Mysterious riders appear on our horizon. Two fair skinned riders with gleaming European touring bikes and full Ortlieb touring bags that looked like they just snipped the price tags off before starting their ride today. Could there possibly be more than 6 of us all moving in one direction from Ulaanbaatar?
I arrived a few days earlier, checked into the guesthouse, assembled my Lynskey mountain bike, and after filling up at the UB Department Store, I packed and left for the adventure. My first day started outside the dusty backstreet of UB from Zaya's guesthouse. I packed from and rear Ortlieb Rollerback panniers to the brim with medical First Aid, Antibiotics and Medicine, Electronics, Spare parts and tools, and even the MSR stove and fuel cannisters - but my equipment list would soon drastically change and get cut back to the very minimalist load - let me explain why. I cycled out of the downtown corridor, past pot holes and buses already chugging and belching fumes on Ulaanbaatar's main avenue stretching East and West, I cycled along the roadway (when traffic permitted) and sidewalks across Peace Avenue.
At Zaya's guesthouse, I met travelers from all over the world. None were cycling at that time, but later cyclists would come through at the beginning or end of their journeys. I would swap stories about Korea for their adventures about Mongolia. As a meeting place, the Ulaanbaatar guesthouses are the places where similar minds and hearts meet up. I have found hostels and guesthouses to some of the best social meeting places in the world. After preparing my final equipment for the road, I ventured over to the dining room for breakfast. I met adventurous people of all ages, young and old, parents and children, all preparing for their next adventure or taking a much needed rest from the road. Breakfast was good, the best I would probably have for the next 47 days. Eggs, toast, cereal and milk, Mongolian cold yogurt, coffee and tea. After breakfast, I asked for some help from the guesthouse staff, and carried my bicycle down three stairs in the apartment complex to the entrance door, leaving my bicycle locked inside. I returned to the hostel on the third floor and brought my panniers, tent and sleeping back (top bag) to prepare for loading the bicycle outside. Outside, you are in the parking area behind all the apartment complexes. There is a sidewalk outside Zaya's to load the bicycle, it's a safe spot away from any traffic. I loaded everything, locking the Ortlieb panniers to the racks with the loop hooks, and tied my front panniers to the Fox RL32 suspension forks. Everything was ready...I believe I was as ready as I could be. What I wasn't prepared for would reveal itself hours later in the mountains north of Ulaanbaatar when I roamed west and then off-course into the mountain ranges around the horseshoe.
I would miss the southwest turn and ride north into the mountains north of UB. This was a mistake but it's fortunate that I tried and failed to continue there. I cycled out of the broken roads, cracked pavement with bomb-shell sized holes, some man-hole covers were missing and I had seen numerous vehicles broken down, awaiting help from family or tow trucks. The dangers of driving or cycling in Ulaanbaatar were quite obvious from the start. The road conditions deteriorated over the long winter months, and these surface problems remained for vehicles to swerve around. When rain fell while I was struggling up rutted mountain tracks north of the city, Peace Avenue and other main roadways had submerged in brown muddy waters. I pitched the bike up the rocky two-track and tried to continue forward, scrambling my feet and balancing the Lynskey with a full load. It was slow and arduous and I was soaked in my own sweat as the rain beat down over my head. I met Mongolians at a checkpoint for a private housing development right in the middle of the track shown on my GPS. "What is this? Why are they blocking the main road?" The man pointed to a rutted, muddy field which had been torn apart by passing 4X4 vans. "Okay, now I need to cycle over there, through that muddy field to get to there, on the otherside of the security gate? Makes no sense at all, okay I will do it!" So, I struggled and past the checkpoint and went up to the steep hill reaching a rocky outcropping. My bicycle was 200 meters below and I reaching the edge of a Birch forest and a herd of deer ran off into the distance. Fog settled over the area, and I was floating in a cloud. Hiking back down, I picked up my bicycle and headed towards a farm. The Mongolians were herding sheep and goats and also building a wooden house on their acreage. They pointed to the mountain top, it was confirmed on my GPS and map, and we continued together to the mouth of a track that disappeared from the open meadow into the forest and down a steep hill. If I couldn't continue north through the pass, I would have to turn back, but the Mongolians insisted that I should go to Ulaanbaatar and take the forest route. I took their advice, and wounded my way through the cross-country XC forest path, it was deep and dark in the shadows of hemlock, pine and birch trees, I stood up on my pedals and dove south through the maze on the mountain. Coming out of the forest, I met the same paved road I had entered an hour before struggling up the muddy pitch. I cleared a security checkpoint and stopped to change my shirt, which was soaked in sweat. Down, down, down the paved road I flew back after all that effort into Ulaanbaatar. I wouldn't make it all the way to the guesthouse or reach the junction with the highway headed West, I hit a very large hole sunken under 2 feet of muddy water on the edge of the road. Waves of muddy water were launched over my head, as Hyndai's and Kia's whirred by in the heavy rain. The rain soaked through my Goretex jacket, and I gripped tight on the handlebars while whimsically trying to miss the submerged pot holes. Without sonar to lead my way, I would hit a very large hole, POW! My rear rack hit the frame mounts when the wheel dropped in, the rack bent and damaged the mounts! SHIT! I pushed the bike back into Ulaanbaatar and tried to find a bicycle shop for repair.
After some local help from Attila Bicycle Shop, I repacked and reduced equipment to a minimum, leaving two Ortlieb panniers behind with loads of gear. I repaired two other mountain bike rack assemblies for Korean cyclists I met and together we went back on the road the following day bound for northern Mongolia!
At the moment, I feel like I am cycling into a dream with all these unfamiliar riders around me, most cannot speak English and others do not even try. It’s the start of something brand new for everybody – since we all landed only a few days ago – time, the elements, the terrain we travel upon will all give us a challenge to live up to – some will overcome and others will make their best efforts trying to.
I arrived a few days earlier, checked into the guesthouse, assembled my Lynskey mountain bike, and after filling up at the UB Department Store, I packed and left for the adventure. My first day started outside the dusty backstreet of UB from Zaya's guesthouse. I packed from and rear Ortlieb Rollerback panniers to the brim with medical First Aid, Antibiotics and Medicine, Electronics, Spare parts and tools, and even the MSR stove and fuel cannisters - but my equipment list would soon drastically change and get cut back to the very minimalist load - let me explain why. I cycled out of the downtown corridor, past pot holes and buses already chugging and belching fumes on Ulaanbaatar's main avenue stretching East and West, I cycled along the roadway (when traffic permitted) and sidewalks across Peace Avenue.
At Zaya's guesthouse, I met travelers from all over the world. None were cycling at that time, but later cyclists would come through at the beginning or end of their journeys. I would swap stories about Korea for their adventures about Mongolia. As a meeting place, the Ulaanbaatar guesthouses are the places where similar minds and hearts meet up. I have found hostels and guesthouses to some of the best social meeting places in the world. After preparing my final equipment for the road, I ventured over to the dining room for breakfast. I met adventurous people of all ages, young and old, parents and children, all preparing for their next adventure or taking a much needed rest from the road. Breakfast was good, the best I would probably have for the next 47 days. Eggs, toast, cereal and milk, Mongolian cold yogurt, coffee and tea. After breakfast, I asked for some help from the guesthouse staff, and carried my bicycle down three stairs in the apartment complex to the entrance door, leaving my bicycle locked inside. I returned to the hostel on the third floor and brought my panniers, tent and sleeping back (top bag) to prepare for loading the bicycle outside. Outside, you are in the parking area behind all the apartment complexes. There is a sidewalk outside Zaya's to load the bicycle, it's a safe spot away from any traffic. I loaded everything, locking the Ortlieb panniers to the racks with the loop hooks, and tied my front panniers to the Fox RL32 suspension forks. Everything was ready...I believe I was as ready as I could be. What I wasn't prepared for would reveal itself hours later in the mountains north of Ulaanbaatar when I roamed west and then off-course into the mountain ranges around the horseshoe.
I would miss the southwest turn and ride north into the mountains north of UB. This was a mistake but it's fortunate that I tried and failed to continue there. I cycled out of the broken roads, cracked pavement with bomb-shell sized holes, some man-hole covers were missing and I had seen numerous vehicles broken down, awaiting help from family or tow trucks. The dangers of driving or cycling in Ulaanbaatar were quite obvious from the start. The road conditions deteriorated over the long winter months, and these surface problems remained for vehicles to swerve around. When rain fell while I was struggling up rutted mountain tracks north of the city, Peace Avenue and other main roadways had submerged in brown muddy waters. I pitched the bike up the rocky two-track and tried to continue forward, scrambling my feet and balancing the Lynskey with a full load. It was slow and arduous and I was soaked in my own sweat as the rain beat down over my head. I met Mongolians at a checkpoint for a private housing development right in the middle of the track shown on my GPS. "What is this? Why are they blocking the main road?" The man pointed to a rutted, muddy field which had been torn apart by passing 4X4 vans. "Okay, now I need to cycle over there, through that muddy field to get to there, on the otherside of the security gate? Makes no sense at all, okay I will do it!" So, I struggled and past the checkpoint and went up to the steep hill reaching a rocky outcropping. My bicycle was 200 meters below and I reaching the edge of a Birch forest and a herd of deer ran off into the distance. Fog settled over the area, and I was floating in a cloud. Hiking back down, I picked up my bicycle and headed towards a farm. The Mongolians were herding sheep and goats and also building a wooden house on their acreage. They pointed to the mountain top, it was confirmed on my GPS and map, and we continued together to the mouth of a track that disappeared from the open meadow into the forest and down a steep hill. If I couldn't continue north through the pass, I would have to turn back, but the Mongolians insisted that I should go to Ulaanbaatar and take the forest route. I took their advice, and wounded my way through the cross-country XC forest path, it was deep and dark in the shadows of hemlock, pine and birch trees, I stood up on my pedals and dove south through the maze on the mountain. Coming out of the forest, I met the same paved road I had entered an hour before struggling up the muddy pitch. I cleared a security checkpoint and stopped to change my shirt, which was soaked in sweat. Down, down, down the paved road I flew back after all that effort into Ulaanbaatar. I wouldn't make it all the way to the guesthouse or reach the junction with the highway headed West, I hit a very large hole sunken under 2 feet of muddy water on the edge of the road. Waves of muddy water were launched over my head, as Hyndai's and Kia's whirred by in the heavy rain. The rain soaked through my Goretex jacket, and I gripped tight on the handlebars while whimsically trying to miss the submerged pot holes. Without sonar to lead my way, I would hit a very large hole, POW! My rear rack hit the frame mounts when the wheel dropped in, the rack bent and damaged the mounts! SHIT! I pushed the bike back into Ulaanbaatar and tried to find a bicycle shop for repair.
After some local help from Attila Bicycle Shop, I repacked and reduced equipment to a minimum, leaving two Ortlieb panniers behind with loads of gear. I repaired two other mountain bike rack assemblies for Korean cyclists I met and together we went back on the road the following day bound for northern Mongolia!
At the moment, I feel like I am cycling into a dream with all these unfamiliar riders around me, most cannot speak English and others do not even try. It’s the start of something brand new for everybody – since we all landed only a few days ago – time, the elements, the terrain we travel upon will all give us a challenge to live up to – some will overcome and others will make their best efforts trying to.
Today, the punctuation marks were having flat tires (Hak Jun, the Dear Leader) and my Camelback podium bottle slipping through my hand and rolling out into the road -semi-flattened by a passing car, seeing an industrial and developing world of concrete and surrounding Ger communities melt back in the Earth’s mantle where they originated. Dust and broken bones nearly missing a open manhole today. We ride through smoke and the perfume of Peace Avenue in a melee concerted orchestra keeping a nation together in the global community with pulses of life, controlled chaos of unEarthed cement and tarmac roads disintegrating into ashes which rose the amazing Phoenix of Ulaanbaatar.
Riding higher and above 1350 meters, the city calamity disappears now into infinity – This is remarkable and unmistakable, choosing the fastest way out of the city. Go west I would say! The air quality improves and the ride smooths into pulsing rhythms, the land and the bicycle tourist meet together as one – finally, without the cacophony of other vehicles and roadway dangers to sweep past and swerve to avoid.
I come to Mongolia to ride mountain bikes, to experience a new culture, language and way of life. What I didn’t expect was meeting 3 Korean university student bike tourers writing a $9500 US Korean guide book, using a Lonely Planet guidebook as their guide; and 2 Polish cycle tourists who said about 2 words in the few hours we passed each other. They cycled past us, I asked “What’s your name?” The gentleman answered, “Peter” and 30 minutes later we are passing them, I ask, “Where are you from?” The same guy answers, “Poland!” And this is the extent of our conversation, like we were fierce competitors in the Tour, or we were out to complete the most impossible endurance race (on paved roads) leaving the capital of Mongolia, or perhaps some cyclists don’t like company?
Troubles left while on the road...Bicycles and the Adventurers
Life isn’t simple, it’s quite complex until you learn to ride bicycles. This is where the problems of life get smoothed out and rolled over – as thoughts and feelings have more time to settle down. Give yourself time away from everything that seems hectic and too important to let go. It takes a few rides to get to know, or re-familiarize yourself again, with the knowing and understanding that comes from moving miles and miles through thoughts, sweat, bottles of hydration added in a purposeful direction.
The music of life is listening to the whirring whip of the bicycle chain while clicking away with the gears – today it only takes a thumb or finger flick to change your speed and adjust to the grade of the road. Sometimes I’m tapping brake levels and listening to the purring rubber tread of these Schwalbe tires making solid contact with the road, while keeping this cycle in motion. I see and hear so many noises that induce a rhythm or snake charmers trance. I am now on the fast track to adventure and my heart energy is pumping adrenalin which makes a cyclist smile. You can share the road with many riders, it takes a lot less room than a car, and you will always find peace within yourself – knowing that journey is the destination everyday.
Cycling is a freewheel motion, it doesn’t require gasoline or internal combustion and can save us a lot money. It requires faith and dedication using a bicycle on a long tour because you cannot step off and leave a bicycle behind (at least not for long) since it carries your life’s supplies and is essential to keep making your daily progress. You can walk together or ride together, stop and take a break together, or rebuild one another. The relationship builds over time, you need to cycle to reach a destination or a daily goal, and the bicycle needs someone to ride it, care for it’s squeaks and tweaks and make sure the wheels are aligned -straight and narrow down the road, the trail, the mountain, crossing the stream, over the log in the forest, through the trees, down the mountain. The brakes are adjusted to work efficiently on steep hills, pads to aluminum rims or pads to steel discs. Above all, the bicycle was invented to keep you up to speed with your health, your life, your next adventure.
Bicycles have maintained their poise as an ever incredible invention today, yesterday or 100 years (36500 days) ago. Prices have sure changed, as do the styles and brands people ride. However, beyond the material and shapes and angles, the timelessness of bicycles and the pure joy to ride them has not changed at all. The creativity that comes from riding bicycles also makes this machine so special.
Relationships are formed through an introduction, cycle meets cyclists and together they illuminate the hidden, unexpected surprises that happen when this simple machine and the rider come together in motion. The turning of the crank, the whirring and whipping of the chain, the glean of silver light from a clear sprocket, the slapping of the pannier bags hitting big bumps in the dirt roads, sounds and motion. As long as sounds are consistent, the rider can be confident their cycle is running efficiently, smoothly through the gears especially when climbs out of valleys into steep mountain terrain.
When you ride cycles, you see nature and say hello to the elements – sunshine, rain, snow, wind, hail, thunder and lightning, dust blowing in deserts, tumbleweeds leaping across the highway, the roll of thunder clouds, those anvil-shaped heads of cumulonimbus or the whisking high rising lenticular-shaped clouds all characteristic of weather and climate, cycle and rider, the day you ride through. Bicycle touring is a compass to life, giving you better directions to take. It is also a gift that you keep preciously and practice to perfect because only a long road, or a daily commute can give you this kind of focus, the calm, the collected in money less spent while using the bicycle instead of the bus or the automobile.
I commuted to work in Vancouver, British Columbia because I could save the bus fares and empty stares on the bus, of course, cycling is so much more exciting and inviting to try. Most cyclists feel good when they ride, the daily grinding of the crank and the circumnavigating wheel spins 360 degrees in rapid motion, we go places and see faces, see nature up front and center and weather or climate can really give us heaven or hell depending on our longitude and latitude on Earth.
It’s simply marvelous and miraculous, the bicycle. And even in the fiercest or calmest weather and climate on Earth – we can prepare for it, endure on our rides even when we are “caught out” without enough equipment and clothing preparation – we can still endure because or body works harder to move and stay warm, generating it’s own source of heat through kinetic movement, our calories are consumed, we grow stronger every day in the saddle and consume more water than sitting in a room.
Bicycle life is an essential ingredient of life on our planet. There is plenty to be excited about – it can even give up many Unexpected surprises while bicycle touring the world, I just tried it in Mongolia! Bicycle touring and cycling anywhere is certainly the secret to youth and the best music your body will ever feel. Even if you can’t dance, you can find a partner while cycling – never missing a step, because it is infinitely easier to ride.
The mountains are rising but it’s a slight grade and the energy put into the legs is consistent, as the wind is warm and Northwest, it prevails to provide a soothing drying effect today in Mongolia.
That’s today’s journal from Mongolia – I live to ride my bicycle.
MONGOLIA X JOURNAL 9 // FISTS OF FURY AND GOLD RUSH FEVER //
[Photo above: Mongolia X Journal 10, Coming soon!]
I am settled into a tough routine now. I ride about 8 hours a day, and set camp 200 meters away from the dirt tracks. Today, I faced a maze of dirt tracks while traced similar dust-dirt fields of grass that were selected for agriculture. I packed camp outside a Ger tent this morning, the grey haired herder and his young daughter helped me pack my bags and fill water from their blue barrels, extremely kind older man taking care of his young family on the Steppe. Thanking my generous hosts for their salted goat tea. There is usually an exchange in this custom – I give them some of my provision, Tuna and a bag of fresh toffee chocolates, he won’t accept money. I leave a great place in search of dirt tracks back across the inhospitable Steppe. This harsh contrast really awakens you after traveling for hours with nothing in the horizons except white dots too far to make a difference (those are Ger tents along the mountains, miles from the National highways – also dirt tracks).
After a few hours, I am riding through a truly barren landscape of man-made destruction, I ride and meet two English Motorscooter travellers from England. We stopped and exchanged perspectives on Mongolia travel, they riding a good speed despite their small tires, I admired their scooters rigged with spare tires, extra fuel tanks, clothing and camping equipment. They must have thought I was a bit “Nutter” traveling with a mountain bike, camping equipment, spares. Actually, minus the cooking equipment and gasoline fuel, most of our kits were the same, I even carry a Topeak Alien II multi-tool and spare brake pads (2 sets), spare chain (Shimano XTR/Dura-Ace 9-speed HG7701), spare Marathon tire, spare tubes, spare spokes and spare spoke nipples, electronics – I do not carry a chain whip to remove a rear sprocket, and I do wrap my rims internally with PVC tape to prevent internal punctures should the rim split like it did previously in the Chinese Himalayas. Duct tape, electrical tape, wire – useful, as is, Crazy glue – contact glue for about any repair including shoes/soles. I have about 150ml of contact glue in my kit, indispensable in Mongolia bike travel. Anyways, I didn’t chat long with the ladies from England, but they gave me tips for the rough roads ahead. We were along Zaamaar Mountain now and entering the Gold Mining camp areas above the Tuul River. They advised not to camp down near the river and be careful with the locals. Good advice noted, I wished them well and needed to keep moving – the flies were feasting on sweat and driving me forward once again – Can’t get enough help from flies to complete an expedition – they are incredible teammates to have on your side! The terrain is desolate and the air is murky in the sunlight. Along this desolate stretch of deserted Steppe grassland, i came upon an overturned tractor trailer and while cycling slowly by, i heard a man cough inside the steel barrel. There he was with a head injury and no water, this isnt right i thought, so i gave him my bottle to fill himself up. i remained on this scene for over 40 minutes and finally a group of miners came back to rescue him, or at least continue discussions about where he would be taken for medical help. A bit unreal, but there he was in a situation and his brothers would find a way to assist him, so he waited patiently. I signed off leaving the injured man with 4-5 other Mongolians and hoped they would be successful to return him to safety with his family and friends. Not a place to mess around this near-desert conditions without a water source anywhere nearby. When i later met the dcoots, they explained some of the dangers and annoyances ahead on my course, so 
True to form, the stories shared in daily reflection today from the Scoots Ride the World were true in what what coming ahead of me today. What’s interesting is we pass the same overturned semi-tractor trailer, and I discovered a Mongolian man waiting inside there! I stopped in and offered water, he had no provisions. After a few minutes other Mongolians stopped as well, and some assisted the man taking him away in their pickup truck across the barren terrain.
The surrounding landscapes once lush with Steppe grass for days, has now turned into a lifeless arid mountain coastline without an ocean. Animals which were once placated and roaming around in my view all day have vanished into memory, the land now stripped bare to the bone. Dust and dirt and stubby grass for miles I can see, as the horizon slopes and rises towards the Tuul River valley.
My vision is blurred by glaring sunlight, the terrain now opening into a minefield imploded leaving trenches dug into open strip mining. The powers of man and his machines has really transforms an area from natural to desolate dirt absent of local Nomadic dwellings and their herding animals. This transformation of a golden grassland into a hole reliable for garbage refuse deposit, is an uncontrolled Gold Mining zone in Mongolia. The area is active with both official industry mining and unofficial mining – it appears by the trucks large and small, Earth is being removed and searched through for the tiny nuggets in the ground. Since this is an active area for mining, there are a few other hazards to look out for. Drunken miners returning from long hard days slamming rigs, shaking pans, and getting dosed by amble sunshine. It’s a tough life on the range, not a place I want to stay long, or camp either.
Fortunately, after riding into the void for hours on end, I jump into a Kia Bongo headed west to the Tuul River area a few kilometers ahead. I hitch-hike in this tiny pickup truck into town. Once inside the town’s main dirt square, there are two miners active outside a General Store, punching the ‘lights out’ of each other, but one of them has the upper hand at wrestling. At first sight as the two played tango with their feet kicking up dust and dirt trying to trip one another – the street fighting looks interesting, a fight at High Noon. This giant burly of a man grabs the other guy by the eye-sockets and with that face gripped tight in the palm of his large stone hand, he used the rest of stove pipe muscular arm to secure the other man to the ground. They continue to make sudden moves, twist and fumble into the dirt. It looked like a scene from one of those the Wild West movies I used to watch on Saturday mornings in Canada, some 30 years ago broadcast through American television in Detroit. At least for these two wild dukes, the local alcohol is is rich and in ready supply so they both have soaked up enough 80-proof vodka – to help kick each others faces in without feeling a single punch.
They continue to scrape at each other for a few minutes while we pull up past them at this General store. It’s exciting to watch street fights, times like this when two men kick each other and paw just like one preying mantis taking prey over another. As they roll in the dirt in the front lot, locals stroll past without noticing these two at a heated fight. The two drunk miners rumble themselves without any audience, clearly too drunk and stupid to stop trying to knock a little more sense into one other. Good luck, glad it’s not me in that kind of fight today, I have enough to deal with on my bike tour.
Helpful locals unload my bike, and i soon become familiar with fists of fury in that small outpost along the Tuul River valley.We dropped in front of the store, past the drunken idiots, and the rest of this tiny wooden village seemed calm and quiet on this Sunday afternoon. With the generous help unloading, I parked in front of the store to stock supplies, much needed water topped my lists, and I love the bottles of pickles for $2.
Inside the General Store, the temperature is 10 degrees cooler. Feeling relieved of flies, dirt tracks that I escaped riding through Zaamar Mountain, here I am in the interior Tul River mining area. It’s hot and dry outside and the sunshine immense – so much that I need to slip away indoors to cool my head. Inside, I am sorting through my electronics box, I have chargers for the Sony cameras in a tall, retangular Tupperwear bucket, also I find my spare 2G mobile phone purchased in Urumqi, China which comes to replace the water-saturated Apple iPhone 3G which is now useless bit of $250 electronic and plastic perched in the map bag to dry some more in the sun. She’s helpful inside, the store owner allows a mobile battery charge and after a bucket of yogurt, two jars of pickles, and a liter of water – my body fluid levels are back to the pre-Zaamar Mountain levels in the desert I just crossed over. It’s easy to dehydrate, but water and Gatorade powder do go well together to keep up the H2O levels, I am happily addicted to hydration and keep the pulse for more mountain biking ahead today.Fortunately, this day is a real gift of life. I have survived some terrible biting flies again, spent another night asleep on the Steppe grassland at night away from the dirt track, and came to this safe spot. I am standing inside for a few hours, I can’t stand the blazing (expletive deleted) heat of that sun at least for right now, since there is no way around it and the roads are so mountainous, corrugated, or rocky in many sections, the terrain is unpredictable for riding at night, I also am physically spent covering what distance is possible right now. I give up around 2030 hours each day, starting out around 0800. This system allows for several 30 minute breaks in the day, and that is the opportunity to relax and tune out the Steppe.
Inside the General Store, I am accomplishing some notes, speaking to the clerk and greeting local customers. Tourist Mongolians coming from Ulaanbaatar are coming into the store with sharp, clean clothing, a father and his daughter making a few purchases before they return to the road. Passerbys like there arrive in Hyundai SUVs and leave without further pause here. When local miners come in, they are either respectable women buying family supplies, others are hard working young men from Nomadic herding families who moved here for paid work. There is another type of miner, the classic drunken skunk, who is today uncontrollably stone hammered by the mining, the panning in the river, the long hours roasting in the hot sun, and the powerful hallucinations brought on by vodka soak that stenches his breath. He is towering the a hulk of muscle and tendons, carrying his fists of fury on the length of each tree branch that resembles a strong arm protruding from Gold’s Gym window and wrapping itself across the oceans all the way from Santa Monica, California.
This big burly man in front of me has arms and hands chiseled of steel and legs holding the ground like skinny rubber bicycle tubes, having a hard time to balance, he drops fists on the glass counter and orders another bottle of cheap Mongolian vodka, taking the bottle in hand and opening his mouth, all he needs to do is cock the bottle back and take another shot. Slamming the bottle back onto the tempered glass counter top, the clerk jumps and other customers whip out of the store with their goods. I am left standing next to him, I smile and say, “Hello, Sainbaino!” And I have no problem with him, but I give body motion that the vodka is too much, not too healthy for him – Not sure that this passes through his cerebral cortex, but he does smile and offers me a shot. Of course, I don’t want to drink – I am narrowly re-hydrated right now, tired, dirty and exhausted from the days battle fought on the mountain bike. He insists, of course I will drink with him, at least one shot for the day! (expletive deleted)! This is DEFINITELY not what I planned starting out, and these shots of vodka really hurt when I get back on the bike, bottoms up! I take a shot of vodka and this burly miner offers another one.
I am out, and he hisses at other customers he tries to speak to in slurring Mongolian, his speech and manner is loose and unkempt. With some words from the patron at the store, he takes his bottle, I tightly close the cap for him, and he stumbles out into the dirt lot. The sun has turned it’s way through the clear haze outside, this nature clock tells me it’s time to retire soon for the night, must find a camp and leave town to where, after all I have seen in the last 8 hours today, there really isn’t much around these parts of the Tuul River area.
Another customer is listening to my talk ofmountain biking across Mongolia, and asks where I am from in English. Refreshing right now to hear words spoken in my mother tongue, I respond Windsor, Ontario, Canada – now living in Korea. We exchange some thoughts on the area, I am telling him about the fist fight outside, he seems to acknowledge this as the “normal situation” given our location and the sense of lawlessness brewing somewhere when some disputes erupt over Gold panning claims, since nobody there is licensed, there are no police, no holds barred fights and drunkenness can accompany a night in this dust bowl. He introduces himself as Egee and urges me to depart before dark on the bike.
We agree to meet at the bridge outside town, but first I need to dash somewhere to have a serious bowel movement, I grab some wet wipes from my backpack -the store clerk won’t let me use her toilet, as there is no running water here, a hole somewhere will do! I pace outside and look around for a “hole” in the ground, she motions to the box towards the river, I want down 200 meters but the shed is locked tight, I walk back up to the store – she points to a neighbor’s Ger tent fenced off from the center dirt road square, I walk up past the Ger tent and find the magic box. As in all places inhabited in Mongolia outside the urban centers, these holes fill the group with human refuse! I unload in the heat box, and then head back to the store, relieved and breaking a cool sweat in that process, I jump back on the Lynskey and ride down to the bridge, and there Egee and his security driver are waiting for me. We speak together for a moment, Egee steps out of his Toyota Landcruiser and points to the sign next to the bridge. He explains this is his mining company sign, one of the very few licensed operations in this area, located high up in the mountains further up the dirt tracks. What is amazing is my next question – “Do you have showers up at your mining camp?” And Egee’s answer, “Sure, we do!” So from there I asked since I haven’t bathed in a week, if it were possible to come visit the camp and take a shower, perhaps wash my few clothes I am wearing and carrying. “No Problem!” So, ecstatic at this invitation to civilization after riding through the void Steppe for consecutive days in the saddle, he offers a lift up there. “Nah, it’s okay. I can ride. I am riding all the way across Mongolia this summer.”
I didn’t know where the camp was exactly, so we continued and the Landcruiser would speed ahead and disappear over the horizon, then when I came cranking over the rolling mountain passes rising from the Tuul river, I would see them parked up a rocky patch of mountain in 4-wheel drive. We followed this pattern for about an hour, but I slowed and decided to unload the front panniers giving them to Egee to take in their Landcruiser. Once unloaded, I continued up the tracks but didn’t have water in the bottles on the frame, maybe a drop, but my Ortlieb control bag was up with the panniers in the sport utility vehicle ahead with all my water supplies attached to them. It was tough cycling and the Fox shocks were bouncing at high pressure without a load over them. It was really rough cycling up these twin jeep trackes around the mountain range. Finally, I meet them and give up. We flipped the quick release removing the front wheel and tossed the bicycle into the back of the Landcruiser.
We drive for about 5 minutes into a serene mountain area, completely untouched, no herders or animals, tall grasses growing wild, and came to the compound peripheral zone, a berm of dirt built up from backhoes with armed guards that looked like Mongolian military standing by at the gates. The two private security “Soldiers” as they were so well armed, let us through, we were the officials – and Egee, my incredible host was the owner of this entire operation in the mountains. Once we rolled into the valley between the mountains, the Ger camp appeared, clean and neat – a beautiful little Ashram community, like Yogananda’s SRF location outside Escondido, California where I meditated in 12 years ago, this mountain village was pristine and the local community of 80 were all employed by Egee. We had dinner come from several ladies on staff, they carried in pastrami and cheese, we dined on Mongolian and western treats – bread baked fresh – this was too good to be true. His small building in the compound was central, he looked over the community and unlike the mining town I had just passed through, this community was dry, alcohol-free, which brought civility to the inhabitants. I feel relived right now, safe and clean. It’s been tough so far, but there is much still ahead. It’s a great help to reach civilization from the void I came through, but at the start of this day I camped out with an amazing Nomad herder, his wife and young daughter – they were truly genuine, so no matter how rough the course is, the beauty of Mongolia comes to the surface everyday exploring here. I feel lucky, truly.
More adventure journals coming soon! These are my daily thoughts, reflections and experiences written while mountain bike touring across Outer Mongolia.
Thanks for visiting the Korean-World, a blog about Micro-Adventures, Cycling and Exploring from mountain bikes. Hope you enjoy these experiences too!I was prepared not to be too disappointed or discouraged. I relied on my rations and could survive on my 10 liters of water supply for quite some time ahead.
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