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I had planned an early departure from Tsetserleg, anxious to get back on the road after perhaps one too many days off. However, when I looked out my window in the early hours and saw snow-covered hillsides my motivation left me. I went back to sleep. By late morning the weather had cleared so I departed . The higher altitude and recent precipation meant the air was much clearer than it had been previously. The town of Ikh-Tamir clearly came into view some ten miles away. There I stopped for lunch at a roadside restaurant and ordered my usual 'what he's having.' I had anticipated that the more mountainous, closed-in, terrain around Tsetserleg would continue but I was soon back out in the open. Steppe riding returned. In open areas one never has to worry about getting stuck on a bad road. Although the official road is often washboarded and/or rocky there are always a selection of alternative trackes to choose from. Remember: it's a free for all out there. As soon as the best track becomes too rough someone starts a new one. In these scenarios the official road merely helps for navigation. When there is no official road one merely uses the usually present electrical/telephone lines.
I had chosen a river crossing as my goal for the day. I hadn't had the opportunity to camp near fresh water so I was looking forward to some easier camp life. However, though the streams before and after Tsetserleg had been flowing this one was bone dry. There was one small consolation: an abandoned shelter just the right size for my tent. It would have been the first night I was able to cook outside my vestibule (wind protection), except that I hadn't packed additional water for cooking because I was so sure I'd be next to a river! While I was fiddling around camp I turned around to find a man in a car. My evenings are usually like this. One moment I'm setting up camp or cooking dinner and the next moment I turn around to find some dude in a car or on a horse. This particular man was quite friendly, no doubt aided by the large amount of vodka he'd recently consumed. He offered me a drink. Normally it's not a good idea to agree to drink with a Mongolian . The Russian influence. But he'd already made good progress through his bottle and I wasn't going anywhere. I agreed. We traded shots until the bottle was empty. Then he drove off into the steppe on the same nameless track on which he arrived.
The second night out I camped near some depressions that helped form melt pools. Spring may not be a good time to bicycle in Mongolia but it is a good time to see birds, and these pools attracted aplenty. The sounds of waterfowl provided a nice lullaby. The next morning several horsemen stopped by my camp, just having driven their herds out to pasture. I tried the usual small talk. No responses. Just stares. I didn't feel like doing a song and dance so I began taking down my camp. This is something I thought they'd appreciate. Nomads move several times a year and can pack their entire belongings in a matter of hours (at least the few that don't have satellite dishes yet!). I had yet to witness a ger dismantling but I had seen a few families on the move. One scene was reminiscent of an old west scene--family heading up a verdant valley, with two rickety carts carrying the ger and belongings. Instead of two rickety carts I had two trustworthy bike racks upon which to pile my belongings. As I dismantled and packed each piece of my camp I received approving nods from my audience. When the show was over I mounted my bicycle and they mounted their horses.
The next 'destination'on my route was Khargo Terkhyn Tsagaan Nuur, the Great White Lake. As I approached Tariat, on its eastern shores, I found myself dodging airborne refuse. I had hoped for a peaceful stay at the lake but Mother Nature had other plans. When the lake came into view it was indeed white, as in frozen. This was not a surprise. Night time temperatures had been dropping well below freezing lately and many rivers and streams were encrusted with snow and ice. With grey skies the lake was not so pretty. However, in the morning with clear skies the views were impressive. I just imagined it was a salt lake. Another small consolation: a camp site with my own toilet. Mother Nature gave me a gift that morning. She decided not to start her wind machine until I had completed my route along the lake.
That night, after setting up another windblown camp site, two men from a distant ger stopped by to chat and offer lodging. I politely declined and hoped that didn't mean the scary winds would come. I'm sure the locals think me terribly rude for not accepting their offers. However, they seem to always come on the days when I just want to crawl into my sleeping bag and rest. I just don't have the requisite energy to take down camp, cycle some distance to a ger and serve as the family's entertainment for the night. That day I was feeling especially bad. The next morning my condition worsened, thanks to the onset of a nasty case of nausea. I couldn't blame my practice of drinking any water the locals drink and frequenting roadside restaurants. For the past few days I'd been drinking filtered lake/stream water and eating from my food stores. The day's ride was a pretty one, taking me over my highest pass of the trip. However, unable to stomach any solid food I didn't enjoy it. The descent brought me through one of the most populated valleys I'd encountered. It was easy to see why: a year round water source, plentiful fuel from nearby forests and a closed-in terrain that provided shelter from the strong winds. In the afternoon I chose a secluded camp site and tried to rest off the day's ride.
From the narrow Tsetsuukh valley I joined the broad Ider valley. I returned to a more arid landscape and by afternoon I was pushing my bike through sand. Weather was at last mild and I rode in shorts for the first time on the trip. I was even able to give myself a washdown in the river. The sand continued the next day and I kept thinking, if the wind picks up this will be very bad. So the wind did pick up. Good thing I changed into some clean clothes after my washdown. Doh! Attempting to set up camp in these conitions seemed futile so I sought out a room in Tosotsengel. The options all looked decrepit. However, as I stopped in front of a store two men whisked me off to an unmarked, brand new hotel. After the day's sandblasting I was a pitiful sight. Before checking in to my room I was ordered to the public bath house down the street. Yes, even at the most luxurious accommodations in Tosotsengel there's no running water. It's pit toilet out back and a walk down the street for a shower. For dinner I settled in to a plate of buuz (steamed mutton dumplings). Nothin'like mutton to soothe an upset stomach.
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| Distance | Elevation Gain | Flat Tires |
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| Leg | 231 mi/371 km | 12811 ft/4203 m | |
| Trip | 541 mi/870 km | 5 mi/8 km | |
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