Ulan Bataar, KM 9107 to KM 9960 September 14, 2008

As I approached the border to Mongolia, I was in a great mood. Maybe it was because the drive south from Ulan Ude was spectacular, maybe because I had just seen my first bactrian camel, or because I was so close to entering the country I had dreamed about for so long. The Mongolian guard at the customs entrance invited me into his fly-filled office to watch steeplechasing on a fuzzy TV screen while we waited for the insurance lady to come and sell me Mongolian motorcycle insurance that might not be worth the paper it’s written on. In the immigration line, I got jostled around and nudged aside by two boisterous women dragging their luggage who were aparantly in a hurry, because we were the only three people in the line. Soon afterward I discovered that Mongolians don’t mind being physical when an important and slightly irritated customs official armed with a rubber stamp she kept guarded closely on a keychain actually came out from behind her desk, grabbed me by the arm, pulled me across the room and planted me in the line I should’ve been in. So each time I got a required stamp and didn’t know where to go, I returned to her desk so she could drag me to another line. She was as tall as I am but bigger and spoke to me like a scolding mother while we walked, though she knew I couldn’t understand a word. Our arrangement worked out well, and as it turned out, the final stamp I needed was the one on her keychain.

The rolling hills were as I had dreamed, dotted with slowly moving herds of goats, whisps of smoke coming from the chimneys of gehrs along the river, Mongolians on horseback pushing their cattle through the valley, sturdy, wild-eyed horses loping across the highway, not a tree or a fence in sight. And as I hoped, I was greeted in the morning by two Mongolian herdsmen as I packed up my tent. The one in plaid let me ride his horse while he looked curiously at my motorcycle. His friend with clear blue eyes and a tweed jacket was quiet and didn’t seem to want to get off his horse.

After spending more time than I had planned in Ulan Bataar, I’m ready to get back into the country. I was told that 10 years ago, herds of goats roamed downtown and traffic was nonexistent. Since then the population has exploded, and there are no signs of it slowing; enormous apartment buildings are being constructed all over the city. The country is rich in gold, copper, and oil, and the extraction of these natural resources is only just beginning.

As I did regular maintenance on Jesse, I found problems that needed to be fixed before venturing westward where repairs would be very difficult. I’ve spent most of my time wandering through markets looking for things like epoxy, spokes, good transmission oil, a 24mm socket, and a decent rear tire.

shocks for sale

need an engine?

I thought I had some challenging repairs to make, then I met this guy and knew my mechanical problems were mere trifles. He had pulled his transmission from his massive Russian truck and was repairing it on the side of the busiest road in Ulan Bataar:

I also got my visa to Kazakhstan and have started the process for some of the other “stans”, and I see now that inadequate research relating to visas and permits could lead to major inconveniences and expense in this part of the world. So though I prefer to be out in the country, this time in Ulan Bataar has proved necesarry. I’m feeling quite at home in my cozy gehr at the Oasis guesthouse and have made friends here that I feel certain I’ll see again. Like Kamil, the cyclist I first saw on the ferry to from HokkaidoI ran into him at the main post office in Ulan Bataar (that’s three times we’ve crossed paths so far).

Beat from Switzerland started cycling in Kyrgystan and just broke 10,000 km. (www.betzgi.ch)

The Moons and the Cocks have driven their trucks across many continents (www.guidebooks.co.au)

Yiri from the Czech Republic has a similar motorcycle, so we had plenty to discuss and tools to share.

I’ll hoping to leave on Monday, across Mongolia, back into Russia for a few days, then south into the steppes of Kazakhstan.