10.08.10

We packed our bags up from the 3 day Yakutian slumber we had enjoyed in Yakutsk and hit the road after saying farewell to Artyom, Katya and Tanya.  But not before Katya had fixed up a scrambled eggs breakfast with very tasty “Sibirsky Sauce”:

Sherri Jo impressed with her riding … making good time on some rough roads, but her energy levels were low. Must have been zapped out of her with her 120 C (250F) banya last night. We stopped for lunch at the first village, Mageras and finally called it a day about 3pm at Berdygestyakh, 200km from Yakutsk. It was a short day, but we have the luxury of short days now that the sparsely populated Road of Bones is behind us.

As we checked into a hotel, Sherri Jo was surprised to learn we were the first foreigners to stay here. “Doesn’t everyone who does the Road of Bones come through here?” she asked.

I explained we were now on the Vilyuisky Trakt, a road that continues west across Yakutia rather than south to the main Trans Siberian Highway. Until 2009, parts of this road were winter roads only, and unuseable in Summer. Since 2009 less than half a dozen bikes have been down here. The Vilyuisky Trakt is not exactly a tough road, but it does have its moments, and it is the real heartland of Yakutia. From Berdygestyakh to Krestyakh about 900 km away, we were unlikely to even see many Russians. This is pure Yakut country now.

– – –

11.08.10

40 km into the day we had the moment I had been fearing since hooking up with Sherri Jo. It was a tragedy waiting to happen. I knew it would happen … the only question was when. And here in the middle of Yakutia, it happened. Sherri Jo’s fuel tank / subframe bolts broke.

It’s a major problem with the way the 690 has been designed – there is no metal subframe – the underseat fuel tank doubles as a subframe. All very well for enduro riding, but for luggage carrying adventure riding, it’s a real liability. The bolts and bushes that make up the fuel tank attachments could be considerably stronger. EVERY long trip on a 690E WILL shear the factory tank bolts. I tried to get Sherri to order some custom tougher bolts from an Australian guy (‘Mudguts’) who has developed a solution to this problem, but time was very short before she left. She just had time to get spare factory bolts. These are only a temporary fix – these too will fail.

I sat and looked at Sherri’s bike’s sagging rear end and shook my head. The biting flies were attacking us. This would be a tough miserable place to have to strip the bike down and replace the bolts I thought to myself. Then I thought …. What if I cant remove the sheared bolts? I wont be able to replace them.

I rummaged through my spare parts and tools pannier and dug out a pair of heavy duty straps. I decided we strap the subframe up. I will carry as much of the heavy luggage as possible and Sherri Jo is banned from sitting down – until we get new bolts in. This is my strap rig:

We headed off gingerly towards the next town, in search of a repair facility… with me following closely behind. After 30km of trouble free motoring, I shot off ahead to the next town, “Orto-Surt”, to try and find a repair facility, but there was none. Sherri Jo arrived and I checked the strap rig. It was holding well. “Lets press on” I said, and SJ agreed. We did another 60km, and stopped for lunch. The rig still held firm.

I got the idea that we might try and do the remaining 800km to Mirny with the strap rig, and get Andrei my mechanic friend there to fix it.

We left the lunch stop at Ilbenge and headed for Khampa, the next fuel and food stop. I had told SJ that we might as well set up camp there for the night. 80 km later on one of my regular wait to see SJ stops, I noticed SJ’s tank bag was missing. It was one of the bags I had strapped to my bike to take load of her subframe. (Her tank bag wasn’t used as a tank bag anymore as it was too big and got in the way when standing … so she had it strapped to the back of her bike … and now it was supposed to be strapped to the back of mine.

I figured it must have come off and SJ has probably stopped to pick it up. When she finally appeared, without tank bag, there was only one thing left for me to do. I told SJ to go on ahead to Khampa and wait for me in the café. I had to go back and look for the tank bag. Over 3 hours later I finally met up with SJ at Khampa. I had to go all the way back to the Ilbenge lunch stop before on my return run I spotted the tank bag down an embankment.

When I got to Khampa, the café girls recognised me from last year. SJ and I had dinner.

It was now 7:30pm. We refuelled and I began unpacking the bites in the midge infested area that is Khampa. SJ looked at me with a pained smile and said “How far is the next big town?” …
“80km” I replied …
“And it should have a hotel?” she continued
“Vilyuisk … yep it should have a hotel”
“Let’s go” she demanded.

The insects were a painful nightmare in Khampa for whatever reason, and I am always up for more riding, so I threw my tent back on the bike, and we rode off, reaching Vilyuisk about 90 minutes later. A guy on the edge of town offered to lead me to the town’s hotel and I grabbed it.

Nina was the lady who ran the hotel / restaurant / night club in Vilyuisk. She made sure we were all set for warm showers and food before we settled down for the night.

– – –

In the morning, Nina brought us breakfast.  I asked her about a mechanic in town to get Sherri Jo’s tank off.  I could probably do it myself there in the yard of Nina’s hotel, but I was more worried about the sheared bolts.  We would have to get the ends of the bolts out.  Nina made a call and said a mechanic will come to us in 30 minutes.  We did other bits and pieces on the bikes.  Adjusted tyre pressures / adjusted chain tensions / fixed mirrors etc etc.  Sherri Jo fired up her iPhone and did her facebooking.

The mechanic came and I explained the problem and what needed to be done.  I helped him take the tank off, and then the airbox out.  Once everything was out he got the bolt stubs out without too much difficulty.  We put in Sherri Jo’s spare set of bolts and she reassured me she had just PM’d Mudguts, the Aussie guy who makes the hi tensile replacement bolts for some urgent bolt replacements.

By the time the bike was back together Nina insisted we stay for lunch.  I spoke to the mechanic and asked him how much for his 2 hours of time … he said nothing … just do we have any souvenirs we could give him.  I gave him a Sibirsky Extreme sticker, and a Union Jack lapel pin badge, which distracted him long enough for SJ to slip 500 rubles into his tool kit.

It was now 1pm, and I wanted to hit the road but Nina was very sweet and we accepted her lunch invitation.  Lunch was a fantastic affair of an assortment of vegetables, all home grown in Nina’s greenhouses in her yard, of aubergines, tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce, dill, garlic and chilli … all baked with sour cream.  We both thought it tasted like pizza without the dough.  It was delicious.

Nina too refused payment for the night and for the meals.  We were the first foreigners to stay at her hotel.  She also explained the guy who took us here last night was the deputy mayor of Vilyuisk.  It was almost sad to go.  We had been looked after so well there.  But go we must.  It was now 4pm.

It was time for SJ to tackle the Vilyuisk Sandpit … a tricky sandy stretch of road that lasts for 10km, from just about where the hotel is on the Western edge of town.  So there was no warming up for Sherri Jo; it was sand riding time.

Fortunately for her (and perhaps for me in terms of waiting time) there had been rain last night … the sand had been compacted in stretches, but still with occasional patches of axle deep sand.  Last year most of the Vilyuisk Sandpit had been axle deep dry sand and Tony had wallowed in it for 4 hours before finally making it through!

A quick check on the edge of town showed the Sibirsky Extreme sticker from 2009 was still adorning the town sign.

I led the way through the sandpit, stopping every 500 yards or so for SJ to catch up.

It took us a good  45 minutes, but we made it.  From here on to Suntar, 400 km down the road, was the heartland of Yakutia … Yakut villages are spaced every 15-30 km.

We made it to VerkhneVilyuisk about 6pm.  It was only 75km down the road from the start and I was hoping to rack up another 140km today and get to Nyurba.  We pulled into the fuel station to top SJ up, but the pumps were off.  A long queue had formed waiting for the electricity to come back on and fire up the pumps.  I suggested we use the time to look around town.  I needed a foto  … Arnaud had told me about a plane wreck in town somewhere and I wanted to find it.

We returned an hour later and rejoined the petrol queue.  We queued for another hour before realising … with it now being 8pm, it was too late to begin a 145 km ride, especially when it involved 2 ferry crossings, which can take over an hour each themselves.  SJ suggested we find somewhere to stay in town and I agreed.  I stopped to ask a lady if there was a hotel in town.

She and her family piled out of the van and said yes … we can take you to it, but can we have some fotos first.  I obliged.  Then she jumped back in her van and told us to follow.  She led us to a huge house in town and then said … this is not a hotel, it is my house. You are my guests.  You can eat and sleep and relax.  I translated to SJ.  She was dumbfounded.  All we did was let this woman’s kids take fotos of us, and she takes us in for the night.  It was very cool!