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After two months in Mongolia I’m still enjoying the countryside. My tolerance for cities, it seems, has been reached. In order to update this web site, do laundry, buy supplies, etc. I typically pass through, and stay in, a regional capital roughly once a week. I’m amazed at how quickly, really in just a matter of a mile or two, my mood changes as I pass from countryside into ramshackle town. My experience in Arvaykheer typified this phenomenon. I encountered restaurants without food, internet cafes without internet and banks that would only accept US dollars of a specific series. But perhaps what annoys me most about towns is the navigational challenge they pose. Whenever one track will do five or six or twelve are always better. It’s easy enough to get on the right track at the edge of town (just ask someone) but as soon as there is nobody around to ask the forking process begins.
Arvaykheer was no exception to this rule. At the south side of town there were numerous tracks so I asked at a gas station for directions. I was on the right track for a short while before the first fork. Since I’d seen water in the Ongii river before Arvaykheer I always took the left fork, thinking at worst I’ll run into the stream. I was so confident in this approach that I didn’t bother to do any sanity checks on my location until it was too late. Somehow, all that water and any sign of a sizable streambed had just disappeared. Upon realizing I was some distance off route the rational course of action would have been to backtrack. But I hadn’t done so thus far and didn’t want to spoil my record. Instead, I relied upon the Mongolian GPS. I’d actually come to enjoy detouring to gers to seek directions. The Law of the Steppe requires that each ger provide food, lodging and help to all travelers who seek it. However, showing up on a stranger’s door step with the expectation of food and lodging just didn’t sit well with me. Asking for directions provides a less intrusive means of interaction. It’s clear my only expectation is some advice. If the ger residents want to provide any hospitality it’s certainly appreciated but not expected. In this particular instance the directions were accompanied by offerings of fresh dairy products—milk and dried cheese curds. The milk was tasty but acquiring a taste for the cheese, which is dry and sour, will require some effort. The women were in the middle of a milking session so I also had the opportunity to witness, up close, this process. They tie all the sheep up in a pod, head to head, and then make the rounds with a bucket.
The following day I found myself pushing my bike through sand for the better part of the morning. Eventually I gained higher, firmer ground and was able to get a bearing on the town of Bayangol, where I hoped to get back on track. I didn’t trust any of the faint tracks in the area so I made my own track, one that went straight to Bayangol. That trajectory took me within waiving distance of a ger and soon I had accepted an invitation to take a break and get out of the sun. Inside the ger it was cool, despite the presence of three generations of the family. Out came the dairy products—milky tea, cheese and yoghurt. I wish I could have dropped a cup of sugar in the yoghurt but I still managed to put down two helpings of the sour stuff. I had heard one of the children singing a song to himself so I asked for a song from the children. At this formal request all but a young girl lost their courage. She made up for their absence by belting out a traditional song. Then a young boy took out a case containing a musical instrument. From the shape I thought it might be an accordion. My time had come! But alas it was a button accordion, not a piano accordion. The grandfather picked it but it was soon obvious he didn’t know how to play it. In fact, nobody knew how to play it. So they gave it to me. Surely the white man must know how to play it. I fumbled around for a bit trying to figure out the keys but in the end was unable to produce a tune. They sent me off with a heaping bag of cheese. I did manage to get to Bayangol that afternoon. I exited town, back on track and with an entourage of flies that ensure I don’t enjoy a moment of peace when it’s hot and sunny.
The scenery became more interesting after Saikhan-Ovoo. The desert landscape of colored mountains was how I’d always pictured the Gobi. But this landscape lasted ever so briefly and desert steppe returned. Camels began outnumbering horses and navigation was further hampered by the presence of mirages, making navigation by sight difficult. The night I camped south of Mandal-Ovoo I was abruptly awoken by a strange, pulsating noise. Half-asleep, I tried to determine the source. Then I realized it was originating from the nearby electrical lines. Electrical lines not only serve as navigational aids but also as early warning systems. When a big storm is coming down the lines the accompanying strong winds cause the poles to vibrate and produce some very eerie sounds. I scrambled to cover the tent vents, expecting a big dust storm. However, the storm, though brief, was a rain storm. Thanks to these storms I was finding the Gobi to be much greener than expected.
The first big tourist attraction in my Gobi travels was Bayanzag, otherwise known as the Flaming Cliffs. In the early 1920s expeditions led by the paleontologist Roy Chapman discovered a huge collection of dinosaur bones and eggs at this site. The name would suggest the area has a distinct visual appearance, which is a good thing as they are a good distance from the main track and, as always in Mongolia, there is not a single sign. The tourist camps, though an eyesore (the worst had a restaurant in the shape of a dinosaur egg), were at least located well away from the cliffs. I tried to be as considerate, camping discreetly in the nearby scrub forest. I visited the cliffs as the sun began to set. Although tourist accommodations were plentiful there were few tourists. For some time I had the entire area to myself. In places such as this, which have changed little over the decades or centuries, I’ve always enjoyed trying to picture how life must have been for the early visitors. In this case I tried to picture Roy and his fleet of sedan cars (supported by camel caravans) traveling over the same terrain as I had on my bicycle. These are the types of places where arrival on bicycle enhances the experience. Free from tours and schedules I’m able to experience the site as I like.
After Bayanzag I managed to find my way to Bulgan. There I replenished my supplies and took on four gallons of water. My next destination was the Khongeryn Els, the famous Singing Dunes. The headwinds that day were ferocious, making just staying on the bike challenge. By mid-afternoon I decided to cut my losses and walk. For a large decrease in frustration, energy expended and, most importantly, water consumed I incurred a marginal decrease in forward progress. To worsen matters I never found the right track and by evening I was traveling cross country. It was one of the more demoralizing days of the trip. As I set up camp that night the wind stopped, took a breather, and restarted in the opposite direction. I also saw some proper wildlife—black-tailed gazelles. My mood improved. One large physical and navigational barrier separated me from my destination—the Gurvan Saikhan Range. In Arvaykheer an overland tourist told me how his guide had to drive back and forth several times before he was able to find the track through the mountains. This was an exercise I could ill afford to complete on a bicycle.
In the morning I began my search for the elusive track, my needle in the haystack. I continued on my cross country route. In late morning I detoured to a ger to see if I was anywhere close. Indeed, just above the ger was a proper track that supposedly went through the mountains. I asked if the way was easy to find. The small crowd that had gathered replied ‘Yes’ in unison. I was doubtful but at least I left with a stomach full of fresh dairy products. After a mile the usual forking process began, my frustration increasing with each fork. I had thought that in the least populated area of the country there might be fewer tracks. I was wrong. At first the decision process was easy. I just took the most traveled track. But this criterion loses merit further down the route. Further into the mountains it also became difficult to determine where each track led. I resorted to dismounting my bike and climbing up nearby hillsides at every fork. By afternoon it was obvious that, if there indeed was a track across the mountains, I’d missed it. I needed to find my own route. I hiked up a low ridge, thinking I wouldn’t mind doing this a few more times to shuttle my gear. But as I crested the ridge all I saw were more mountains. I hiked a higher ridgeline and scanned the horizon. Better. Through a distant saddle I could see what appeared to be the dunes. I followed the sight line down to a ravine which, by pure luck, emptied into the valley just below where I’d left my bike. I cycled down to the ravine and began my ascent, thankful to find a horse trail which allowed avoid pushing my bike up the streambed. On the other side I dropped into another drainage. This one was more interesting, with many odd rock formations. But I will remember it as the Valley of a Thousand Turns. I thought I’d never exit as I rounded bend after bend after bend. When the valley did open up it was an extraordinary sight—the dunes backdropped by the Zoolongiyn range. The dunes are not at their highest at this point but what they lack in magnitude they make up for in frequency. With the sun setting each ripple cast a small shadow. The cumulative effect was impressive.
The next day I proceeded west along the dunes, which grew higher and higher. I needed a break from the sun and from my food stores, which by then were reduced to little more than instant noodles, cookies and coffee. I checked in to one of the few tourist camps at the dunes and spent the afternoon resting in the cool confines of my own private ger.
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| Distance | Elevation Gain | Flat Tires |
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| Leg | 303 mi/487 km | 10916 ft/3581 m | |
| Trip | 1674 mi/2694 km | 15 mi/24 km | |
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