The mean streetsToday is the start of the big push to Ulan-Ude where hopefully I will meet Bill. I have 6 days to do the approximately 3300km. That's like Auckland to Wellington 5 times in a row over mostly gravel roads. This certainly puts distances into perspective.
I head off by 8:45 for the ferry landings due south of Yakutsk. We had checked out the sign-posted turn-offs on our fishing excursion. By taking a more southern crossing from the western side of the Lena, I would eliminate 100km of gravel road. Cunning!
After a few detours on the southern outskirts of Yakutsk, I picked up the road and arrived at the recommended ferry at Bestyach. Unfortunately nobody knows where the ferry landing is and after checking out several fruitless leads I decide to head for the sign-posted ferry landing further north. I eventually find the landing but there is no ferry, operator, operators hut or schedule. Is the ferry hourly, daily, weekly? With no ferries on the horizon, I am told that the ferry no longer operates and that there is one further south at Moksogolloch. I head south and ride until the road ceases where I am told that the place I want is NORTH. Resolve to ride north and if I can't find the sign, return to Yakutsk and take the ferry that I know operates regularly.
Eventually I return to Yakutsk ferry-less and desperate and catch the just-departing ferry by jumping the queue and parking in a corner, much to the chagrin of the car driver who couldn't fit there.
Tired and hungry, I arrive on the eastern side at 5pm having spent 8 hours and ridden 350km getting just 12km closer to my destination. I have lunch, gas-up and head south. The 100km that I was trying to bypass was the best 100km of the whole road. What a waste of time!
The next 60km proved to be a quagmire with 6 trucks either on their sides or propped up with logs so that they didn't fall over completely. The bike blasted through seldom getting below 80km/hr and then only to about 50km/hr for a few seconds. I had ridden this section when coming north looking for a camping spot. When ridden slowly in party with a 4x4, it was miserable but at speed everything comes right. Things that I couldn't avoid were soaked up. The suspension had begun leaking again so my efforts to clean the seals had been in vain. At least with the bodged-up fork-skins, the oil stayed off the disk brake.
Gassed up at Uluu and dined in the local cafe. I was invited to "Gunthers house" by some local men who had previously been making Russian jokes at my expense. It didn't feel right to me so I just headed south when they turned north and I was gone.
Rode to our previous camp-site just north of Tommot. There was no need to search for a secluded camp-site or prepare the ground for the tent so I was in bed half an hour after arriving. I was fairly spaced out after 750km and 14 hours travelling.
I awoke to rain and the likelihood of more and heavier. Geared up for the wet and set off. The fork-skins had been sliced by the disk rotor so some oil was leaking onto the disk. Luckily the brake pads are sintered metal and are largely unaffected by oil except for the first couple of revolutions. They are not like normal brake pads that become useless and must be replaced.

Interesting fact time. There is only one give-way sign on the M56 between Yakutsk and Tynda. That give-way is around a bend on the bypass around Aldan and has a lot of traffic on the through road. It is quite possible that someone might not see the give-way sign right on the crossroad and in poor visibility not realise that they had to give way. This is in fact what happened to me. I ended up running into the side of a big black Volga. Just about missed him but a combination of wet road, gravel and sheer panic saw me catch him just by the rear bumper. I was flicked sideways and landed heavily but no injuries other than a sprained thumb. Bike not so good. Still rideable but the front forks are bent and the tank has a small leak. Straightened things as much as possible and rode the remaining 365km to Tynda through more rain. The bike doesn't handle so well now. A combination of nasty Russian rear tyre, bent forks and no damping in the forks from the leaking seals.
More off-roading through a stream to get around two vehicles trying to recover an unseen vehicle down a bank. The pot-holes are easier to ride with a little water in them and at speed. No major scares but it is an adrenalin-fueled ride at those speeds and in those conditions. At least it keeps you warm over the mountain passes where the snow has receded with the rain. I have no fear of the road or weather itself, just the other road-users. I always take care that they know of my presence and still give them the widest-possible margin. They may, and often do, swerve from side to side as pot-holes demand.
It was a wet, sore and tired boy who checked into the hotel in Tynda that night.
I resolved to work on the bike the following day to determine which parts were bent and get them ordered for delivery to Ulan-Ude another 2200km away. Who knows what state the front-end will be in by then but there is really no option if I am to meet Bill there as I promised.
Up fresh the next day and found a car-wash in which to work on the bike. Disassembled the front-end and found the forks to be straight but the yokes that hold them to be bent. I installed the one spare seal with difficulty and made a better set of fork-skins so that they don't leak onto the disk. It took some searching around town for the 2 24mm spanners but everything was available except the new seal. More kindness from Russians, the car-wash owner gave me a car and driver to go around all the parts places in town in search of the seal.
I don't wish to denigrate the drivers assistance but the same methodology for going places was used as in Yakutsk. He apparently drove off in the general direction until he saw something he recognised and then turn. The direction of turn didn't appear important. We did many kilometres around a small town getting to a place that I know was down the main street and turn right. Why we went via the suburbs eludes me. It is as though he had no geographic concept of his start and destination. Ultimately the search was fruitless but I did pick up some other bits and pieces. I super-glued the torn seal and reassembled everything.
Off the next morning (28th June) in sunny weather. It changes the whole aspect of the place when the sun is out.
Another dirt-bike triumph just north of the the junction with the main east-west road. There was a big line of cars and trucks stopped with a huge bulldozer tooling about in the middle. I rode to the bulldozer and found that there was a trucked bogged wheel-deep diagonally across the road threatening to fall over. The bulldozer was churning up the mud in preparation for towing it out or pulling it in half, either outcome was possible. I spied out a line and was about to go when people started yelling and indicating waist-deep mud. Bah humbug! A bit of a blast, over some embedded logs and I was through. Those other vehicles will be there for hours while they make the road passable. The bike has a much lower contact pressure , better tyres and more attitude control making this kind of thing easy. The worst thing to do is go in half-heartedly, it's full noise or nothing.
Reached Skovorodino, the junction with the main east-west road and followed the fork in the road (the only other option being to take a farm track to the right). After 40km and a border sign, I realised that the farm track WAS the road. This is the beginning of the real Zilov gap. More confusing roads and tracks for the next 50km before it opened out again and I was able to race a train. Big toot from the train when I eventually reached the engine and a tiny peep in return.
I met some Aussies in 4x4's while stopped for lunch. Great to hear the twang dare I say. A very bubbly and sociable group of 3 vehicles with another 2 in the vicinity.
Headed off and the wide road turned back into real gap again. Initially down some detours and then into villages and eventually farm races. I was having my doubts but every now and then a big semi-trailer would come towards me confirming my route.
Out onto the wide road again after maybe 100km. This section had been made from a secret pot-holing mixture. The potholes were continuous fields of pot-holes about 250mm deep. Very hard work with no damping in the front suspension and I was getting fatigued. I stopped for water and then slipped unobserved up a side track. Camped on the edge of the track, one of the benefits of a bike. The Aussies had complained of it being almost impossible to find a camp-site for 5 vehicles and with different camping expectations.
This was my first camp after the collision and I had a chance to assess the damage more fully. The Primus fuel bottle had been dented and billies misshapen. The vibration from 100km of pot-holes had done more damage. The billy lid had been worn through by the Primus leg and the end of my tyre pump lost. The rubber mounting strap had broken and the end unscrewed and fell off. I don't want to go too far without a pump. The soft Russian tyre will become more susceptible to punctures as it wears and the prospect of leaving the bike by the roadside while I travel to the nearest town to repair it unconscionable. No real choice but to buy some crappy Russian bicycle pump at the next town (Chita)
It's been a big day of 700km over exclusively gravel roads so sleep comes easily although gravel-road dreams intersperse my sleeping hours.

Both the repaired and replaced seals have begun leaking again. Either the twisting of the forks is causing the replaced seal to leak or the seal has been damaged during installation. There is no oil on the disk this time.
Soon on the road and meet Jeff and Michelle Lee, a Taiwanese couple two-up on a BMW650 Paris-Dakar. It's actually more like three or four-up with the amount of gear they are carrying. They are apparently the first Taiwanese people to travel by motorcycle across Russia and were still subject to political intervention by the PRC government. The rule was No Taiwanese Flags. Jeff has Taiwanese flags that Velcro in place for those special occasions. They have had a accident in the previous days trying to photograph themselves riding gravel at 80km/hr two-up with luggage. The force is strong within that one!
Soon after lunch at the flashest cafe on 'The Gap', I met Chris and Elayne. Chris had achieved a 7-month miracle crafting VW Kombi running gear, diesel engine, 4x4 gadgets and a space frame into a functional and well-finished adventure off-roader. He had also got it to Vladivostok and driven it this far without failure. The guy is a legend in my books. It made my efforts building luggage racks and phaffing about look like kid's stuff. And Elayne was right there with him sharing it and all their previous travel adventures. So Sasha may have competition for the man of the year prize from the Big Red Country.
350km from Chita there is a 75km stretch of seal. New, smooth beautiful seal. all black and... well smooth. Did I mention smooth? This isn't the normal Russian seal where they lay a uniform thickness of asphalt over whatever exists, thereby encapsulating pot-holes and corrugations for evermore. This was the machine-laid good stuff on a good base prepared by the non-fools of Russian roading. There is a slow decline into the collection of patched patches with patches on them that epitomise Russian roads but for 75km I have left this world and been transported to Heaven, Paradise, Nirvana, I don't know where but it is not of our world.
Made it to Chita and sought out a bike pump. I am directed to a shop with all the kit. This is a revelation to me. All the big brands of good gear all in one shop. I buy an Aerotech pump similar to the Blackburn that was lost and some chain-lube to use after the Scott chain-oiler became a Scott glove-oiler.
Back on the road for the last 660km to Ulan-Ude. Dinner in a cafe and then a surreptitious detour to camp in the forest 143km west of Chita. A lovely camp despite those damned cuckoos watching the sun go down. The greatest frustration of the day has been composing the same text on my sat-phone three times because if a message comes in while composing, the phone locks-up. If only Nokia had done the user interface for Motorola, maybe Iridium wouldn't have gone broke. I'm being picky here. The great wonder is that I can e-mail Marg from anywhere in the world, updating my position and status, all for US$0.50.
Another 652km day has me asleep in minutes.
Last day to Ulan-Ude (Last choo-choo to Utuku, does anybody remember that) today and mighty boring it is on asphalt. The last 520km. What have I learned?
Small things can have big consequences.
No fork-skins = no seals = damaged forks?
A small packing error = my billy could have been useless.
The bike-lock moving slightly = abraded the tent pannier through.
A Primus bottle not screwed tight = saturated my other pannier with fuel.
One bolt without lok-tite = the windscreen bracket has been lost.
The ride is anti-climactic and I ride into Ulan-Ude to find an internet cafe and to contact Sergey who has my tyres.
Yet more kindness from strangers. I am sweating outside a bank and Alexander asks me if I want to shower at his place. A strange offer from a single older man that I momentarily consider and accept. His place is close by, old Soviet apartment but clean and surprisingly cool. He busies himself with heating water in a big pot on the stove assisted by an immersion heater from a plug in the living room. His apartment is threadbare but orderly. Somehow his physical world has stood still, as though his energies are directed elsewhere. It soon becomes clear, despite our lack of much common language. His wife died 7 years ago and he converted from Shamanism to Christianity. He is a pastor in the Evangelical Church. His life is entirely the church and it's goals. Is his assistance any the less worthy for his possibly evangelical intentions? I think not. We all have motivations for our actions and whether they are altruistic, prescribed or self-serving, the result to the receiver is the same. I enjoyed that wash immensely and am grateful to Alexander for his actions not his motivations.
I do not attempt to dissect his motivations, it is enough to receive his kindness, to marvel at the goodness that I have met.
This to an unbeliever like myself is almost a religious experience. In retrospect I can appreciate the moments, stripped of the immediate sights, sounds and smells, removed from the awareness of others outside and appreciate the acts that brought me there. Am I naive to accept offers from people in the street or are they somehow marked out to me, can I see that they are good? I don't know, all I do know is that despite the superficial incongruity of the offer, it felt right to accept. It was the same with Sergey in Belogorsk, he was a small powerful man who could have easily been leading me into a trap but it felt right to accept.
Alexander then made me pancakes with sour cream, not for himself but for me alone, before I departed with a map to the internet cafe.