Short and Sweet - Russia

Several moments after arriving at the closed three (3) metre high steel gates, two Russian soldiers appear from inside a small timber office structure, one soldier approaches and opens the gate, gesturing to proceed towards the other soldier, the second soldier asks for my passport and motorcycle papers, says wait, and returns to his office. After several minutes he returns, hands back my documents and tells me to proceed to the Immigration and Customs buildings, some twenty (20) kilometres along the road.

Arriving at the more substantial Immigration and Customs facility I queue behind trucks, buses cars, and 4 x 4’s at another gate, but within minutes I am called passed the line of vehicles, ride through the gate and a liquid filled causeway, then pay a fee for an addition quick bike wash, spayed on with a hose and consisting of who knows what, I move quickly to avoid being hosed off myself. I am then called to outside the Immigration office where I complete forms, the motorcycle is inspected, pannier’s are opened for a quick inspection, a very obedient and healthy looking German Shepard sniffer dog gives the bike a once over and just as I have completed the forms and am about to enter the Immigration office, the doors are locked and every staff member in the facility disappears for lunch.

Just over one (1) hour later staff begin to filter back to their posts, truck driver’s ahead of me in the queue return to complete their paperwork and after a further one (1) hour wait, my processing commences. The cheery female Immigration official rewrites two copies of my forms in Russian, while I chat to a young male official about my travels and the cold winters experienced at the border crossing. Then upon completion of my documentation, my passport is returned, I receive a “welcome to Russia” from the female official and I am free to continue my adventure in Russia.

During my wait at the Immigration facility I watched very dark clouds form in the direction I was heading and thought to myself they looked like snow clouds. I continued on, thankful the storm clouds were over adjacent mountain peaks and not the road ahead of me because with the temperature sitting at about 7 degrees I was cold and I certainly did not want to be cold and wet. As I rode on the storm clouds clear to unveil a blanket of new snow on the surrounding mountains, providing a beautiful scenic vista for entry into Russia.
 

 

 

 

My first night in Russia was spent in the small town of Kosh Agach, where the hotel accommodation was basic yet comfortable and more than satisfactory for one night.

 

The following morning without a definite plan or destination in place for the day I ride on through spectacular mountain scenery in the Russian Altay region. Now riding on good quality tarred roads I become more aware of the problem with my motorcycles front tyre, it has a dangerously bald flat spot, and at slower speeds the front end bounces along the road like the front wheel is egg shaped. Not wanting to risk life or limb, I decide to skip several scenic spots in the region and head directly to the city of Barnaul to source a new tyre. Barnaul is more than a one day ride away, so I settle in and enjoy the cool mountain air and Altay scenery while the kilometres tick over.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



I spend one night in a small, beautifully furnished guesthouse on the outskirts of Gorno Altaysk, the young lady manager speaks no English, and I speak no Russian, but a price is negotiated and I settle in for the night. In the same situation after I walk to a nearby café for an evening meal, I rely on the female hosts / cooks judgment and I end up with an excellent meal of soup, bread, sentinel, potato and salad.

 

The following day after a two hundred and eighty (280) kilometre ride in temperatures sitting just over thirty two (32) degrees after now having exited the mountain region I reach Barnaul. I stop road side in what I think might be Barnaul’s mid-city area to ask directions to a hotel. As luck would have it I am in the street where the hotel is situated, just at the wrong end, and in a further stroke of luck, the man whom I have asked directions also rides a motorcycle. I then ask Roman, a local Orthopaedic Surgeon where I might source a new front tyre, he makes a phone call, say no problem, then writes a note saying he will be at my hotel at 5.30 pm and I can follow him to the motorcycle shop.

 

 



I settled into hotel accommodation, 5.30 pm ticked over and there was Roman, on time and ready for the ride to the bike shop. Once at Moto Haus motorcycle parts and repair shop I meet proprietor and chief mechanic Viktor and several other bikers, my new front tyre is supplied and fitted, and then Roman kindly leads me back to my hotel, I thank Roman for his generosity, offer to return the favour if he is ever in Australia, exchange contact details and bid him farewell.



 

 

I spent several days in Barnaul just walking the streets and doing not much in particular. I washed my motorcycle for the first time in about six (6) weeks, using a Karcher pressure cleaner supplied by the hotel and wheeled out by Sergey, a very friendly and helpful Hotel Kolos worker that spoke pretty good English. Sergey stood and chatted with the assistance of his laptop computer and Google Translate while I washed my bike, before heading off for a four (4) day break including several days fishing. Over the weekend the regions extremes in temperature are highlighted when the temperature tops 42 degrees, that coming after my discussion with Sergey about the amount of snow on the ground in the city area and the -35 degree temperatures experienced during winter.

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

With a very limited amount of time to experience Russia, though appreciative of the Russian generosity I experience from Roman and Sergey, along with the many other friendly Russian people I met, it is time to move on. I spend a night in the town of Rubtsovsk, Russia, before riding to the border crossing near the Russian town of Trat’yakovo, before crossing into my next adventure destination Kazakhstan.

Open Plains, Mountain Ranges, Lakes, Beautiful Scenery at Every Turn. Who Needs Roads - Mongolia Part 2

I was due a lazy day so after installing new rear brake pads, adjusting and lubricating the chain on my motorcycle I settled back on the bed in my Moron hotel and planned the next day’s ride then did little else.

The following morning after an 8.00 am breakfast, I packed, loaded my bike and prepared to set off on the eighty (80) kilometre ride to Lake Hovsgol National Park. Upon showing my map of Mongolia to the hotel maintenance man to double check directions out of town I became concerned by the reply I received. He held up his forearms in a crossed (X) position, indicating NO and then motioned that the road was flooded after a full day and night of rain in the area, not good news at all. I then double checked with the security guard and received the same reply. A Mongolian hotel guest within ear shot of our discussion suggested that I would be able to cross the flooded causeway on my motorcycle, and I should head off to the Lake, so I did. I rode North on the best tarred road in Mongolia thinking that if the road is flooded it has been a great ride anyway, riding through lush green grassy plains broken by winding rivers and a pretty mountain back drop. After seventy (70) kilometres I could see several vehicles stoped on the road ahead and realised that this must be the flooded causeway, as the causeway came into full view I knew I was not going any further North that day. It was not so much the depth of the water but the speed of the water, it was a raging torrent just under one (1) metre deep. I watched on as several cars that had attempted the crossing were towed away, trucks and 4 x 4’s crossed without any trouble but cars were unable to cross successfully, so I waited about two (2) hours hoping the water would subside, only to watch the rain clouds form up the valley dumping more rain and raise the water level once again. I returned to the same hotel in Moron for the night, deciding I would try again the following day.

 

On approach to the causeway the following morning there was still a few cars giving the crossing a second thought but after seeing the torrent the day before I knew I was in luck. The water level had halved and the raging torrent had lost most of its rage, I still got wet feet, but I was glad to be heading further North towards Lake Hovsgol. I reached the town of Hatgal, payed a National Parks fee, checked directions with the Park attendant, then set off for Toylogt on a good quality dirt road. After another forty (40) kilometres I reach Toylogt Tourist Camp, chose a Tee Pee for my overnight stay and set out on foot to explore the beautiful forested surroundings.

 

 

 

 



Lake Hovsgol, also referred to as Hovsgol Nuur is regarded as “the Blue Pearl of Mongolia”, the exceptionally pristine lake is one of 17 ancient lakes worldwide and is estimated to be between two (2) and five (5) million years old. The lake is 136 kilometres long, 20 – 40 kilometres wide, and up to 260 metres deep, it contains nearly 70 % of all fresh water in Mongolia. Lake Hovsgol freezes over for many months during winter and because of its proximity to border, once served as a transport route for trucks and cars that carried people and goods over the ice between Hatgal and Russia, a practice now forbidden to prevent pollution. The surrounding National Park thrives with 68 species of mammals, and is home to marmots, argali sheep, ibex, brown bear, wolf, Siberian moose, sable, roe deer and perhaps even snow leopard. Bird life is also varied, most of the 244 species that visit the Park migrate long distance between their nesting grounds in the Park and warmer winter refuges in distant countries.

That evening in my Tee Pee I sparked up a nice fire in the pot belly stove, relaxed, then had a great night’s sleep, waking briefly to the sound of horses ripping up and chewing the fresh green grass outside my Tee Pee. The following morning I ate a king’s breakfast, including cereal with yogurt and hot milk, bacon and eggs, a banana pancake and a nice hot mug of coffee to wash it down, such a special breakfast has been a rarity on my travels to date. I then set off for the return journey to Moron, laughing to myself as I crossed the troublesome causeway which was now a mere trickle with a vehicle stopped midway and the driver ankle deep in the water washing his van.

 

 

 

Back at the now familiar hotel accommodation in Moron I meet Alena and Marcel a young couple who have ridden a tandem recumbent bicycle from their home in Germany through Europe, the Pamir Highway in Tajikistan, parts of China to SE Asia back through parts of China and around Mongolia over an eighteen month period, they said they are enjoying themselves so much they are now planning to ride parts of Africa.

I still have a lot of ground to cover in Mongolia, so the following morning I set off towards Mongolia’s Western border with map and compass close at hand and seven (7) days left on my visa. My day one (1) goal was an overnight stay in Tsetserleg (same name town as I have stayed in previously, but different location). After several hours riding West on the dirt track highway and just outside the small town of Burentogtoh I meet 5 men from the Czech Republic, one (1) riding a BMW GS 1200, one (1) riding a BMW GS 1150, one (1) riding a BMW GS 800, one (1) riding a Aprilia 1000 and one (1) riding a Yamaha 1200 Tenere all having a great time riding through Russia and Mongolia, they then plan to enter back into Russia, visiting the deepest lake in the world, Lake Baikal, then on to Irkutsk before boarding a train with their motorcycles for the return trip home.

 

After talking motorcycles and travel plans I ride on to Burenhaan where I stop for a drink and a photo outside a shop in the small town, before continuing on to Tsagaan Uul. In Tsagaan Uul I stop and ask a young guy sitting on his motorcycle for directions and he kindly guides me through the small town and back onto the dirt track highway.

 

 





The dirt track highway surface varies considerably, kilometre after kilometre is hard packed smooth dirt where a fast pace is easy work, but I must maintain full concentration and alertness, patches of slippery clay and mud, sand or very sharp, nasty rocks appear at any time and an accident out here in the middle of Mongolia would not result well. The sharp rocks are a concern because my rear tyre is pretty smooth now, and vulnerable to puncture, I am carrying a new rear tyre but I would like to get as many kilometres out of the old one before fitting the new tyre. About 10 kilometres out of town I hit another rocky patch of track and within minutes the rear end begins to wallow, as I stop my feet are now flat to the ground, oh great, a flat tyre. I move off to the side of the track and unpack my luggage, remove my tool roll and puncture repair kit and commence work, pausing to snap a few photos and chill a little, there is no reason to rush after all. With the job just about finished two (2) mature aged men, just like myself, ride up on a 150 cc Chinese brand motorcycle, stop and investigate my goings on, one (1) gentleman is particularly intrigued by my tyre pump, which is about 140 long x 90 wide x 40 mm deep alloy box with a hose and cables running out of it. He picks it up, examines it carefully, shows his mate, then requests a demonstration, I oblige, adding more air to my already inflated tyre, he smiles and chats away in Mongolian to his mate, bids me farewell and leaves me to repack my panniers, luggage and set off towards Tsetserleg once again.

 

 

 



I reach Tsetserleg without further incident, park my bike and enter a small general store to enquire about a meal and a bed for the night, I am greeted by an elderly lady with a big smile and a lovely friendly demeanour chatting away to me in Mongolian, I have no idea what she said, and she had no idea what I said, but my motioning eating and sleeping worked a treat and leaving her granddaughter in change of the shop we exit and wander off down the street. She first leads me through a fenced yard into a small structure with several tables and chairs, introduces me to the woman occupant and smiles, happy one (1) of my two requests is now satisfied. We exit the restaurant and walk past several houses to another fenced yard and a house with two (2) different coloured doors to enter the premises. It appears no one is home so we exit the yard and walk another block and enter what appears to be a small government building, a woman answers my new friend’s calls and soon enough I am back at the house viewing my bed for the night. My happy companion, not satisfied to leave me having achieved both my requests, then escorts me back to the restaurant, sits with me drinking tea while I eat a meal, walks me back to her house and with great pride shows me her garden, her house, introduces me to her grandchildren and happily poses for a photo with me. What a lovely lady. I then settle into my dorm like accommodation for the night hoping the next day’s destination of Tes has such a fortunate outcome.

 

I wake through the night to the sound of rain and the following morning it is apparent there had been quite a lot of rain. I ride away from Tsetserleg in sunny skies, but the dirt track highway is now mud puddle after mud puddle, no fun at all on a two hundred and twenty (220) plus kilogram top heavy motorcycle. Not too far out of town I am confronted with a very wide, wet, and muddy section of track, with no other options I ride into the water, make it out the other side but without warning, spin 180 degrees and fall over. With the ground below me slippery as ice I wait for the vehicle I had passed several minutes earlier to reach me and ask the occupants for assistance to right the bike. In forward motion again and about thirty (30) kilometres further down the muddy track I move to one (1) side of the track to give way to a huge four wheeled, 4wd truck, stop, dismount and meet a great young British couple in an ex-army truck with a fully kitted out mobile home on the back. They top up my water bottles for me, offer advice on track conditions ahead and give me a grand tour of their vehicle, I am so impressed with the vehicle and after the difficult riding conditions of that morning I offer to swap transportation, the young man said he would love to travel by motorcycle but his girlfriend was not taken with the idea. 

 

 

I continue on and as the hours pass the track dries out and I make steady progress, I am brought to a halt at the sight of a flock of very large Eagles gathered on the track edge, a flock is not really a strong enough word for these large impressive birds, perhaps a gang or an army of Eagles would be more fitting, I take several photos and move off, leaving the birds to hunt whatever it is that they prey on in the grassy plains environment they occupy.

 

 



I stop for lunch in the small town of Bayantes, eating Khuushuur, fried pastries containing diced meat, a standard fare across Mongolia. I eat two (2) while the men at the next table chow down on plates of six (6) or seven (7) each. 

 

I arrived in the small town of Tes late afternoon, use the same tactic to find a meal and accommodation as I used successfully in Tsetserleg, achieving the same result but without the wonderful warm welcome of the previous day. I ate a nice meal, place the bed mattress on the floor so as not to wake up with a bad back due to the non-existent spring support in the bed, and had such a good night’s sleep I was up, packed and back on the dirt track highway by 9.00 am.

 

 

It was about midday when I rode into the small town of Baruunturuum and as I approached a row of structures resembling old railway carriages or site sheds the smell in the air forces me to stop at the doorway of one shed to investigate. As I climb off my motorcycle a young man with a bright silver toothed smile gesture me to come inside, upon entry the smell of freshly cooked food is too good to resist, so I sit down and eat a plate of meat, potato’s and pasta, very fresh and delicious. After eating I chat to my host about motorcycles, where I had ridden on my adventures and take a few photos.

After my early start to the day and fuelled by a great lunch I decide to skirt the town I had ear marked for my overnight stay that day, and continue on to Ulaangom which was to be my destination for the next day. Nineteen (19) kilometres from Ulaangom, on another section of nasty rocky road, I slow to a stop with that now familiar wallowing feeling in the rear end of my motorcycle, yes another bloody puncture.

Being so close to a sizable town meant more vehicles on the road, meaning more inquisitive people stopping to see what I was doing. The first three (3) young men to stop looked on, but did not touch my luggage or other items I had removed from my bike. It was when I had just about finished fitting the patched tube and replaced the old tyre with the new one I had been carrying that the unwanted drama unfolded. Three (3) young very drunk men appeared, one (1) in particular was the nuisance, looking at and touching everything in sight and trying to remove and view everything out of sight as well. Job finished, I was ready to move on but the nuisance drunk took a liking to my jacket and gloves and wanted money for their return, I called his bluff, I shook hands with the other men, thanked them for their help, then told nuisance man that everyone in Mongolia had been very friendly and the country is beautiful, but he was an arsehole and he could keep the f#@king jacket and gloves, I started my bike and knocked it into gear as if to ride off. As I had hoped, he saw his wrong doing, removed my jacket and gloves, shook hands and left, relieved at the outcome I put on my gear and rode off, reaching Ulaangom at 7.45 pm after a very long, taxing day.

When I woke the following morning I was unsure whether to move on or have a rest day, after the previous day I was still a little spent, but after a hearty hotel breakfast I decide to pack and hit the road. I rode out of town for about fifteen (15) kilometres, crossed an easy stream of river to a centre patch of ground, but balk at a deeper stream of the same river, I wait a while, then three (3) locals turn up on two (2) motorcycle’s, the first man doesn’t hesitate, bouncing from one submerged boulder to the next, his construction style helmet and his hat both ending up in the river, he made it to the other side and raced down stream to recover his helmet and his hat. The second man, carrying a pillion was not so lucky, he made it mid-way, hit a large submerged rock and came to an abrupt halt, he now had wet boots and a drowned bike, his pillion was determined not to get wet boots and with legs held high, removed his boots, socks and rolled up his trousers before getting off the bike and wading to the other side, leaving the rider to push the bike through the water and on to the river bank, without a second thought I decided I did not want to risk drowning my bike and returned to Ulaangom to find an alternative route towards my next border crossing.

Back in town I quickly plotted an alternative route and set off out of town in a Westerly direction, counting the kilometres to a turn off that would lead me South, skirting several 4000 metre snow-capped peaks, and ride over a 2520 metre mountain to the town of Olgly. When I reached the turn off, I stopped and questioned three (3) men parked on the road side in a Toyota Landcruiser, checking that I had the correct road, one (1) of the men was a sleep in the front passenger’s seat, one (1) of the men replied to my questions in reasonable English “follow us that is where we are going”. I then noticed a number of Vodka bottles on the ground surrounding the Landcruiser and then the shot glass in the hand of the driver, apart from the man passed out, they still seemed fairly coherent. Driving a newish 4 x 4 I knew I would have a tough job keeping up, add alcohol and my job gets tougher, they set a cracking pace but there regular stop’s for toilet breaks, or to chat to a local and share a shot of Vodka, or at branch tracks, allowed me time to catch up and the day turned out to be a great one.

 

 

 

 

 



The scenery was spectacular, the snow-capped peaks, the lakes, the mountain road, and the locals waving as I passed their Gers. The highlight though was being invited into what I assume was a prearranged lunch stop with friends of the three (3) men in the Landcruiser. As we entered the tiny town of Achitnuur, the men parked their vehicle outside a house and called me over, gesturing eating I thought it must have been a small restaurant, not wanting to intrude, I said I’d wait with the bike, they would have none of that and invited me in to a one (1) room shed in the back corner of the fenced yard. The lunch presentation was impressive, there was pastries, cheese, yogurt, several cakes, biscuits, chocolates, milk tea to drink, and of course, more vodka. The host was a stunningly beautiful woman of Kazakh heritage, her three daughters and son were sat watching a huge flat screen TV in the corner of the room. While the men and I ate pastries the host applied the finishing touches to an overflowing plate of pasta and meat, which we all shared, what a feast, after finishing I motioned for a monetary donation, but received the reply, “No, this is Kazakh way”, so I thanked the host and we hit the track again. After many more stops throughout the afternoon we reached the town of Olgly, I thanked the men for a great day and I settled into hotel accommodation for the night.

 During my time in Olgly, I did a lot of relaxing, ate a great breakfast each morning in the hotel café, where the owner made the best, or only, apple jam I have even eaten, it was so delicious I asked for and received the recipe so I can try to replicate it where I return home. Meat features in the Mongolian diet, so another meal I also enjoyed was a large fall off the bone lamb dish that was pretty damned good too, few vegies but plenty of meat.

After four (4) days in Olgly, twenty nine (29) thoroughly enjoyable days in Mongolia and with only one (1) day left on my visa, I packed my motorcycle, ate one last hotel café breakfast with extra apple jam and rode my last one hundred (100) kilometres in Mongolia on a mix of dirt and tarred road, taking time to photograph a couple of kids that ran and rode over to me as I was stopped on the road side in chilly conditions. I then exited Mongolia via the Tsagaannuur border post, rode up to and stopped at a closed three (3) metre high steel gate and waited only moments to be allowed into Russia, my current adventure destination.