Flip Green, tires to sky, dust him off and ride away... Mongolia's no joke
Ulaangom to Tes - 2.5 hours, 120 miles
(Refining and publishing this blog post months later, I really have no idea where I slept this evening. No idea how far it was...but I do know that Google maps claims ~2.5 hours for me to make it somewhere around where I actually was...but I was on the bike for at least 12 hours that day.)
Not having a fly on the tent is great for stargazing. Not ideal when the sun never really goes down. Finally, at 7am, I climbed up to the neighboring ridge in nothing but shorts and riding boots, ready to enjoy a couple hours of reflection over coffee.
I'll say, on this trip I've really come to enjoy not having a timeline. Nowhere to be. No certain way to get their. If I get hungry, I don't have to search for food. Just pull over anywhere and crack open some dried meat and fruit. If I get tired, no need to find a town or hotel. Just set up camp. Love it! Anyway, this ridge outside of Ulaangom was great, 'cause I could see a few miles in each direction--back into town and then out into the vast expanse of arid hills. But there wasn't a single car or truck moving along this beautifully-paved highway. Hmmm...that's strange? It's mid-morning, and not a single vehicle out here. Why aren't they running logistics between towns? Why aren't people traveling between villages? I'd soon find out. I passed a total of five adventure motorcyclists that morning. Nice guys, but the Lone Wolf travels alone these days. Still, two Germans were headed in the same direction, which was comforting.
100 miles of sunshine and pavement. Listening to the last chapters of Ghengis Khan and the Making of the Modern World, loving the history all around me. Though the country where Mongolians lived in their golden era is unchanged, the country isn't riddled with historic sites or distinct natural landmarks. There's great regions of nothingness. Suddenly, the downloaded audiobook stopped. No more streaming. Bummer. Sunshine disappears to rain. Okay. Fine. Paved road turns to construction. Crap. That's the end of it for a while. The road had been prepped completely, just short of paving, so it was pristine, smooth gravel. Might as well have been pavement. But, to keep motorists off of it, they put 3-5-foot tall mud barriers every half mile. With plenty of motorcycle tracks over or around and Green's great ground clearance, we made short work of those barriers. Giggling along the way. We're better than those pesky road blocks. Of course, I couldn't see if this was actually faster than taking the dirt roads on the sides, but I didn't want to slip and slide through mud for hours or get stuck. So, this was the best option. Unfortunately, the mounds got steeper, and things got challenging and we got stuck a few times.
Need...more...velocity. Round about the time I bottomed out the front forks going over a hump, I realized going around as a bit better of an option. Wrong. I tried to maneuver Green around the right side of a barrier, just on the edge of the elevated roadway, using all the technological capabilities at hand. Reduce the suspension for better footing for me. Keep the traction control so the rear end doesn't slip. Change the throttle mode to "Rain" to keep the horses at bay. Still, somehow, the back end went left when I expected it to go right (backing down the hill), and I found my right foot with nothing on which to plant itself. We were going down that hill, sideways. As the bike started to lean to the right, picking up speed with each millisecond, I immediately thought, "Don't let it land on you!" As soon as shoulders, hands, feet caught ground a few meters below, I scrambled to get out from under Green as he toppled onto his top. Wheels to sky. Handlebars and windshield to earth. My scrambling paused for half an instant as I winced at the sound of breaking plastic. Wheels returned to ground again, and then one final flip back onto his right side. That's it...the bike is broke. The trip is over. Thanks to our old friend, Adrenaline, the world's heaviest adventure bike didn't seem so heavy. I righted it and quickly took stock of the damage. Just a broken windshield? That's it? No way. Yep. It's kinda like rolling a HMMWV. You'll probably break a machine gun mount, but the vehicle will always be fine. Well...most of the time. I took a few minutes to settle down, started him up, and rode away.
This, shown above, is the LARGEST, MOST DEVELOPED east-west road in Mongolia, feeding into the capital city, home to 47% of the nation's 3.0 million people.
It was a truly painful afternoon of fishtailing through sand and mud. You can slow down, but you might sink too deep. You can speed up, but you might lose control. You can take the beaten path, but the mud and sand may be fresh. You can off-road into grass, but jagged rocks may claim your tires. You can take the washboard, but your suspension and morale will suffer. There's a constant battle in your head. "I really wanna get over to that track...it looks smoother and safer...but, based upon current velocity, trajectory, and the ground between...is it a good idea? Yes...no...". This goes through my head instantaneously, for hours. Seldom can one sit back and say, "This is a good path, let's keep it. Almost never. It's almost always terrible and you long for something better. You don't get to enjoy the scenery. Eyes and mind are focused every second. It doesn't get much more raw than this. Or more exhausting.
Finally, after 12 hours of navigating "roads"...the main path cross-cutting the country...and only seeing 3 cars outside of villages...I stopped and set up camp just before a storm rolled in. I had covered an unknown number miles and dropped Green four times. The nearby village had cellular coverage, so I sent a few notes to the family just before the nightly power blackout shut down the cell tower. The ensuing wind and rain would make rest impossible.
