat post thru foam…..bout like that. As we ride the country is getting prettier since we are also coming up into the mountain foothills, so the draws are filled with mostly Larch trees, and plenty of green grass. We hit a Y in the road and know our venture takes the left fork at this point and it turns into a steady 5% rise. The road is rather hard to explain, its sand, but with head sized rocks thrown in everywhere. So makin headway is very problematic. You dig your way thru soft sand, but each foot of road has a partially exposed boulders that bounces you out of a track and into a sand pit……….I felt like Tiger Woods for a time, always in the sand traps……needs to work on his short game…..just sayin. The entire hill is 18 miles, and we spent 5.25 hours on it that day till our legs felt like jello. I have been off and hand pushing for the last 1.5 miles and am absolutley knackered. Pine was hand pushing the last 1/2 mile and was beat. Its raining, the hill is steep strait up a narrow draw and no place to quit and pitch a tent.

Finally, we round a bend, and we have a tiny depression where we can set up tents, and both of us are ready to quit. The climb just dissappears on around the bend. Judging by how steep the hill sides are around us, we are not that close to the top yet.Camp is up, we have a flower bed of wild Irises all around us and the scent is just marvelous, the hillsides are deep green grass, and the rock is that deep red and oxblood color that you get with lava rock. The camp site is really nice. We sit and cook supper, almost donematter of fact. And lower down on the road we see a guy walking driving 5 or 6 skinny cows up the hill. From higher above us we hear a motorcycle coming, both guys meet at our camp. The herder, he is a little reserved…..the other fellow not at all. We do the usual hellos, and he walks right over to Pines tent, unzips and almost fully crawls in…….holy criminy, he willget stuck in that nylon culvert. Wiggle, wiggle, shrug and grunt, and he pops out like a pleased lepracauhn. He moves over, and checks out my tent even closer, since it and I are both larger. All but the soles of his blackboots are in the tent. He backs out again, very pleased and smiling.

They begin the process of ckecking every detail of the bike, the non functioning speedo, the compass, the dyno hubs, the air pump……..what, wait the shiny thing, yes pump……whats the shiny thing……..wow, big smile………whats the shiny thing. 10 minutes arespent onthe pump. Its shiny,dontya know. We finally just motion that we are crawling in to go tosleep or they never would have left. We both turn in, strip of riding clothes, and put on some sweats for thenight, nobath, and we have both ditched the bag liners. We bothfelt like they should be renamed “camper stranglers”, so thebags are getting crustier by the day. Oh well, its only me in mine so its fine. We both read for a bit, and turn in by about 7:45Its a new day, the sun is shining, we fire up the stove and cook actual oatmeal and prunes with about 8 sugar cubes because my wife isnt here. Its goes down good.

e commence packing up camp, and before long have 3 cars stopped to visit,look,watch,ask,fondle and generally get in the way. Its all fine, we are cool and polits. One rather large shouldered fellow who had stopped, turned out to be from the valley that lays ahead of us. But now, he is a oncology surgeon in UB or Ulanbator as we would call it. Real nice guy, hoping to go to USA to learn orthopedic surgery in the next few years. so, we all part ways, and we both have to hand push our bikes as the pitch is about 10% right off the start, in now wet soft sand and rock. Some 2 hours later, we finally make those last 2 miles and reach the summit…….my dear God, but my heart is just thumping in my chest. What a payoff all that work was, as we hit a huge gorgeous green valley. Over the top of the valley shone the snow capped range that holds Snow Bird Mountain. Just breath taking. The doctor mentioned earlier is also at the top, he is at the shrine that festoons every hill and pass in the country. He, and some friends are going thru some Prayer rituals and gestations we dont understand, such as throwing tea in the air, and jiggers of milk while they hold one finger on the top of thier head. We have a second good visit when all things are done. Then off we go to the west traversing this rolling huge valley.

We are in what has come to be our favorite part of Mongolia thus far, no doubt. A carpet of green and snow capped peaks is always a stunning combination. Our shortage of water has us edgy and on the hunt. We  see a guy fishing water out of a spring and we decide tojoinhim. Its a poorly contrived spring box, set at like 7 feet below ground level. The ground around is hollowed out catching anything that lands within. We give it some thought and decide nowmaybe agood time to filter the water-darned glad we did, because it was sure dirty. The bottles are allfull and we are once again rolling west. Our route is on a numbered highway when you see a map, but My guess is that they attached the road signs to cattle or sheep rather than awood post, because any sense of a highway has somehow moved on. We are on a simple non-maintained dirt road. That is niether easy to ride, nor easy to navigate.Our route takes us across the lush carpeted valley and over a non threatening rocky ridge on the opposite side. Poochy Maggie, how could I be so wrong. Our/my pedaling effort ends about a mile short of the top. We are pushing a 10% grade and in the softeneing sand it just gets harder. The final assent, hits at what has to be 20% or real close to it. We are both on foot pushing, my dear God, cant you help, maybe carry a few bags to lighten my load. It is all I can do to keep the toes of my feet gripping and the bike upright as we grunt and fart our way up this brute of a hill. Its about that pretty, 2 men covered in sweat and smiles when they top out. We lay the bikes over, eat an apple and some spoon fulls of peanut butter. A small car grunts its way up, and a family steps out amazed that we lwould be here on bikes.

They give us the last 1/3 of thierbottle of Plum Tea, dang that tastes good. Our most recent spring water has a distinctive sheep flavor even though it has been filtered. From a forensic standpoint, I think sheep flavor has a longer 1/2 life than does plutonium. After a brief respit, we carry on, all the while there is huge ominous storm brewing just over our left shoulder. We are standing on the cranks and riding/dodging rocks and ruts as we zip thru a little valley. While doing so we are passed by a young Mongol, riding his 125cc motorcycle. He is wearing a Mongol Military uniform and asks us to stop. what ensues is a strange conversation of it we must take his picture, he insists. Next he is making gestures that he wants Pines water proof bag……and on it goes. But the storm is drawing nigh, and it cuts loose just as we slip our rain jackets on. But, its not rain drops that pelt us, its good sized hail. We get slammed, and just ride off leaving the fellow standing flat footed, we ride as hard as we can to try and ride out of it, and we finally get ahead or it changes course we dont know which.. we pedal on in a constant rolling valley and a rutted track as our beacon. The sand is soft near the bottoms of the ruts, and I take 4 spills, only one of any import to mention. Pine takes a pair,but is fine, they are just sliders. Ride on, as dust rises behind us, the valleys are getting flatter as we traverse this rocky ridge, undulating, but withmore downhills than up

Pine indicates that we have a heck of a cloud bank closing in on our left again. Its suggested that we throw my tent up and take shelter. We are up, inside, our matts rolled out, we are stripped off just as the shower passes by. Leaving us with a quick deluge of rain, and a threat of more to come. Lets just stay put and take a nap.We are both clad in bike shorts and sound asleep, never heard anything till the fly was pulled back and aMongol slides right in on Pines side. While Pine is trying to pry fairy dust from his eyes, the Mongol is right into what may be the most important political monologue of his life, os so it seems. He is oblivious to the fact we were both asleep. He finishes his speech with a huge smile and grand hand gesture, then looks at us, and between two of us, we get out three shoulder shrugs, 2 grunts and one resounding AHhh?Over the next 45 minutes, I got kissed on the neck, back by the ear, I think 5 times. We found out that he was the same age as am I, that made him excited. Then it dawned on him that he knew who our President was, and he was elated to keep saying Barack Obama. I was going to kick him out of my ger, but you never kick a Mongol out for stupid political reasons, they have to do something offensive like bump your feet. We are working our tails off to be rid of this guy, so we are dressing and moving outdoors. He follows along. But once outside, he begins this process of hand measuring our bikes and then doing the same to his tiny little car he is driving. We are totally puzzled. I am asked to come and look in the car, so I oblige and walk over. Holly buffalo droppings Tonto, come and look at the six or seven rocks he is loaded into this rig. They are 2foot diameer, and hes got 4 or 5 of them. How the heck does he expect us to get in even if we wanted to? Thats exactly what he wants. He gets out of the drivers seat, comes at me packin this 10 diameter rock, sort of purplish, and he is licking this thing like a kid with a lolly. Kami, Kami, he is saying, and he invites me to lick it right where he has got it good and wet…….so, I do. And these are huge blocks of salt that he is hauling. Then he goes into this wild sharad of showing us deep water, over our bikes, and wide…….he would run like Usian Bolt, strait away from us, maybe a 100 yards to prove his point, then make wave motions. Good Lord, we have no idea, nor how come we have to conclude that this is a blessing. He is a lunatic. Hes gone……opps, not so fast, he needs one more kiss, and then share a snoot full of snuff with him. We do the deal, I offer him Viagra to ward of his need for kissing other sweaty men…….maybe he can get his eyes back on the sheep. He is finally gone.

We tear down, and make some tracks out from under the next cloud behind us.We make really good time, all things considered that is. And drop down a long rough road to the valley floor, where the azure lake bekons us and we talk of maybe a swim under the bright sunny sky that we have overhead. Over a ,hillock, down a little further, and we are talking of a good spot to set the tent for the night, how about here, how about there it goes. Right here Pine, take a look at that angry cloud coming on behind us. We drop the bikes, and make for the tents, all at the same time that rain and huge winds fall upon us like a tornado. We have my tent, and my tent fly out, and it all iether of us can do to simply hold onto them. We set rocks on them to hold them down. We get the ground sheet out and curl up inside that the best we can. It is highly insufficient, and we are getting cold fast. About 2 hours go by, the storm cell is really moving around us in cyclonic fashion, a huge eye over the lake, and a wall of ominous cloud that rings that, and we are right at the center. No let up, no break, we are hoping to have the wind abate, so we can set up the tents. We take walks looking for sheltered spots, but nothing.

Finally, off maybe 1/2 mile, and closer to that lake shore, we see some tightly grouped little hills. We load the bikes, and pedal out across the rock shards and grass and make the best camp that we can. We pitch just one tent, and turn in just as it is getting dark. So , its a nicely nested spot, we get the tents up and guide ropes at the corners. I cant say for sure, but I put to work something my Prayer Warrior friend Rob Schlosser taught me years ago at Awana,s.  “Why waist your time hoping, when you can Pray to living God who delivers. That,s just what I did, for quiet night with no wind trying to rip the tent down. Folks, that is just what He did.

We had an official Ger stay……no,no. We didnt opt for the comfy tourist camp affair. We done the real thing twice. Pretty rough. folks, as close to prehistoric as you can get. I have to be careful as we do have dear friends who are Mongols, and my monlogue here is not designed to offend. But those back home, I would sure desire to describe accurately, so here goes. The yurt is dirt floored, with bits or remnant strips of linoleum over the dirt. The stove takes center stage and cow pies are the fuel. Those are collected by the kids in feed sacks, and all are piled outside with a tarp over to keep them dry. While our hosts are welcoming, without any doubt, they did go out of thier way to give us the bezt that they had. Without fail, that is how it is done in every ger we have entered. We are dining on mutton carcass tonight, it has been the same recipe since we started crossing, this the 17th largest country in the world. It has been like a 1 recipe cookbook. So the carcass chunks, think huge here, are all simmering in a huge pot on the stove. The rest of two raw carcasses hang fro the wall of the get, sort of like thanksgiving decorations I thought.Large pieces are brought out of the steaming water(and thats all that is in the pot, water and meat…..period. The second pot, now containing the boiled meat is passed to men first, and the men all have waiting butcher knives, you clobber off any bone you can and hope for the best. You may get spinal cord, or you may get a leg or hey….. look at that a rib! Hold the bone with anything you can, and pull hard cause its just a little tougher than an inner tube folks. Use that knife to help saw off anything that looks like it will give up and come hither. Keep doing that till its so clean a dog cant make a meal of it. Dive in for second, be sure you tip it up and suck the marrow out. Catch all those hanging little tendrils, those elastic cords that God put on animals that give them locomotion, yup, catch everyone and pull hard till you get it loose and chew it up. Be sure to throw all the bones you have fininshed  right back in the bucket, because the guy next may have better or sharper teeth than you, and he could still separate more from that bone than did you. Slurp some Mongol Tea down, and hit it again. Meantime, the chef is still sitting squat legged at the stove on her overly short stool. She spends her time skimming fat suds off the top of the bubling cauldron, and she ladels this off then throws it on the dirt floor beside the stove……over and over. Its time to add a pinch of salt, and noodles. This simmers away for maybe 15 minutes, a flotsam of stark white noodles, chunks of meat that came off the bigger carcass, glassy slickes of sheep fat congeal and skimmer around on the surface. This is piping hot, and bowls are filled to the brim and passed about. Its important to make a  lot of noise when you eat, get that bowl rightup there and suck those noodles out, then gasp,and smack, what ever, its a caucophony of rude in western terms eating habits. Then out comes the Vodka, as jigger after jigger is poured and passed around, each taking drips,sips and shots as it goes round person to person. More talk, a few smokes, more talk, more vodka. The cook goes into a secret stash and finds some candies to pass around. There are dry dipping dough cookies, they look to be like a doughnut and fried in sheep fat cause it stays on yer grinners afterwards, and there is not hint of sweet usually…….just dry and needing to be dipped in tea so they will fit thru assorted internal body cavities without causing undue harm. That folks is the strait up bill of goods on a Yurt stay.

With that overwith, we now face our next “dava” or pass as we would call it. Ours is up into some nearly 13,000 footers. Gravel, not the crushed rock type, jusst plain old silver dollar sized round rock gravel forms a grey ribbon beckoning us up to the top. Some place along about half way, a jeep offers us a ride to the top. Less than a nonosecond of actual thought went into CONSIDERING, to which we both said HECK YA. To the top we went, right at sunset with a north wind building, and ominous cloud over head. We throw up one tent, with 4 good guide ropes tied off at the corners. Make camp, 2 cups of tea, and a huge pot of noodles. Turned in right at 9.30 and we were both ready to hit the sack.

The next morning, we spent about an hour, maybe ore going over the bikes. Cleaning that chains and rear cogs, the derailluers, anything that moved and slid we gave it the best cleaning we could. The grey morning sky had lost its stronghold on the sky above, and blue sky was breaking thru in places, promising us at least fleeting  sunshine for our morning assent. From the door of our tent we are looking strait out at multiple snow capped peaks. This has been without doubt our favorite part of Mongolia thus far. Down we go, thru a huge grass filled valley (have to say that there is a stark lack of running water around considering we are up in snow clad mluntain peaks), riding on any track we choose that seems to be heading in a direction favorable to us. From the very top right down to the bottom we concluded 21 miles of downward decent. But allow me to explain the last 10 miles are out of the hills and onto the sloping edge of a huge lava rock plain. And I mean a plain you cannot even see across, and as flat as the table you eat on. The lava rock cuts and chews at our tires. The bikes are skipping and jumping out from underneath of us. The going is brutal. When we hit the end of that 19 miles of decent, we are welcomed now onto this totally barren rocky expanse that looks like a moonscape or something similar. Our legs are burning, we are averaging about 3 miles per hour and the wind has once again shifted to meet our advance. Every once in a while while struggling thru rock, you woukd suddenly encounter sand of 6-12 inch depth, it may be a strip 6 feet wide, or it could be 100 feet in width. No matter what, and everytime, it took control of the rider instantly. It would grab you front wheel and cause you to turn, it would bog the hind wheel, and little could be done. Grin, get off, pull the bike out, and push till you were thru. Bokmoron, its a spot on the map, just that a simple spot. And we haveto mKe it there since we are very low on water. Simple as that, we have to mKe it. We sit down exhausted, under too little shade from a thorny as heck tree and dine on a can of tuna.. while we are sitting, we spot a small band of sheep, just heck, 300 yards to our left. And we ask outloud, what the heck do the sheep eat or drink out here……..total mystery.

We get up, determined to make Bokmoron, and pedal maybe 1 more miles and hit a flooded river. So, everything comes off……..no,no, I mean off the bikes. Good God you people, sometimes you get so carried away. We hoist the bikes and wade out into the river. We cross without any problems, its maybe 10″above our knees, but very fast moving. Everything is across, so we decide to filter some water while the other takes a bath……tryst me, we need one. Pedal out of there into the swirling dust that envelopes these barren plains, and sweat our way across without even a smile. Off to our left wesee a long row of rocks, actual hills of rock. As we draw closer, the road/trail, ssems to split into 4 directions, and we can now see one road going thru a gap on thjs rocky outcropping. Pine decides that he wants to try theroad thru the hills, just to get away from what we have been on……I am not at all hard to convince. Up we go……yeah, for maybe 200 feet as the sand just bogs down to a foot deep. There are actual sanddunes all around us, and the rock is thatsoft wind shaped sandstone so it is very pictueresque. We push maybe 1/2 mile to the top. A mongolian cowboy comes down out of the rocks on his pinto ponie, and has a visit with us, as we untangle our tongues from our front spokes and catch our breath. He explains that Bokmoron is ahead, and we judge by his gestures, maybe 9 miles or so. We saddle up, head down off the ridge,and make a sharp right at the bottom to avoid running head long into an amazingly cl3ar 6 foot wide stream. The road or sand track we are following winds its way along the stream bank and in amongst huge cottonwoods……we have found paradise.

Just a mile back on the other side it is dusty, rocky crap, and here it is like the total opposite.Bokmoron, for us, felt as if we had found Shangri-la. While in truth it is certainly not paradise, it was a very wlecome break from an arduous days cycling. Round the bend, across the creek and make our way into a larger town than we expected to actually find. We were greeted on the sfreets as if we were silver backed gorrillas in the zoo. Everyone came out to greet us, in just a matter ofminutes we had 20 plus peoplestanding around us, 2 of them frying to have us over to thier yurt for supper. What we were trying to find was a store so we could restock our grocery supplys. As it turned out, we ended upaving chance to meet a local school teacher who spokequite good english. The night came off without a hitch as it regards groceries, but there was some bad news to digest aswell. Recent big storms had left the rivers so high as to impasable for those of us headed west to Tsangaanuur. His best advice, wait overnight, he would borrow a huge special Russian tractor and try to get us over. Our camp thata night was out along the creek, with cold clear mountain water running by, we had a huge kpot of potatoes and sausage fried up and added to the noodles  turned in,read ourbooksfor a while and calledit a succesful day, we made Bokmoron after all…..Thankyou Jesus.

The following day however, well, wasnt quite as nice. Our teacher friend came out to our campsite to inform us that the Russian tractor was busy working on the other side of the river. And to add injury to insult, the river was too high for it to cross as well, even if it were available. The expectations were that about a week and the river would be down, just wait. A little time goes by, Pine and I, are checking the map and trying to form a plan, when the teacher shows up again. He has a broken down jeep that a friend is hauling to Bayan Olgii for repairs. If we like we can load our gear into the back of this truck and he will haul us as well. This puts us the same distance from the russian border and without rivers blocking our way. We opt for the Bayan trip, and arrive after 9 hours of serious butt thumping, into the moderate sized town of Bayan Olgii. Bayan, its the capital city of the Kazak people. Predominently Muslim, a very rough little mining and herdsmen town. The capital of the angora and camel hair markets for all Mongolia. We find a place to stay, which has wifi, and it turns out to be a yurt stay.

Funny how faces from the past collide as if we are just fate driven particles on a journey thru time. First we bump into a Israeli kid who is walking and hitching way round, nice guy. We all agree that we are hungry, so we find a Turkish Restaurant. As we walk in, there are 2 faces staring at us, there appearance takes us back to the Fairfield in Tetserleg. They are from Netherlands, and touring by Jeep, very nice couple of University Proffessors on a 1 year sabbatical. Then there is Chris, retired from British Navy, and a scuba instructor who has lived around the world. He is off on a 18 month tour of the world, and is actually closer to the end than the beggining which is causing him concern as he is not ready to grow up and get a job. We all sat around a very good supper and compared our Mongolia expieriences and thoughts. Amazing how divergent the opnions are, I would conclude that depending on the amount of autonomy given by your mode of transportation, it therefore softens or blunts the harsh edges of slower forms of travel ie:walking or cycling. My own opinion given, was thenext time I see Mongolia will be from 35,000 feet with my butt planted in an airplane seat,………..my dinner audience was agast that I could have such a harsh take on this the jewel of Asia.

Allow me a paragraph to conclude and summarize my thoughts on Mongolia. It,s not that I dont find Mongolia to be a naturally beautiful place, as certainly it is. There are 2 factors that make Mongolia a less than desireable destination for me.  Those being the roads and the food. The roads in Mongolia are quite simply horrendous, they are truly beyond my ability to describe and have you believe me. My best impression or desription, is that they are the roads of America back in say 1925 or even earlier. Just the fact that every rode is designed to tear a vehichle apart should be reason enough to be wary of travel here. And after a while, all that bouncing and pothole dodging just gets…., well tiring to put it kindly. Our other dinner friends did not eat locally as did ourselves, that makes a huge difference. Non of the others dined in a real yurt , or spent a night in a real yurt, as I would define it, they stayed at only Loneley Planet approved ger camps. We had the same meal all the way across Mongolia……..as I tried to elude too by way of a joke earlier…..we found a rare first edition Mongolian cookbook, it amounts to a front cover and back cover, and a single page between. No, no pages are missing. The single page directs the reader to place whatever they wish to eat into a pot and boil it………..the end. At one point in history I have read that Ghengis Khan, the mightiest of all Mongols. Had conquered allmost all of Asia and portions of what is today eastern Europe. But stop and think about it, the Mongols left no trace of there culture as an indelable mark on those other conquered countries and cultures. It was as if it never happened. The same by the way,cannot be said of the spaniards, the Portugese,the English or the Dutch, all of whom are natiions to have taken thier presence around the globe. If you look around Mongolia on a map for jnstance, you quickly see that the majority of tourist “come see hotspots” are simply beautiful pieces of rugged landscape. Dont get me wrong, these regions are indeed beautiful. But as it regards the intinsic cultural aspect of the Mongol people, there is very little in the way of edification as to its greatness. In closing, is it even worth a visit. Yes,of course, if Iowa was completely booked up and you couldn,t get in, or if the North Dakota grain growers symposium lets say sold out due to something news worthy happening like a new rust resistant strain of winter wheat being developed…………then with a saddened heart take the family aside and consider Mongolia………but double check those Iowa bookings……..Coon Rapids is gorgeous in the spring. For myself, I cant wait to get the hell out of Dodge.