08.09.10

I woke early and relaxed at about 7:30 and began working on the blog and fotos.  The border post was just 500 yards away and I would be ready to roll and on the bike in 15-20 minutes.  I figured I would work for 2 hours and then get ready for the border.  At 8:40 I got up to take a slash and realised, while all the clocks in the house were completely out of sync, there was enough to make me think my watch might not be telling me the right time.  I found Misha, my skinny host, and asked him what time zone we were in.  He confirmed we were an hour ahead of Irkutsk time here.  That meant it was now 9:45.  I didn’t want to waste time so needed to be at the border at 10:00 … damn … time to wake up properly, fly into action, and get the bike all packed up and down to the border.

I was the first and only vehicle at the Russian checkpoint.  A different bunch of guys came out to talk to me, but they knew I was the English motorcyclist.  Word travels fast in a village of 300 people.  A senior chap came out and asked for my passport.  He explained there was a quarantine problem on the Mongolian side of this border and they might not let any foreigners in.  He took my passport away and said he will go and talk to the Mongolians and see what they say.  Until then I must continue to wait outside the border area.

It was after 11am when he returned.  I was expecting the worst.  I was expecting him to say “nope – they aren’t playing ball today” … but he just gave my passport back to me, and yelled at the gate people to let me in to the processing area.  It took and hour on each side to get through, and the hour I spent with the Russians was taken up with lots of chit chat.  I asked a lot about the border traffic.  I asked about foreigners using it.  He said they get up to half dozen or so a year.  Almost all cyclists and 4WD guys.  I asked about motorcycles … he said a Russian from Vladivostok came thru this post come time ago, arriving from Mongolia.  I asked about foreigners on motorbikes … he stopped and thought, then yelled over to check with a colleague … “nope, no other foreigners on bikes – just you.”

I was a little surprised, but not completely. So many foreigners come to Mongolia each year on bikes, but basically only use 2 of the border crossings – Tsagaannuur in the far west and Altanbulag in the north.  Why no-one ventures out this way is a bit unknown.  I had never heard of anyone going to north eastern Mongolia on a bike, nor seen any pictures, so I had wondered if anyone had used that border crossing before with a bike.  Now I knew.

Once I was thru on the Mongolian side, it was 1pm.  I headed into the border village of Ereentsav (Chuluunkhoroot) to refuel and stock up on water.  The Mongolian border village was larger and livelier than the Russian one.  I made my way south along double track ruts but my progress was halted 20 km out of town by a roadblock.  How can you have a roadblock in Mongolia you ask?  Well it’s not easy … but they had picked the spot well.  A railway crossing.  The only place where the various tracks converge.  They asked for my passport and I handed it over.  I was quite angry when they kept it.

None of the group of 6-7 people there spoke even the faintest Russian or English – I was totally in the dark as to what was going on, but they weren’t going to let me continue on.  Eventually I understood it was something to do with the quarantine zone.  Despite a very poor mobile signal here, a call had been made and jeep full of cops were on their way out.  Eventually the cops arrived and told me I had to go back to Chuluunhoroot / Ereentsav.  I tried to ask what will happen then, will I be given a new route.  But the answer was vague.  The cops took my passport off the roadblock guys and I mounted the bike and headed back to Ereentsav with the cops in the jeep following behind.

Back at the police station at Ereentsav, they brought in a Russian speaker who explained the situation – that for normal traffic the road of temporarily closed as part of the quarantine programme.  I asked where I can go … how do I move forward.  The cops had a long discussion and then said they will allow me to go down the road to Choibalsan, but the bike, my clothes and I must undergo the full disinfection programme back at the roadblock.  That will take about an hour.  I agreed, and they wrote me out my permission slip and sent me on my way.

Back at the roadblock, the guys were waiting for me, all suited up in chemical suits and boots.  They told me where to park the bike then I had to strip down to my boxer shorts and t-shirt.  All the clothes and boots went into some fumigation tent, I was given some penicillin mouthwash and had to wash my hands in alcohol.  The bike was sprayed all over with whatever it is they spray.  Then I had to wait.  40 minutes.

By the time it was all done, it was almost 4pm, and I was still only 20km from the border.  The next main town (pretty much the next town full stop) was Choibalsan, 200 km away, across narrow, grassy double track.  The sun would be gone by 7:30.  I would make it, but my plans of making it to Ondoorhaan (my plan when I woke up in the morning) would be out of the question.  It was 320 km further on from Choibalsan.  So I decided to take it easy and just cruise into Choibalsan for the evening.

Twice more I passed these quarantine checkpoints.  I showed them my new letter from the police at Ereentsav and was let though with a quick disinfection of the bikes tyres.

I got into Choibalsan early than I expected – soon after 6pm.   I briefly considered continuing on and consulted my maps.  But there was nowhere to stay between here and Ondoorhaan and in anycase, it would be pointless.  I wanted to get to Ulaanbaatar (UB) tomorrow, and it was 700km from here – a nice days ride.  I refuelled, and in the centre of town found a hotel.  It had a shower, garage, breakfast and free internet for the princely sum of 12 pounds a night.  I grabbed it, showered and headed across the main square to the “Stream Pub” a smart looking establishment that was bound to have beer and food.  It was a nice new place with fun staff.

I slowly filled myself up with Mongolian beer “Jalan Khar” and blogged the evening away.  Mongolian beer can be quite punchy – Jalan Khar was tasty but at 5.8%, a couple of half litre bottles at the end of a hot day does the job!

– – –

09.09.10

I left Choibalsan in no hurry.  Of the 700 km to UB, 320km (to Ondoorhaan) was earth … but as a ‘road’ between cities, this one should be wider, faster and have much more traffic than the tiny track to the border village of Ereentsav yesterday.  After Ondoorhaan it should be asphalt for the last 370km to UB.  After 125 km I was stopped … another quarantine checkpoint.  I pulled out my papers and they asked for my documents.  I handed over my International Driving Permit.  That seemed to satiate them.  Then they said I can not go further.  What??

Another car came along with a passenger who spoke some English.  While they were having their car disinfected, the passenger translated for me – apparently my letter only mentioned I had permission to transit the quarantine zone as far as Choibalsan.  The cops who wrote it hadn’t written UB on it, and so the bureaycrats were now insisting I go back to Choibalsan to get a new piece of paper.

I exploded.  When I calmed down I suggested they just call the officials in Choibalsan, and get them to grant me permission over the phone to continue on.  They grabbed a mobile phone and made some calls.  I couldn’t understand what was happening.  But they assured me it would not take long, so I waited.  And waited ,,, and waited …  Every half an hour they would make another call have an animated discussion in Mongolian.  Everytime a passer by who spoke English passed thru the checkpoint (also about every half an hour) I asked for an update … it was always, “we are just waiting for the call and the permission.”  Should be soon, but they don’t know exactly when.

After 3 hours of wasting prime riding daylight, a jeep with two British tourists pulled up, with a guide who spoke perfect English.  The Brits said what I had been thinking for over 2 hours now.  That I feign to ride back to Choibalsan, then 10km down the road just make a detour around the checkpoint.  The guide convinced the authorities to give me back my papers and I headed back in the direction of Choibalsan.  I was over a ridge and out of sight after about 7km.  I stopped and thought.  It will take me 3 hours to go back to Choibalsan and return to this point.  I will be given permission to continue.  It was just a bureaucratic exercise to cover everyone’s arse.  As if a piece of paper issued in Choibalsan reduces the risk of spreading foot and mouth disease more than a phone call and approval over the phone.  On the other hand, the quarantine zone is jointly manned and controlled by the police.  If I was going to make a detour around, it had to be far enough away that the policeman at the checkpoint did not see me.  The last thing I needed was to be on the run from the Mongolian police.

I decided to risk it, and headed north, into the hills.  I was not going back to Choibalsan.  I still had over 550 km to cover and it was now 2pm.  There would be checkpoints ahead too.  I had to think where they might be and avoid them.  The information I had gleaned is that there were no more checkpoints after Ondoorhaan.  That was outside the quarantine zone.

I made Ondoorhaan by 5pm, having skirted what I suspect was only one further checkpoint.  I refuelled in Ondoorhaan and hit the asphalt road to UB, arriving in UB at 8:30pm just as the daylight had passed into darkness.

My first stop in UB was Steppenfuchs (Fox of the Steppes).  Mr Steppenfuchs (aka Vait Scholz) is a German guy who runs motorbike tours out of UB.  He also sells tyres – he is he Mefo distributor in Mongolia … though he is his own main customer.  I had left Irkutsk 4 days earlier carrying Sherri Jo’s old front and rear tyres.  My plan had been to use my Desert / T63 tyres as far as the Mongolian border – using them up on the Russian asphalt – then switch to SJs old Desert and T63 for the run across Mongolia.  That plan was changed 2 hours into the ride when on a snack stop in a village on the south side of Lake Baikal I noticed the front tyre had strayed too close to my exhaust and now had a damaged spot in the sidewall.  I don’t like using damaged tyres … if I don’t have full confidence in the tyre its very hard to ride aggressively – I would be riding nervously waiting for something bad to happen.  And if something bad happened, then I would have no back up.  So I ditched the damaged T63 in the village and continued on with just the Desert rear.  I knew I could get Mefo knobbly tyres in UB and as far as I was concerned, the main tyre I specifically wanted was the Michelin Desert rear anyway.  I can’t say enough positive things about them.  This is THE Mongolia tyre.  Sherri Jo told me early in our time together she was glad I had suggested Desert rear tyres … as she had just been reading Chris Scott’s Adventure Motorcycling handbook, and Chris raves about them too – the Michelin Desert is (and I quote) “the real deal”.

So I pulled up at the garage that houses Steppenfuchs bikes and spoke to one of his Mongolian mechanics working on a car in the yard.  They said Vait isn’t around now and wouldn’t be in till midday tomorrow.  Damn … I took a look at my front tyre … the T63 was amazingly in pretty good shape.  It had done over 7000 km since being fitted in London on the way to the shippers.  There was certainly enough tread depth to handle the light sand on these Mongolian tracks.  My rear needed replacing – but I had the spare for that and could fit it tomorrow morning.  I decided to go away and think about it.

I popped round the corner to the Oasis Guest House.  I have never stayed there but I know a lot of bikers do.  The owners are missionaries – a bit too much religion for my liking.  There were no bikes in the parking lot.  So I decided to move on.  No point staying here … its out on the edge of UB and you need a cab to get anywhere.  I know a good place right in the centre of town where everything, bars, restaurants, internet etc is all within 100 – 200 yards.  I stayed there with Tiffany Coates last year.  After battling through UB traffic, I made it to Nassan’s guest house, and remembered the other reason I like this place … it cost me the princely sum of 6 quid for the night including secure parking.

I jumped straight into the shower.  I do most of my thinking in the shower.  I pondered the tyre dilemma.  I decided my T63 front was good enough.  I will change my rear tyre for the Desert I was carrying on the road tomorrow.  I must leave UB early enough to avoid the worst of the traffic.  UB traffic is a nightmare these days and worse every year.  With the key decisions made, I grabbed the laptop and headed down to Broadway Pizza, just around the corner.  They have good food and wi-fi connection.

I had a steak, washed down with loads of Jalan Khar and Borgio … another Mongolian beer.  After today I deserved those beers.  Come to think of it, every day since leaving Irkutsk I have really earned the beers.