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The day before my departure from UB I chatted with the guesthouse staff until late in the night. They had disapproved of my plans from the start and were expressing their final concerns. I'd freeze at night. The wolves would eat me. If the wolves didn't, the wild dogs would. Drunken horseman would harrass me at night. Their one concern that I shared regarded the weather, which is unpredictable and often violent at this time of year. Mongolians hate spring. Spring storms do not bring nourishing rain as they do in the States. Those come later in the summer. The spring storms do bring some precipitation but mostly they bring wind and, in the arid regions, debris. Just before my arrival several shepards lost their way in a storm and perished. My orginal plan to head directly in to the Gobi would leave me very vulnerable. In the end I gave in to the pleas of the guesthouse staff and decided to start my trip on a more populated route and one which promised pavement for the first few hundred miles.
At last the time of departure arrived . I joined the Sunday traffic heading out of the city, getting accustomed, once again, to the feeling of a heavily-loaded bicycle. I passed one of the city's toxic power plants, surprised to find a subdivision springing up nearby. The sprawl continued for some time, a combination of gers and shanty houses. By afternoon I was clear of the city and into the steppe. Not long after the pavement ended, a victim of road construction. I was not disappointed as traffic had been too heavy for my tastes. With the end of the pavement the traffic immediately spread across a half dozen tracks in the steppe. The day became enjoyable. At day's end I simply pulled of my track and set up my tent. In the countryside there are no fences, no private property. Every piece of ground is a possible campsite.
The next morning the wind was howling by 6am. Some discarded advice: if it's very windy in the morning stay in your tent--don't try to travel. By the time I broke camp visibility had dropped drastically. One gust of wind picked up my helmet and deposited it several hundred feet away. I rode for a bit but soon the blowing debris reduced me to walking. Note to self: buy goggles at soonest opportunity. After several hours the storm relented and it was just very windy. Nonetheless, I'd gained an instant appreciation for the strength of these spring storms. As I pulled off the road at day's end another storm approached. I quickly pitched my tent. When the storm hit, it hit hard. Unfortunately, I'd pitched my tent into the oncoming storm and the wind came perpendicular. It was too windy to repitch so I just hoped for the best. Just when I thought the wind couldn't get any worse it would ratchet up a bit. There was a tense moment when the guy lines gave way. For the remainder of the duration of the storm I struggled to keep the tent from flattenning. After the storm receded I surveyed the damage--some bent tent poles but fortunately nothing else. Good thing I left those spare poles back home!
The next day the pavement returned. Traffic was then down to country road levels so the riding was pleasant. After Lun I stopped to confront an aggressive dog. Two children came to my aid with a barrage of rocks. I thanked them and began to bicycle away. They said something and then grabbed on to my rack. In most countries this is not a good sign. It usually means that harrassing a bicyclist is an acceptable form of entertainment. But in this case the children were just attempting to convey what I'd failed to understand in words--they wanted me to visit their nearby, scruffy ger(yurt). When I accepted they jumped up and down. Just like apartment blocks in UB, roadside gers are best not judged by their exterior appearance. Once inside I found a cozy abode, the walls covered with colorful carpets, which served both to decorate and insulate. I was served milky tea and hot, fried dough. Another storm was passing through so I lingered for a while. The children ceased to be amused by my presence.
Even though I didn't buy into the paranoia I'd heard from the city folk, I did head off in the countryside with some apprehension. However, after a few days I was feeling much more at ease. There was simply too much easy meat around for wolves, if there indeed were any. Why would a wolf bother with a cyclist when it could take a cow or sheep, especially at this time of the year with all those tender newborns...hmmmm. The dogs were numerous but not terribly aggressive. Usually a firm foot down was enough to deter them. If not, a sonic suprise from my dazer or, if I'm feeling sporting, a few rocks would do the trick. For a few nights I even forewent my usual practice of locking my bike to my tent, though probably more out of fear of becoming another victim of bicycle banditry gone afoul than a feeling of safety. After hearing some imaginary footsteps on the third night I returned to locking my bike.
The landscape eventually turned more arid. At one point the road passed by some sand dunes, the Mongol Els. I didn't linger--another storm was approaching and I didn't want to be pinned down next to a big pile of sand. Shortly after I turned off the main road, direction Kharkhorin. My welcome to the city came well before the town itself. Roughly twenty miles out a passing car came to a screaching halt, switched into reverse and sped back to me. The driver jumped out of the car, beer bottle in one hand, mp3 player blasting bad pop in the other hand. He offered me a swig from the bottle, which I gladly accepted. A few minutes later, his English exhausted, he abruptly jumped back in his car and drove off, yelling 'Welcome to Kharkhorin' as he went. Karakorum, the ancient Mongol capital, was the first destination of the trip. There is little left of the capital, apart from stony ruins. Mongolia's first monastery, Erdene Zuu Khiid, was built upon the ruins. The monastery itself went through the destruction/re-building cycles that are common amongst Mongolia's monasteries, the lastest cycle being the Stalinist purges/end of communism. Situated next to an unsightly Soviet-build town, the monastery is best appreciated from up close, inside its walled compounds. In addition to some well adorned temples, the monastery provided the first proper bathroom since UB, not for the toilet but for the mirror and functioning sink. What a dreadful sight! No wonder I'd been receiving so many pitiful looks. I quickly washed away the dirt that had been caked to my face since the sand storm of the second day.
The landscape finally began to green up a bit after Kharkhorin. That night I camped amongst hills that appeared more green than brown. While I prepared dinner the resident of a distant ger stopped by to chat. He insisted it was too cold and windy for me to stay in my tent. He suggested I stay in his ger. I was too tired to break camp so I politely declined. Of course more scary winds came that night. However, with the tent properly pitched this time they were more an annoyance than anything else, so loud as to prevent sleep. The next day, the winds still blowing, I should have taken a wind day. But the noise in the tent was giving me a headache. I decided to push on. The lack of goggles meant a return of the encaking cycle--cold wind makes eyes water, tears dribble down face and get blown against sunglasses, tears collect blowing dirt. Result: dirt encaked face, eyelashes and sunglasses. The morning was tough, progressing along at not much better than a walking pace. But in my short time I'd come to realize these weather systems do not last long. Someone once told me that spring is the jealous season. I think she meant tease--one moment it's sunny and warm, the next moment it's windy and cold. By day's end the wind had receded and I had arrived in Tsetserleg.
Tsetserleg is known as one of the few nice aimag (district) capitals, complete with a proper guesthouse and good food. After a few showers I think I've finally removed all the grit of the past week. I've passed a few days here walking its streets and hillsides. I scoured the local container (yes, as in shipping container) market in search of goggles. No such luck. However, with more mountainous terrain (complete with trees!) ahead I suspect blowing debris will be less of a factor. |
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| Distance | Elevation Gain | Flat Tires |
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| Leg | 310 mi/498 km | 14022 ft/4600 m | |
| Trip | 310 mi/498 km | 2 mi/4 km | |
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