08.08.09
After a day in which Tony’s bike was put back together around midnight, complete with his custom made new shock end piece, emblazoned from the russian workshop with “From Russia with Love” and Terry slept until 5pm; the 8th of August, 1 year anniversary of the opening of the Beijing Olympics, was a day for whhich we had resonably high hopes of (a) getting back on the road and (b) getting away relatively early. We had been marooned 2 days in Komsomolsk without moving and were all a bit restless.
I have to say that the guys in Komsomolsk have really taken Russian biker hospitality to new heights. We had arrived on their doorstep as a trio of hapless adventurers with no contacts in the city and a badly damaged bike (that ought to be taken to a BMW approved technician for a replacement rear shock to be fitted). 48 hours later and Tony’s bike had a remanufactured shock cap, a rebuilt front wheel and numerous other bits and pieces of Komsomolsky ‘tuning’. On top of all that we had been housed for 3 nights in Yegor and Oksana’s flat.
The incredible thing about bikers in Russia is that if you ride a bike, you are as good as family to them. There is no division between sports bike riders, chopper riders, off-road riders …. a motorcyclist is a brother to another motorcyclist. No rivalry between clubs, no fighting over territory etc. A biker is a biker and he is your brother. I have said it before and I will say it again, if you ever see a Russian biker in your own country, treat him like a brother, because I can guarantee he would do the same for you.
So by midday we are down at the garage sorting out the packing. There was a bit of drama re ATMs. Terry had a badly malfunctioning debit card, and his bank refuses to acknowledge there is anything wrong with the card or international settings on the card, when there blatantly is.
Lots and lots of lots of photos followed before we said goodbye to Yegor, Oksana, Kostya, Kolya, Vadim and the gang, then Yegor, Oksana and Kostya rode with us 45km out of town to the edge of the asphalt. The dirt began again and we three, we happy three, were out on our own again on the open dirt roads of Siberia. The first town of any decent size from Komsomolsk was Beryozovy, about 200 km to the North East. As it was 4pm when we left Yegor, Oksana and Kostya, I felt that would be a good first target for Team Sibirsky Extreme today.
Tony’s bike was humming along and the only problem was avoiding dust. We found if we ride as a trio, with two bike forward, on the flanks of the road, and the third bike close behind and riding in the centre of the road, we can all ride in clean air. Its fine until there is oncoming traffic!
With due respect to recent mishaps, we rode at a slightly more sedate pace today. Conserving the bikes, fuel and ourselves would be useful over the BAM road. We made the fuel station at Beryozovy soon after 6pm, then went into town to find a general store. The plan was to camp tonight. Terry is allegedly a camping expert / afficianado and was keen to show us his skills. So we stocked up on camping essentials – beer and chocolate – then headed out of town.
About 25km out of town we found a spot that Terry gave the thumbs up to. The road crossed a nice clean stream flowinig over rocks. Not deep, crystal clear and with enough of a clearing to park the bikes and set up 3 tents.
As soon as we pulled up we were set upon by mosquitoes. Not just mosquitoes but the fiercest most numerous mosquitoes of the whole trip. We had to get a fire going, and fast! A look down at the riding trousers was a frightening experience. There were no less than 100 mosquitoes over each of our trousers.
Slowly but surely, as the fire settled down, the mosquitoes became fewer in number and we had a chance to bathe in the stream. A text came in from Jun (yes we have on and off mobile coverage here amazingly). Jun had made Chita! Good lad. He is on asphalt now. We are all really proud of the guy. He couldnt ride 100 yards on dirt when we met him, now he has done over 1000km on dirt – alone. Tony and I had both noticed that when we gave him advice, he really listened. I mean really listened.
Back at the campsite, the as the beers flowed and the sun set, dinner was prepared and sadly the mosquitoes came back for a final fling. I surrendered and crawled inside the tent, yelling abuse both in english and russian at the little buggers. Terry, the camping afficianado who froze his nuts off bathing in the stream and then had them bitten by mosquitoes as he dressed, now sees the value in cheap russian hotels and scrounged accomodation. This isnt like camping in England!
– – –
09.08.09
Several times in the night, we were gently reminded that we had camped 10 metres from a BAM railway bridge, and boy do the Russians put together a long train.
By 8:30am we were all awake in our tents, talking to each other about getting out. But each of us just sat in our respective tents, staring at the mosquitoes waiting in the tent ‘lobbies’. About 9:30 we finally got enough resolve to decide that mosquitoes would not defeat the Sibirsky Extreme Project, but it was definately a close run thing.
We made good progress on the road until just after 1pm, when we hit a bridge under construction, over the Amgun River. The bridge didnt reach across the river and the river was too deep and too fast to cross. We were going nowhere.
We walked over to the railway bridge where there was an armed guard watching over the rail bridge, but he just barked at us to get away. The road bridge constuction guys, if there were any, were no-where to be seen. I tried to walk across the river but the current was too strong. We had little option but to wait.
An hour or so later, right on 2pm, the construction gang appeared. We met a few of the guys and were introduced to the boss man … head of the construction team. He reckoned a Ural truck, which lives in the first village on the other side of the river, will come over in 2 hours and we should be able to buy a lift with him. And with no other option, we waited.
4pm came and the bridge workers finished up for the day. The boss man walked past us saying the Ural will be here soon. By 4:15 the site was deserted again, just the 3 crazy English motorcyclists waiting.
Terry and I walked over the 3/4 constructed bridge to see if there was any way to survey a route across the river. But it was too deep and the current too strong. We did see the track leading away on the other side of the River though, and it was not at all encouraging. Overgrown, and where no grader had been in decades, the BAM road ahead of us was looking like hard work.
About 5:30pm and some of the construction workers return, in a 6WD grader, towing a trailer. They offered to take us over the river for 4000 rubles (90 EUR). It was a pretty hefty sum, but I understood thats what the Ural truck guy charged, so we had nothing to lose.
All 3 bikes were pushed up some planks onto the trailer and with about 10 construction workers along for the ride, the grader set off across the river. Only it didnt go straight across, it went upstream about 300 metres and crossed there. It was a good crossing spot and the river was not so deep there, but the current was fierce.
By the time all the bikes were unloaded and re-assembled (bags had been taken off to help get them on the trailer) it was 6:30pm. We were across the river and there was no chance to get to any town of any size tonight. The road on this side of the river was a different animal to the road we left behind. It was a track, not much more than that. So far, from Vanino to the Amgun Bridge, the BAM road had been graded gravel (and asphalt from Lidoga to Komsomolsk), now it was taking on a different character entirely. It wasnt a road for 80-110 km/h, it was a track for 20-30 km/h.
We rode for an hour, in which we covered about 25km, when we arrived at the small village of Gerbi. I spoke to the lads and said that sure we have an hour or so of daylight left, but if we go any further, we will be camping with the mosquitoes again, and no-body wanted that. Terry looked at the abandoned buildings by the road and asked aloud if we had just missed World War III. But we did see a couple of new vehicles around, so there must be people around somewhere. We pulled off the main road and found a track into Gerbi and soon realised the village was not quite as deserted as it first looked from the main road.
A lady directed us to the Mayor’s flat and while trying to find the Mayor to ask where a couple of tired Englishmen could rest for the night (all we needed was a mosquito free room), a guy speaking very good english approached us and asked if we need a place to stay for the night. I almost bit his hand off. The guys name was Igor and he directed us back to his house, When we got there we saw a huge red Honda cruiser in his front yard. This was surreal. This was a semi-abandoned village in the middle of the taiga forest, crumbling concrete and mud everywhere, the only roads in and out of town were 4WD tracks and here was a 1000cc Honda cruiser! We had stumbled across the only biker on the BAM for hundreds of kilometres. Or rather he found us. Igor said he was in his house when he heard the distinctive sound of out-of-town motorcycles and went out to identify them.
Immediately Igor chopped up enough wood to fire up his Sauna and heated up some of the tastiest chicken and vegetable soup I have ever had. Terry must had been in agreement because he went back for second and third helpings.
Then Igor’s wife walks in. Noi was Thai and had married Igor and moved to Siberia and the village of Gerbi.
There were about 300 people in Gerbi, and while we were in front of the mayor’s flat one of the villagers mentioned there were a couple of Polish motorcyclists that came thru here last year. I knew of him. A pair of Poles on Africa Twins came to explore the BAM Road last year from Vanino. Thanks to connections in the Polish motorcycling underworld, I had managed to get a copy of the Poles’ GPS notes, where they had marked things like water crossings etc, and had uploaded them to my garmin. Sadly I dont read Polish, but I get the jist of most of the notes. 
The Poles had made it as far as Isa just before Fevralsk before turning back to the Trans-Siberian Highway. We were still hoping to get further than that. I knew the road west of Tynda was a graded road and no problem, the only problem was getting information on the road between Komsomolsk and Tynda. If we could get to Tynda, the whole BAM road was as good as done!.
Another villager had mentioned an Australian motorcyclist who came through last year. This was one I knew nothing about. I wondered if I had heard wrong and it was a cyclist, rather than a motorcyclist.
Back at Igor’s house, and Noi offered us Thai massages. She works as the village masseuse in Gerbi. This was almost too good to be true. We had been taken in by the motorcyling gods. While Tony and Terry went to the sauna, I received my Thai massage. A full 2 hours later and it was Terry’s turn, and I went into the Sauna to bathe and enjoy a cold beer.
Its really difficult to explain how surreal this was. Again, we were on the receiving end of extraordinary Russian biker hospitality. We had been housed, fed, sauna’ed and massaged after pulling up at a crumbling run down series of buildings that didnt even look inhabited. It was another remarkable end to a Sibirsky Extreme day.
– – –
10.08.09
Igor and Noi had woken before us and fixed breakfast, including some delicious Thai fried rice. The riding gear was slowly drying in the morning sun. The villager who we had met yesterday and who had told us about the Poles dropped by to see if we wanted a lift across the river in his truck. There was a big river crossing just outside of town and apparently the Poles had gone across it on the railway bridge according to this chap. We shouldnt need to do that as the water levels were lower now than then, but he was headed that way anyway so told us he would see us at the river.
We said our farewells to Igor and Noi and hit the road. Sure enough, 2km out of town was a wide river … but not too deep. I crossed it in 3 parts, the latter part the deepest. Terry and Tony had crossed the first 2 sections when the guy with he truck pulled up and offered to ferry them over the last deeper bit. Terry’s thought process was that we can do it ourselves if we need to but if help is being offered, then we should take it, and so Terry and Tony were ferried across the last 3rd of the river.
The road was in bad shape, continuing on in the same form as late yesterday but with a full water crossing every 5 km or so. Progress was slow as we were constantly stopping and wading through thigh deep streams and rivers.
About 2:15pm we came across the first settlement of the day, a logging operation with a few houses around it. Closer inspection revealed all the people in the settlement to be oriental. As we were looking for a shop to buy some soft drink or lunch, I pulled up in front of a building decorated with a red banner and asked where a shop was. 8km down the road was the reply in heavily accented Russian. As I prepared to leave I noted the red banner was decorated with Korean writing. This was a North Korean logging community.
The Russians seem to have granted a few logging concessions to the Chinese and North Koreans … effectively supplying timber to China and North Korea without having to do the harvesting and sawmilling themselves.
Sure enough 8km down the road we got to the town of Suluk, where we did refresh ourselves with ice-cream and soft drink. But we had a long way to go and were back on the road by 3:15pm. Fuel was at Novy Urgal, about 130 km down the road. At the speed we were going that could be 4-5 hours or more. But fortune smiled upon us, and the road from Suluk to Novy Urgal was a good one, a graded road. We relished the chance to ride with more speed and got to Novy Urgal and refuelled by 5pm – the last 15 km was asphalt – pretty bad asphalt, but asphalt never-the-less.
We found the sole cafe in town and sat down for a hot lunch/dinner. Terry liked his escalope so much he ordered the same again. Over dinner we discussed options. It would be 6:30pm by the time we hit the road, and there was no-where to go. No proper towns and no hotels until Fevralsk. Even camping enthusiast Terry was now also of the mindset that camping in Siberia is a last resort only. And so we decided to stay the night in Novy Urgal.
The town has about 7000 people and is the largest town we have seen since Komsomolsk. It has one hotel. We found it and asked for rooms, but alas, the hotel was being renovated and was not taking guests. We had 2 options … ride 30km off our route to Chegdomyn where there was a hotel, or try the railway station, where they have a couple of rooms.
We tried the railway station, and found they would have a triple room free in an hours time. Done!. In the meantime we headed off to find a store to stock up on beers for the night, and paid a visit to the town’s statue of Lenin.
It would be a balmy sticky night and with no ventilation in the tiny triple room, sleep would prove elusive for all of us.
– – –
11.08.09
An early start was called for and delivered via my alarm. We packed up and prepared to leave when I was approached by a guy asking where we were going. We got asked this 100 times a day so I didnt pay too much attention to it. We had planned to get to Fevralsk today and he lived in a town about half way there.
We went back to the cafe from last evening, where the food had been very good, but it didnt open until 11am. It was 9:15 now. We asked around and the only place we could get any prepared food was the hospital store, which sold the likes of piroshki and tea (Russian fast food). So we went there, for a disappointing breakfast, but we needed something solid in the stomachs to power us thru what would probably be a tough day. There were a few Polish GPS notes for this section (implying a problem area) and it seemed the weather too was not going to be as kind to us as it had been in recent days.
By 9:40 we were on the road. The first 50 km was a breeze. Graded gravel road. We passed the village of Alonka by 10:30 and I set my sights on Etyrken for lunch. It was another 90km down the road. But as soon as we passed Alonka the road deteriorated again. Unlike earlier stretches, this section had recently had rain. This road was water hole city! We were carving s-shaped tracks in 1st and 2nd gear to try and get arond the puddles. The puddles became deeper and larger and more frequent – every 5-10 metres. Streams ran down the middle of the track. In many places, the road bed of logs was visible. 
There were holes in the road where streams ran below the road – when I say holes I mean holes a foot or two across in the middle of the road that went thru the roadbed to a stream a couple of metres below.
It was challenging riding and required full concentration. The first river crossing came up soon after we had passed the first vehicle of the day, a large 4WD GAZ truck. 10 minutes after we arrived at the river crossing, pondering our options, the truck caught us up. We asked for and received a lift over the river. Always with these truck rides, the main issue is to find some sort of loading site, a ramp high enough to push the bikes onto the back of the truck. First I went over, then the other two bikes. It was the only we had seen all day and the only one we would see for many more hours … and it had come along just after we arrived. It was very lucky timing. We offered the guys payment for the lift, but they just laughed and waved it away.
The rain came and the already wet track became wetter. Visibility fell. Terry was leading and took what I suspected was a wrong turn. I hoped he would notice but after a few kilometres he hadnt. I sped up to try to overtake Tony and Terry and turn the team around, but the road didnt like my idea and 
I caught the steep eroded edge of a stream in the middle of the track and went down. Nowhere near the speed of the fall the other day. This time just at 35-40 km/h. But I looked up and saw Tony and Terry riding away over the crest of a hill.
It had been an exhausting day and I didnt have the energy to pick the bike up. The rain was still falling and without wet weather gear on, I was soaked to the bone. I went to the stream and cleaned myself up a bit and waited for the boys to return. I only had to wait about 10 minutes as Terry did realise we might be on a wrong road and turned round to ask my opinion, only to see I wasnt there. The boys helped me pick up the bike and we went back to the turnoff under the rail bridge that Terry hadnt seen and continued on. This was obviously the right track now, it (a) followed the rail line and (b) had the old roadbed of rotting logs.
After just 3km, the heavens really opened in a full strength tropical downpour. We sheltered under a railway bridge to wait out the rain and ponder how we would make the river crossing beside us. We were now only 20 km from Etyrken village, which by now had become the target for the day. If the rain didnt let up, we would need to make a run for it sooner or later anyway, but after half an hour of sheltering under the BAM the downpour reverted to mere rain, and we decided that was good enough for us.
The river crossing we decided to go for was basically an old log bridge that had collapsed and was now a floating log raft full of holes, jammed in between the banks. The only way across was to walk the bikes over the slippery wet logs. My bike went across OK, but Tony’s got caught and slipped in between two logs. A lot of pushing, lifting, shoving and groaning followed but the bike eventually made it across to the shallows on the other side, from where it splashed down and could be ridden out. Terry’s bike made it across without too much drama and we resumed our drive.
A passing railway maintenance train saw us and watched us struggle through a couple of bogs, tooting wildly with excitement.
There was one more set of Polish notes on my GPS … and it was something to do with a river crossing. We arrived there, now just 14 km form Etyrken and pondered the crossing. I thought we might ask the railway maintenance train (which had a crane) to lift us up and ferry us across on the train bridge, but as we discussed options, yelling was heard coming from the opposite bank. 2 guys were waving their arms and telling us to wait. They got into a big Ural truck and drove across the river. This was an incredible stroke of luck to have a truck arrive just as we needed it. They directed us to a makeshift ramp and loaded all three bikes on board the big Ural for the bumpy rocky river crossing. Once on the other side of the river, all unloaded, we offered the guys cash but they refused.
Then I suddenly realised they were waiting for us. It was something to do with they guy we met at the Railway Station this morning as we departed Novy Urgal. The guy who lived halfway to Fevralsk, the guy that I didnt pay much attention to. 
I had told him we were going thru Etyrken to Fevralsk and he had scoffed, saying we would not get that far in one day. He was from Etyrken and must have called people there saying watch out for 3 stupid english motorcyclists.
The two guys in the Ural were Nikolai and his son Nikolai. They told us to stop in Etyrken and we would be housed, fed and sauna’d. It was an offer too good for three soaking wet, exhausted riders to pass up. As we are a fair bit faster than the truck, I told them we would wait at the edge of Etyrken for them and we sped off.
Five km from Etyrken and we saw the buildings of the town for the first time. After a full day in the cold and rain, it was like seeing an oasis as you walk through the desert. Sweet, sweet civilisation. We stopped on the edge of town to wait for the two Nicks and a car zoomed up to greet us. The guy introduced himself as Nikolai’s brother. 10 minutes later and the big Ural arrives in town and leads us to the town fire station. Each town in these parts has a fire brigade tasked with monitoring a huge area of forest for forest fires.
We parked up the bikes in the fire station and were led upstairs to a little guest apartment there, complete with kitchen and bathroom. It was now just after 5pm, and the two Nicks said they would be back at 8pm to take us to their banya (sauna).
By now I realised the older Nikolai was the guy who had spoken to me in Novy Urgal. He had taken a train back to Etyrken and then drove out to meet us in the truck. He had been waiting only about 5 minutes when he heard our engines pull up at the river crossing. It was all very lucky, and great timing.
In the banya, we spoke about other foreigners he had met in town. Only motorcyclists and cyclists it seems. He spoke of an Australian cyclist last year – he hadnt met him but had heard about him. And then there was the Polish motorcyclists, (Richard and Richard). They was here for 3 days last year, and consumed a lot of vodka it seems !!! They too stayed in the same guest apartment above the fire station that we were now in according to the locals.
– – –
12.08.09
We awoke about 9am and met Nikolai downstairs. He had bad news on a number of fronts. Firstly, he had called through to guys he knew at a bridge / crossing and water levels were high there after yesterdays rain.
Secondly, he had called ahead to contacts in Fevralsk and Verkhnezeisk to ask about the road beyond Fevralsk. Nikolai himself had driven to Fevralsk in his Ural 2 weeks ago. The 150 km journey had taken 16 hours – such was the road. He briefed me on that road. 
But the news from both Fevralsk and Verkhnezeisk was that there is no summer road at all. Its only a winter road. Loads of major rivers and no bridges. The road is impassable even in the big 6WD Ural trucks in summer. If even the Urals can only do that stretch in winter, then we had no chance in summer.
The best we could do was to match the efforts of the Polish Africa Twins of last year. But unlike those guys, after Fevralsk, I still wanted to stay and complete all of the BAM that was possible. If the stretch or road from Fevralsk to Tynda is not possible then we would try to do that stretch on the BAM train.
We said fond good-byes to the Nikolai’s and all the guys at the Etyrken fire station and headed off down the road to Fevralsk. It was 150km away and that had been our daily average of the last three days. Yet again (for the third day) I was hoping to be in Fevralsk for dinner.
Incredibly, if it were possible, the road conditions deteriorated even more than the previous day. For about 4 days in a row the track had got progressively worse. Puddles and huge washed away sections dominated the track. Perhaps in keeping with the recent rains, the bottom of the puddles was increasingly sticky mud.
I had by now come to the view that this BAM road between Komsomolsk and Fevralsk is an incredible test of man and machine. It is mind draining, exhausting, endless series of obstacles. If it were a 20-30km weekend run out, it would be tremendous fun and a great challenge, before grabbing a warm pub lunch and a beer on the way home to dry out and relax. But its an endless grind through progressively worse road conditions that goes on for thousands of kilometres.
Technically, doing the Tuva Track earlier in the project was more difficult, but even that was only 150 km. This BAM road is fast becoming, for me, the ultimate test. The road of the past few days has not had any maintenance at least since the soviet times – like the old summer road on the Road of Bones, only the BAM road isnt just 300km long. Its overgrown, eroded, and in very poor shape. If anyone wants a 2 wheel enduro challenge, this road has to considered. Do it from the Vanino / Komsomolsk end though, so as to build up into the gradually deteriorating road through to Fevralsk.
By midday we had reached the big railway bridge over the Ulma. It was the largest water crossing of the day and there were literally zero other vehicles on the road. We had a long chat with the bridge guards.
Major railway bridges are still guarded with Railways Department Troops in case any large countries to the south of Siberia decide to march north and take resource rich Siberia, which would involve cutting off the rail links to the Russian Far East … the Trans Siberian and the BAM. The only reason the BAM even exists is because the Trans Siberian Railway passes much too close to the only country that really covets Siberia and its resources. The Russians needed to build an alternative lest the Trans Siberian fall into other hands.
The bridge guards were very kind, offering us a room in the now abandoned Soviet Army barracks that used to guard the bridge. Apparently one room was furnished with beds and electricity, used by hunters in winter. We said thanks, in case we needed it, and went down to the river to check it out. Tony tried to walk across but it was too deep. We waited by the river for several hours in which time the river level dropped about 10 cm, but we needed about 4 times that. Maybe it would be OK in the morning.
With rain threatening, we returned to the top of hill and the bridge guards. They led us to the small room in the abandoned barracks and we unpacked the bikes. The room was about 2.5 x 2.5 metres, had 2 bunks and a table.
The senior guardsman came up to join us once his shift was finished, as did 2 contractors installing video surveillance equipment on the bridge. They brought vodka, food and good cheer. They mentioned we were the first foreigners this year. In a similar story to other places along the line, these guys reported only being aware of 3 foreigners having been down this road before, the two Poles on motorcycles, who also stayed here, again in the very same room, and the Australian cyclist, all last year.
Amazingly, we were staying in exactly the same room as the Poles a year earlier, for the second night in a row. I have to meet these guys some time – it seems our BAM road journeys are so intertwined its bizarre.
– – –
13.08.09
Our plan for the morning was to defeat the river. I had thought to myself yesterday while staring at the river that the deep bit is only 2-3 metres across and might be able to made shallower with excessive application of rocks. Over vodkas last night in the abandoned military base, the Railway Guard boss man said he thought the Poles last year had made it by throwing rocks into the river as well. That sealed it for me. That was the morning’s plan.
By 10 am we were down by the river. I waded across the fast current twice, in two different places, to find the best place for the rocks to go in. It was freezing cold and chest deep. Then the engineering work began. Two hours later it was finished. Bikes were stripped of bags and Terry’s went across first. All unpowered, pushed only. We learned the hard way that the current was seriously strong and we needed to steer upstream more to stay on track, but we got the bike across.
Sadly the bike didnt fire up on the far bank. Despite jamming rags into the air intake, somehow water had got into the engine. Spark plug was removed and engine blown clean. Then ignition.
Next bike was ‘Chopper’ Tony’s. With all 3 guys heaving it went across quite easily, and fired up on the far bank.
Finally it was my bike. The bike made it across but wouldnt fire up. Removing the plugs on the Rotax engine is a bigger job. Airbox needs to come out to get at the plugs. 15 minutes later and the engine was turning over, blowing water out of the plughole. The rag in the air intake was totally dry. Water must have got in to my and Terry’s engine through the exhaust gaskets, and open exhaust valves.
By 1:30 we and all our gear was across the river and all bikes were running. We rode up the steep, deeply rutted road feeling like having overcome that obstacle, we would power ahead to Fevralsk. Its about the 5th day I thought I should get to Fevralsk.
But it wasnt to be. The conditions over the hill were boggy. It began slightly boggy, but soon became a repeat of Tuva … endless bog. We were lucky to do 15 yards on the road before it became the next bog.
Its impossible to put into words how mind draining it is ploughing thru endless bogs, hoping each one is the last, only to reach another 30 yards later. If we got out of first gear, it was never for more than a few seconds.
Rain came and the afternoon soon deteriorated into a farce. We were all soaking wet, and all regularly spending time helping the other bikes out of the bogs. Terry’s bike fell into a hole in one bog, and his air intake, just under his seat, gulped in a mouthful of water. The bike stopped instantly and Terry feared the worst.
In the rain, on a small patch of sand in between bogs Terry released his sump drain. Pure water came out. We drained over a litre from his sump of water and or emulsion. Then his oil tank … also emulsion.
Finally we got to what could pass for oil. I had about 0.8 of a litre of engine oil strapped to the outside of my bike and the lot went into to Terry’s engine to top it up. It wasnt enough, but it would have to do. The engine was still very wet and the starter turned over many many times shooting out water before the plug could go back in. About 45 minutes after he went under, the bike finally fired up again, and we continued.
By 5:30 we had travelled about 9 kilometres from our overnight accomodation and saw, 150 yards away by the railway line, a small empty hut. Camping tonight was out of the question because of the endless bog, not to mention mosquitoes, so the decision was made to abandon play for today and retire to the hut.
The hut was dry inside and had a small wood burning stove, 2 wooden benches and a table. It was 2 x 3 metres. There was no dry wood. A look around outside turned up few blocks of dry wood that Terry and I started splintering for a fire.
The fire was a big success and wet clothes were arranged around the fire to try and dry overnight. Dinner of mash and meat was prepared by Tony using our camp stove and prepacked meals commonly found in general stores. By 7pm it was homely, in a filthy rustic kind of Siberian hardcore way.
A walk along the railway line (brief due to the aggressive mosquitoes) got us thinking about riding on the railway embankment. But that thought could be developed more tomorrow morning.
– – –
14.08.09
Rats kept us awake all through the night in our little railway hut. I woke the boys at 8am to get an early start. We decided to ride along the railway track and see how that went.
We rode up to the edge of the track. A train went past. From that we worked out how far we needed to throw the bikes in case a train came. We rode along the edge of the track along the foot or so of sleeper overhang. It was a killer for the suspension, but after yesterday, in which we did 9 km all day, it was speedy progress. Our first half an hour covered 2 km.
We came to a railway siding and decided to ride down the middle of the siding track. The ballast was much more complete here and we had a much wider track (over 1.5 metres, as opposed to the 30-40cm sleeper overhang on the edge of the track. After another very quick kilometre (barely 5 minutes) we reached a very minor station, Mustakh, … one that served only the siding staff and railway maintenance workers.
Terry and I went inside and asked the lady who was manning the signalling and points control (the only person there) if a cup of tea was out of the question. Tony finally caught up and he too joined us in a cup of tea and chocolate biscuits. We even enquired as to the train situation from here. But the lady firmly told us that no passenger or freight trains stop here. Its just for railway staff only. I didnt think there was much choice anyway, but that confirmed it. We had no option but to leave this island of civilisation in the Siberian wilderness and get going again.
By now I was convinced that we were going to have to do it by road, and not by the edge of the train track. We cut down the embankment and resumed on the road. The first obstacle was a river that seemed to have a ramp built up the other side that could only have been built by motorcyclists. A one wheel ramp was useless to even the big Urals and Zil trucks. It must have been built last year by the Poles. We carefully rode the bikes up the ramp made from 2 old railway sleepers and continued the journey.
The road today was better than yesterday. There were no bogs, but the steep, rocky, eroded inclines were a constant threat to the bikes. By 2pm we were just 10km from Isa and Terry and I were keen to get there as soon as possible. Tony was having a very tough day, and after countless walks back to collect him and right his bike, Terry and I insisted he ride upfront. That would avoid us hiking back up difficult roads time after time. It was the only way for us to ride as a threesome without Terry and I burning out our clutches or starter motors, or riding twice as far as we needed to.
We now had two major problems. Terry’s oil was still looking more like milk after yesterday’s innundation, and there was realistically no way Tony could ride on after Isa on this most difficult track. Our fate would be decided in Isa. By 4pm we had reached Isa, the first town in 3 days. The 65 km from Etyrken had taken us 3 days. We went straight to a general store and consumed everything we could buy; Fruit juice, soft drink, chocolate bars, crisps.
A guy came up to us and chatted about road conditions. I asked about the Poles, and he said “yes, the two Poles, they came here last year and took the train to Fevralsk.” Well that explained why there were no more GPS notes after Isa. I would dearly love to have gone that little bit further than the Poles, to Fevralsk, but with one sick bike and one exhausted rider, and a road that no retail 4WD could even contemplate, it was looking like a bridge too far. It was increasingly apparent, now that we were in Isa (and all almost out of fuel – and with no fuel station in town) that the only sensible thing to do was to take the train from here, as the Poles had done.
The people we spoke to in Isa had only ever seen 5 foreigners come thru here on bikes; The two Poles last year and now the three of us. This part of the BAM road, from Komsomolsk to Isa is truly a Siberian Extreme experience. The 800 km we covered had taken us a week of hard riding. In my mind it is a benchmark road for both rider and machine. To make it to Isa (or beyond) from Komsomolsk is to join a very very small club of riders.
With only a zimnik up ahead beyond Fevralsk, it has to be said that the BAM road is not a viable alternative (at this time) for crossing Russia.
My final verdict on the road? With the Trans-Siberian almost all paved now, and the Rooad of Bones undergoing a load of renewal and upgrading, this is one to the great adventure rides left in Siberia. It’s a truly great challenge for anyone wanting to push the limits of difficult riding in a difficult environment, and I recommend it to the hardcore wholeheartedly.
A few handshakes and hugs could never be enough to say farewell to the two guys who have partnered me along this BAM Road odyssey. Tony has been with me for almost 3 months … initially just planning to ride Altai, Tuva and Lake Baikal with me over 3 weeks, but that grew into 3 months across some of the wildest roads in Siberia. I am unsure how it will feel to be riding without Tony. It was in Central Asia the last time I set out on a day’s ride without waking up Tony first. I dont think I have met a guy with such understated determination. No matter how tough things got, Tony just put his head down and got the job done. What he lacked in technique he made up for in abundance with balls. The guy is all about balls. If you see him, offer to shake his balls!
Back to life on the river … A day later, and our boat docked in Vitim, where the Vitim River joins the Lena. Vitim is a real boom town around here. There is a big plan to develop oil and gas fields about 170 km ‘inland’ and Vitim will be the centre of logistics for that. The next few years will see the town grow from a small service port to one of the key cities on the Lena, the same way Lensk grew dramatically to service the diamond towns of Mirny, Almazny, Aikhal, Udachny and Anabar several decades ago.
I found a fuel station and hit the road. It was 10:20 when I left Lensk. I’d had plenty to eat on the boat over the last few days so breakfast was not required. I would go straight through to Mirny 240 km away.
