Monday, February 25, 2013
Friday, February 22, 2013
Mongolia X Journal 15 // Mongolian Healing // Hail & rain lead me to a Shamanistic Healing // Where Roads have no names //
Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.
~ Helen Keller
Skirting the deserts, the arid Steppe grasslands run for thousands of kilometers in all directions. I am riding into the heartlands of Genghis Khan and his people. There are millions of animals, many more than people here, perhaps 10 fold. There are no trees but these desolate mountainous plateau landscapes snaked with rivers and streams are far from lifeless, there is a life blood here that cannot be beaten down or destroyed by mother nature - these flocks of animals and their keepers seem to live on, despite of their hardships on the land. I have encountered Mongolian Nomads on horses and motorcycles, the husband and wife often carry a child or even a newborn baby wrapped in blankets between them on 150cc motorcycles imported from China. When the Nomads ride their horses, their women are unaccompanied in the Gers while their men do the work of moving the herds of goat, sheep, horses, yak or camels - the women do the child care at home and also work round the clock milking, churning the cream and making their "arroz" cheese or rolling flower that they traded for into dough while preparing noodles. The meal we shared included some bits of meat and fat from one of their animals, but I never saw a single slaughter or remains nearby. The meat was dried in the sun, tied to a wall in a building, I saw hinds and legs of sheep skinned inside a roadside restaurant (and later in western Mongolia, the Kazakh's places the meat on the wall, and they gutted their sheep on wooden tables outside stone, mud insulated and wooden houses inside Bayan-Olgii Province).
Food is provided by their animals in the form of dairy (milk, yogurt, cream, cheese, meat, fat, butter), there will be a trace supply of onion or potato traded for and brought to the Gers, along with satellite television that favored Mongolian and Russian sports (the summer Olympics of 2012 in London) or South Korean dramas dubbed in Mongolian and of course Korean K-Pop followed by Mongolian Rap music. There was a fusion of media culture brought into the Ger tent through satellite dish, solar panels and battery storage, but their food remained local and created through their own hands and care of their animals. The people, the animals and the land they live upon here, and the impending pressure of nature is all around them and these Elements as all so close to one another. Mongolians care for each other, welcoming their own Nomadic travelers and exchanging gifts, and they care deeply for their cultural way of life - the Ger as home, the 1.5 million square kilometers of open land where there is only national ownership in the sense that this is Outer Mongolian free range for their animals and citizens to live.The rest of the country is composed of permanent settlements, towns, villages and larger cities and all of this fitting into 21 "aimags" or provinces with unique topographic and climatic changes to each one, mainly the Siberian northern borders filled with fresh water lakes and tributaries, the Steppe grasslands across the belt or girth of the entire country until the very western frontiers where Kazakh Mongolians have settled and called it home, the cuisine changes as does the cultures, but the fabric is still connected - Mongolian.
Today, I have cycled through valleys stretching 30-40 kilometers in length and 40-50 kilometers in width to the continuous belts of mountain ranges always seen in the distance. There is high visibility and other times intense sunlight beyond the cloud banks tumbling above me. As there is virtually no local air pollution out here and I sense coming from prevailing northwesterly winds. All this has a huge advantage, even a headwind is welcome from the Northwest, the Siberian winds keep me cool while mountain biking and although I am soaked to the bones in sweat traversing it all, I stand again today nearby an Ovoo, marveling at mother nature and the cultures beneath her amazing work - Earth and Cultures.
These big winds continuously turn over the land with varying velocities. As pillowed clouds roll in where you can only see the surface beneath them, and sometimes today they continued to move out of the scenery. The landscape is desolate and colored in faded evergreen, grass and sand colored soil paints the portrait that I am riding through. There is an occasional skull of a sheep, yak, goat, all animal skeletons bleached white from the UV light. I only found one half decomposed horse so far, it died and slowly the body of this departed creature was taken away by insects and predator birds flying overhead while I stopped to observe in silence. I wouldn't die, so they left me alone throughout my journey. The flies of course were the exception, they always stayed with me - how could I feel bored when I cycled to stay ahead of the swam of flies, or needed more water - two preoccupations that became rituals in self-motivation and patience.
Storms brewed and the sky ahead fell dark, turbulent and thunder cracked after a flicker of lightning touched down to my northwest. I continued the route, this was calculated by a thin yellow line on my GPS, following the northern route. Rain fell lightly and the winds howled in my face, I pressed harder into my pedals and increased my cadence. The ritual of cycling is rhythmic, repeated and like a well-tuned engine - one that keeps on when the weather gets rough. Further over the brief mountain pass, I see thunderclouds gathering and the density makes them dark grey against the swirling cloud sky. The rain begins to fall harder and faster, I cannot beat this weather moving on the bicycle, I will run straight into it. A band of horses run wild across the field next to me, six of them running in unison with a single purpose. The dirt tracks turn to mud and puddles form instantly as the pitter-patter of rain continues to dance on my shoulders. I take out the Goretex shell but there isn't time to put an insulating layer above my short-sleeved cycling jersey.I ride further and pass a Herder on his motorcycle tearing the Earth between chunky tread tires heading in the opposite direction of the storm, he smiles to me through his big black Blues Brother glasses. I ride the rim around holes in the dirt road now filled with water, pitter-patter rain keeps coming until the decibals become so much louder like the roar of an engine, God is punishing me for traveling in his land - no man's land. Then these heavy drops of water turn to ice and start to bounce off the road, and I see three Ger tents to my left, swerving the road's holes and with a small leap, I bridge the edge of the dirt track into the green fields and continue to ride toward the Gers some 200 meters ahead. Rain and hail, wearing nylon shorts, a cycle jersey and a bare Goretex shell provide almost 0 protection, the temperature has dropped, it's cold and I ride up past the roaming goats who get caught in the elements happening around me. Inside the Ger, I peep in and see about 12 Mongolian Herders gathered and then greet them. They invite me inside and there is no room, so I stand and explain my name, my nationality and they know how I am traveling as a few step outside into the holy hail and rain to see my mountain bike.
I am cold right now, but the rain stops finally and we step outside, I ask permission to camp nearby and need my tent (my Ger) to replace my soaked clothing - I feel a chill go through my body and I am fidgeting around awaiting their reply. When "Yes" in granted in Mongolian, I strip the equipment from the mountain bike and setup the tent. Before I have a chance to cover the tent net, the heavens open and soak myself, the tent and there is nothing else, only the ground beneath the tent doesn't get a resupply of rains cleansing, so I pitch the rain cover over and stake the corners while the rain just comes down like cats and dogs, no mercy for me. I nod to the Mongolian Herders who returned to their tent after throwing me the rain cover from beside my packs, and I drag myself inside - inflating my Thermarest Pro Lite mattress to insulate myself from the wet interior and there I strip down to the buck and apply the 'baby wet wipes" for another moisture shower. Afterwards, I have 1 pair of nylon hiking pants (blue) and another cycling liner shorts for underwear, I rotate the clothing I wear and wash them in streams every few days, I also put on a dry Brazil soccer shirt and thin fleece top and get inside the sleeping bag. All this happens on the dry area of the Thermarest mattress, while the Ortieb panniers are waterproof, I open and remove the contents I need, and close them back up folding their top lids. I sleep for a few hours and later the herds of sheep and goats return from their pastures, "baaa baaa baaa....churlch, churlch....eeee! eee!" These animals make all sorts of noises to communicate, and I wake in darkness. Finding the Cygolite 250 lumen as the torch, I light up the tent and find the water in the Ortieb ultimate control bag, I have about 5 liters stored in there, so I mix up some powered protein with water and get down to dinner!
The next morning the sun rises as it should, the dew soaks everything in sight but the interior of the Northface Tadpole2 tent was warm and comfortable, the island of Thermarest mattress kept the down sleeping bag out of the water, and I positioned the Ortieb panniers to block the puddles in case I moved during the night. Dawn came with inquisitive Herders, these Nomads that accepted me the previous stormy night - we had barely even introduced ourselves. I met a few Nomads, and was invited inside their Ger.
Inside the Ger something miraculous was happening, many more Nomads had gathered and several were holding a woman who was weeping and appeared emotionally-struck by some demon. With all hands on her and different voices carrying over her, she seemed pulled from the depths of her despair as she let out wails of agony punctuated by silence perhaps in her moments of sudden relief. It was Buddhism or perhaps Shamanism and the rituals involved many in the community standing by or being there to care for her and say supportive words, I took my place silently and sipped salted goat milk tea. There was also book-keeping being made, accounting and donations all in the hands of Shaman who attended to her and also spoke and invited me to join them there. Outside, I left my water bottles laying out on the ground around the entrance of my tent hoping to find a source of fresh water from a stream nearby for refilling. Those bottles were taken away to a mound of donations under a tarp, it seems many had left offerings here, from solar panels to motorcycle parts, but I retrieved them and left some chocolate in their place. I believe the woman was healed that day, she mourned for something dear that had been lost or something deep that had afflicted her. With all these people in unison, it was a church, a temple, a spiritual zone and even I felt blessed - warmed by their pot stove, filled with warm goat milk and safe from the storms. Life is a cycle, we ride the highs and lows through it all and see where the road eventually leads us.
Thank you for reading my thoughts and reflections written while traveling across Mongolia on a mountain bike. I traveled for adventure and to learn more about cultures. More adventures are coming soon!!!!
Mongolia X Journal 15 // Mongolian Healing // Hail & rain lead me to a Shamanistic Healing // Where Roads have no names //
Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.
~ Helen Keller
Skirting the deserts, the arid Steppe grasslands run for thousands of kilometers in all directions. I am riding into the heartlands of Genghis Khan and his people. There are millions of animals, many more than people here, perhaps 10 fold. There are no trees but these desolate mountainous plateau landscapes snaked with rivers and streams are far from lifeless, there is a life blood here that cannot be beaten down or destroyed by mother nature - these flocks of animals and their keepers seem to live on, despite of their hardships on the land. I have encountered Mongolian Nomads on horses and motorcycles, the husband and wife often carry a child or even a newborn baby wrapped in blankets between them on 150cc motorcycles imported from China. When the Nomads ride their horses, their women are unaccompanied in the Gers while their men do the work of moving the herds of goat, sheep, horses, yak or camels - the women do the child care at home and also work round the clock milking, churning the cream and making their "arroz" cheese or rolling flower that they traded for into dough while preparing noodles. The meal we shared included some bits of meat and fat from one of their animals, but I never saw a single slaughter or remains nearby. The meat was dried in the sun, tied to a wall in a building, I saw hinds and legs of sheep skinned inside a roadside restaurant (and later in western Mongolia, the Kazakh's places the meat on the wall, and they gutted their sheep on wooden tables outside stone, mud insulated and wooden houses inside Bayan-Olgii Province).Food is provided by their animals in the form of dairy (milk, yogurt, cream, cheese, meat, fat, butter), there will be a trace supply of onion or potato traded for and brought to the Gers, along with satellite television that favored Mongolian and Russian sports (the summer Olympics of 2012 in London) or South Korean dramas dubbed in Mongolian and of course Korean K-Pop followed by Mongolian Rap music. There was a fusion of media culture brought into the Ger tent through satellite dish, solar panels and battery storage, but their food remained local and created through their own hands and care of their animals. The people, the animals and the land they live upon here, and the impending pressure of nature is all around them and these Elements as all so close to one another. Mongolians care for each other, welcoming their own Nomadic travelers and exchanging gifts, and they care deeply for their cultural way of life - the Ger as home, the 1.5 million square kilometers of open land where there is only national ownership in the sense that this is Outer Mongolian free range for their animals and citizens to live.The rest of the country is composed of permanent settlements, towns, villages and larger cities and all of this fitting into 21 "aimags" or provinces with unique topographic and climatic changes to each one, mainly the Siberian northern borders filled with fresh water lakes and tributaries, the Steppe grasslands across the belt or girth of the entire country until the very western frontiers where Kazakh Mongolians have settled and called it home, the cuisine changes as does the cultures, but the fabric is still connected - Mongolian.
Today, I have cycled through valleys stretching 30-40 kilometers in length and 40-50 kilometers in width to the continuous belts of mountain ranges always seen in the distance. There is high visibility and other times intense sunlight beyond the cloud banks tumbling above me. As there is virtually no local air pollution out here and I sense coming from prevailing northwesterly winds. All this has a huge advantage, even a headwind is welcome from the Northwest, the Siberian winds keep me cool while mountain biking and although I am soaked to the bones in sweat traversing it all, I stand again today nearby an Ovoo, marveling at mother nature and the cultures beneath her amazing work - Earth and Cultures.These big winds continuously turn over the land with varying velocities. As pillowed clouds roll in where you can only see the surface beneath them, and sometimes today they continued to move out of the scenery. The landscape is desolate and colored in faded evergreen, grass and sand colored soil paints the portrait that I am riding through. There is an occasional skull of a sheep, yak, goat, all animal skeletons bleached white from the UV light. I only found one half decomposed horse so far, it died and slowly the body of this departed creature was taken away by insects and predator birds flying overhead while I stopped to observe in silence. I wouldn't die, so they left me alone throughout my journey. The flies of course were the exception, they always stayed with me - how could I feel bored when I cycled to stay ahead of the swam of flies, or needed more water - two preoccupations that became rituals in self-motivation and patience.Storms brewed and the sky ahead fell dark, turbulent and thunder cracked after a flicker of lightning touched down to my northwest. I continued the route, this was calculated by a thin yellow line on my GPS, following the northern route. Rain fell lightly and the winds howled in my face, I pressed harder into my pedals and increased my cadence. The ritual of cycling is rhythmic, repeated and like a well-tuned engine - one that keeps on when the weather gets rough. Further over the brief mountain pass, I see thunderclouds gathering and the density makes them dark grey against the swirling cloud sky. The rain begins to fall harder and faster, I cannot beat this weather moving on the bicycle, I will run straight into it. A band of horses run wild across the field next to me, six of them running in unison with a single purpose. The dirt tracks turn to mud and puddles form instantly as the pitter-patter of rain continues to dance on my shoulders. I take out the Goretex shell but there isn't time to put an insulating layer above my short-sleeved cycling jersey.I ride further and pass a Herder on his motorcycle tearing the Earth between chunky tread tires heading in the opposite direction of the storm, he smiles to me through his big black Blues Brother glasses. I ride the rim around holes in the dirt road now filled with water, pitter-patter rain keeps coming until the decibals become so much louder like the roar of an engine, God is punishing me for traveling in his land - no man's land. Then these heavy drops of water turn to ice and start to bounce off the road, and I see three Ger tents to my left, swerving the road's holes and with a small leap, I bridge the edge of the dirt track into the green fields and continue to ride toward the Gers some 200 meters ahead. Rain and hail, wearing nylon shorts, a cycle jersey and a bare Goretex shell provide almost 0 protection, the temperature has dropped, it's cold and I ride up past the roaming goats who get caught in the elements happening around me. Inside the Ger, I peep in and see about 12 Mongolian Herders gathered and then greet them. They invite me inside and there is no room, so I stand and explain my name, my nationality and they know how I am traveling as a few step outside into the holy hail and rain to see my mountain bike.
I am cold right now, but the rain stops finally and we step outside, I ask permission to camp nearby and need my tent (my Ger) to replace my soaked clothing - I feel a chill go through my body and I am fidgeting around awaiting their reply. When "Yes" in granted in Mongolian, I strip the equipment from the mountain bike and setup the tent. Before I have a chance to cover the tent net, the heavens open and soak myself, the tent and there is nothing else, only the ground beneath the tent doesn't get a resupply of rains cleansing, so I pitch the rain cover over and stake the corners while the rain just comes down like cats and dogs, no mercy for me. I nod to the Mongolian Herders who returned to their tent after throwing me the rain cover from beside my packs, and I drag myself inside - inflating my Thermarest Pro Lite mattress to insulate myself from the wet interior and there I strip down to the buck and apply the 'baby wet wipes" for another moisture shower. Afterwards, I have 1 pair of nylon hiking pants (blue) and another cycling liner shorts for underwear, I rotate the clothing I wear and wash them in streams every few days, I also put on a dry Brazil soccer shirt and thin fleece top and get inside the sleeping bag. All this happens on the dry area of the Thermarest mattress, while the Ortieb panniers are waterproof, I open and remove the contents I need, and close them back up folding their top lids. I sleep for a few hours and later the herds of sheep and goats return from their pastures, "baaa baaa baaa....churlch, churlch....eeee! eee!" These animals make all sorts of noises to communicate, and I wake in darkness. Finding the Cygolite 250 lumen as the torch, I light up the tent and find the water in the Ortieb ultimate control bag, I have about 5 liters stored in there, so I mix up some powered protein with water and get down to dinner!
The next morning the sun rises as it should, the dew soaks everything in sight but the interior of the Northface Tadpole2 tent was warm and comfortable, the island of Thermarest mattress kept the down sleeping bag out of the water, and I positioned the Ortieb panniers to block the puddles in case I moved during the night. Dawn came with inquisitive Herders, these Nomads that accepted me the previous stormy night - we had barely even introduced ourselves. I met a few Nomads, and was invited inside their Ger.
Inside the Ger something miraculous was happening, many more Nomads had gathered and several were holding a woman who was weeping and appeared emotionally-struck by some demon. With all hands on her and different voices carrying over her, she seemed pulled from the depths of her despair as she let out wails of agony punctuated by silence perhaps in her moments of sudden relief. It was Buddhism or perhaps Shamanism and the rituals involved many in the community standing by or being there to care for her and say supportive words, I took my place silently and sipped salted goat milk tea. There was also book-keeping being made, accounting and donations all in the hands of Shaman who attended to her and also spoke and invited me to join them there. Outside, I left my water bottles laying out on the ground around the entrance of my tent hoping to find a source of fresh water from a stream nearby for refilling. Those bottles were taken away to a mound of donations under a tarp, it seems many had left offerings here, from solar panels to motorcycle parts, but I retrieved them and left some chocolate in their place. I believe the woman was healed that day, she mourned for something dear that had been lost or something deep that had afflicted her. With all these people in unison, it was a church, a temple, a spiritual zone and even I felt blessed - warmed by their pot stove, filled with warm goat milk and safe from the storms. Life is a cycle, we ride the highs and lows through it all and see where the road eventually leads us.
Thank you for reading my thoughts and reflections written while traveling across Mongolia on a mountain bike. I traveled for adventure and to learn more about cultures. More adventures are coming soon!!!!
Mongolia X Journal 15 // Mongolian Healing // Hail & rain lead me to a Shamanistic Healing // Where Roads have no names //
Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.
~ Helen Keller
Skirting the deserts, the arid Steppe grasslands run for thousands of kilometers in all directions. I am riding into the heartlands of Genghis Khan and his people. There are millions of animals, many more than people here, perhaps 10 fold. There are no trees but these desolate mountainous plateau landscapes snaked with rivers and streams are far from lifeless, there is a life blood here that cannot be beaten down or destroyed by mother nature - these flocks of animals and their keepers seem to live on, despite of their hardships on the land. I have encountered Mongolian Nomads on horses and motorcycles, the husband and wife often carry a child or even a newborn baby wrapped in blankets between them on 150cc motorcycles imported from China. When the Nomads ride their horses, their women are unaccompanied in the Gers while their men do the work of moving the herds of goat, sheep, horses, yak or camels - the women do the child care at home and also work round the clock milking, churning the cream and making their "arroz" cheese or rolling flower that they traded for into dough while preparing noodles. The meal we shared included some bits of meat and fat from one of their animals, but I never saw a single slaughter or remains nearby. The meat was dried in the sun, tied to a wall in a building, I saw hinds and legs of sheep skinned inside a roadside restaurant (and later in western Mongolia, the Kazakh's places the meat on the wall, and they gutted their sheep on wooden tables outside stone, mud insulated and wooden houses inside Bayan-Olgii Province).Food is provided by their animals in the form of dairy (milk, yogurt, cream, cheese, meat, fat, butter), there will be a trace supply of onion or potato traded for and brought to the Gers, along with satellite television that favored Mongolian and Russian sports (the summer Olympics of 2012 in London) or South Korean dramas dubbed in Mongolian and of course Korean K-Pop followed by Mongolian Rap music. There was a fusion of media culture brought into the Ger tent through satellite dish, solar panels and battery storage, but their food remained local and created through their own hands and care of their animals. The people, the animals and the land they live upon here, and the impending pressure of nature is all around them and these Elements as all so close to one another. Mongolians care for each other, welcoming their own Nomadic travelers and exchanging gifts, and they care deeply for their cultural way of life - the Ger as home, the 1.5 million square kilometers of open land where there is only national ownership in the sense that this is Outer Mongolian free range for their animals and citizens to live.The rest of the country is composed of permanent settlements, towns, villages and larger cities and all of this fitting into 21 "aimags" or provinces with unique topographic and climatic changes to each one, mainly the Siberian northern borders filled with fresh water lakes and tributaries, the Steppe grasslands across the belt or girth of the entire country until the very western frontiers where Kazakh Mongolians have settled and called it home, the cuisine changes as does the cultures, but the fabric is still connected - Mongolian.
Today, I have cycled through valleys stretching 30-40 kilometers in length and 40-50 kilometers in width to the continuous belts of mountain ranges always seen in the distance. There is high visibility and other times intense sunlight beyond the cloud banks tumbling above me. As there is virtually no local air pollution out here and I sense coming from prevailing northwesterly winds. All this has a huge advantage, even a headwind is welcome from the Northwest, the Siberian winds keep me cool while mountain biking and although I am soaked to the bones in sweat traversing it all, I stand again today nearby an Ovoo, marveling at mother nature and the cultures beneath her amazing work - Earth and Cultures.These big winds continuously turn over the land with varying velocities. As pillowed clouds roll in where you can only see the surface beneath them, and sometimes today they continued to move out of the scenery. The landscape is desolate and colored in faded evergreen, grass and sand colored soil paints the portrait that I am riding through. There is an occasional skull of a sheep, yak, goat, all animal skeletons bleached white from the UV light. I only found one half decomposed horse so far, it died and slowly the body of this departed creature was taken away by insects and predator birds flying overhead while I stopped to observe in silence. I wouldn't die, so they left me alone throughout my journey. The flies of course were the exception, they always stayed with me - how could I feel bored when I cycled to stay ahead of the swam of flies, or needed more water - two preoccupations that became rituals in self-motivation and patience.Storms brewed and the sky ahead fell dark, turbulent and thunder cracked after a flicker of lightning touched down to my northwest. I continued the route, this was calculated by a thin yellow line on my GPS, following the northern route. Rain fell lightly and the winds howled in my face, I pressed harder into my pedals and increased my cadence. The ritual of cycling is rhythmic, repeated and like a well-tuned engine - one that keeps on when the weather gets rough. Further over the brief mountain pass, I see thunderclouds gathering and the density makes them dark grey against the swirling cloud sky. The rain begins to fall harder and faster, I cannot beat this weather moving on the bicycle, I will run straight into it. A band of horses run wild across the field next to me, six of them running in unison with a single purpose. The dirt tracks turn to mud and puddles form instantly as the pitter-patter of rain continues to dance on my shoulders. I take out the Goretex shell but there isn't time to put an insulating layer above my short-sleeved cycling jersey.I ride further and pass a Herder on his motorcycle tearing the Earth between chunky tread tires heading in the opposite direction of the storm, he smiles to me through his big black Blues Brother glasses. I ride the rim around holes in the dirt road now filled with water, pitter-patter rain keeps coming until the decibals become so much louder like the roar of an engine, God is punishing me for traveling in his land - no man's land. Then these heavy drops of water turn to ice and start to bounce off the road, and I see three Ger tents to my left, swerving the road's holes and with a small leap, I bridge the edge of the dirt track into the green fields and continue to ride toward the Gers some 200 meters ahead. Rain and hail, wearing nylon shorts, a cycle jersey and a bare Goretex shell provide almost 0 protection, the temperature has dropped, it's cold and I ride up past the roaming goats who get caught in the elements happening around me. Inside the Ger, I peep in and see about 12 Mongolian Herders gathered and then greet them. They invite me inside and there is no room, so I stand and explain my name, my nationality and they know how I am traveling as a few step outside into the holy hail and rain to see my mountain bike.
I am cold right now, but the rain stops finally and we step outside, I ask permission to camp nearby and need my tent (my Ger) to replace my soaked clothing - I feel a chill go through my body and I am fidgeting around awaiting their reply. When "Yes" in granted in Mongolian, I strip the equipment from the mountain bike and setup the tent. Before I have a chance to cover the tent net, the heavens open and soak myself, the tent and there is nothing else, only the ground beneath the tent doesn't get a resupply of rains cleansing, so I pitch the rain cover over and stake the corners while the rain just comes down like cats and dogs, no mercy for me. I nod to the Mongolian Herders who returned to their tent after throwing me the rain cover from beside my packs, and I drag myself inside - inflating my Thermarest Pro Lite mattress to insulate myself from the wet interior and there I strip down to the buck and apply the 'baby wet wipes" for another moisture shower. Afterwards, I have 1 pair of nylon hiking pants (blue) and another cycling liner shorts for underwear, I rotate the clothing I wear and wash them in streams every few days, I also put on a dry Brazil soccer shirt and thin fleece top and get inside the sleeping bag. All this happens on the dry area of the Thermarest mattress, while the Ortieb panniers are waterproof, I open and remove the contents I need, and close them back up folding their top lids. I sleep for a few hours and later the herds of sheep and goats return from their pastures, "baaa baaa baaa....churlch, churlch....eeee! eee!" These animals make all sorts of noises to communicate, and I wake in darkness. Finding the Cygolite 250 lumen as the torch, I light up the tent and find the water in the Ortieb ultimate control bag, I have about 5 liters stored in there, so I mix up some powered protein with water and get down to dinner!
The next morning the sun rises as it should, the dew soaks everything in sight but the interior of the Northface Tadpole2 tent was warm and comfortable, the island of Thermarest mattress kept the down sleeping bag out of the water, and I positioned the Ortieb panniers to block the puddles in case I moved during the night. Dawn came with inquisitive Herders, these Nomads that accepted me the previous stormy night - we had barely even introduced ourselves. I met a few Nomads, and was invited inside their Ger.
Inside the Ger something miraculous was happening, many more Nomads had gathered and several were holding a woman who was weeping and appeared emotionally-struck by some demon. With all hands on her and different voices carrying over her, she seemed pulled from the depths of her despair as she let out wails of agony punctuated by silence perhaps in her moments of sudden relief. It was Buddhism or perhaps Shamanism and the rituals involved many in the community standing by or being there to care for her and say supportive words, I took my place silently and sipped salted goat milk tea. There was also book-keeping being made, accounting and donations all in the hands of Shaman who attended to her and also spoke and invited me to join them there. Outside, I left my water bottles laying out on the ground around the entrance of my tent hoping to find a source of fresh water from a stream nearby for refilling. Those bottles were taken away to a mound of donations under a tarp, it seems many had left offerings here, from solar panels to motorcycle parts, but I retrieved them and left some chocolate in their place. I believe the woman was healed that day, she mourned for something dear that had been lost or something deep that had afflicted her. With all these people in unison, it was a church, a temple, a spiritual zone and even I felt blessed - warmed by their pot stove, filled with warm goat milk and safe from the storms. Life is a cycle, we ride the highs and lows through it all and see where the road eventually leads us.
Thank you for reading my thoughts and reflections written while traveling across Mongolia on a mountain bike. I traveled for adventure and to learn more about cultures. More adventures are coming soon!!!!
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Cycling in Central Asia // British Couple Expedition ends in Thailand // Dreams and risks of World Travel by Bicycle
British RTW (Round the World) couple lived a dream while cycle touring across the planet and came to a tragic accident which ended their lives doing what they loved. From Kazakhstan to Vietnam they share some incredible memories in their short film. Peter Root and Mary Thompson made world headlines when their dream bicycle expedition ended suddenly and tragically in Thailand. Their legacy and memorable experiences will remain because they did what they loved and never looked back, that is the power of bicycle touring the globe. The risks are negated and the experiences are tough, some live on and others tragically die young. May they live in dreams and stay close in eternity. Life is a series of destinations with a final end for us all. God bless their loved ones who will miss them the most, and may their rested souls find peace for eternity.
Cycling in Central Asia // British Couple Expedition ends in Thailand // Dreams and risks of World Travel by Bicycle
British RTW (Round the World) couple lived a dream while cycle touring across the planet and came to a tragic accident which ended their lives doing what they loved. From Kazakhstan to Vietnam they share some incredible memories in their short film. Peter Root and Mary Thompson made world headlines when their dream bicycle expedition ended suddenly and tragically in Thailand. Their legacy and memorable experiences will remain because they did what they loved and never looked back, that is the power of bicycle touring the globe. The risks are negated and the experiences are tough, some live on and others tragically die young. May they live in dreams and stay close in eternity. Life is a series of destinations with a final end for us all. God bless their loved ones who will miss them the most, and may their rested souls find peace for eternity.
Cycling in Central Asia // British Couple Expedition ends in Thailand // Dreams and risks of World Travel by Bicycle
British RTW (Round the World) couple lived a dream while cycle touring across the planet and came to a tragic accident which ended their lives doing what they loved. From Kazakhstan to Vietnam they share some incredible memories in their short film. Peter Root and Mary Thompson made world headlines when their dream bicycle expedition ended suddenly and tragically in Thailand. Their legacy and memorable experiences will remain because they did what they loved and never looked back, that is the power of bicycle touring the globe. The risks are negated and the experiences are tough, some live on and others tragically die young. May they live in dreams and stay close in eternity. Life is a series of destinations with a final end for us all. God bless their loved ones who will miss them the most, and may their rested souls find peace for eternity.
Mongolia X Journal 14 // Determination is not destiny // You land where your path leads you // Mongolia Mountain Bike
Today, another eventful day on the expedition. I cycled 8 hours covering 75km for the day and try to take naps along the dirt track leaning on my backpack or sitting next to my mountain bike. There are no trees and no shade to be found for miles. It's ironic. Days ago (photos above), I rode from 1350 meters at the center of Ulaanbaatar in the continuous rain. My journey stopped suddenly with an accident but after replacing the rear rack that bent when I cycled through an open manhole on a busy, flooded street west of the city center.
Before the disaster unfolded, I was here in the photos above. Nairamdal - a beautiful area just north of the capital city of Mongolia and well worth a visit for an overnight trip. Here I met friendly people, began to appreciate the green Steppe grasslands that begin all around the undeveloped hills surrounded by 1500 meter mountain peaks and followed a thin line on my loaned Garmin GPS. It might look like Scotland Highlands around here, although I can't confirm this because I would only be referencing from movies with natural scenes and landscapes like this. I'm a bit lost right now, because it's dirt track - is this what the rest of Mongolia will be like, if it is, it will be a certain challenge to cross over land like this. Following GPS is best and recommended always in Mongolia when there are so many roads alike, or no roads at all. I found it easier to navigate off the pavement than I did on it, which is a bit ironic isn't it?
Amateur today, perhaps I will still be an amateur cyclist tomorrow - but I will be the best one that I can be while doing it. It's raining lightly, I crept up the mountains at a snail's pace with a heavy loaded Lynskey mountain bike. At the moment, I can feel the cool mist against my face and it's refreshing to be here finally after a few months of preparation. I spent another 10 weeks at a fitness center in the Spring "Yellow Dust" season in Korea (nasty stuff! Living West of China isn't a dream come true for air quality, and Korean industry certainly contributes to it as well, as they rise to become a industrialized Superpower smog emitter), missing the poison again this year and prepared physically to cover all ground in Mongolia.
What is amazing is the air quality in Mongolia - immediately noticeable improvement over South Korea once you leave the somewhat smoggy capital of Ulaanbaatar. When the air quality is this good, it reminds me of the good things about traveling "Out West" whether in North America or Asia, it seems true.
I've learned from preparation and successfully launching my own independent expeditions using mountain bikes, that determination is not destiny, because anything can go wrong and it will - to test your wits. I have managed to minimize damage to a certain degree so far, but I with 24 hours of starting from UB, I have lost communications (iPhone dearly departed in a leaky Arteryx Goretex jacket pocket), I cycled into an open manhole on a busy roadway bending my rear rack carrier (to be replaced), and was mugged when I reach the city of Ulaanbaatar (thief only taking away from cycling gloves, but an important piece of protective equipment since there is so little while mountain bike touring).
I have already invested myself to be here (expensive flight, Pro discount investment into a Lynskey frame, previous equipment purchased to document the journey, provide protection and reliability - is all very expensive when you add this all up). So, determination is only half the ingredient to success, it takes planning, budgeting money for many expenses, physical training, and some travel experience to do all this. Yet, I am still an amateur today, and probably the same tomorrow - but I have prepared for this moment all my life, so no matter what road I follow, what tree will fall to block my path, what equipment will fail - I will eventually find a way to make things work, I always make an effort do this in my life (even if I am only successful 1 in 10 times I try, it was probably worth the effort, right?).
While out exploring like this, or while living in foreign countries without leave for years and years (to have the financial means to do this - Explore with a mountain bike). I planned ahead for years, bought the right equipment and had the support of my family in Korea (wife says, "okay" - that is support enough) and I saved from working for quite a few non-stop years without leaving the county (I can count year 9 in Asia starting already). That is the secret to my new freedom to ride bicycles over borders and explore. There is no hidden sponsorship, some dream manifested in companies supporting me, and when I fall and get injured in Mongolia, as I did. I was on my own or traveling with the Nomads, receiving their love and kindness, their goat, yak and horse milk, bread, butter and 'arroz' cheese in exchange for what I was carrying - Mongolian customs. I was also one of the lucky ones, middle aged and locked to family to support but still managed to go out there to explore the world.
Some people envy what I am currently doing with expeditions - Please don't. I ride only to inspire others to try because after all, we are all amateurs living the dreams on this Earth and only God knows what is going to happen next. I ride with strength prepared ahead of time in mind, body and soul. And weather and terrain will beat me down, and life will kick me around - but I ride with more determination, perhaps it helps to reach my destiny, but the road is unknown and anything can happen. Living through it, and telling tales of the adventures is part of that journey back home. Tomorrow is another day, so work towards living the dream because most of the best dreams planning and put into reality - do not happen overnight.
Another reminder about bicycle touring lifestyles is to remember the risks, two world cyclists riding through Thailand were killed while following their dreams on cycles, they lived the dream until the tragic end, but they lived and left some special experiences to share with others. Very memorable and it will be sad for their families and loved ones who will miss them the most.
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