The Final Frontier and the Voyage Home

Our gentle bimble back to Europe took us across Ukraine, into southern Poland and the Tatra Mountains.

At the border with Russia the Ukrainian post was entirely staffed by the military, weapons were in full view and gun emplacements were dotted around. By contrast the Russian side was fairly relaxed, no major search, and no weapons evident. Tensions are still high between the two states, but possibly the Ukrainians are more tense. While the panniers were being searched we heard a loud gun shot type noise. We jumped and looked around, but the soldiers just grinned and carried on.

Some (most) of the roads in Ukraine can be rough with large pot holes, but from past experience I knew by keeping to the major "M" roads they would be fine. As with all border crossings there is a change in landscape, immediately more trees appeared lining the roads. It also started to rain, the sort of rain we normally associate with being near a coast, that feeling of a being dipped in sea mist. This may be caused by the 110km long lake to the north of Kiev. Another long hot spell had ended for us. Now it was warm and wet.

By keeping to the major roads we sampled their motels, beer and food. Our diet improved with beef steak, stuffed chicken breast and succulent kebabs. We started to fatten up again, after our diet of camca (Russian meat or cheese filled bread pasties), goulash, and plov (Russian pilaf). Washed down with Georgian (to make up for not going there) sparkling wine.

The Ukrainian motels had some quirky designs, a lot were made to look like castles.

The Ukrainian/Polish border crossings are awash with vodka and cigarette smugglers. There were reports of 4 to 10 hour queues just to get to the border gates. We chose to employ the motorcyclists prerogative: ignore the queue and ride to the front. No one objected as we rode past the 3 kilometres of vans and buses; not even the policeman at the front holding everyone up. When we arrived at the border with only 3 vehicles in front of us, the guard started to collect slips of paper from the ones in front. We presumed this was a check that you had not jumped the queue. One car was pulled out and sent back. The guard then just asked us for our passports and waved us through. Motorbikes rock !

Once in Poland we detoured from a straight path home, unpacked the tent for the first time since Mongolia, and set up camp for a few days near the town of Zakopane (think Windermere in the UK Lake District for popularity). Then into Slovakia to do a full circuit of the beautiful Tatra mountains, the highest range in the Carpathians.

We entered Germany at Bavaria, from the Czech Republic, and being mapless we asked Google to plot is a non-motorway route to Heidelberg. It must have known we were on motorbikes as it took us on a fantastic journey through small "chocolate box" villages, sweeping bends, green hills and valleys. 

All the time on perfect asphalt. Even where it was repaired it was smoother than some countries freshly laid roads.

On this section the bikes were running well on to the smooth surfaces. Nothing was dropping off or breaking. Until we were  interrupted in Slovakia when my radiator sprang another leak. The addition of fresh sealant got us moving again. Until Belgium, and then France as the process of add more sealant and coolant was repeated.

Our decision to cut the trip short was looking better each day. I knew that we could attempt to repair the radiator, but that would require removing it and possibly making it worse if that failed. We preferred to keep performing the sealant and fingers crossed routine.

On top of that I was still keeping an eye on oil usage for my leaking bike: go slow no problems, take the revs over 4500 and use loads. Also Jean's chain was now kinked with more bends than Brands Hatch. 

Definitely time to head home, reassess, fix and head to the Caucasus mountains another time.

On this trip we have made more repairs in more countries than ever before. It would be shorter to list countries that no repairs have been carried out in. (Kyrgyzstan, Czech Republic and Ukraine).

The conditions were far harsher on the bikes than we expected, they have robust engines but a lot of the ancillaries are weak, possibly due to Italian "prettiness". Especially the front fairings which bounced around separating from the fixing arms on many occasions. And then there were the radiator issues. 

But the most important thing is that we have completed what we set out to do, returned with both of us in one piece, and managed it once more without any punctures. And confirmed that Outer Mongolia is indeed a very very long way away!

Route change

The last blog title was possibly a touch prophetic.

Ever since we crossed into Mongolia back in June the roads , and sometimes the lack of them, have punished the bikes far more than we envisaged. Now with further issues, fortunately with us once more being in the right place at the right time to find a man to fix it, we feel we may have run our luck to the limit.

For the first 30 kilometres the road out of Kazakhstan from Uralsk to the Russian border was in prime condition but the remaining 100 kilometres was still under reconstruction. This meant that for large sections it was a temporary surface with deep ruts and potholes. The sections not under reconstruction had not been maintained for years and in places it was more hole than road with a sandy track at the side being used by cars. The 300 kilometres on the Russian side was asphalt but so rough it was like washboard all the way to Saratov.

This time it was our pannier frames that suffered.

We were getting our swimming gear out for a dip in the Volga when Jean spotted her pannier was a touch lower than it should be. On closer inspection we could see one of the main components, a bracket, had split.

In a sour mood we stripped the pannier off and went on a welder hunt.

We found Gregory, the local welder, just around the corner from our hotel and explained, with the aid of photos how the bracket connects to the bike. He welded it up for us, free of charge.

In a much better mood we refitted the pannier.

As a precaution we checked the rest of the brackets. One of mine had a crack 75% of the way through. We dismantled another pannier and I went to smile nicely at Gregory again. Once more he refused payment, but warned me the parts were now weak and should not be abused, that we should buy new ones as soon as possible.

It was now too late in the day for the long trek to the city beach, at the mid point of the bridge, so we visited the Yuri Gagarin museum. Saratov was where he attended technical college and they have dedicated a room to his part in the exploration of space.

As we walked we discussed our plans and routes. There were bound to be more poor roads between Saratov and Georgia. Then maybe more further on in Turkey and beyond.

Would we be near a welder if the brackets went again?

What would break next? So far we have had to replace a radiator, add sealant to my radiator, change a complete dashboard and many bolts (my frame bolt being a major item) as well as many other "minor" bodges.

It feels as if a new item is breaking every few days. At the end of every day we need to check the bikes over, tightening bolts and checking fluids. Our confidence that the bikes are capable of this trip has been eroded. My bike although young in years has already covered over 70,000 miles and now four continents. They have managed the main objective, Mongolia, where we  rode our luck with the first  radiator issue. Would it be worth pushing them to breaking point and not getting one or both home ?

It also occurred to us that due to the route changes already made (shorter time in Mongolia and Kyrgyzstan due to radiator issues, and dropping Uzbekistan) we were a month ahead of our rough schedule. The temperature in the Russian Caucasus​, Georgia and Turkey would still be in the mid to high 30s, possibly into the 40s.

Hence we decided to continue west, towards Ukraine and Poland. This will cut the distance by more than 2500 kilometres. 

Once back in Europe we will regain the safety net of European Recovery. And there are some mountains that could be visited, hopefully on smoother surfaces.

At some point in the future we will take another trip towards the Black Sea region, following the Adriatic, to taste the wine and cheese of Georgia.

On a positive note leaving Kazakhstan was a doddle. We pulled up behind a queue of cars, and they all waved us to the front. At the barrier the guard confirmed we were tourists then let us through. At the passport booth again we were ushered to the front. Finally at the Russian side we were guided to the tourist vehicle queue, us and one car, before another speedy barrier lift.

Back to Europe

Back on the European continent that is. We crossed the Ural river in North West Kazakhstan and have left Central Asia.

The ride North from Taraz, across the steppe was long, hot and sticky. At first we kept the days short, starting early and finishing early. We aimed to be in an air conditioned hotel room and a cool shower by 1400 (this did not always go to plan). Thus avoiding camping on the arid, sandy plains.

There were some interesting stops and attractions along the way, but the best of them was our first ever encounter with corrupt police. When we considered the tens of thousands of miles we have traveled, across continents and around the world, it was left to Kazakhstan, the country that tries so hard to please, to give us this gift.

It is a pity that it was so half arsed.

The blue lights appeared in our mirrors and we were told to pull over.

The two officers came over, shook my hand and then asked  to see my passport, one escorted me to his car and shooed Jean away. Once there he showed me a camera still of a motorbike doing 134KPH in front of him.

At this point I knew a bribe was imminent as ;

A) It clearly was not my bike.
B) His car was at right angles when I passed it (at 78KPH). The camera was in a fixed position pointing forward.
C) They were not in the car when I passed it.

He asked me if I had any cameras on my jacket and patted it down. I showed him my standard camera but not my phone.

Next he started to look at forms, pulled his pen out to write but then made a gesture that indicated it would be a lot of work. He folded the the forms up, smiled and asked for a gift, while holding out his hand.

So I shook his hand. Then he rubbed his fingers together to indicate money. So I shook his hand again.

Finally he scribbled a dollar symbol.

I was curious, and asked how much (skolka).

He wrote $100. I shook my head and said "no" , arms crossed across my chest in a Russian "no means no" kind of way.

This went on for a while, him holding his hand out, me shaking it. At one point I showed him my muggers wallet (it contains out of date cards and a small sum of money, usually about 5 pounds worth. But I had forgotten to remove the Kyrgyzstan money and replace it with Kazakhstan tenge. He didn't notice).

Eventually I got fed up, took my passport back and got out of the car.

By now a van driver had pulled up and was sat in his cab watching proceedings. We presume to keep an eye on the police.

Jean had managed to take photos, we suspect he realised this as he looked cross, pointed at his camera phone and then his car. We smiled and agreed a selfie would be a good idea.

Making gestures he suggested that Jean should get in his car, we refused. I slammed his door, shook his hand, waved to his colleague (who had spent all this time trying to wave traffic past) , we put our helmets on and rode off.

The other attractions, along with the occasional herd of camels were;

Mosques

A mausoleum

An archaeological dig at an ancient fortified city, Sauran.

And some space launch site thing.

Gorgeous Kyrgyzstan

We did not know what to expect from Kyrgyzstan, but had high hopes, and it exceeded our expectations. From the isolated and quiet border post in the east to the massive, snow capped, mountains and their passes in the west.

Once we had rattled the 40 kilometres of good gravel road through the Karkara Valley, where every few kilometres there was honey for sale alongside the numerous bee hives, the road surface improved to unexpectedly smooth asphalt.

This enabled us to enjoy the view as we rode towards lake Issyk-kull. Which is the second largest saline lake after the Caspian sea.

The day was marred, though, when we realised it was the turn of my radiator to spring a leak. We threw in the last of our radiator sealant and topped up the coolant from the copious supply we are carrying. Then carried on regardless.

We blew the days budget on top class accommodation, a large chalet (including a fridge on the veranda) with private beach access, and went for a swim in Issyk kul (the name means warm water). The water was crystal clear, slightly salty and was indeed warm. Floating on our backs we could gaze at the impressive snow topped peaks rearing into the evening blue sky.

The Kyrgyzs, like the Kazaks, have a very welcoming attitude. Everyone we met was fascinated by our trip and eager to strike up some form of conversation. On this occasion it led to vodka drinking on the beach with a bunch of workmates from a gold mine.

With my radiator now being a problem we changed our route plans, again, in an effort to look after it. There was to be no more rough gravel or off road riding.

Unfortunately the route we plotted had a stretch that contained 70 kilometres of gravel.

The day had gone well,  some poor road surfaces, the usual gravel over a pass and then some top asphalt. Until our turn off.

We discussed following the asphalt but as this new road was not on any of our maps, Google or maps.me (a brilliant phone app we would have been lost without), that would have been a bad idea.

The gorge and roaring turquoise river it followed had multi coloured rock walls. This was one of the highlights of the trip so far.

Eventually we were spat out into a plain and then had a 3000+ metre mountain pass to negotiate, from where we could look back at part of our route.

We moved on back into Kazakhstan where with typical Kazak hospitality we were invited to indulge in a family Beshbarmak feast. This was after already eating our evening meal.

The Beshbarmak consisted of various cuts of boiled horse meat and an array of vegetables, freshly made pasta, fruit, salad and fried bread. All to be shared and eaten by hand (the name translates to "five finger food".

Oh, and vodka, lots of vodka.

Somehow we were on the road at 0830 the next day.

We are now riding the steppe north, the temperature never below 30 and topping out at 36-39 each day.

My radiator sealant is still working.

Bouncing back to Kazakhstan

Kazakhstan, a country I enjoyed visiting four years ago, even with all the breakdowns I had. I was glad to be back and introducing Jean to it.

The people are fantastic, they beep their horns, smile and wave, pull up next to you at junctions and shout greetings. Always wanting to know where we are from and shaking our hands.

They also randomly donate food and water. Despite us not being unable to communicate with him much, Ayden, opened the boot of his car on a mountain pass and filled my arms with water, bread and cakes. Then drove off while we worked out how to pack it all.

The down side though is still the roads. Heading south to Almaty the first 800 kilometres had deteriorated severely since my last visit (they have paused the road building). More bolts went missing. The final 200 kilometres which had scattered road works last time were now smooth asphalt.

We met our first, and currently only, other British bikers ,Suzanne and Roger (https://drpeachy.wordpress.com), of the trip. They were putting on their rain suits as we appeared out of a torrential deluge. In the ensuing chat, and radiator fixing, they missed getting wet.

Following a night in a very basic motel (but with a good cafe attached) we got our heads down and put in a long, slow, hot, 10 hour day of pot hole dodging to cut the journey to Almaty down to three days.

Almaty is a great city, lots of parks, Soviet buildings, mosques and a mish mash of East meets West.

We took a couple of (more ) days off the bikes before embarking on a short jaunt into the mountains of Krygyzstan to cool down, from where we will  re-enter Kazakhstan for a long hot ride North and West.

Food glorious food

I'd like to say we made it down the big hill to Barnaul without incident, but that would be a lie.

After crossing back into Russia we were faced with the magnificent Russian Altai. It knocked spots off the Mongolian side. Great asphalt, great expansive views. As we rounded bends, either a  new peak would appear, or the river would roar between rocks. Even I was stopping frequently to take pictures. There was over 400 kilometres of if it.Without a doubt one of the worlds great roads.

Our plans to take in some of the side tracks were put on hold as sorting Jean's bike was a top priority.

What we had not bargained on was my bike having an ignition melt down just as we entered Barnaul.

It is a known fault in the Pegasos, the two ignition wires solder failing, an issue which I had happen to me previously in Almaty, Kazakhstan. I thought we had "pre fixed" it on this bike, but patently not.

This threw our plans a bit. We managed to arrange a trailer lift to the garage where Jean's radiator was. Then we switched my clothes etc to Jean's bike and rode two up to our hotel. All the way there I was being sprayed by coolant, as the radiator condition deteriorated with each pothole I failed to avoid.

The next two days were all about fix and mend. As we fixed we found numerous loose and missing bolts.

We even had to get a pannier welded.

The replacement radiator is doing its job. And is now coping with the heat of Kazakhstan.

The high spot for us in Barnaul was the food. Although it had improved by Oglii in west Mongolia, they did a mean meat dumpling and fried kushoor, but if we could not find them it was back to grey mutton soup. 

Back in Russia vegetables had reappeared and now in Barnaul it was the return of multiple soups, salads and various meat dishes. We started to fatten ourselves back up.

Each night we ate at the same cafe, we would point at an item on the menu, our waitress would either show displeasure at our choice or smile and nod in agreement. If we had gone in for a fifth night we could have just sat there and and let her choose for us.

Our hotel was also next to a fruit and vegetable market, we stocked up on our fruit quota. It was a pity we could not self cater.

Run to the hills (outta Mongolia)

I found out why the gravel always looked smoother on the other track.

Because it is sand.

On a positive note I managed to fix the petrol stove. Petrol had seeped into the pressure valve and soaked the seal. I dried it, applied some oil to it and all seems well. To err on the safe side we have bought a "portable card" type stove (and gas ) as backup.

Our onward travel plans were disrupted by the discovery that our exit border would be shut for a week. It is normally open Monday to Saturday, but It transpires that  the Naadam (wrestling, archery and horse races ) festival incorporates a 5 day public holiday (from Tuesday 11th July), and the country literally shuts down. If we could not cross on Monday 10th then following the 2 day festival we would be kicking our heels for a week.

So we had to pick up our pace. At this point we had not managed more than 115 kilometres of track in a day. We needed to enter the Altai mountains and get to Olgii in one day. The first 160 kilometres would be sand, gravel and road works. Then another 70 kilometres on asphalt.

Our first obstacle was a missing bridge, and a ford too deep for the bikes.

Fortunately I remembered noting on the map that there was a North and South route. In the distance we could see the dust of a truck on a different sand track, so we headed off in it's direction.

This was typical of Mongolia. A river crossing bridge was out, on the major sand and gravel route between two provincial capitals; so they built a new one further downstream, to link with the new road under construction, but don't have any indication or signage that you should go that way.

However the Altai mountains did not disappoint us.

And they stretch to Russia and Kazakhstan as well, a lot of good riding views to be had.

The going was fast, but rough and it took its toll on the bikes. At Olgii I spent a day finding loose bolts, and tightening them. But the most serious was a snapped frame bolt. 

(Bottom left)

Fortunately there was a car service garage near our ger camp site, they were able to help me remove the remains of the old bolt and fit a new one.

That just left hat shopping, the hunt for food with vegetables in it and money exchange; we had spent so much time camping and self catering that we had only spent half of the money we expected to.

Monday 10th came, we got up early at 0530 to ride the 120 kilometres to the border before it opened at 0900.

At 0700 the radiator went again, spewing coolant all over Jean.

We have broken down in worse places.

Calmly we let it cool, added more sealant, crossed our fingers, legs and toes, then carried on. It survived the final 36 kilometres of rough gravel.

At the border there was a long line of traffic ahead, we were not the only ones trying to beat the closure. There was only one thing to do, bikers perogative, filter to the front and join the six Russians already there.

Another mission accomplished, now we just need to get down the (very long) hill, on a road reputed to be the best ride in Russia, to the replacement radiator.

The gravel is always smoother on the other track

We left Ulaanbaator to its pollution, apparently it is the second most polluted city in the world. UB sprawls across twenty or thirty kilometres and all traffic is funnelled through it.

Once clear of the city breathing became easier and the contents of our hankies stopped looking black.

For our first night camping in the wild we chose a nice spot in the hills between two plains. We happily sat watching sand storms blow across them. Until one hit us from behind, nearly flattening the tent.

All became calm, so we got our heads down.

Then at around midnight another sand storm hit, and rattled on for two hours while we lay there and hoped the tent withstood it. The next day we awoke with sand every where inside the tent.

After three days we overtook the road builders. This was the last road sign we saw for 200 kilometres, it was pick your path and be careful of taking the wrong fork.

There would be no more asphalt surfaces just sand and gravel (mainly sand really) for the next three or four days.

The going was slow, and we stopped short of our target town by over 50 kilometres as the daily downpour threatened and we set up camp quickly.

The skies cleared, the sun came out and then disaster struck. Our petrol stove broke.

For us this is a major issue when wild camping, we would not be able to boil water for meals, especially if it was taken from a stream. We were now dependant on finding a decent meal in the day time and snacks for the evening and mornings. The lack of a hot drink in the morning or evening was a hardship too far.

We do carry a backup gas stove, but I had neglected to pack (due to lack of space) a gas cannister. A new search at the next "big" town (Ulaangom) would be required.

On the plus side, the scenery and views are fantastic.

 

On our third day of tracks with a days target of 160 kilometres, navigation was made easier by being able to follow the new road construction (that was well blocked off from sneaky use of the gravel). However after only 90 kilometres fresh asphalt was down, and traffic was allowed on.

To celebrate we found a lakeside ex-Soviet holiday camp, got a room with a lake view balcony, rock solid beds that we could just fit on (Mongolians are short in stature I have banged my head on many a door beam), no water, and an outside squat toilet. Then we went for a swim. Our first wash in 6 days.