We’d stocked up on fuel and provisions in Kosh-Agach that didn’t look much like a Russian town really. Apparently mostly inhabited by Kazakhs and Mongols, it has a distinct Asian feel. As we rolled towards the border some fifty kilometres away, we saw a KTM coming our way. It was Stefan, a German whom we’d met at the hostel in Almaty. He said that the gates were closed and that there was nobody there at the border post. It might have been lunch time though, we thought, and went to check if that was the case, but as we arrived, we learned that it was because it was Sunday. Together, we rolled back to Kosh-Agach to return the next day.
When we arrived just past the opening time, quite many cars and trucks had already lined up behind the gates. Apparently, vehicles were allowed to enter in groups of around ten, but even though there seemed to be separate queues, both trucks and cars alike started moving towards the gates as soon as they were opened for the next group. Amazing how just minutes before the people had been chatting in such a friendly manner, and suddenly they were ready to run each other over in order to get through the gates first.
Once inside, the normal procedures followed - passport control, customs formalities, and a brief search. All in all, we were done in half an hour or so. Heading out from the border post, we noticed the signs banning all stopping and parking on the road in-between the border post and the actual border. Considering that the ban stretched for a few dozen kilometres, a slight worry about Suzuki’s volatile compression crept through our minds. The kilometres passed by quite quickly though, and before we knew it, we found ourselves in front of another gate. This was the border proper - one could guess it from the smooth tarmac ending and rough gravel continuing from just where the gate stood. Was it the shape of the things to come, we wondered as we were allowed to pass and continue towards the far horizon.
Some kilometres later we rolled up by the Mongolian border post with just another set of gates. By the time we got our tyres disinfected it was, of course, lunch time, so we had an hour to kill. We made some tea and turned the bread, cheese and sausage left over from breakfast into some sandwiches. Part of us rejoiced for being in Mongolia (well, technically at least), but part was somewhat anxious. The thing is that just recently, Mongolia had changed the temporary import regulations, and we’d heard of a hefty deposit imposed on vehicles that are more than ten years old entering the country. The change in regulations was due to numerous Mongol Rally cars having been abandoned in Mongolia once the rally was over - obviously, participants had failed to pay import tax (which you are supposed to do if you don’t export your vehicle), and the deposit was going to fix that problem. Now, we had no idea if this deposit thing was only meant for cars or motorbikes as well, and this got us somewhat worried. Because the “old lady”, our trusty GS, is nearing her twenties by now…
Lunchtime at the border, so it is lunchtime for us as well (pic by Stefan)
Once the lunch time was over, we had another round of the regular formalities, but luckily didn’t have to pay anything. So now we were in officially! We rode some ten kilometres together with Stefan, before he continued down the main road towards Ulgii and we turned onto some track leading into the mountains. Soon we realised why they say that there are no roads in Mongolia, only directions. The gravel track quickly turned into not much more than an imprint on the pebbles, dividing into many, or joining other “tracks” that kept appearing from out of nowhere. Our GPS really was our friend there, as there was no single “right” track - often the track we’d thought was the right one veered off in the wrong direction, so we had to correct our course many times as we went.
Mongolian tracks. No tracks actually, just directions - when the old track gets worn (corrugated), just make a new one in the ground yourself.
We made it to Mongolia!
Took a track off from the main southern "road". Off the beaten track is always the way to go.
Sand tracks around Karaul Suok.
We searched for the bridge some time, but finally found one. Fortunately the big river impossible-to-cross was bridged at one spot.
Some very decent tracks around the western tip of Mongolia.
The landscapes were impressive, though not devoid of human settlement. We could see a yurt or two here and there, guarded by some exceptionally fierce dogs. And whereas we’d had to deal with dogs before (they seem to react feverishly to bikes), here it meant dealing with more than one at a time. Somehow we still managed to shake them off.
As the end of the day approached, we passed through some rather large village and decided to pitch our tent a few kilometres away on a hillside overlooking the village. The view was great, but wait for this - by accident we discovered that our phones had picked up two wifi hot spots right on that hillside, many kilometres from the village! We didn’t get to use the wifi because they both required user names and passwords, but still, the mere fact that there are wifi hot spots almost in the middle of nowhere, is really staggering! In fact, we were to discover that Mongolia is quite highly developed in terms of use of technology (and not just because they’ve had flat screen tv-s in their yurts already for ages).
Mongolia has skipped a step or two in terms of "normal" development, there's not even a road leading to the village, just sand pistes, let alone stable elecricity for every house, no water supply or sewage system, no good isolation for the houses and the list goes on, yet they have wi-fi, swipe-through card system in the shops etc.
A million dollar view, and there is wi-fi here, in the middle of nowhere in Mongolia, yep, no joke. The signal propagated from the village you see on the left horizon some 6-8 kilometers away, must be a mighty powerful emitter. Poor bees and other animals in the area who are affected by the Ghz EM range (fecks up their navigation) that supposed to bring comfort to people's life, probably increases cancer rate in people living close to the emitter too. Comfort is always a two-sided coin.
The next day, as we were slowly making our way down a somewhat sandy road towards Ulgii, once again we saw Stefan coming our way. It turned out his GPS had put him on a wrong track - in fact, he was supposed to go the other way, so he had to back track to Ulgii. Since we were going the same way, we decided to go together.
Having arrived in Ulgii, and having raided a few ATM-s for some cash, we went to have lunch in some cafeteria. While we munched on some mutton dumplings, we saw some local chaps curiously inspecting the three bikes that we’d parked just across the road. The next moment they were already sitting on Stefan’s bike (obviously the fanciest of the three) and having each other’s picture taken. When Kariina and Stefan stepped out of the cafeteria and walked towards the bikes, they didn’t even make notice of them. As one of them was about to mount the GS, Kariina intervened, fearing that he might push it off the center stand. The guy looked at her in total confusion as if she’d banned him from getting on his own horse. Obviously, they don’t have a sense of property that’s similar to ours.
From Ulgii we headed southeast. As the road passed a lake that so perfectly reflected the mountains that stood on the other side of it, we first figured we should ride closer to get a nice picture, but ended up going for a dip. Even though the weather was really nice and warm, the water temperature quickly reminded us that we were at the altitude of 2080 meters. Not exactly freezing, but a quick dip really was enough.
After a photo session we had a decent swim in the magical lake of Tolbo Nuur at 2080 meters above sea level.
The roadworks really slowed us down, because mostly it meant riding in fine gravel, sand or worst of all… bull dust. Not only was it hiding the topology that lay underneath, it also covered everything and penetrated every hole and crevasse.
Day after day the roadworks alternated with bad road which in places was worse than the roadworks themselves, so by the end of the day we found ourselves quite tired and sore. But a nice spot to set up camp for the night was always a given.
Horses mostly go for meat in Mongolia. As one man said us, for him to survive a winter he must eat an average of 30 goats, 10 sheep and one horse.
Discovering different faces of Mongolia.
Panorama of varying Mongolian landscapes.
As we woke up une morning after a rather cold and windy night, we knew that we’d only have to cover a few hundred kilometres before our tyres could hit the tar again. For a change, this sounded like a nice perspective, so after having some coffee and sandwiches, we set off.
One thing didn’t feel right though. The battery light on Suzuki had gone on and then off a few times during the last day’s ride. We had guessed that the battery wasn’t charging too well due to relatively slow speeds. But this time the light went on and stayed on, even with the lights switched off. Worried, we rode on, until just a couple of kilometres before the town of Bayankhongor (we could already see the buildings in the distance), after Kariina had switched the gear from second to first to slowly go through a sand pit, the bike roared but refused to move. More revs produced a louder roar, but the bike refused to move. Until it appeared to have changed its mind, and basically jumped out of that sand pit. Well, things were not looking too good.
We rolled on, until the next spot where the first gear was required, and the same thing happened again. In addition to the roar, the bike produced a few loud blasts before jumping off again. Apparently, the battery had become so empty that it didn’t produce enough spark. We were no longer sure if we could reach Bayankhongor with Suzuki, but we had to push on. It meant that Kariina had to keep the revs relatively high at all times, even while braking. Somehow we made it, and even managed to get to a hotel without an incident, even though not even brake light nor the turn signals were functioning any longer.
As we took the starter apart in the dark garage of the hotel, what we saw was a lot of pieces of metal and epoxy in the oil, probably they’d come off the stator that was showing signs of heavy wear on its outer edges. Damn! I’d installed a brand new, heavy duty one just before setting off, to make sure it lasts. Another question was a strange deep scratch on one side of the flywheel, which I have no explanation for. Obviously, Suzuki was not going anywhere in that condition - and of course we were in the farthest point from home on that trip…
Damaged flywheel in the process.
The next morning we decided to try and arrange for Suzuki to be taken to Ulaanbaatar where it might be easier to try and do something about the problem. After all, it is a capital city. But how to arrange transport of you don’t speak any Mongolian, and no local speaks another language? There’s a way, of course. Kariina took a piece of paper, drew a truck and a bike on top of it. Bayankhongor -> Ulaanbaatar. The girls at the hotel reception looked somewhat confused, but said “OK”. Not sure if they’d got it, she came back to the room.
Some ten minutes later the receptionist knocked on our door and Kariina followed her back to the reception where two youngish lads were waiting. The girl took out a calculator and typed 250 000 on it (around 100 euros), which sounded a bit too little, considering that the distance to Ulaanbaatar was no less than 650 kilometres, so she tried asking if it was the total price (according to Lonely Planet, Mongolian drivers are known to increase the price halfway to the destination). Using Google Translate, the girl wrote “absolutely ride”. To be sure, the details were “fixed” on that same piece of paper, and after a handshake with Gantumur, one of the lads, Kariina came back to the room to pack her backpack for the long night ride. She was going to go with the bike, and I was to follow her the next day on GS. Needless to say, letting her go with two random Mongolian males didn’t sound like the best idea, but then again, she wanted to be sure that Suzuki doesn’t just vanish into the steppe.
DRZ is done.
Below is Kariina’s story:
The truck arrived at the hotel right on time, just a few hours before sunset. After a rushed farewell I got into the cabin (to my great relief there was no one except Gantumur himself), and we slowly rolled off. The ride was going to take just ten hours, although this estimate seemed somewhat too optimistic to me. It would have required us to move at 65 kph on average, which is quite fast. As we headed out of Bayankhongor down a decent tarmac road, the speed didn’t really exceed 60 kph.
Partly in order to relieve boredom, partly to relieve the feeling of anxiety, I tried calculating how much time it would take to arrive in Ulaanbaatar at different speeds, and my optimism grew every time I noticed the speed increase. For a while, that is. The joy never lasted longer than a few hundred meters before without any obvious reason, the speedometer dropped down to 60 kph again.
I guess we hadn’t even covered one hundred kilometres when the Sun had fallen so close to the horizon that the endless-looking landscapes were painted golden and then red. As a truck carrying some twenty horses sped past us I really would have liked to ask Gantumur if we really had to go that slow, but firstly, perhaps it would have offended him, and secondly… well, our common vocabulary seemed to be limited to “OK”. He rolled down his window, lit a cigarette, and sang along to some Mongolian pop song from the radio. I could easily imagine him on a stage of a karaoke bar - and there are a lot of them in Mongolia, I’d even say more than there are grocery stores.
At around 11 PM, when it was already pitch dark and I started becoming somewhat sleepy (we’d become used to getting up with the Sun and going to sleep around sunset when camping), we stopped by a roadside eatery. I wasn’t hungry at all, but I joined Gantumur as he got out of the truck and went into the brightly lit canteen. While he munched on a large plate of noodles with what surely must have been mutton, I was fighting a cup of warm, salty milk. I had, of course, ordered tea, but this is normally what happens when you order tea - they bring you tsüütei tsai, or milk tea (I don’t really think it contains any tea at all, just milk). I tried to stay positive, thinking that warm milk would help me get some sleep.
As we rolled on, it soon became clear that we’d left the good tarmac behind. From out of nowhere, deep holes and ditches appeared in the road. There was no longer any point in keeping an eye on the speedometer, as our speed averaged some 20 kph and the truck bounced so bad that I had hard time keeping my head from hitting the ceiling as I was basically thrown in the air. Every time I landed, I felt stabbing pain in my kidneys, and I did feel like swearing at times. But Gantumur just kept turning the large, beaded steering wheel with a face that didn’t betray any emotion at all. If I’d have to describe Mongolians, I think “reserved” would be the best word.
At one point, when the banging noise from the rear had become quite loud, I convinced Gantumur to stop - I wanted to check if the bike was okay. Unsure if he’d understood me right, he stopped the truck and we got out. He opened the back door, and in the faint ray of his flashlight, I could see that the bike was just how it was supposed to be. I smiled at him in an assuring, yet apologetic way. We got back into the truck and continued our way, but there wasn’t going to be any chance to sleep.
At around 2AM, as we had probably covered around 200 kilometres, he drew into some dark roadside parking lot with more trucks and a couple of yurts. He switched off the engine, and using body language, explained to me that it is time to sleep two hours. I’d already opened the door to head for one of the yurts, as he showed to the seats, and said, “no, here!”. Before I even could start going through all possible scenarios, he’d already gotten out a pillow and a blanket…”
“I will be sleeping here,” he said, and pointed towards the space in the back of the cabin. I was to lay down across the seats. The cabin was cramped indeed - there mustn’t have been more than a meter between the windscreen and the rear. Somewhat hesitant, I accepted a jacket to support my head, and he switched off the light.
Five minutes later I heard him snoring, which gave me some assurance that I might be safe having some sleep too. I was tired as hell, but just couldn’t switch off my brain. So I stared at the sky, littered with thousands of stars. In their cold light, I started feeling somewhat cold myself, trying to cuddle up as much as I could, but it only worked for a short while. The temperature seemed to be dropping at an exponential rate. I took the jacket that Gantumur had given me, and made an effort to cover myself with it, but the jacket was rather tiny. Soon enough my arms and legs started aching from discomfort, and I realised that the jacket wasn’t helping too much to keep myself warm. Gantumur, however, kept snoring in sweet sleep a mere ten centimetres from where I was, underneath his blanket. I shivered and waited for those two hours to pass.
I think it was well past those two hours when another truck stopped by ours, and someone gave a loud knock on the door. Gantumur switched the light on and leaped to the door. It was one of his comrades who’d helped with lifting the bike into the truck back in Bayankhongor. Looking at me, at Gantumur, and the linen lying around in the cabin, he laughed and made some obvious remarks, but being a true gentleman, he ignored them. Instead, he quickly got back on his seat and we were on our way again. It was a great relief for me as the cabin quickly started warming up again.
A few hours on, I noticed the horizon lighting up. Slowly, the landscape around us re-emerged from the darkness. We were roughly half way. Gantumur lit another cigarette and inquired me if I had children. After quite a bit of gesticulating I think I understood that he was 30 and had four kids - two girls and two boys. It almost looked like a conversation, even though we didn’t share any vocabulary. As he rolled down the window, he turned up the volume of his sound system. I thought I’d heard that song two times already.
At around 9AM we stopped by a roadside cafeteria. “Coffee?” he asked me. Yes, absolutely!!! As we sat down, coffee was brought to the table, and a bowl of potato salad that he pushed towards me. It would probably have been impolite to refuse, even though I wasn’t feeling hungry. It tasted delicious! Needless to say, he didn’t allow me to pay for it.
As Gantumur stayed inside to chat with other truckers, I went out looking for the loo. Outside, on the parking lot, I noticed the same truck that had sped past us last night carrying some two dozen horses. I walked closer. The animals were visibly exhausted from the long trip. While some were trying to fight off sleepiness, others were rather irritable. Even though I tried to stay optimistic, I had to admit that they were most probably being transported to a slaughterhouse. Such a waste - not just killing the beautiful, gracious beasts, but making them suffer on the road to their end…
Soon we continued our trip, and a few hours later we arrived in Ulaanbaatar. I paid the remaining half of the agreed amount, we shook hands, and off he went, leaving me at a guesthouse to wait for Margus’s arrival.
In total, we spent around a week in Ulaanbaatar, waiting for the replacement to the stator to arrive from back at home.
We’d chosen to stay at the popular overlander hangout - Oasis guesthouse on the outskirts of Mongolian capital. Boasting a large, guarded backyard, it sees a fair share of like-minded vagabonds, so it is great to share information about various routes in the region, borrow tools from one another, and to pat one another on the back if needed. Oh yes, most of them have some issue to resolve before moving on.
When Kariina arrived with her DRZ, Stefan was already there. His plan was to go to Australia, but if you look at a map, you can see that it isn’t that straightforward if you are located in Mongolia. The major obstacle is of course China, which is impossible to cross without a 500 USD/day escort. So he was researching options of going around. The first and perhaps most attractive option of sailing from Russia to Japan blew soon as he discovered that Germany had not had signed some convention years ago, which meant that he would have had to register himself as a resident to actually be allowed to ride his bike in Japan. Then there was the option of flying the bike to Thailand, but Thailand had just tightened up its regulations, and was no longer an option. Finally, he had to settle with flying his bike to Malaysia instead.
Good times in Oasis, Ulanbator.
Then there was Justin, a BMW dealer from Alaska who’d arrived a couple of days before in order to tour Mongolia on a rental bike for a couple of weeks before he flew back. Half of his luggage (containing his tent, sleeping bag and an awful lot of other stuff) had missed the connection and he sat there waiting to see if it ever was to make it there. Meanwhile John, best known as one of the MotoMavericks, was assisting him on tracking it, and upholding the morale.
One of the most extraordinary people we met at Oasis was a Polish guy Piotr who’d ridden his 50cc scooter through Afghanistan and who was planning on going to Magadan in Russia. Considering that it was going to get rather cold, he was planning on having skis attached to his scooter, which he did, and right now he is already in Canada. An amazing guy! Look him up on Facebook using keywords wyprawy skuterem.
Pjotr is Hunting Guiness world record with his 2-stroke 50cc scooter. Half of his luggage are spare parts and tools!
There were some more people with bikes, but there were many people with cars who were planning on going to China. All of them had pre-booked a tour (perhaps they even were part of a single tour to share costs), but it seemed that they too had troubles as the Chinese embassy in Ulaanbaatar had stopped issuing visas when we were there, and it put them in a difficult situation.
Justin found a nice logo for his Trans Alp, despite this the bike broke him down some days later. Oh pity, Honda...
Always fun with other overlanders...
Interestingly, all of the bikes over there that had some technical trouble, were Japanese (our Suzuki DRZ 400, a German couple’s Yamaha XT660Z Tenéré, and a Honda Trans Alp 650). A coincidence??
While waiting for the replacement stator we weren’t quite in the mood of going sightseeing. But then again, there wasn’t much to do to kill the time, so we kind of forced ourselves to get out of the safe confines of the guesthouse and took a bus into the center of Ulaanbaatar. We figured that we should go and visit at least one of its sights, and chose the monastery of Gandantegchinlen, the name translated as the Place of Great Joy. Since it is a Tibetan style monastery, it brough back memories of the Himalayas and the Buddhist monasteries located there, but it didn’t quite deliver the same feeling or emotion. We did make a circle around one the more important temples at the monastery complex, spinned a fair number of prayer wheels, witnessed a prayer ceremony and got to eye the huge, 26,5 meter tall statue of Avalokiteshvara. Allegedly, inside the statue there are tons of medicinal herbs ans even one yurt with furniture.
Check the table below to scale the size of this massive statue.
Prayer wheels... We turned ALL of them to send out our good thoughts and positive mood to the world.
After having visited the monastery we took a shortcut through some side streets to Ulaanbaatar’s main square, overlooked by a statue of Genghis Khan, and also took a look at the nearby National Museum which gave a rather good overview of Mongolia’s history. The most intriguing exhibit for us was the actual space suit of the first Mongolian to ever go to space though.
Genghis Khan statue in the centre of Ulaanbaatar.
Ulaanbaatar centre is very metropolitian (click to enlarge the panorama)
...while the rest of the city is like just another Third World capital - just a big village.
Needless to say, after so many sights we were quite exhausted and hungry, so we looked up one rather simple eatery and ordered some buuz or local dumplings. Not sure where we went wrong though, as they were some three times the size the ones we’d eaten before and finishing them meant quite a struggle. The good thing was they were delicious indeed, with juicy mutton hiding itself in the pillowy steamed dough.
Buuz.
After having waited for a week, the stator arrived and even though the deep dent in the flywheel kept us worried, the bike seemed to be working again. So it looked like we would be able to finally leave Ulaanbaatar and basically head home. As we hit the mad chaos of the streets, we knew that our home was over 8000 kilometers away. The prospect of riding the full distance seemed enticing and absurd at the same time. We were to ride through most of Russia, the largest country in the World, which felt like a trip on its own. Then again, the days were getting colder one by one, and in order not to ge caught by icy roads, we had to concentrate on moving rather than sightseeing, which really was a shame.
Before we truly hit the road home, we took a short detour to the must-see statue of Genghis Khan close to Ulaanbaatar. Surely enough, even before we reached the statue, the Suzuki’s battery indicator started fading again. But then again it was really cold and windy, so we figured that was the reason.
This thing is massive!
After having visited the statue we finally turned our bikes around – from there the road was only going to take us closer to home. Before heading due north we stopped by some shipping container turned into a roadside canteen where an elderly lady served crispy, hot khuushuur (mutton pancakes) straight off the stovetop. Dripping with fat they were filling allright, but we figured that we’d had had quite enough of that mutton diet. Although we’d tasted some truly delectable mutton in Caucasus and Cental Asian countries, we felt that we’d had enough.
Mongol horses in social packs...
Meanwhile with the Suzuki hassles and brakedowns our trusty old GS turned 300 000 on the clock. The 20 years old heavy iron is still going strong, doesn't need any chain oiling or messing around, she just needs riding, and needs it a lot! She has touched throughout all the continents on the world (minus Antarctica), she's been in 93 countries so far.
Unlike Suzuki that has just 200 Watts of endless electrical problems and engine compression loss already at 70K our GS creates a massive 700 Watts of problem-free electricity to keep my heated jacket, heated seat and heated grips going, and it creates this kind of massive power on-demand unlike Suzuki that just creates excess heat when there's no electrical consumption. That excess heat (thus thermal expansion of the parts) is probably the cause of the brakedown on our Suzuki. Nothing is wasted on the elegant German design. German engineers have designed the proper electrostatic (or brushed-) generator much better than the Japanese counterparts with their electromagnetic (or magnet-stator) fraud and inefficent design if you ask me. Engine compression is like new per 300K while I've run literally on vegetable oil in it crossing African desert heat or through high altitude Himalayan frostbite. It's been through water, fire and ice.
The only unreliable thing with the GS on this expedition was that the speedo gear was worn off at 296K stopping the count, so till 300K I measured with my GPS. Probably the fully mechanical speedo has made too many turns clicking up nearing that 300 000 number, LOL.
When we arrived just past the opening time, quite many cars and trucks had already lined up behind the gates. Apparently, vehicles were allowed to enter in groups of around ten, but even though there seemed to be separate queues, both trucks and cars alike started moving towards the gates as soon as they were opened for the next group. Amazing how just minutes before the people had been chatting in such a friendly manner, and suddenly they were ready to run each other over in order to get through the gates first.
Once inside, the normal procedures followed - passport control, customs formalities, and a brief search. All in all, we were done in half an hour or so. Heading out from the border post, we noticed the signs banning all stopping and parking on the road in-between the border post and the actual border. Considering that the ban stretched for a few dozen kilometres, a slight worry about Suzuki’s volatile compression crept through our minds. The kilometres passed by quite quickly though, and before we knew it, we found ourselves in front of another gate. This was the border proper - one could guess it from the smooth tarmac ending and rough gravel continuing from just where the gate stood. Was it the shape of the things to come, we wondered as we were allowed to pass and continue towards the far horizon.
Some kilometres later we rolled up by the Mongolian border post with just another set of gates. By the time we got our tyres disinfected it was, of course, lunch time, so we had an hour to kill. We made some tea and turned the bread, cheese and sausage left over from breakfast into some sandwiches. Part of us rejoiced for being in Mongolia (well, technically at least), but part was somewhat anxious. The thing is that just recently, Mongolia had changed the temporary import regulations, and we’d heard of a hefty deposit imposed on vehicles that are more than ten years old entering the country. The change in regulations was due to numerous Mongol Rally cars having been abandoned in Mongolia once the rally was over - obviously, participants had failed to pay import tax (which you are supposed to do if you don’t export your vehicle), and the deposit was going to fix that problem. Now, we had no idea if this deposit thing was only meant for cars or motorbikes as well, and this got us somewhat worried. Because the “old lady”, our trusty GS, is nearing her twenties by now…
Lunchtime at the border, so it is lunchtime for us as well (pic by Stefan)
Once the lunch time was over, we had another round of the regular formalities, but luckily didn’t have to pay anything. So now we were in officially! We rode some ten kilometres together with Stefan, before he continued down the main road towards Ulgii and we turned onto some track leading into the mountains. Soon we realised why they say that there are no roads in Mongolia, only directions. The gravel track quickly turned into not much more than an imprint on the pebbles, dividing into many, or joining other “tracks” that kept appearing from out of nowhere. Our GPS really was our friend there, as there was no single “right” track - often the track we’d thought was the right one veered off in the wrong direction, so we had to correct our course many times as we went.
Mongolian tracks. No tracks actually, just directions - when the old track gets worn (corrugated), just make a new one in the ground yourself.
We made it to Mongolia!
Took a track off from the main southern "road". Off the beaten track is always the way to go.
Sand tracks around Karaul Suok.
We searched for the bridge some time, but finally found one. Fortunately the big river impossible-to-cross was bridged at one spot.
Some very decent tracks around the western tip of Mongolia.
The landscapes were impressive, though not devoid of human settlement. We could see a yurt or two here and there, guarded by some exceptionally fierce dogs. And whereas we’d had to deal with dogs before (they seem to react feverishly to bikes), here it meant dealing with more than one at a time. Somehow we still managed to shake them off.
As the end of the day approached, we passed through some rather large village and decided to pitch our tent a few kilometres away on a hillside overlooking the village. The view was great, but wait for this - by accident we discovered that our phones had picked up two wifi hot spots right on that hillside, many kilometres from the village! We didn’t get to use the wifi because they both required user names and passwords, but still, the mere fact that there are wifi hot spots almost in the middle of nowhere, is really staggering! In fact, we were to discover that Mongolia is quite highly developed in terms of use of technology (and not just because they’ve had flat screen tv-s in their yurts already for ages).
Mongolia has skipped a step or two in terms of "normal" development, there's not even a road leading to the village, just sand pistes, let alone stable elecricity for every house, no water supply or sewage system, no good isolation for the houses and the list goes on, yet they have wi-fi, swipe-through card system in the shops etc.
A million dollar view, and there is wi-fi here, in the middle of nowhere in Mongolia, yep, no joke. The signal propagated from the village you see on the left horizon some 6-8 kilometers away, must be a mighty powerful emitter. Poor bees and other animals in the area who are affected by the Ghz EM range (fecks up their navigation) that supposed to bring comfort to people's life, probably increases cancer rate in people living close to the emitter too. Comfort is always a two-sided coin.
The next day, as we were slowly making our way down a somewhat sandy road towards Ulgii, once again we saw Stefan coming our way. It turned out his GPS had put him on a wrong track - in fact, he was supposed to go the other way, so he had to back track to Ulgii. Since we were going the same way, we decided to go together.
Having arrived in Ulgii, and having raided a few ATM-s for some cash, we went to have lunch in some cafeteria. While we munched on some mutton dumplings, we saw some local chaps curiously inspecting the three bikes that we’d parked just across the road. The next moment they were already sitting on Stefan’s bike (obviously the fanciest of the three) and having each other’s picture taken. When Kariina and Stefan stepped out of the cafeteria and walked towards the bikes, they didn’t even make notice of them. As one of them was about to mount the GS, Kariina intervened, fearing that he might push it off the center stand. The guy looked at her in total confusion as if she’d banned him from getting on his own horse. Obviously, they don’t have a sense of property that’s similar to ours.
From Ulgii we headed southeast. As the road passed a lake that so perfectly reflected the mountains that stood on the other side of it, we first figured we should ride closer to get a nice picture, but ended up going for a dip. Even though the weather was really nice and warm, the water temperature quickly reminded us that we were at the altitude of 2080 meters. Not exactly freezing, but a quick dip really was enough.
After a photo session we had a decent swim in the magical lake of Tolbo Nuur at 2080 meters above sea level.
The roadworks really slowed us down, because mostly it meant riding in fine gravel, sand or worst of all… bull dust. Not only was it hiding the topology that lay underneath, it also covered everything and penetrated every hole and crevasse.
Day after day the roadworks alternated with bad road which in places was worse than the roadworks themselves, so by the end of the day we found ourselves quite tired and sore. But a nice spot to set up camp for the night was always a given.
Horses mostly go for meat in Mongolia. As one man said us, for him to survive a winter he must eat an average of 30 goats, 10 sheep and one horse.
Discovering different faces of Mongolia.
Panorama of varying Mongolian landscapes.
As we woke up une morning after a rather cold and windy night, we knew that we’d only have to cover a few hundred kilometres before our tyres could hit the tar again. For a change, this sounded like a nice perspective, so after having some coffee and sandwiches, we set off.
One thing didn’t feel right though. The battery light on Suzuki had gone on and then off a few times during the last day’s ride. We had guessed that the battery wasn’t charging too well due to relatively slow speeds. But this time the light went on and stayed on, even with the lights switched off. Worried, we rode on, until just a couple of kilometres before the town of Bayankhongor (we could already see the buildings in the distance), after Kariina had switched the gear from second to first to slowly go through a sand pit, the bike roared but refused to move. More revs produced a louder roar, but the bike refused to move. Until it appeared to have changed its mind, and basically jumped out of that sand pit. Well, things were not looking too good.
We rolled on, until the next spot where the first gear was required, and the same thing happened again. In addition to the roar, the bike produced a few loud blasts before jumping off again. Apparently, the battery had become so empty that it didn’t produce enough spark. We were no longer sure if we could reach Bayankhongor with Suzuki, but we had to push on. It meant that Kariina had to keep the revs relatively high at all times, even while braking. Somehow we made it, and even managed to get to a hotel without an incident, even though not even brake light nor the turn signals were functioning any longer.
As we took the starter apart in the dark garage of the hotel, what we saw was a lot of pieces of metal and epoxy in the oil, probably they’d come off the stator that was showing signs of heavy wear on its outer edges. Damn! I’d installed a brand new, heavy duty one just before setting off, to make sure it lasts. Another question was a strange deep scratch on one side of the flywheel, which I have no explanation for. Obviously, Suzuki was not going anywhere in that condition - and of course we were in the farthest point from home on that trip…
Damaged flywheel in the process.
The next morning we decided to try and arrange for Suzuki to be taken to Ulaanbaatar where it might be easier to try and do something about the problem. After all, it is a capital city. But how to arrange transport of you don’t speak any Mongolian, and no local speaks another language? There’s a way, of course. Kariina took a piece of paper, drew a truck and a bike on top of it. Bayankhongor -> Ulaanbaatar. The girls at the hotel reception looked somewhat confused, but said “OK”. Not sure if they’d got it, she came back to the room.
Some ten minutes later the receptionist knocked on our door and Kariina followed her back to the reception where two youngish lads were waiting. The girl took out a calculator and typed 250 000 on it (around 100 euros), which sounded a bit too little, considering that the distance to Ulaanbaatar was no less than 650 kilometres, so she tried asking if it was the total price (according to Lonely Planet, Mongolian drivers are known to increase the price halfway to the destination). Using Google Translate, the girl wrote “absolutely ride”. To be sure, the details were “fixed” on that same piece of paper, and after a handshake with Gantumur, one of the lads, Kariina came back to the room to pack her backpack for the long night ride. She was going to go with the bike, and I was to follow her the next day on GS. Needless to say, letting her go with two random Mongolian males didn’t sound like the best idea, but then again, she wanted to be sure that Suzuki doesn’t just vanish into the steppe.
DRZ is done.
Below is Kariina’s story:
The truck arrived at the hotel right on time, just a few hours before sunset. After a rushed farewell I got into the cabin (to my great relief there was no one except Gantumur himself), and we slowly rolled off. The ride was going to take just ten hours, although this estimate seemed somewhat too optimistic to me. It would have required us to move at 65 kph on average, which is quite fast. As we headed out of Bayankhongor down a decent tarmac road, the speed didn’t really exceed 60 kph.
Partly in order to relieve boredom, partly to relieve the feeling of anxiety, I tried calculating how much time it would take to arrive in Ulaanbaatar at different speeds, and my optimism grew every time I noticed the speed increase. For a while, that is. The joy never lasted longer than a few hundred meters before without any obvious reason, the speedometer dropped down to 60 kph again.
I guess we hadn’t even covered one hundred kilometres when the Sun had fallen so close to the horizon that the endless-looking landscapes were painted golden and then red. As a truck carrying some twenty horses sped past us I really would have liked to ask Gantumur if we really had to go that slow, but firstly, perhaps it would have offended him, and secondly… well, our common vocabulary seemed to be limited to “OK”. He rolled down his window, lit a cigarette, and sang along to some Mongolian pop song from the radio. I could easily imagine him on a stage of a karaoke bar - and there are a lot of them in Mongolia, I’d even say more than there are grocery stores.
At around 11 PM, when it was already pitch dark and I started becoming somewhat sleepy (we’d become used to getting up with the Sun and going to sleep around sunset when camping), we stopped by a roadside eatery. I wasn’t hungry at all, but I joined Gantumur as he got out of the truck and went into the brightly lit canteen. While he munched on a large plate of noodles with what surely must have been mutton, I was fighting a cup of warm, salty milk. I had, of course, ordered tea, but this is normally what happens when you order tea - they bring you tsüütei tsai, or milk tea (I don’t really think it contains any tea at all, just milk). I tried to stay positive, thinking that warm milk would help me get some sleep.
As we rolled on, it soon became clear that we’d left the good tarmac behind. From out of nowhere, deep holes and ditches appeared in the road. There was no longer any point in keeping an eye on the speedometer, as our speed averaged some 20 kph and the truck bounced so bad that I had hard time keeping my head from hitting the ceiling as I was basically thrown in the air. Every time I landed, I felt stabbing pain in my kidneys, and I did feel like swearing at times. But Gantumur just kept turning the large, beaded steering wheel with a face that didn’t betray any emotion at all. If I’d have to describe Mongolians, I think “reserved” would be the best word.
At one point, when the banging noise from the rear had become quite loud, I convinced Gantumur to stop - I wanted to check if the bike was okay. Unsure if he’d understood me right, he stopped the truck and we got out. He opened the back door, and in the faint ray of his flashlight, I could see that the bike was just how it was supposed to be. I smiled at him in an assuring, yet apologetic way. We got back into the truck and continued our way, but there wasn’t going to be any chance to sleep.
At around 2AM, as we had probably covered around 200 kilometres, he drew into some dark roadside parking lot with more trucks and a couple of yurts. He switched off the engine, and using body language, explained to me that it is time to sleep two hours. I’d already opened the door to head for one of the yurts, as he showed to the seats, and said, “no, here!”. Before I even could start going through all possible scenarios, he’d already gotten out a pillow and a blanket…”
“I will be sleeping here,” he said, and pointed towards the space in the back of the cabin. I was to lay down across the seats. The cabin was cramped indeed - there mustn’t have been more than a meter between the windscreen and the rear. Somewhat hesitant, I accepted a jacket to support my head, and he switched off the light.
Five minutes later I heard him snoring, which gave me some assurance that I might be safe having some sleep too. I was tired as hell, but just couldn’t switch off my brain. So I stared at the sky, littered with thousands of stars. In their cold light, I started feeling somewhat cold myself, trying to cuddle up as much as I could, but it only worked for a short while. The temperature seemed to be dropping at an exponential rate. I took the jacket that Gantumur had given me, and made an effort to cover myself with it, but the jacket was rather tiny. Soon enough my arms and legs started aching from discomfort, and I realised that the jacket wasn’t helping too much to keep myself warm. Gantumur, however, kept snoring in sweet sleep a mere ten centimetres from where I was, underneath his blanket. I shivered and waited for those two hours to pass.
I think it was well past those two hours when another truck stopped by ours, and someone gave a loud knock on the door. Gantumur switched the light on and leaped to the door. It was one of his comrades who’d helped with lifting the bike into the truck back in Bayankhongor. Looking at me, at Gantumur, and the linen lying around in the cabin, he laughed and made some obvious remarks, but being a true gentleman, he ignored them. Instead, he quickly got back on his seat and we were on our way again. It was a great relief for me as the cabin quickly started warming up again.
A few hours on, I noticed the horizon lighting up. Slowly, the landscape around us re-emerged from the darkness. We were roughly half way. Gantumur lit another cigarette and inquired me if I had children. After quite a bit of gesticulating I think I understood that he was 30 and had four kids - two girls and two boys. It almost looked like a conversation, even though we didn’t share any vocabulary. As he rolled down the window, he turned up the volume of his sound system. I thought I’d heard that song two times already.
At around 9AM we stopped by a roadside cafeteria. “Coffee?” he asked me. Yes, absolutely!!! As we sat down, coffee was brought to the table, and a bowl of potato salad that he pushed towards me. It would probably have been impolite to refuse, even though I wasn’t feeling hungry. It tasted delicious! Needless to say, he didn’t allow me to pay for it.
As Gantumur stayed inside to chat with other truckers, I went out looking for the loo. Outside, on the parking lot, I noticed the same truck that had sped past us last night carrying some two dozen horses. I walked closer. The animals were visibly exhausted from the long trip. While some were trying to fight off sleepiness, others were rather irritable. Even though I tried to stay optimistic, I had to admit that they were most probably being transported to a slaughterhouse. Such a waste - not just killing the beautiful, gracious beasts, but making them suffer on the road to their end…
Soon we continued our trip, and a few hours later we arrived in Ulaanbaatar. I paid the remaining half of the agreed amount, we shook hands, and off he went, leaving me at a guesthouse to wait for Margus’s arrival.
In total, we spent around a week in Ulaanbaatar, waiting for the replacement to the stator to arrive from back at home.
We’d chosen to stay at the popular overlander hangout - Oasis guesthouse on the outskirts of Mongolian capital. Boasting a large, guarded backyard, it sees a fair share of like-minded vagabonds, so it is great to share information about various routes in the region, borrow tools from one another, and to pat one another on the back if needed. Oh yes, most of them have some issue to resolve before moving on.
When Kariina arrived with her DRZ, Stefan was already there. His plan was to go to Australia, but if you look at a map, you can see that it isn’t that straightforward if you are located in Mongolia. The major obstacle is of course China, which is impossible to cross without a 500 USD/day escort. So he was researching options of going around. The first and perhaps most attractive option of sailing from Russia to Japan blew soon as he discovered that Germany had not had signed some convention years ago, which meant that he would have had to register himself as a resident to actually be allowed to ride his bike in Japan. Then there was the option of flying the bike to Thailand, but Thailand had just tightened up its regulations, and was no longer an option. Finally, he had to settle with flying his bike to Malaysia instead.
Good times in Oasis, Ulanbator.
Then there was Justin, a BMW dealer from Alaska who’d arrived a couple of days before in order to tour Mongolia on a rental bike for a couple of weeks before he flew back. Half of his luggage (containing his tent, sleeping bag and an awful lot of other stuff) had missed the connection and he sat there waiting to see if it ever was to make it there. Meanwhile John, best known as one of the MotoMavericks, was assisting him on tracking it, and upholding the morale.
One of the most extraordinary people we met at Oasis was a Polish guy Piotr who’d ridden his 50cc scooter through Afghanistan and who was planning on going to Magadan in Russia. Considering that it was going to get rather cold, he was planning on having skis attached to his scooter, which he did, and right now he is already in Canada. An amazing guy! Look him up on Facebook using keywords wyprawy skuterem.
Pjotr is Hunting Guiness world record with his 2-stroke 50cc scooter. Half of his luggage are spare parts and tools!
There were some more people with bikes, but there were many people with cars who were planning on going to China. All of them had pre-booked a tour (perhaps they even were part of a single tour to share costs), but it seemed that they too had troubles as the Chinese embassy in Ulaanbaatar had stopped issuing visas when we were there, and it put them in a difficult situation.
Justin found a nice logo for his Trans Alp, despite this the bike broke him down some days later. Oh pity, Honda...
Always fun with other overlanders...
Interestingly, all of the bikes over there that had some technical trouble, were Japanese (our Suzuki DRZ 400, a German couple’s Yamaha XT660Z Tenéré, and a Honda Trans Alp 650). A coincidence??
While waiting for the replacement stator we weren’t quite in the mood of going sightseeing. But then again, there wasn’t much to do to kill the time, so we kind of forced ourselves to get out of the safe confines of the guesthouse and took a bus into the center of Ulaanbaatar. We figured that we should go and visit at least one of its sights, and chose the monastery of Gandantegchinlen, the name translated as the Place of Great Joy. Since it is a Tibetan style monastery, it brough back memories of the Himalayas and the Buddhist monasteries located there, but it didn’t quite deliver the same feeling or emotion. We did make a circle around one the more important temples at the monastery complex, spinned a fair number of prayer wheels, witnessed a prayer ceremony and got to eye the huge, 26,5 meter tall statue of Avalokiteshvara. Allegedly, inside the statue there are tons of medicinal herbs ans even one yurt with furniture.
Check the table below to scale the size of this massive statue.
Prayer wheels... We turned ALL of them to send out our good thoughts and positive mood to the world.
After having visited the monastery we took a shortcut through some side streets to Ulaanbaatar’s main square, overlooked by a statue of Genghis Khan, and also took a look at the nearby National Museum which gave a rather good overview of Mongolia’s history. The most intriguing exhibit for us was the actual space suit of the first Mongolian to ever go to space though.
Genghis Khan statue in the centre of Ulaanbaatar.
Ulaanbaatar centre is very metropolitian (click to enlarge the panorama)
...while the rest of the city is like just another Third World capital - just a big village.
Needless to say, after so many sights we were quite exhausted and hungry, so we looked up one rather simple eatery and ordered some buuz or local dumplings. Not sure where we went wrong though, as they were some three times the size the ones we’d eaten before and finishing them meant quite a struggle. The good thing was they were delicious indeed, with juicy mutton hiding itself in the pillowy steamed dough.
Buuz.
After having waited for a week, the stator arrived and even though the deep dent in the flywheel kept us worried, the bike seemed to be working again. So it looked like we would be able to finally leave Ulaanbaatar and basically head home. As we hit the mad chaos of the streets, we knew that our home was over 8000 kilometers away. The prospect of riding the full distance seemed enticing and absurd at the same time. We were to ride through most of Russia, the largest country in the World, which felt like a trip on its own. Then again, the days were getting colder one by one, and in order not to ge caught by icy roads, we had to concentrate on moving rather than sightseeing, which really was a shame.
Before we truly hit the road home, we took a short detour to the must-see statue of Genghis Khan close to Ulaanbaatar. Surely enough, even before we reached the statue, the Suzuki’s battery indicator started fading again. But then again it was really cold and windy, so we figured that was the reason.
This thing is massive!
After having visited the statue we finally turned our bikes around – from there the road was only going to take us closer to home. Before heading due north we stopped by some shipping container turned into a roadside canteen where an elderly lady served crispy, hot khuushuur (mutton pancakes) straight off the stovetop. Dripping with fat they were filling allright, but we figured that we’d had had quite enough of that mutton diet. Although we’d tasted some truly delectable mutton in Caucasus and Cental Asian countries, we felt that we’d had enough.
Mongol horses in social packs...
Meanwhile with the Suzuki hassles and brakedowns our trusty old GS turned 300 000 on the clock. The 20 years old heavy iron is still going strong, doesn't need any chain oiling or messing around, she just needs riding, and needs it a lot! She has touched throughout all the continents on the world (minus Antarctica), she's been in 93 countries so far.
Unlike Suzuki that has just 200 Watts of endless electrical problems and engine compression loss already at 70K our GS creates a massive 700 Watts of problem-free electricity to keep my heated jacket, heated seat and heated grips going, and it creates this kind of massive power on-demand unlike Suzuki that just creates excess heat when there's no electrical consumption. That excess heat (thus thermal expansion of the parts) is probably the cause of the brakedown on our Suzuki. Nothing is wasted on the elegant German design. German engineers have designed the proper electrostatic (or brushed-) generator much better than the Japanese counterparts with their electromagnetic (or magnet-stator) fraud and inefficent design if you ask me. Engine compression is like new per 300K while I've run literally on vegetable oil in it crossing African desert heat or through high altitude Himalayan frostbite. It's been through water, fire and ice.
The only unreliable thing with the GS on this expedition was that the speedo gear was worn off at 296K stopping the count, so till 300K I measured with my GPS. Probably the fully mechanical speedo has made too many turns clicking up nearing that 300 000 number, LOL.