The northern routeSunday 29th July, 9701km
Today is maintenance day in preparation for the ride to the western border of Mongolia.
We set up a tarpaulin and workshop area at the Oasis. Renee and Sybille are amazingly helpful in this regard assenting to almost any request. We have convinced him that a concrete-floored carport would be just the go for all these bikes.

Renee has organised the loan of a torque wrench for Bill's head gasket replacement (Bill had a spare with him!). Much industry changing Mario's clutch (Mario also had a spare with him!) and working on Bill's bike. My work is just an oil change and a front brake clean and bleed.
Six German riders arrive but no bikes as yet.

Monday 30th July, 9701km
It is Nicola's 21st birthday today. I have been determined not to miss this event and so call at 10am their time. Nic and Lucy are in town but Marg is home and we share a tearful reunion. This is the first time that I have rung home and the sound of her voice brings long pent emotions welling up. E-mails are all very clean and sterile and so lack the human contact.
I will ring back at 6pm their time and talk to Nic
I continue pfaffing with the bike doing little stuff.
A party of 20 high school kids arrive from Cambridge, England. They are here to do some volunteer work in a school and then go trekking.
The story about the abandoned KLR650's has come out. Both ran out of time and so taxied back to UB. One had ten punctures and gave up. The other had crashed heavily taking out the windscreen, instruments and throttle assembly. He also blew his knee in the crash but had it immobilised in a local hospital. He had a frame made for the bike so that he could ride with his leg straight. Eventually he also ran out of time and stopped 300km from UB. At this point he flagged down a passing local, checked that he could ride and negotiated a US$180 fee for the guy to ride the bike to the Oasis. Despite having no knowledge of the guy's identity or ethical history, the bike was delivered within a few days. Amazing!
Spoke to Nic and Lucy, another tearful reunion. I am so proud of those two pigeons and respect them as adults, not just as a father.

Tuesday 31st July, 9701km
D-Day minus one. I buy food and send some extra gear home by post. There's not too much just some of my warm gear and some souvenirs. Other bikers comment on my lack of gear but I reconsider every item as I pack it because conditions change.
On our way back to the Oasis I caught a pick-pocket in action. We are in the general bustle that accompanies every bus arrival when a unkempt kid joins the throng. I heard a zipper sound just in front of me and see that Mario's backpack pocket is open. The kid was leaving the queue so I took two quick steps and grabbed him and shout to Mario. Nothing is missing because Mario knows the back pocket to be insecure and never keeps stuff in there so I let the kid go. Rat-bag!
It rains heavily and the slight rise that I am camped on floods. We have been camping in the Oasis grounds because it is cooler than inside the dorms. I move the tent to JayJay's vacated site. This does not bode well. Our planned route goes out over the bull dust roads and so could be impassable. We decide not to leave UB until we have had 24 hours without rain. We will also take an alternate route to avoid the main 'road'.
Just finished dinner when the power goes out again.
Angie and Phil, a great English couple driving an Iveco 4x4 truck arrive back. They had been staying at the Oasis while waiting for bearings and had departed some days earlier to install them. Phil came in and said "we've had a little problem, we rolled it 3 hours ago" We dashed out and tended to Angie who although substantially unhurt had been overcome by their safe arrival amongst friends. They had been driving in the slop south west of UB and had cross-rutted at about 35km/hr. It slowly rolled right onto the roof, bending the whole roof and crushing some of the fibreglass high top.

The inside looked like a washing machine with gear everywhere. Locals had arrived within minutes and had it righted within 30, this is not an uncommon event apparently.

Wednesday 1st August, 9701km
The German's bikes arrive. There are 3 white Africa Twins in pristine condition and a KTM640 Adventure. These bikes have HUGE panniers and 10-litre fuel tins mounted sideways out from the bike.

German tank?

The riders are big people but not in the muscular Arnold Schwarzenegger mould. The remaining 2 bikes are Yamaha 450WRs very neatly set up with a big tanks and small luggage. I know which one I want to ride. It will be interesting to hear how they manage out there. They intend to ride to the western border by the northern route and return by the southern allowing 3 weeks for the journey.

Thursday 2nd August, 9701km
No rain last night so we are all off today. Kirstin & Jeorg, The six Germans (who remained forever nameless) and us. Tearful farewell to Renee & Sybille, Angie & Phil. As Angie said, guests come and go but the bikers mix and share and have a good time. Angie & Phil are honourary bikers or maybe it is the travellers that mix.

The team: From left, Renee, Bill, JayJay, Mario, Ian, Jeorg, Kirstin, Phil and Angie

This is my farewell to Bill, all our organization and discussion and we only rode together for 5 days of the Gobi.
We managed a triumphant exit from the Oasis only to stop 200m down the road with a front brake fault on Mario's bike. It had fallen over in the 'workshop' and the lever had bent. The first time he applied the front brake, it would not release the pressure and his front brake was permanently on. Replacement of the lever and we were away again at a more sedate pace through UB traffic than on previous occasions. We rode west to the end of the asphalt expecting the bull dust to be porridge but surprisingly it had dried already to smooth undulating perfection, dustless and good traction. Within 60km we passed the 6 Germans who had left UB half an hour before us. They were travelling slowly as expected with those enormous bikes. We took our planned northern detour and enjoyed great off-piste riding through endless valleys and saddles. A slight misunderstanding had Mario navigating towards Bulgan (a different Bulgan than the Gobi expedition). We attempted to correct our mistake and took tracks heading south-west but they all veered north because all the valleys were north-south. Decided to strike south down an untracked valley that turned out to be a dried-up wetland. Scary riding through bike-high grass over unknown terrain. We eventually found the road but it ended at a washed-out bridge. Struck south along the stop-bank for some kilometres until Mario fell in a rain wash and I rode over him. Luckily it was at low speed but as I was braking to avoid him sprawled right across the track, my front wheel caught his hand and bent it to an unnatural angle. He would suffer for a few days from this but luckily it was not broken. I was unbalanced by the whole running-over business and fell off the stopbank. Reevaluated physical well-being and sensibility of current route and decided to ride back out of this valley and find the real track.
We were again forced north until we came to an unmapped village where we were surrounded by drunk people. The one semi-sober person pointed us to a track up the valley but after a couple of kilometres we decided that this was patently wrong. We back-tracked and took a track over a pass which looked promising and decided to camp. Mario came off again (his 4th for day and his personal best) while recconoitring an 'eagles lair' camp site so we settled for a more modest elevation out of sight of the track. Mario repaired his maimed motorcycle and we settled in for a night amongst the sage. What looks like grass out here on the steppes is often a low sage-like plant and with the dew on it smells wonderful. I am woken in the night by a herd of horses grazing nearby but otherwise there is absolute silence.

Friday 3rd August 10041km
Mario is still stiff from his fall and subsequent running-over. I will bear his gibes for days until he either heals or I kill him.
Great smooth trail until we meet the main road. In Mongolia main road = crap road because there has been so much traffic. We somehow lose it but ride on towards Oviy Nur, a gem of a lake.

We lunch between the lake and the town of the same name and after lunch follow meandering tracks, at times leading away from our destination of Tsetserleg. The main road is solidly constructed but is so pot-holed and corrugated that most locals drive beside it. 24km out of Tsetserleg we gas up as the rain starts. Bother!
Tsetserleg is a poor town set amongst stunning rock formations. It could be a great tourist town as good as any alpine village. In the approaching twilight and rain we spot a tourist ger camp so decide to wimp out for the night. This camp has been set up as a tourist camp and then sold to the present Mongolian owners. Hence there are no tourists and after we have paid, we find that there is a Mongolian wedding tonight. Expect a lot of drunk people. We cooked our dinner over the wood stove in the ger and enjoy a cold beer before bed. I am only woken twice in the night when my bike alarm is triggered by a reveller attempting to board and once when two disorientated Mongolians enter our ger.

The temple/bar at Tsetserleg

Saturday 4th August, 10290km
The rain has cleared and we set off on smooth roads through pine forest and rivers. This is such a dramatic change from yesterdays weather and scenery. We pass many people from young to old carrying water from the spring. Only one has a wheeled contrivance for carrying water and there are no yokes or other labour-saving devices.
We stopped to photograph some yaks, beautiful placid creatures that are so commonplace here that we haven't bothered before.

Up close and personal with a yak.

We ride on to a road-side cafe (rYAH3 = guanz) where we are immediately met by a drunken man with the look of a whipped dog. He insisted on shaking hands and this is an almost-certain sign of drunkness, in case the smell doesn't give it away.
We order mutton soup and bread from the nice owner and his pregannt wife. The owner is obviously embarrassed by the drunk and keeps shooing him into his ger. We are joined by two more drunks, one a smiling mountain of a man, the other a smooth-looking sharpster. Then the wrestling is started by the whipped dog wanting to prove something at the expense of the reluctant giant. The man-mountain easily fells the two aspirants in what looks like slow-motion. The man-mountain is in turn felled by another customer. I fail to see what prestige there is in wrestling a drunken unwilling man to the ground but then I am a pacifist (and card-carrying coward). The whipped dog and the sharpster then join forces and fell the man-mountain again which enrages the owner who punches the whipped dog and sends him to his ger.
It was a situation watched by us with sense of disconnection, there was now danger to us because these guys were so drunk as to be shambling and powerless, just a sense of sympathetic shame on the owners behalf.
We left, once again being accosted by the whipped dog who obstructed our path and wanted money.

Just some average scenery!

Rode on over the 2554m mountain pass between Arkhan and Zavkhan provinces. A bit chilly but good road. There was a huge cairn with many blue scarves and bulk money. It's really bad luck to take the money though isn't it?

On the Zavkhan side we came across a road accident. There was a motorcycle under a van and a body on the road. There was a great collection of people around and police taking photos. To one side across the field almost to the river was a car against a tree. Some police were carrying the occupant up the hill towards the ambulance. As I passed, I realised that the occupant was not injured and that he was resisting being put into a police jeep. Not sure what his part in the events were, he was in the wrong place and direction to have contributed to the death but the outlook did not look good for him.
The formed road finished and we were back to fairly smooth dirt tracks. We rode up a wide grassy valley to camp beside trees. It could have been New Zealand with the greenness and the mossy ground. Camping was sooo comfortable and we had our first camp fire.

Sunday 5th August, 10593km
Awoke and prepared to go to the Sunday morning service...whoops, wrong person.
Rain in the night until 7:00am so packed up a wet tent. Small clouds scudding up the green valleys.
Rode on towards Oygon, stopping to unsuccessfully photograph large vulture-like birds. An uneventful (or is that boring) day barring one fall for Mario in sand. Did not run him over today although it was a close call. We had been riding on separate tracks up to 500m apart most of the day and he fell just after they converged.
The easy but slow riding had me stir crazy in the afternoon, singing and dancing on the bike. Things got really bad when I rang out of songs and had to compose my own. Mario was a little freaked by his first fall the other day and the reminder this morning. We were also following the tail of two bikes shod with full knobbly tires who had obviously been having fun.
We stopped to help a Mongolian family whose wheel had fallen off. They had it reattached by the time we arrived but needed pliers to straighten a pressed metal brake guard. It was the most precarious jacking of a vehicle that I have ever seen and with one of the kids dancing around. I wouldn't have gone anywhere near that vehicle, as it was the men were leaning against the back of the vehicle to stop it toppling.
We camped the night on a hilltop with a magnificent view. It was by a large pile of rocks at the peak of the highest hill in the vicinity. I think that the rocks contained a fox den just by the amount of spoor in the vicinity. I had seen two foxes in the day, both running for their lives. I'm sure foxes get short shrift from herdsmen hereabouts.

Dinner and a beer watching the sun set. During the night a fierce wind came up that necessitated re-staking the tents but it was calm by morning.

Monday 6th August, 10856km
Awoke to that magnificent view, a vast dappled green valley, herds of animals, imposing mountains all around and a clear blue sky.
Rode over fairly fast roads lunching at a signpost near the lake Khyagar Nuur, the signpost being the only shade for miles. Mario fell in a sand corner as we rode towards the lake but there was no damage. His wrist is slowly improving as is my conscience in equal measure.
We rode the 100km along the lake, it was unbearably hot with no wind except when riding. We stopped for a photo near the end of the lake. I looked behind us, away from the lake and said "Look at that dust storm". Within minutes we had no option but to look as it was upon us.

A side-order of dust with that wind sir?

It was an 80km/hr cross wind picking up the dust and grit. It wasn't a passing whirlwind but a sudden change in the weather. We rode on with a severe cross-wind that did not abate as we rode around a headland. It was difficult to stay on the track, the bikes leaning wildly. At one point I was blown out of my rut into the one 500mm below almost falling. There were people at a popular swimming area still attempting to constrain their belongings. The wind persisted all the way to Naranbulag, our target for the day.
Gassed-up and bought beer before riding on to find a camp. Eventually gave up and rode towards the hills and found a wash canyon. The ground was hard and it was a little windy but the ever-optimistic Mario described it as "just about perfect".
A beer and dinner restored me to my usual self and I had to concede that it was another picturesque spot albeit in a rugged way. We walked up the canyon after dinner but did not reach the end, neither was it as spectacular as the wash-canyon in the Gobi.

Tuesday 7th August, 11230km
All quiet in the canyon. Rode back to the track and the 40km to Ulaan Gom. Our first real stream crossing in two parts. I rode through first to show Mario how it was done, this being his first stream crossing ever. Luckily the master didn't screw up and was able to "Just do it like that young 'un". As Ulaan Gom came into sight we were confronted by a huge road sign on a sturdy structure spanning the road with "Ulaan Gom" on it, no other destinations just "Ulaan Gom". Damn useful these road signs especially if you are blind.

Stating the obvious!

Gassed and chocolated and out of town on smooth asphalt. Some trouble finding the road to the pass, both the map and the GPS being wrong. Eventually struck off cross-country heading for the most likely pass. This turned out to be correct and so we went over two passes and down a wash valley into a third valley overlooking a lake where we stopped for lunch. Tried to photograph a herdsman on his horse silhouetted on the skyline but he wasn't cooperating. We were soon joined by two herdsmen on a motorbike, the older immediately plonking himself down. We shared our meagre lunch of bread and chocolate and the skyline horseman also joined us. The old guy was in traditional dress right down to the pointy hat and boots will the curled up toes. Not much spoken, they are quite shy out here.
We rode on up the next valley until the GPS pointed us off-piste. Since the GPS is generally right we followed that a long way up a valley until the way petered out. It was OK for me but there was no way we were going to manhandle the mighty Africa Twin over that goat track.
Back-tracking we were flagged down by the owner of the highest ger in the valley. He was very keen to meet us, not getting many visitors way up there. We accepted tea, pastries and the evil dried yoghurt then a little Mongolian vodka. Not like the Russian stuff, this was quite weak and smelled like goat. Definitely an acquired taste that I didn't intend to acquire. After my over-indulgence on the Vladivostok ferry, I could quite reasonably claim to have an allergy to vodka.
A little English spoken from a phrase book by one of the daughters. This was a real ger with lots going on. The grandmothers repairing the felt boots, tea made in front of us, stuff everywhere. They wrote their address on a piece of paper and I promised to send photos. I also gave them a set of stamps from NZ that Richard had given me. They were pressing us to stay for dinner but we were keen to press on (not sure why, it just seemed imperative). Outside we started taking photos of the kids and camels.

After some pressing, the older generation put on their best gear and we photographed them as well.

Mario videoed as well which was very funny to watch afterwards. They all loved seeing themselves on the digital camera screen. I was dragged away by the father to photograph him by his truck.
We were given about a kilogram of the evil dried yoghurt and a piece of a softer cheese each before setting off again. We gave them pens, key-rings (damned handy for a herdsman) and the last of the shepherds whistles.
Headed back down the valley and up the correct one. A loose, rocky climb. The slow progress of the Africa Twin finally frustrated me so I blasted up and waited for Mario at the top. It is so much easier to travel fast than travel slow but new trail-riders haven't the confidence to get over the hump. The trail at the top consisted of large embedded rocks with water in between. Finally some real trail-riding! The Africa Twin was bottoming on the bigger rocks with it's low ground clearance and soft suspension. Mario dropped the Africa Twin once on the way down but other than that it was just fun. Out the bottom of the valley to a substantial but unmarked village where we chocolated up. A large crowd joined us but there were no drunks or bike-sitters this time. Bypassed the 80-octane-only gas station and rode on towards the south of Arich Nur. This is the lake that Charley Boorman and Ewen MacGregor had to bypass when they first entered Mongolia from the west. Phil and Angie had been unable to cross in their Iveco 4x4 a month earlier so we had decided to skirt it ourselves without even checking the water level. There was a wide open plain leading to the south bridge with 20 or so parallel tracks. Great camping spots around the bridge with soft grass and trees but there were many gers so there would be little rest to be had.
We carried on until I stopped Mario, he had been navigating to Olgiy 100km south of the border not Tsaaganuur which is the nearest town to the border. We headed off-piste and after a few wrong turns and back-tracking found the track to Tsaaganuur. It was up a wash valley so we decided to camp at the mouth, it being 9pm anyway. Another spectacular sunset accompanied by dinner and beer. Actually it was beer then dinner reflecting our fatigue. The ground was rock-hard so I collected rocks for the tent fly guys. The view was spectacular with the sunset colouring the peaks and the lake Arich Nur stretching away.

Wednesday 8th August, 11528km

As we packed up, we were joined by a herdsman on his horse. It looks as though he was camping out and was spying the area for animals through a well-used monocular. We shared chocolate with him and I admired his horse and gear. He invited me to sit on his horse so Mario took a few photos.

We continued to pack up and was fascinated by the tents and equipment disappearing into the bikes. He was also fascinated by the bikes, lying beside them and perusing every detail. Luckily, the herdsman was able to tell us that the wash valley we intended to take was the wrong one and that we should continue on the main track that we had just intersected.
We rode around into the correct valley which was filled with streams, trees, grass and flowers. There were many gers along the whole length. Mario had camped in this valley when he first entered Mongolia from the west so we were near the border.

Reached Tsaaganuur but no gas to be found so rode to the border. Mario used the spare 8 litres of fuel and I went onto reserve, the first time for me in all of Mongolia.
An uneventful crossing of the Mongolian side but arrived at the Russian side at the beginning of their 2 hour lunch break. We had to pay for the privilege of riding through a filthy wheel wash which did nothing to remove the yak shit under the mud guards. This is all about bureaucracy, not efficacy or efficiency.
Once the border re-opened we met some Polish riders who were heading to Magadan and quite a few entrants in the Mongolian Rally. The two Spaniards we met were apparently second and the 4 young Brits in a banged-up Ford Fiesta were 5th. We never saw the 3rd and 4th placed entrants.
Lunch at 5pm and rode 75km north to a campsite by a river. Camp fire and a wash, magic! We are definitely back in Russia, two checkpoints in 75km. They are so symbolic of the old regime. Other than as make-work employment, why do they exist in an ostensibly free society? All my hypocritical smiling and carefree behaviour when I really detest their presence.