Finally on (washed out) pavement
Tariat to Kharkhorin - 15 hours, 190 miles
Beautiful morning on Terkhiin Tsagaan Lake. I said good morning to the spider building a home in the center of the ger. For some reason massive spider has appeared every morning, no matter where I wake. The stench of wet mixed dirt and manure lingers though the tent, and I wander if it's emanating from me or the livestock grazing outside. Most of these gers (AKA yurts) have 3-6 beds, a bed typically costs about $6, and renting the shelter completely for yourself is generally $17 (a round number of 40,000 in local Tugriks). Most have not had electricity, and the common bathrooms are usually outhouses, with no working shower facilities. Seems the advertisements usually say these are provided, but seldom do they work. It's been baby wipe baths for me for the last 5 days...feels like an Army training exercise. The GoPro died. Had slid it in my pocket when entering a supermarket, as I left my helmet outside. I came back out and laid on the stoop while calling home, and my camelback hose managed to wiggle its way into the same jacket pocket and leak a stream of water into the gopro for about 20 minutes. It didn't start after that. Final piece of camera equipment...dead. Once again, started with great pavement and beautiful sunshine. Rain had carried branches and thick mud into the road. I paused for pictures at this beautiful gorge. For the better part of a minute, I debated with myself as to whether it's wise to go out of my way for cool shots. The rocks on the edge of the gorge could be great for Instagram (so stupid, I know), but the risk of losing footing is real. Decided to risk it...and of course, Green wound up on his side. So tired of picking this thing up.
I stopped for a long lunch. Green is always a crowd favorite, and an old man was so interested in my belongings and how much they cost...my watch, my Tyler Parten KIA bracelet. He kept punching numbers into the calculator as if to offer a price. No dice, buddy. I should have not dilly-dallied for lunch, as a huge storm blew into the next big town. I flirted with the edge of it for a long time, but finally the downpour would block my path.
"Haha, storm, you can't get me today. Nosiree, I'm just gonna chill out underneath this gas station shelter. I beat you today!" I was pretty pleased with myself...but shouldn't have been. A couple Germans on motorbikes (KTM-something and BMW F650GS), had also been caught in the storm. At one stretch, a construction mud barrier blocked the main road. Over-confidently, I got stuck pretty deep in the unpacked mud. My new German friends helped pull me out. Thankful for meeting comrades as the exact right moment. The alternate (car) route parallel to the main road was far too slick for our bikes, so we found a way around the barrier and happily continued on. For 40 minutes, flash floods mounted and deep, swift runoff covered more than a mile of roadway just ahead. Had I pushed through early in the storm, I'm be home free at my destination. But nope, I waited four hours for the water to recede.
Every hour or so, I'd wade out into the runoff, a thick concoction of brush, trash, and manure. Large trucks had been making short work of the crossing, but a handful of small passenger cars flooded the engine or found the crap-water seeping into the cab. The Germans (Uva and Uva) and I were in no rush to cross. If the force of the water pulls the bike out from under you, the engine will suck in enough water for serious damage. A group of five Caucasian motorbikers crossed from the other side. It was obvious these were five friends who had the bright idea to rent little bikes and ride them from the capital to the countryside. I could see them doing paper-rock-scissors on the other side. The loser, clearly an idiot, sped through the crossing at full speed, maintaining solid throttle all the way through. The wake created a sustained spray of brown water right into his face and mouth. When he got to us, he was grinning ear to ear. He looked over his shoulder to get cheers from his comrades...and his bike sputttered to a stop. The others would cross more slowly, but his bike was done. The entertainment value for us experienced bikers outweighed the frustration of the wait.
We finally crossed and slid through countless mud washes on the other side, finally arriving in K-town just before dusk. Today had been very long, and I'd only made it XX miles closer to the prize. The 500-km long area I'd crossed the previous two days had not had electricity since the rain had started three days ago. The Uvas and I enjoyed a meal of dumplings while two older gentlemen manned traditional Mongolian stringed instruments and serenaded us with throat singing...in the dark. We're not talking about Michael Bolton-type music, but much more memorable.
