October 3

We arrived feeling properly second hand.  We had about 8 hours until our connecting flight and we decided to head into the city.  First stop was to drop our luggage off which sounds easy, but when your bike doesn't fit through the security x-ray, it means an hour of negotiation.  We somehow regained composure on the train ride into the city and quickly realised we arrived just after National Day.  Tiananmen Square was jammed packed with people and we tried to escape as quick as we could after we spent some time checking it out, but that was difficult with the all the road closures.  Eventually we got back to the airport to receive another nasty surprise from Air China's excess baggage policy.  Having bikes, trailers, camping gear etc, we had no choice but to check everything in, but we got annoyed when we see people carrying on the equivalent of a supermarket isle jammed into woven plastic bags the size of a family tent.  It was nice to be heading home, mainly so we could change into some clean clothes.

Motorbikes with pictures of Rob

October 2

We made our way to the buffet breakfast in the best hotel in town in disgustingly smelly clothes, much to the confusion of all the business travellers also dining.  We found out we could watch the AFL grand final replay in the hotel bar, so we snuck in a few tins from the shop around the corner as it was roughly 20 times cheaper than buying from the bar.  Our flight wasn't until late that night so we spent the day wandering around the city and then hung out eating pizza and having a few beers near the central square watching the Ruskis go about their day.  Stopped for a quiet dinner at Pub 501, but we were soon to find out that being a foreigner in this place is quite an attractive trait for local girls, if you're looking for a Russian bride then Novosibirsk is the place to start.  Once the band started a couple of brothers, Dimitri & Sergei, began to talk to us, in Russian of course, but the most we understood is that we had to drink vodka with them.  Lucky we had to leave for our flight, but they still managed to slam about 5 or 6 vodkas into us in about half an hour.  Once we got to the airport we were definitely in no state to deal with the huge crowds, tripping over all our luggage made it more difficult, but they thankfully let us on the plane for the 4 hour flight to Beijing.

Relaxing while keeping an eye out for our Uncle

The beginning of the downfall

October 1

We got the receptionists at the hotel to call and arrange a driver, a guy called Victor turned up who looked like the sort of guy you don't double cross and he got us to Novosibirsk in typically reckless fashion.  We spent the afternoon checking out the city, quite an amazing place for something which was basically nothing more than farming country prior to the industrialisation push.  After a while we met a couple of Russian guys who spoke some English and had a few beers with them.  One was a rapper and one was a tennis player who has played against Kafelnikov and Safin.  We seriously doubted these claims the longer we talked, particularly seeing the condition of his racquet and skills with it, however they made it an entertaining evening.

Novosibirsk.  As good as it gets

Purple trams.  The way to get about town

September 30

We woke up still feeling completely knackered and decided our best option would be to try to get a ride to Biysk.  Our first job was to get our visas registered, the hotel were reluctant to help so we tried the post office.  No luck there, but you could satisfy your postal needs as well as your appetite for hard liquor with a range of beer and spirits conveniently on display behind the counter.  The police were the other visa option but we gave that one a miss and tried again to convince the old chook at hotel to do it.  After numerous phone calls she gave in and pulled out the visitor register and completed the formalities, the bureaucracy in this country is ridiculous.  We packed and made our way to the freeway to play some frisbee while waiting for a lift.  No trucks were willing or had room, but after a while a local chap lined up a ride in his station wagon, but it meant completely disassembling and packing our bikes and equipment which was no easy feat in our state.  The trip was through some more impressive scenery, but we were convinced we had the best of it in the past couple of days on the bikes.  With some helpful tips from home we found a good hotel with the typical shit service we were becoming used to; they still have one girl whose specific job is to hand out room keys (and nothing else).  A good dinner washed down with a few vodkas helped and we were ready for a rest and a day of exploring Novosibirsk tomorrow.

Even the Post Office has a wider beverage selection

Our hotel, stuck in the Soviet era?

Hanging at the cafe

September 29

We started out the day with a fairly steady climb about 100m above the river with great views of the Altai Mountains.  It was overcast and cold all day, if it was above zero it certainly wasn't by much, but at least the rain stayed away.  It was rolling uphill/downhill all day with some of the best alpine scenery we'd both ever seen, the autumn colours gave it that extra touch.  We stopped after about 60km to get some supplies for lunch from the shop and had to deal with another drunk Russian guy chirping questions incessantly even though our body language was telling him to piss off, something we'd become used to over time.  After lunch an 11% climb was definitely not welcome but we could begin to see more huge mountains and glaciers, it's amazing this place was devoid of tourists.  We finally made it to Aktash absolutely wrecked from a combination of the long days of difficult riding, cold weather, head colds and general deteriorating health.  We met an "alpinist" who directed us to the hotel in town which was very modest with no shower again but at least it was warm.  At this point we stank, everything is sweaty, dusty, bloody, dirty and just wreaks - at least we fit in.  We got to the cafe and had some good food and watched a table of old ducks slam vodka and slowly turn the volume of the Russian techno music to levels which almost shook the building down.

September 28

Olgii is a nice town with a lot of Kazakhs roaming around in their traditional hats and outfits.  After a huge breakfast we searched around the market for a lift across the border (you can't ride through no-man's land) but didn't have any luck.  Eventually we found a guy in a travel agency who directed us to some Russians headed that way.  After some negotiation, we got a ride with a "Russian policeman" who didn't know much about counting calories or general hygiene, but at least he could get us across the border that day.  We went to the bank to change the last of our Tögrög, which turned into a 40 minute process even with a calculator.  After getting picked up at the hotel we made our way out of town only to run out of petrol a couple of minutes into the trip.  We were soon to understand the depths of the driver's laziness after he got a friend to deliver some petrol so he could start the car to get to the station around the corner, walking was simply not an option.  The first 30km of the trip were bitumen but after that it turned into the  typical hellish roads and driving we had become accustomed to.  We were hitting every bump at serious pace, bikes were getting smashed into each other and into us, and our heads were hitting the roof of the jeep just as hard.  Personally, it was the closest I'd come to losing my composure during this odyssey on Mongol transport.  The border crossing was hassle free, a simple "no" in response to a question from two stereotypical Soviet-era guards regarding the carriage of contraband was enough for them to not proceed searching any further through our bags.  We reassembled our bikes at the Russian border town of Tashanta and hit the road for the 50km of (bitumen!) road to Kosh-Agach.  Being 4:30pm we had to make good time, the first 5km were ideal, slight downhill, gentle breeze behind and amazing mountain scenery.  A vehicle coming from the other direction stopped and out stumbled a guy liquored to the eyeballs, we thought he was going to pull a gun, but he was simply trying to get his hand out of his pocket to shake our hand and say hello.  We decided to leave that situation in a hurry.  The wind slowly began to get stronger and turned to begin blowing straight into us.  About 20km into the trip it became fierce, we were battling to go forwards downhill.  We stopped at a small village, but there was no way we could stay there or get a lift onwards so we had to press on because we were screwed otherwise.  Eventually the wind began to die down and we rode flat strap for the last 20km in the dark, most drivers were courteous and gave us plenty of room.  Arriving on the outskirts of town one guy told us the hotel was destroyed but we found the shop and we asked a guy who immediately rang a friend who let us stay in his hotel which hadn't finished being built, but it had a roof, beds and was next door to the shop so were happy.  They were awesome and immediately dispelled any preconceptions we had about Russian people.  We got some food and beer and cooked up a decent dinner (still only two meals for the day though) and relaxed.

Travelling in comfort

Reassembly in Tashanta

Return of the bitumen

September 27

The first few cars we saw were going in the wrong direction and there wasn't much traffic so we prepared for the ride into town, which someone told us was actually 55km.  As we headed off we saw three one-tonne trucks heading up the road, we flagged them down and they were heading to Olgii.  We were pretty relieved as we were both not feeling up to riding today.  We hammered it into Khovd in about half an hour where the drivers stopped for breakfast and we managed to get chips and chocolate, we were still starving.  Then we went to the mechanic.  Then we went to the bank.  Then we went to a Kazakh village about 20 minutes in the opposite direction to where we needed to go.  We picked up about 8 bags of potatoes and we needed to re-pack the bikes in a position where they wouldn't be destroyed by this guy's wild driving.  We headed back to Khovd so we could get on the road to Olgii and dickhead hits the same bump we got 4 feet of air on the way out at about 110km/h and this time the truck isn't sounding good.  Luckily, it was only the bash plate rubbing against the tyre, and once it was fixed we were finally able to get going after stopping over 4 hours ago.  We found the customary thing to do is stop every 10km for a piss (these guys can urinate like noone else) and to kick the tyres.  Marty got a dressing down for resting his foot on the dash of the truck, however the drivers happily slammed their doors into one another when opening them.  The road is OK in small parts, but is usually massive rocks, river, sand and corrugations.  We stopped at a canteen about 80km into the journey, and it took the cooks over an hour to whip up the typical noodle soup served everywhere.  We were going a little mad from all the stop/start and the length of time we had been on the road, we resorted to throwing rocks at a can for half an hour to calm down.  It took nearly 3 days straight driving to get just over 800kms.  Eventually we could see Olgii but old mate still had a few tricks, getting the truck sideways at 8o clicks in the soft sand of the newly graded road and simply laughing it off as if he were impressing us.  Snowy mountains surrounded the town as well as Tolbo Nuur, the lake on the way in, and we passed lots of Kazakh families loaded onto trucks - Olgii is a stronghold of Kazakh culture.  We finally got on to the bitumen of the city and got a flat tyre about one kilometre from the hotel.  He was good enough to drive on and we checked in to another run down hotel which claimed to have hot water but really didn't; it was our first shower in over a week so we didn't care too much.  We then went to a Turkish restaurant and ate 4 meals each.

Kazakh village, lots of potatoes

The touring party

Views coming into Olgii

September 26

We got up at 8am and the hotel was dodgier than I remembered, and we still couldn't wash due to the hotel's plumbing.  We went straight to the market looking for a lift to Olgii, roughly 650km away.  Their system of negotiating a ride is perplexing, prices change randomly and the departure time, vehicle and driver change regularly.  We finally had some breakfast, (noodle soup...again), and then went and asked at the bus station for transportation, one guy was charging US$1000 which we thought was just a little extreme.  We rode out of town a few kilometres hoping to flag down a lift, but there was no traffic whatsoever.  We decided to head back into town and as soon as we did we saw a fuel truck coming down the highway.  After a long time pointing to maps and gesturing to load our bikes on the top of the truck the old boy driving agreed to take us to Khovd 430km up the highway.  The journey was exactly how it was described to us - slow, bumpy and with random stops (every kilometre even).  The roads are awful for any vehicle let alone a fuel tanker, and we were already sick of any transportation other than our bikes, but at least it was warm.  We stopped in the middle of the desert for lunch for over an hour, made another stop at 3am for another couple of hours before getting back on the road for 30 minutes to be dropped at a canteen at 6am, about 30km from Khovd.  We tried to get some food inside the canteen and had to resort to waking up the drunk guy sleeping inside to get us some noodles while the cranky old duck was barking instructions from her bed.  We stocked up on whatever food we could get, which wasn't much and hoped we didn't have to ride the rest of the way to Khovd.

Our faithful companion waiting with us for a ride

Altai

Not sure what we'd done without this guy

Lunch stop

Pretty sure this bloke would still be stuck at this canteen

September 25

We awoke with everything frozen in the tent, shoes were covered in ice.  It was nice to see the sun out and I walked down to the river and spotted a few gers only a short distance away - the irony wasn't lost on us.  After waiting to dry the tent, boiling some water and packing up we rode to the gers where they let us dry our shoes and socks so we could keep going.  There was more river crossings to start the day and the locals were telling us that the river was high.  One crossing was almost waist deep, we managed to get across but the river was really cold so it took a long time to warm up again.  Eventually we entered a desert like valley, it was warmer and slightly better road but we were exhausted having eaten very little in the last few days.  Eventually we saw a truck who agreed to give us a lift to Otgon.  We didn't realise it at the  time but we were loading our bikes on a truck carrying a load of dried cow shit.  We drove for a few kilometres and stopped to load up more crap.  They then had lunch and we squeezed the six of us into the front of the cab, two of the girls in one seat and Marty on my lap - it was hard to block out the pain in our legs being in such tight confines.  Once in Otgon, we tried to organise a lift to Altai, which is on the main highway to Russia, about 140km away.  After changing price and departure times several times and another five false starts we crammed into a jeep with one guy catching a ride by lying on top of the bikes and luggage.  We had one tyre blowout, no surprise at the pace he was hitting some rocks.  There was one river crossing where the water went up to the top of the doors but we made across, albeit not convincingly.  We found a dodgy hotel to crash at about 4am.  We met another team on the Mongol rally and these guys were officially last.  They were travelling in a fire truck and we couldn't imagine how slow their trip through Mongolia had been - they told us they were at customs on the Russia/Mongolia border for 28 days.

Studying the phrasebook

The dung express

Desperately trying to escape from Otgon

September 24

A tough start again this morning across a river bed of rocks and slush.  After a couple of hours, the weather turned for the worse, we had to deal with an even stronger head wind as well as snow for a point in time.  The pass still seemed a long way away.  A steep incline then began, the snow which fell turned the road to slush making it impossible to ride so we pushed our bikes up the hill.  Not surprisingly, the weather kept get progressively worse the higher we went.  The wind was horrendous, the snow was hitting us sideways and it must have been well below freezing.  After a while we decided to leave our bikes and walk to see if the summit was close.  We couldn't tell how much further it was and we were getting into dangerous territory staying there any longer than necessary so we decided to push the bikes back down.  We made it to some gers and the locals let us warm up inside for an hour or so until the sun appeared.  We decided to have another crack at it and although the weather improved, it was a struggle to the reach the top.  We were fairly low on energy but we had to push on if we were going to find a reasonable place to camp out of the cold.  There wasn't as much downhill as we expected, just lots of mud, snow, slush and inevitable river crossings.  We had hoped to see some gers so we could sleep inside and warm up, but we didn't see a thing for hours.  It was dark by the time we saw a massive rock which looked to offer some resistance to the wind so we decided to stop and camp there.  It was icy cold, our feet and shoes were soaked.  We tried everything to warm up but it was impossible.  The tent was on rocky, sloped ground which made sleeping extremely difficult.  It was an interesting day.

The mobile shop

Some of the better road

The weather appears to be changing...

Tasty snack

A great view from the top of the pass

September 23

Another bitterly cold morning; drink bottles, helmets and the tent were frozen solid.  After exchanging some breakfast cereal for some milk we made our way along more rough roads and into the return of the strong head wind.  It was a long day with many, many river crossings but the seemingly endless valley was very impressive.  Can't be sure how many kilometres we rode but it was tough work, no free wheeling here, even the downhills are slow going.  We were getting accustomed to local nomads riding over to us on their horses to do nothing more than look at us and read the phrase book from cover to cover.  We came across a building in the middle of nowhere which was holding an official meeting of some kind.  There wasn't any food or water which was disappointing, but we did get a laugh out of the Mongols trying to ride our fully loaded bikes.


After a long afternoon, we finally saw some gers in the distance and decided to camp there for the night.  After several minutes of confusion, mainly by our presence there in the first place, they allowed us to camp.  It was hard to find a decent spot to set up the tent as it was colder, drier and windier here, plus you couldn't find a square centimetre of ground without it being covered in animal crap.  Dinner was noodles and powdered stock which we mistook for a flavour sachet, I don't think we have ever woken up more times in the middle of the night to drink water.


Our hands were already dry, cracked and bleeding already from the cold and the constant packing and unpacking.  We hoped it wouldn't snow overnight, we could potentially get stuck if the weather changed too much and we didn't have heaps of food or water in reserve.  We thought we were not too far from the top of the pass as it has taken a very long time to get here.  Marty was now using his bike bag as an extra bed covering, a sign of how cold it's getting overnight.

Icy

Inside a ger

Slowly freezing over

Basketball on the steppe

Unsuccessfully attempting to navigate