Darkhan to Sainshand

The country of gers… The country of wide expances of grassy steppes… The country of Genghis Khan’s descendants… The country of Buddhist temples and shrines… We’ll have an unforgettable journey!

Riding to Ulaanbataar.

Stopped for a coffee break.

A coffee ger.

Ulaanbataar.
Ulaanbataar is the capital of Mongolia. It is financial, political and cultural heart of the country. The life inside Ulaanbataar differs drastically from pristine countryside. You can see Versace-suited businessmen, punks and nomads on the streets at the same time, one minute you’re dodging the path of a luxury car and the next you’re mystified by groaning Buddhist monks.

Future moto driver. Nobody expected an awful traffic in this city. Relaxing in a hotel.
Although we have Gers ahead as accommodation, for the next two nights we are in a 5 Star luxury hotel, the Terelj, about 20 miles outside the craziness of Ulaanbataar. It is one of the “Small Luxury Hotels of the World.” (by Randy McClanahan)

Also, how could I pass up an opportunity to try Chinggas (as in Genghis Kahn) vodka! Almost a rude foreigner not to do so. (by Randy McClanahan) The 26m high bronze statue of Buddha is a copy of the original sculpture, destroyed in 1938, during the antireligious campaign in Mongolia.

Riding along Mongolia.

Prayer ribbons galore

Gers.

Buddhist temples Statue of Buddha So, how do you feel about the Kings winning the Stanley Cup again this season? The prophet has spoken. (by Mike Meyer) In addition to being breathtakingly beautiful, perhaps the most startling is the people. It’s the same throughout the country so far – whether I am in the middle of nothing but grasslands, a tiny farming village or in Ulaan Bataar (the capital) – whether it’s a cowboy on horseback, an old man sitting on the curb, or a young child in the backseat of a minivan – all appear happy to see me and willing to smile and wave – and I know would want to talk or touch the bike if I would just stop for moment. (by John Jesson) This little descendant of Genghis Khan allowed to try his iron horse. Paid $2 to hold this guys pet vulture on the side of the road just outside Ulaanbataar. This bird had a 6 foot wingspan and 2″ talons. This was way more cool than i ever thought it would be. (by Mike Bozarth) But the high point of my day, and perhaps the entire trip, was getting to hold a Mongolian Golden Eagle! Holy Cow, what an awesome experience. This bird routinely takes out the likes of foxes, but in a pinch she can down a wolf (or a human child, so don’t let your babies roam here). But mine was tame and friendly. But you could feel the raw power when she spread and flapped her wings. To those familiar with sports cars and powerful motorcycles, she was pure torque! It was so cool! (by Randy McClanahan) Alright bird… We cool or nah?? The talons are kinda freakin me out. He was pretty chill for an eagle. Mongolia rocks. (by Mike Meyer)

The statue of Genghis Khan.
Genghis Khan, the fearsome Mongolian warrior who conquered half the known world in the 13th century, is remembered for his brutalities and destruction that he brought upon the conquered regions resulting in the death of forty million people. But to Mongolians, he is a national hero, a larger-than-life figure and the symbol of Mongolian culture.

Genghis Khan is not a passing anecdote of history in Mongolia. He is really big deal here, and they take a great amount of national pride from his history and that of his ancestors. (by Randy McClanahan) The original name of Genghis Khan was Temujin, which means “of iron”. He not only cut a ruthless path through Asia and Europe, but he also modernized Mongolian culture, embraced religious freedom and helped open contact beween East and West.

Open-air dinner with a view to a beautiful mountains illuminated by sunset.

VIP-guest

Terelj National Park.
Terelj was first developed for tourism in 1964 and 30 years later it became part of the Gorkhi-Terelj National Park. Horse racing is Mongolian favorite, and we saw some youngsters compete in an uphill race. The kids received awards, including a hat for horse and rider, and a bag of goodies for the child. (by Randy McClanahan)

We saw demonstrations of traditional Mongolian activities, including singers and dancers. Most interesting was an orchestra of children playing the morin khuur, a stringed instrument made from wood and horsehair. It has only two strings and is played with a bow. Wow, these kids could really play. One literally played “Flight of the Bumblebee” with only two strings! I bought their CD. They are raising money to build a music school.

Wrestling matches
We saw several wrestling matches. It is their national pastime, and one of their only wrestling sports. Legend has it that those interesting open-front shirts are the result of former women wrestlers beating the men. The introduction of the open-front shirt apparently got rid of the women so the men would no longer lose to them! (by Randy McClanahan)

Archery
Archery is another big Mongolian sport, and we saw a very skilled archer hit a small red flag at 65 yards. Some of us tried to shoot his bow, but were not strong enough to pull back the bowstring. But a big surprise was the contortionist! If this were an Olympic sport, surely this girl would win a medal! Note how beautiful her pink outfit looks against the mountains in the background. (by Randy McClanahan)

That brings me to activities that caused me to reminisce about some long gone songs from my youth. Remember the Maria Muldaur Grammy Award winner “Midnight at the Oasis? (Send your camel to bed . . .) And how ’bout the 1958 hit of The Coasters, “Yackety Yak” (don’t talk back)? Well, we rode that camel before putting him to bed, and I discovered that the hairy cow looking animal is a yak! A yak is a long haired cousin to the bison found in Central Asia. It is used as a beast of burden, but can also run quite fast. We have seen herds of them. They are much easier to ride than a camel! (by Randy McClanahan)

Kumys
Kumys – horse milk. It is a valuable product for healthy people and those who aspire to be always cheerful, young and happy.

Fishing
Chance to break out my Tenkara fly fishing rop. Pulled in a few, but no keepers… It couldn’t have been more beautiful. River was runoff from the Khaglin Khar glacial lake in Gorkhi-Terelj National park. (by Mike Bozarth)

Gobi desert and a night in a ger

We are in the Gobi Desert staying in a camp of Gers. Motel ger. It is easily twice the size of the five person family’s ger and feels opulent. Yesterday some of us were invited into the home of a real Mongolian family. So, I thought this was a good time to show and tell a bit about Gers.

About one-third of the Mongolian population roam the plains and live in Gers, which have been around for thousands of years. They are made of a collapsible (and expandable) wooden frame covered by sheep felt. If you lack the raw materials, you can purchase an “entry level Ger” for about $500. They come in sections. A small one has four sections. A large one may have as many as twelve. When it is time to move, the community pitch in and can erect or take one down in about one hour. It has a wood burning stove in the middle and an outhouse at a respectable distance outside. (by Randy McClanahan)

An entire family lives in one ger. The family I visited consists of a husband and wife, two small daughters an an infant son. The husband was away tending to livestock in the pasture. The wife had prepared a traditional meal, which was waiting on the table. We were invited to try anything we liked, including the horse milk, but we were stuffed from a prior lunch. The man has a bed on one side, the woman on the other, and the children sleep on felt pallets on the floor, which are rolled up and stowed away when not in use. A child remains in the family ger until he or she graduates from High School. Note the nick nacks around the house, including the girls’ dolls, the baby’s high chair and various ribbons and certificates proudly displayed. Various implements of horse handling are found, including an ornamental saddle and horse sticks stored in the ceiling.

MY FIRST SOLO RIDE IN THE GOBI DESERT (by Mike Bozarth)

“…As I write this, It is Tuesday, September 1st and I am in sitting on my bed in a Ger (aka Yurt) with no internet access in the middle of the Gobi Desert in eastern Mongolia. And while that’s pretty cool, it’s how I got here that ran the gambit of emotions today.
My day started out innocent enough – riding south to the Chinese border. First stopping to marvel at an immense statue of Genghis Khan and his horse standing over 130 feet tall atop a 3 story coliseum… in the middle of nowhere! An awesome sight, and of course, I’ll post a pic or two shortly. After that, gassed up at one of the few stations that offer quality gas here and headed for the Gobi Desert on the Mongolian steppe.
With a full tank of gas, I set out on my own. Knowing this was last full days ride in Mongolia, I was eager to take it in and explore. After the first 100 miles or so, the landscape began to dry and the velvet green that so impressed me a few days ago began to fade and slowly transition to a dryer climate with sparse grass and low growing shrub that retained only a hint of green. As usual, it provided for spectacular endless views of gentle slopes that reached beyond the horizon. After 200 miles, there was no doubt I was in a grand upper desert. Vacant of any signs of human life with the exception of the road I’m on, an occasional ger well off in the distance, or a pack of wild horses or camels! Yeah, camels. Beautiful huge creatures with long brown coats and two tall humps. Sooo cool! I will post a picture of those too.
As I come to the final stretch of my last full day in Mongolia, there is a dirt section that will take me to the ger camp where we will be spending the night. Eager to get in the dirt, I watch my GPS guide me off the pavement onto a decent 2-track that runs into the distant hills. I stop to take a picture, set up the suspension for off road and pinch myself… I’m about to ride my bike… alone… as the sun sets in the Gobi Desert! My GPS says 30 kilometers to go and it’s nothing but a blank screen with a purple line to follow and a destination flag.
The trail is decent and I can’t help but to smile as I pick a decent line careful to avoid ruts and large rocks. It’s an easy run and I’m adding a little more throttle with each turn. A lovely end to a great riding experience in Mongolia. I look around 360 degrees and see nothing but desert, my 2-track (which has now become a single track) and my GPS which now reads 15 kilometers to go. I stop again to take it all in. “This can’t be it!” It’s going to be over all too soon, so I decide to explore some splinter trails. Confident in my GPS, I follow a new single track. My GPS doesn’t like this and begins to re-calculate a new route in vain. “Now this is a bit more adventurous,” I think and I remind myself where I am and what I’m doing – but the trail is manageable and I feel great.
The single track begins to fade and I start looking for other markers to follow. I don’t see any, not even a game trail, but the desert floor looks rideable. I take a quick look at my GPS to make sure the destination flag is still on the screen and I pursue a new trail-free route across the desert floor in the general direction towards the camp. It’s rideable – soft in a few places – broken rock/shale in others – but it’s within my limits. I crank up Anders Osborne in my helmet headset, get focused, and imagine the ‘copter shot of me making my own tracks across the Gobi steppe.
I then come up on a dry riverbed that looks to run in the right general direction, so I take it. It winds left and right and I’ve got a whole new sense of adventure as the river bed begins to narrow and the riverbank walls begin to rise on either side of me. At about four feet tall, I can still easily see over the embankment standing on the footpegs – which gives me a naive sense of comfort that I cannot explain. I imagine a Nomad walking his camel through the desert and seeing my helmet 12″ off the ground moving at 40 mph across this beautiful and barren landscape. As the riverbed continues to wind and narrow, the sand gets deeper and the rock sections get angrier. The rocks I pick through gracefully, but the sand is getting deep now. I begin to hear Jimmy Lewis in my head tell me to “steer with your weight” and “hold the bike with your knees… relax your shoulders!” A lot to think about when you begin to get the sense that your 600 pound bike, laden with full panniers and a large duffle bag, is swimming through the sand and lazily responds to your precise inputs 2 or more seconds later or sometimes never at all. But my bike and I continue on, and I try to think of us as one. It works well for another quarter mile, but now the terrain worsens. Deeper sand, sharper river turns, and an occasional rock the size of my labrador sleeping just under the sands surface and I realize I am approaching my riding limits. I’m alone and miles away from anyone or anything and it’s time to look for an exit. I spot a decent roll in the embankment to ride up and out of the river bed and I go for it. Only, I’m not Jimmy Lewis or my Baja racing roommate, so I don’t quite get the attack angle I was hoping for. Using my knees and weight and every ounce of trust in my big machine, I start up the embankment a little too parallel and feel the rear tire begin to slip. I add some more throttle (when in doubt, throttle it out, right?!), but it’s too late, and the rear slips even more. Two-thirds up the embankment and I am not going to make it. Not able to stop or willing to slow down, I turn the bike back down into the riverbed to look for another exit – only with a little too much speed and too much weight on the front tire, it digs into the sand, immediately locks left, and I high side.
For those of you who have been ‘released’ from a moving object by it’s sudden halt, you have most likely experience the time warp that ensues. As I moved through the air at approximately 30 mph, I had the time to identify my landing pad and think through an appropriate landing technique. I immediately surveyed a patch of soft sand that would welcome my return to earth and decided on a relaxed tuck-and-roll technique that would eliminate any serious injury. Luckily, I did land in some deep soft sand, but unlucky for me, and as physics would have it, I found myself facing the bike on all fours upon my return to terra firma. How this 180 degree turn took place in mid air still baffles me, but has I landed my right foot, snug in my motocross boot, dug into the sand. At that moment, I heard (felt?) a familiar pop. The same undeniable pop when you snap a tendon or a ligament. Not the unmistakeable crack of breaking a bone, but a pop. Brushing the sand from my helmet visor and face, I waited for the pain. It was my calf – probably hyper extended on my landing, but unsure of the extent of the injury. My first instinct was to come to my bikes aid. I could see the front tire nearly buried in the sand. I crawled over to the bike on all fours to find it loping along in 3rd gear still with the rear wheel spinning just off the ground. I hit the kill switch, took a deep breath and tried to stand. After a quick head-to-toe assessment, I had two injuries: a bruised ego and what felt like a torn calf muscle and maybe a ligament.
Attempting to lift the bike was fruitless. The size of bike is a handful with four limbs, let alone three. Then a thought began to emerge, “I could spend the night out here!” Going into survival mode, I began my next assessment. What were my dangers? Wildlife was tame… A camel interaction was the worst I could come up with and I figured I would survive that. Climate? Clear blue skies and 80 degrees out. Might get cold at night in the upper desert, but I had my Klim gear and a heated jacket with me, so I’m good. Food and water? Half a can of peanuts, my last three Mini Babybel cheese wheels and a half a liter of water. I’ve watched enough survival shows to know that I’m golden! I took off my jacket and helmet to cool off. Dawning my international orange Coast Guard cap, I sat back to rest and leave a text message for John & Mike:
> Down. 4.6k out
> Can’t get upright. Pulled calf.
> 44-46-918
> 110-10-555
Rechecking my coordinates, I turned my attention back to the bike. This is not the first time I’ve had to pick up a 1200cc adventure bike, but found it especially difficult with just three useful limbs and very soft sand that made getting a good foot hold or brace impossible. After a couple attempts and not wanting to run the risk of further injury, I sat to wait for a text response… nothing. I had a weak signal, but nothing back from either John or Mike. Do I send an SOS message to my brother back home? My DeLorme InReach beckoned me, but I resisted. Not yet.
Recognizing I could get the bike nearly half way up, but could neither reach the point where its no longer a dead lift or get enough footing in the sand to allow my one good leg to help, I decided to remove the large dry bag on top and one of the panniers and empty the other buried in the sand. Knowing this was my last chance, I spun the bike toward the embankment to give me the approach angle I wanted 30 minutes ago, put down the kickstand and gave it all I had. Without the extra weight of my bag and panniers and a strong dose of adrenaline, I was able to get the bike back up on its feet!
Feeling my confidence and pride begin to replenish, I caught my breath, saddled up, and drove straight up the embankment just as I imagined earlier. Securing the kickstand on reasonably firm ground, I then humped the bag and pannier out of the riverbed and secured everything to the bike. Back on firm soil, I quickly find a trail and with the help of my GPS I roll into camp 20 minutes later.
Bruised and a bit broken, I limp to my ger and one of my riding buddies takes pity on me and carries my dry bag. I massage my calf for 30 minutes, take a handful of advil and convince myself I haven’t damaged a tendon. Not sure if the nomads even have a word for ice, I mime and gesture pathetically until I am convinced they have none. My roomie (a paramedic) wraps an ace bandage around my leg and here I sit… on my bed with my leg resting on a stack of pillows – in a ger – in the middle of the Gobi Desert. I begin to relax and replay my first solo ride in the Gobi Desert in parts of Mongolia no one else has ever touched. I smile. I hear myself say “I love Mongolia” outloud to no one, and I feel my eyes getting heavy.”

Sunset in Gobi
Sunset over our “hotel” in the middle of nowhere Gobi desert. Definitely one of my favorite places we have stayed this trip. (by Mike Meyer) Good-bye Mongolia.
I love Mongolia. I love the people. And I can’t wait to get back on the bike to see what’s next. (by John Jesson)