The biggest swamp in the worldThe day is cold and I soon stopped to gear-up, neoprene ski-mask, down jacket and thick gloves. Not far north of Tynda, I caught up with the easily identifiable Landcruiser of Frederick & Josephine. They are a young Belgian couple who sold up everything and have spent the last year in Africa and are now in Russia. We had met on the Fushiki-Vladivostok ferry and had spoken again briefly in Birabidzhan. While we expected to meet in Yakutsk, meeting them here was an unexpected bonus.
We resolved to drive to the next town and celebrate, but having driven until the end of the day and still not found a КаФе we camped in a gravel pit together.
We had stopped at Nerygundri to look at a huge open-cast coal mine. We were unable to enter the pit itself but the gate-keepers gave us tea and pastries and then showed us the stupendously large trucks used to transport the spoil. These things weigh 200T, are diesel electric with a V12 engine. We came halfway up the 40.00 x 57 tyres!

Nerygundri itself is a prosperous-looking town. It was independence day so there were some activities going on that involved buses, traffic-jams and balloons. We never resolved the details despite the phrase book.

We made a fire that night and swapped stories until there was a lull in the road traffic. This was however only temporary with large trucks banging through the pot-holes near our camp at irregular intervals all night.

The next day (13th June) was again cold. I rode in advance and stopped every now and then to allow Frederick & Josephine to catch up. Gassed up at Tommot (including my one litre Primus bottle) for the 450km leg to Yakutsk. This will be the longest leg without gas stations and my bike is unproven for this range. I know the last 4 litres takes a little wheelying (or riding up a bank) to get into the back of the tank. Not too good if the motor has already stopped.

The mountain passes are cold with snow drifts still on the ground. The snow is very wet and soft as I found out when I rode through it. The view is obscured by cloud.

We stop for lunch sheltering in a bus-stop which appears to double as a lovers hideaway although there is very little in the way of clientelle to be seen and the weather is not conducive to loving, only shivering.
While finding the magazine, I ask a woman for directions who is incongruously dressed in a fitting leather jacket, a short tight leather skirt, fishnet stockings and high-heeled shoes. Maybe the bus-shelter is her place of work. Josephine insists on calling her "Your lady friend" henceforth!
Camped in another gravel-pit beside remnants of crushing machinery. The weather has cleared, which it seems to do as soon as the riding is completed for the day. Another roaring fire using the plentiful wood supply from the old crushing equipment.
The 14th of June is the toughest day yet. Being a swampy region, there is a shortage of clean fill so the roads are constructed of mud with a few rocks mixed in. This is fine, although dusty, when the weather is dry but with even the slightest precipitation, the road reverts to mud. The mud splashed onto the exposed stanchions of my forks where it dried like concrete and was driven through the scrapers and into the fork seals. A pool of oil formed beneath the front wheel while I stopped for water. Luckily, I am 40 minutes ahead of Frederick & Josephine so have almost completed the wiping and seal-cleaning operation by the time they arrive. Several truckers have already offered assistance. We have been tooting and waving as we pass and re-pass each other so there is a little cameraderie built up. The oil loss has been slowed but the fork seals must be replaced. Curses!. Double curses because I was advised to fit fork gaiters to prevent this problem but never quite got around to it. I must admit that money and sloth both played a part as I have spent a poultice of brass on the bike improvements and maintenance.

Finding a camp is difficult with our combined 4x4 and motorcycle needs. The 4x4 needs firm, wide access; the motorcyclist, soft ground. Eventually we discovered a great dry camp 2 km down a well-formed side road. There was a solid lay-by and the open forest had a carpet of soft coprosma ground-cover. A plentiful supply of fallen timber rounded out the amenities. We talked around the camp-fire until midnight eventually tiring of the wait for darkness to fall. At this latitude, it never actually gets dark in summer, the sun goes down and then there is twilight until the sun rises again.
Another aspect of Russian road repair has become evident. Where the road has softened and huge dips and lumps appear, the road-builders dump truck-loads of rocks. These are typically 75mm thick slabs with sharp edges. All the subsequent crushing, leveling and compacting operations are carried out by the road traffic itself. The surface obtained is not optimal and 'snake-bite' punctures are a constant threat.
The 16th dawned fine and warm and we headed on towards Yakutsk. Just 10km down the road we caught our first glimpse of the Lena River. It is 6km wide at this point and forms the boundary between Siberia in the west and the Russian far east (in the east!). The road improved drastically and it was a 90km/hr stroll the last 110km to the Yakutsk ferry. I did somewhat more following the road signs. The 12km sign pointing straight ahead actually means turn left immediately down a short road where the ferry will take you the remaining 12km to Yakutsk. Why did I not know that?
By 3:00pm we rode/drove triumphantly into Yakutsk. Was that the fife and drum of the band playing or just ringing in my ears?