Desert hiccup

It's raining cats and dogs when we enter Mongolia. Having spent most of the day clearing borders, it's late when we arrive at Zaganuur, the first settlement in Mongolia. Zaganuur is a Kazakh town and looks like it's been bombed. It's bitterly cold, fiercely windy and overcast. The landscape is rocky and arid. It's dark and bleak. We dread setting up camp. While we're outside of the local shop, a suave young man approaches us and invites us to stay at his yurt. We accept the invitation but when we reach the placed he indicates, a group of excited men demands large amounts of money from us. We say we don't want to pay that kind of money and we make our exit but then they tell us that we can camp next to the yurt for free. When we go to the designated camping place we find out that it's not really next to a yurt but rather within the goat's yard and away from the yurt. Looks like we have to pitch our tent on top of goat excrement but at least it's sheltered. As we're getting ready to pitch the tents, some of the men from before plus a new group turns up and they try to lead us to another place. We refuse and insist on pitching the tents but they seem adamant for us to spend the night somewhere else. Eventually they agree to let us set up camp at the goat-yard... for what we deem an unreasonable sum of money. We decide to stop negotiating and we leave. It's pitch black. While we try to find a reasonable camping spot, lots of people emerge from the darkness. Some of these people invite us to stay with them. We're desperate. Why won't these people leave us alone? We make it very clear we don't want to pay any money. They say it's okay and lead lead us to a dusty hut where they're making dried milk on a stove. They put a felt blanket on the floor and soon the place becomes warm and cozy.

While the Czech guys are making themselves comfortable in the hut, I step into the yurt next door, where the family is staying. They offer me some snacks of cheese and salted butter tea. One of the men sings a couple of beautiful Kazakhs songs accompanied by a three stringed lute. While not singing, a faint thread of Kazakh music comes from the radio. Later the Czech guys come in the yurt and give the family a present of rice and small toys for the children. Tucked into our sleeping bags we savour the perfection of this moment, sleeping in the hut warmed by a low fire and the the hospitality of this Kazakh family.

At around 6 in the morning the following day the sun is shining and we can see that they have around one hundred goats in the yard. There's a small lake at a walking distance. Out of the blue, a young Western man with a large beard walks into the compound. He's a Polish man on his way out of after two months in Mongolia. He tells us that one night he camped next to a minuscule creek and that at night he was rudely awaken by a flash flood. He could only save his sleeping bag, his passport, a knife and his camera. All his money and the tent were gone. He survived through the hospitality of Mongolian people and moved around hitch hiking. After one month, he tried to enter Russia border but his visa didn't start until a month earlier so he was invited to return to Mongolia and try again in one month. He returned to Ulanbator, got some money wired and, with two other friends, bought some horses. Soon one of the horses was stolen and eventually they sold the two remaining horses. Soon his friends left and he continued his travels alone until he met a Ukrainian man with whom he shared the last of his Mongolian adventures. In spite of his misfortunes, he kept going and he's still smiling.

We say goodbye to the Kazakh family and with our spirits up, we set off to Ulanbator, around 1,400 kms away. The tracks are full of rocks and sand and the going is very difficult. Later in the day, we have to ford a river. The temperature rises dramatically and the sun is burning. Exhausted, we set up camp in the sandy steppe. We realise that we have been robbed while staying with the Kazakh family. I'm missing a pair of trousers, a handmade wooden carving from Altay, a pack of pasta, sun screen and a bicycle strap. Ondrej and Hana are missing a mobile phone, fifty five dollars in cash and some other small bits and bobs. We can't believe that the same family that would give us hospitality would rob us.It's a tough world.

The next day we climb the Ogotor Khamar pass. Tracks are very sandy and my wheels get stuck. I fall off the bike several times. Ever since entering Mongolia I get a couple of punctures a day. As I climb up the pass on very steep and sandy tracks, I see what looks like a dead bear on the side of the road. The sun is hammering. I consider the consequences of getting stuck in these mountains, without the ability to use a mobile phone, with almost non-existent traffic, a limited supply of water and with a large population of wolves. At around 7 in the evening, I arrive at our meeting point, a camp-site on the shores of Uureg Nuur, a salty lake. It's very windy. A man with three children comes on a motorcycle and gives us some cheese.

The following day is even more challenging, with three substantial passes before Ulaangom, the first major town in Mongolia. When I arrive at the campsite, it's already dark. This day I've had two punctures.

In Ulaangom, we stock up on supplies. Ulaangom is a dusty town in the middle of the desert. In the evening, we camp next to a river. The sky is clear and we chit chat while we admire the starts and make wishes when we spot a shooting star. Life is good.

The following day, the sun is hitting so hard that it hurts and although it's scorching hot, I have to wear long trousers and a long sleeved shirt. The road is very sandy and corrugated and the going is very heavy. In the second half of the day, I notice the back brakes are not working properly. The back wheel is very buckled. I do some truing on the side of the road and disengage the back brakes. As I'm getting close to our evening camp site, the tube in the back wheel explodes. The sidewall of the rear tire is ripped and ruined, after only a few days in Mongolia. I must replace it with a very narrow road tire. With a heavy heart, I realise that it may not be possible to ride these super tough Mongolian tracks on a slim road tire. Nevertheless, I keep on going to our evening meeting point, which is about 18 kms away. Then I get another puncture. I remind myself to be careful as I only have one patch left. But I can't find my pump. It dawns on me that the two young and drunk Mongolian herders on a motorcycle who had stopped while I was fixing the bike earlier, had stolen my pump.

Here I am, stuck in the desert, in what I would describe as a low point. With a puncture and without the means to fix it, with a ruined mountain tire, one patch left, a buckled back wheel, a malfunctioning derailleur and a hub in need of repairs. At least, I have enough water for another day. I pitch the tent and try to sleep while I'm thinking about my options.

It's clear to me that I won't make it very far with the bike as it stands. I decide to return to Ulaangom (100 km behind) and acquire a new pump and patches. From there, I will get a try to look for transportation for me and the bicycle to Tsetserleg, where there's a decent road to Ulaanbator, 550 kms away. Next morning, I flag a singing herdsman on a motorcyle and with his help I manage to fix the puncture. I'm mobile again! This herdsman invites me to his ger (or yurt), where he offers me snacks of dried horse milk. They're very hard and very bitter. Later, he takes me on his motorcycle, along with his wife, to Malchin, where I buy a new pump. In the late afternoon, with enough water for two days and bag full of dry milk bricks, I set off for Ulaangom. I suddenly remember that in Ulaangom I have met a group of international paleontologists that were heading to Ulaanbator imminently. To be continued... Photos here.