Seeing the road winding forever onwards, it begs to be followed, to reach those distant hills, to discover their hidden delights. An empty landscape swallows me up, no towns, no villages; only the occasional Ger, a white speck in the distance. Time and again I ponder the slow progress of a bike and rider along the roadside, the pillion combing the verges, for what is unclear. It actually takes me a couple of days to realise the purpose of this scavenging, as I collect dried dung for my campfire it dawns on me. Of course this is the most likely reason for searching the roadsides, looking for fuel. The only other thing I can imagine is a forlorn hope of finding lost valuables, maybe it's simply a Mongolian version of beach combing. I know when I allowed myself the luxury of a campfire there was a plentiful supply of dung spread around the plain. I imagine it is easier to find along the roadside though, like firewood along the high tide mark. Dung tends to smoulder, it catches from only a small localised flame, but to enjoy a lovely flaming pile heap it up, wait a short while and suddenly the flames sprout from the smokey heap. It gives a surprising amount heat once achieved, and burns to a very fine powder, leaving little ash. (Photo: Is that a bike I spy laying on the track? - Gobi desert, Mongolia)Without warning a mound of earth blocks the road, this is it, the end of paved highway, from this point it's dirt all the way; this is what I've come for, this is the challenge that inspires and frightens, all in the same breath.
The last couple of hundred kilometres hadn't exactly been busy highway, a band of cracked tarmac wound through beautiful hills, animals are far more numerous than vehicles; yaks, camels, horses and goats wander freely. Eagles float effortlessly, searching the highway route for carrion, dead animals are common, the road provides plenty of sustenance. Marmots scamper across the road, vanishing into any number of holes, they certainly don't hang around for photos. Interestingly, these cute little rodents carry bubonic plague, playing host to the fleas responsible for the scourge of medieval Europe. During hunting season there are still cases of the plague, caught from the act of skinning the animals. Don't ask me why it doesn't spread and become a wide scale problem, I'm only regurgitating facts gleaned from a guide book. Not that I would have put in any effort to catch or mess with the little critters, but it pays to bear such facts in mind. Fancy that, to die of plague in this day and age. Largely the landscape is virtually empty, even the herds grazing are seen only on occasion, once leaving the confines of tarmac their number drop even more. (Photo: Endless miles of tracks - Gobi desert, Mongolia)Though coming to the end of the road it doesn't stop, construction work continues alongside the track for many miles, a huge effort it underway to stretch the length of Mongolia. Stretches of this construction spring up at regular intervals for many days.
If anyone aims to ride the wild side of Mongolia it's fast diminishing, in the coming years a black ribbon will cut through the Gobi, making travel easy, increasing the flow of trade, making it easy for the hoards to pore into the country. For now the construction continues, the raised base of the highway cuts straight through the countryside, the track veers off in a separate direction, heading into the wilderness splitting into dozens of different trails. Faced with so many choices of track could prove daunting, fears of getting lost could easily consume my thoughts. Forewarned, I know there is no need to worry, most run parallel to each other, separating for a short while but rejoining each other frequently. Simply pick which you fancy, if one is rough and unpleasant switch over to another, one section disappears into a muddy sinkhole skip across to the next. When the terrain is broken by a river, with only one bridge or fording place the tracks all rejoin, splitting into many once the obstacle is overcome. (Photo: Come home to a real dung fire - Gobi desert, Mongolia)For the first couple of days my confidence is supreme, progress is good. Riding is fun, my speed creeps ever faster, frequently I ease off on the throttle, not wanting to hasten through the awesome scenery. 40 mph is plenty, though 50 mph actually feels easier going.
My bike soaks up the lumps and bumps, it cuts through sandy hollows without effort. Flicking it left and right I avoid the worst, riding side slopes and walls of ruts at angles to miss the worst mud filled ditches. I feel on top of it all, the world really is my oyster. There are very few other vehicles, those seen are more often off to the side, following a different trail. Stopping frequently for photos finds me in a silent world, a peaceful land undisturbed by modernity, a land that is little changed for countless years. Sun bleached bones litter the land, half stripped carcasses, dry and broken, await a succession of avian consumers to savour the free range beef jerky. Overall the impression is of a dry scorched land, but deep muddy trenches frequently block my path. My tyres favour tarmac, slippery mud isn't their favourite surface to contend with. Generally these are seen from afar, but a touch of caution is wise, zooming up and over a slope can easily drop me into a muddy hollow; the heart stopping consequences are frightening. But it doesn't put me off, I'm in control, the bike responds instantly, it's my faithful friend. With 6.5 litres of water I have plenty to last a couple of days of drinking and cooking. I'm back to my old favourite, vegetable stew, each and every night. Food sources are scarce, as is water, but each day there are chances to top up on supplies. I never had to pump my water from a river or muddy puddle, only once resorting to using a local well. (Photo: I can see for miles and miles - Gobi desert, Mongolia)And so passed the first two days of riding, the trail and scenery were excellent, I felt at ease if not exactly jubilant. It wasn't as if there were any regrets, there wasn't anywhere else I'd rather be.
Normally thriving on the isolation, something had changed! I didn't pine for company, I didn't feel unable to deal with my own company, but to share the wonderful experience with a kindred spirit would have made it so much nicer. Starting to wish life hadn't left me so alone dogged my thoughts; they didn't do my head in, just made me realise how much more precious I felt good company can be. Thinking of Cai was inevitable, yeah I know the same old story, if only he hadn't of died, if only my life was still enriched by sharing it with my precious son. it wasn't a matter of feeling sorry for myself, overall I appreciated how lucky I was to be in the middle of the Gobi, it's such a gorgeous place to be in. Ironically, despite the mild loneliness, I made no attempt to fraternise with the locals. Not once did I look for family Gers to camp near, or rely on for an evening meal; I didn't intentionally avoid them, but I settled each night to my own company, my own thoughts, undisturbed by the necessity of entertaining company. In many ways this was to be a voyage of self discovery, an adventure to pit myself against adversity, to see just what I was still capable of. Mind and body have gone through hell since Cai died, my limbs will never allow me the ability to throw myself at strenuous or dangerous situations. But I need this chance to see how far I can push my body, I need to discover the person who's emerged from the trauma of recent years. Each night I nursed my arms, stretched my legs, trying to ease out the rigours the long day's ride had put me through. I slept the soundless sleep of the weary, going to bed early and waking under a blazing sun. (Photo: Oops a daisy - Gobi desert, Mongolia)Each morning began with a careful approach to riding, setting off at 30 mph or so, allowing myself time to relax into the ride. Gradually the route would entice me to speed up, not on a conscious level, it happened of it's own accord.
On my third day out it all happened in the same way, progress went well, I was set to make a few hundred kilometres, as usual. Photo stops came thick and fast, occasional vehicles past exchanging smiles and waving in acknowledgement. People are more open than in the city, showing their pleasure at seeing this strange foreigner on winding his way across the heart of their land. Whenever I stopped at encampments a cluster of locals would gather to inspect the bike, always getting thumbs up for all and sundry, "OCK?" I'd ask. Smiles and nods showed clearly it was indeed a good bike. Stopping in the middle of nowhere a guy approaches from a parked car with its hood up, something is definitely wrong, though he can't communicate what. The only solution is to go and have a look. He thinks the thermostat is broken, the car has overheated leaving a combined family of six stranded. We open the radiator cap and there is no sign of water, nor are they carrying any. I'm amazed that they would make the journey without carrying water, but they do have some coolant. So poring a good portion of coolant in I top it up with my own precious water supply, using over two litres. Though trying to refuse, they are obviously all too aware of the generous action on my behalf. Completely emptying my camelback unsettles me, however much I insist I have enough to take me far enough to find more. Hey presto, the engine temperature is fine, I tell them to continue, whether it lasts long or not, it will get them closer to a more permanent solution. As it happened only a few miles further, a well replenishes the lost supply. (Photo: My willing helpers - Gobi desert, Mongolia)That episode changed my headspace, I no longer felt at ease. Tense and troubled the ride became more strenuous, what before I'd put down as troublesome aches to my limbs dominated my thoughts, making me very aware of increasing pain. No longer were painkillers a only solution for nightly discomfort, I began to long for enough time to pass so I could pop a few more. Whether merely coincidence or not, it was becoming more of a problem, the pain was real. My attention to it probably highlighted growing problems, the effect slowed me down considerably, my riding style forced and unnatural.
Within an hour I had my first spill, the track has succumbed to deeper beds of loose, very fine gravel. A path through had to be decided upon in advance, changing course induced temporary loss of control which only powering through would curtail. At a particularly deep section a stupid moment of hesitation brought me off. Dithering between which track to take took me into a treacherous heap of the damned stuff, it sucked the front wheel into the side, throwing me out of the track's path, up onto scrubland. Without panicking I went with the flow, got the bike back under some form of control, and then saw a huge rock the size of two breeze blocks, looming in my path. I had no chance, collision was inevitable. The impact was jarring, throwing us both high in the air, flipping round through 180 degrees before crashing once more to the ground. My biggest surprise was that neither the bike nor me sustained any damage, I was sure it would have at least burst the inner tube. If I'd felt ill at ease before that certainly compounded the feeling, but it only proved a momentary delay as a driver stopped and helped me lift the bike. Before I could make more headway rain swept in from nowhere, there was no choice, rapidly pitching the tent I crawled in and tried to nourish myself with dry bread, rancid cheese and salami. I hardly slept that night as the rain lashed down continuously, for hours I tried to meditate, to calm my fraught nerves. The same question troubled my mind, "what did I think I was doing?" I knew there was no choice but to continue to Altai at least, with about 150 miles to go it could be done in one day, or so I hoped. (Photo: Ger-rific view - Gobi desert, Mongolia)As if to answer my prayers I awoke to near silence, it was misty and grey but the rain had eased off. Determined to make the most of the lull in the storm I hastened to make tracks, not bothering with more than a couple of bites of bread and cheese. My disposition improved with the sun, I settled in quickly and got into my stride, neither hurried not hesitant. My determination didn't falter, I took spills easily, not allowing them to detract from my resolve. And the spills came thick and fast, every time I had to wait for help to lift the bike. But it always came, never with more than a half hour wait, and the people always glad to help, despite wading through mud to do so.
For times that morning I came off twice from close to 40 mph, once being pinned under the bike by my right ankle. Each spill was dealt with, I never gave up hope, but they drained me completely. The mud was atrociously slippery, one spill occurred with the slightest infraction of my front wheel onto the edge of a muddy puddle. we both spun through 180 degrees (it's fast becoming my speciality), the bike dragging me through another dip filled with cloying mud. I was covered in shite, as was the bike. Each accident happened when I'd settled once more into the ride and my speed crept up, finally I vowed to slow down considerably, it was many hours before my speedo rose above the thirty mark. My body took a severe battering that morning, it had failed to break my spirit, I just picked myself back up and got on with the job of reaching Altai. By the time I did I was utterly exhausted, incapable of rational thought, almost too drained to even support the bike at a standstill, my final act of humiliation was to drop it onto someone's car as I pulled up alongside them. I ached all over, my arms were more painful than since my accident, I walked with stiff-legged weariness, I was dead on my feet. (Photo: Ever present admirers - Gobi desert, Mongolia)it isn't a good idea to make snap decisions on a low ebb, they're bound to be the easiest option available. I needed sleep and to look at all available information, so far I felt inadequate for the job in hand. Being more than halfway across the country there was less to do than already done, which was a good sign. My sleep was more like a coma, awakening my mind was clear but my body could hardly comply with whatever I asked of it. Calculating distances and scrutinising the map could only supply partial information, what I really needed was first hand advice on the road ahead. None of it would be tarmac that much was certain, whether any better was the important thing. Rain would come and go unpredictably, that would be my biggest obstacle; what might be judged a four day ride could easily turn into six or more if sodden.
Popping a handful of Codeine, I set about information gathering. It didn't provide me with what I hoped to hear; the track was no better, there were many river crossing, some of which nearly curtailed the efforts of a professional outfit in their 4x4 Toyota. So sat in a dismal hotel in Altai I made the decision I would have to live with for many days; I was not up to the task at hand. My arms and left leg were not proving strong enough, I couldn't foresee popping Codeine continuously to deal with the pain, that was not a satisfactory solution. The number of miles and the terrain yet to come made my attempts to date pale into insignificance, it would be insane to carry on, alone, by motorcycle. The brave adventurer I may like to label myself, I could no longer fill the boots I'd previously filled. I wouldn't consider my biking days over, but sustained off-road touring was beyond me. Maybe I could get my bike to the Russian border again, but I knew the route through Kazakhstan to be equal to that of Mongolia. The fabled route through Tibet, Highway 219, is notoriously harsh. I want to enjoy travelling, be thrilled by my adventures: I don't want to put myself through the grinder, I'm fed up with punishing myself. So that's it, not journey over, but riding all the way through to Laos is not going to happen. Now I need to get my head round this, at present it's hanging in shame! (Photo: To infinity and beyond - Gobi desert, Mongolia)
No comments:
Post a Comment
Any personal information sent via my comments facility will not be published unless deemed devoid of personal content. You can, therefore, send me contact information. Thank you!