We decided not to take the spare tyre up with us (saving a massive 4 kilos from our total 450 kilo load!!) and we set off for the hills. Here's a 'bikey' description of the day Simon and I trashed the bike. Even if you don't understand the technie bits I think everyone should get the gist.
The run up to Altyn Arashan is described as a jeep track, which is so inviting when you're on a GS - "of course we can get up there". The locals (who drive jeeps and various pieces of ex-military hardware up there) looked at our loaded bike and advised us that we'd not make it. Now that's usually a good enough incentive for me to try my hardest, but this time it also fired up Georgie.

A local dirt bike

We decided not to take the spare tyre up with us (saving a massive 4 kilos from our total 450 kilo load!!) and we set off for the hills.

First problem, find your track; which we did at the 4th attempt. Obviously the beautifully rendered Kyrgyz maps were not wholly accurate. Later we discovered (using the GPS) that the grid lines on the maps were also inaccurate (about 3 kms one way and 800m the other way) - you wouldn't want to land a helicopter in the fog using those maps!

Then a series of puddles through to the first climb which we'd been told "if you have problems with that climb, you'll never manage the big ones later". I slightly messed it up by rushing it so that I could get past a horseman, but otherwise it was "one-nil to the Eng-a-land".

Up alongside a raging alpine torrent, very pretty and pretty easy. Then across a small boulder field, where the river sometimes floods. No real problem.

Then we (I) get careless and have a little "get off" (our first one of the trip) after springing out of a stream and into the boulders at the side of the track. This bent the right hand pannier rack in a bit - easily "adjusted" with a 16 inch tyre lever; but the result was a couple of cracks in the steel rack - easily welded later, along with the split in the exhaust that just reappeared after a 1 month absence.

At this point I decide that the tyres are going to get off-road pressures (22psi front and rear) rather than road pressures - that helped a lot, with the tyres squidging over rocks rather than pinging off them.

Next some nasty little climbs with cambers that try to throw you down a 200 metre drop. Georgie gets to walk for a while and I console myself with the thought that "I'd rather do this on a bike than stuck inside a jeep".

Around a corner we catch up with 3 Belgians who we'd been staying with in Karakol - they're amazed to see us and we feel a little guilty for taking the easy option - later they where to have the last laugh!

More up and up - we meet a load of Czech hikers as we forge through a really boggy bit.

More bogs appear and the bike gets seriously cross-rutted (hey give me a break we're on road tyres!). No grip, loads of wheel spin and we push the heavy lump so that it occupies just one rut, which luckily had a firm bottom. But there's not enough grip to get out so we switch the bike into 2-wheel drive mode. This is a useful technique where the spare person (Georgie) pulls on the top of the front wheel, while the rider gives the throttle some grief and pushes the handlebars. That worked, the bike sailed out and Georgie got muddy hands, arms and sodden feet.

Next "the big hill you won't get up - if you stop you'll never get going again". And we could see the point the locals were making - it was a really gnarly little pull, with turns and boulders - nice on a light dirt bike, but a swine on a fully laden GS. And worse, we were now at about 2500 meters, and the carburation started to go squirley again: the engine normally has huge amounts of low-down torque, but now I had to rev the nuts off it and slip the clutch to get the low speed torque I needed. Half way up and all is going pretty well, except there's smoke pouring out of the clutch housing - "hell, I think it's on fire!!". Quick action needed, so I pull out the rubber bung that blocks up the timing hole, and pour water onto the clutch. That did the trick. Up the final pull. I reckon I stopped about 4 or 5 times on the hill and still managed to get up - lucky eh?

Over the brow of the hill and we see base camp - a few tents and some glorious views. Chug-a-chug we feel proud as we make our approach to the campsite - through the final puddle and "hell, that's deep" - right over the cylinders which isn’t normally a problem. The engine cuts and then won't restart - in fact it won't even turn over.

Too much mud in the bottom of the puddle to push out so I get out a webbing strap, tie it around the forks and ask Georgie and a local guy to pull. No good - too much suction on the wheels. Then the local guy beckons his brother - on a horse - to come over - a bit of lashing together of ropes and the 1bhp horse makes all the difference.

Rescued

So what drowned the motor, which is usually happy to swim for a while? Well water got into the airbox through the little one-way water drain valve in the airbox which is supposed to let water out but stop it from getting in – the 12 year old rubber had perished. Then the rotten muddy water got into the carbs, cylinders and exhaust. Hydraulic lock in the cylinders - no go. I decided that save for pumping the water out of the cylinders, the solution to our problems would have to wait for the next day.

Tent up, brew on, food on, bed and a worried Simon tries not to worry too much - not easy when you've just trashed your one means of transport.

Next day dawns brightish and I set to work on the bike while Georgie sensibly stays out of the way and does breakfast duty.

Silencer off (full of water), try to start - lots of turning and gurgling but no firing. More analysis and starting practice until the battery goes flat. Then Ivan, a Kyrgyz biker and local guide who we'd chatted to the night before comes over and explains that his jeep will be here in 30 minutes and we can jump start the bike from that!

The jeep arrives and jump leads are made up. More starting practice, with some firing but no running. I take the jets out of the carbs and they look like they've been dragged round a farmyard. Then we get some firing, then nothing. Analyse the electrics - no spark, where there had been a spark earlier. Surely not the ignition module - fit the spare - vroom - the beast fires straight up, even through the starter sounds more than a little unwell.

And that's how the bike stood for a few days until we rode it down the hill again.

Back in Karakol the bike got a little looking at, and some welding. And "let's take the starter motor off to see if we can lube away that horrible noise". And another "oh shit!" moment. The Valeo starter motor, renowned for its ability to shed its magnets had indeed shed 3 out of the 4, and they were now in 6 big pieces and a million little ones in the casing. There was no way to glue them back together - the pieces repelled each other - so it’s looking like we'd be bump starting for a while. One last possibility; let's see what happens if we just have one magnet in the motor. Hey hey, it sounds really ill, but it starts!! Georgie, you can take off your running shoes.

Magnetic fragments from the wrecked starter motor

Obviously the next thing to do is to get an email off to England to get a starter motor sent out to the other side of the world AND hope the bike can limp its way into Almaty AND survive the next 13 months.

I think we learnt a few lessons from that one – not to kill the goose that lays our golden eggs!