Archive for the ‘Siberia’ Category

Saying Goodbye from Jonathan Fox on Vimeo.

After I left Walter and Marcin it initially felt very strange being alone. In contrast to their ascent into the mountains and subsequent fall in temperature my day became ever hotter as I took an unmarked road west across Southern Romania from Calafat to Turnu-Severin. I was surprised by the interesting architecture of the houses and found this area of the country to be a delight. The Danube was never out of site as I made my way onwards to Timisoara. Progress was slower than I had anticipated because Romania is currently undergoing a large road building program. Some of it is finished but there are long sections of gravel and potholes. You can be cruising along at 50 or 60mph and without warning the good road runs out and you find yourself on a dirt track. Approaching surprise off road sections above 100kmh is a new experience for me

I reached Timişoara in the early evening and was pleasantly surprised by what I saw. Wikipedia describes the city as “Little Vienna”, because it belonged for a very long time to the Habsburg Empire and the entire city center consists of buildings built in the Kaiser era, which is reminiscent of the old Vienna. Timişoara is an important university center with the emphasis on subjects like medicine, mechanics and electro-technology. An industrial city with extensive services, it was the first mainland European city to be lit by electric street lamps in 1884. It was also the second European and the first city in what is now Romania with horse drawn trams in 1867. There are numerous claims that Gustave Eiffel, the creator of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, built one of Timişoara’s footbridges over the Bega.

As dusk began to take hold I found myself in the open country again. I toyed with camping but was mindful of the fact that every time I stopped I was always seem to attract stray dogs who were often hostile to my presence. I must have stopped 3 times to take a photo and each time a snarling dog or 5 would appear from a rubbish heap at the side of the road or from an alley in a village.

I looked at my map and felt I could easily get to Hungary and press on to either Budapest or Bratislava. With a firm resolve and a can of red bull I fired up the F800 beast and got going towards the Hungarian border. I also had the small issue of only possessing Euro’s. I had a finite amount of funds left and so I thought it best to take all the cash from my accounts instead of having a situation where a card was rejected. That way I knew the score. Ideally I needed to get to the Eurozone but I knew I didnt have enough fuel to get me to Slovakia. I managed to negotiate with a kind lady at the Shell petrol station to give me fuel for Euros. It was a win win deal

By midnight I was rolling into Budapest. I felt I was not doing the city justice by riding through it so late but figured I would be back in a touristic capacity as It is very close to Austria. By now I was totally in the red bull zone and eyed Slovakia and Austria with renewed vigour. I had been riding since 10am and it was now well into the small hours. I decided that although boring the Autobahn was the safest place to be and as I entered Austria picked up a vignette for the bike. They only had a 10 day option but considering some of the fees I’ve had to pay at borders recently I reckoned €4.50 was a steal.

I lost a few hours to delirium and can’t remember the journey from Vienna to Amstetten (recently made infamous for all the wrong reasons by Josef Fritzl) A flickr contact in the area told me that section of Autobahn is infamous for people falling asleep and crashing due to either its design, the distance between rest stops or perhaps strange energies.

To cut a long story short I arrived in Linz at 7am and was warmly welcomed by my girlfriend and her family. I was offered a warm shower and a warm bed and for me Sibirsky Extreme Europe was almost at an end.

09.06.09

Tony and I woke in Petropavlovskoe pretty late as we had wandered off from our hotel the last night after showering to go in search of food and drink. It having been midnight, our choices were limited. We found a general store and grabbed a cold pizza and a beer each, had the pizza microwaved and went outside to the bench in front of the store and ate our pizza and drank our beer in the darkness, reveling in the sense of being in the middle of nowhere.

The morning sun was warm and I had dressed accordingly – Summer gloves and only the vest under the riding jacket. I led the way south, and as soon as we left Petropavlovskoe, the dirt began.

This was the first time I had ridden with Tony and I didn’t really know what to expect. He is a seasoned Russia rider but I didn’t know how comfortable he was on non-asphalt surfaces or what general speed he liked to ride at, but judging from first impressions he was more than happy riding at similar speeds to me. That would definitely make things easier in the weeks and months ahead.

We rode over endless green rolling hills that could have been England, only without farmhouses and villages.

60km south of Petropavlovskoye was Soloneshnoye. I needed some fuel as I hadn’t filled up since just after entering Russia yesterday. Soloneshnoye was the last chance for fuel before Ust Kan, almost 2 hours down the road. Looking south-east from sunny Soloneshnoye was like looking from the land of the Hobbits into the darkest depths of Mawdor. It was dark, very dark. Lightning flashed over mountains in the direction we were headed. There was no avoiding it, we had to continue that way and face the music. Perhaps it would be better when we got there.

It seemed at first we had been lucky as we missed the bulk of the storm, only catching the end of it. But the storm had made the dirt road a bit of a slippery mud bath, and that reduced our speed significantly. We seemed to be endlessly chasing pockets of sunlight. The sky was very uneven. Ahead of us was sunlight so when the going was miserable we looked at that and thought just 5 more minutes and the conditions will be better. Not sure we ever made it to that promised sunlight or whether it was just an illusion designed to sucker us on into the drizzle and increasing mud.

By the time we reached the village of Chyornoye Anui, I could no longer see Tony’s headlight. The front mudguard on the G650 Dakar he was riding was not large enough to stop mud from his front wheel flying up over his headlight, windscreen and indeed face. Chyornoye Anui was the first village inside the Altai Republic and the people here were clearly Altai. The Altai are the local Turko-Mongolic inhabitants, and are similar to the Kirgiz and the Tuvans.

I stopped half a mile past the end of town to wait for Tony. But no-one was coming. He was just behind me a when we entered town. I waited for a minute or two in case he had stopped for a photo and then I noticed a couple of kids I had seen a the edge of town milling around the middle of the road a few hundred yards back. I turned around and headed back. Tony’s bike was down in some very slippery mud and Tony was picking bits and pieces from his luggage up from the mud. One of his side boxes had opened and documents and stuff was all thru the sticky mud.

I helped Tony right his bike and once all the bits were collected, suggested we head down to the nearby stream to clean up as much as we could, shadowed by the local Altai kids.

By the time all was cleaned and dried, the drizzle had stopped, the sun was back out, and the picture looked better. I led the way back across the grass paddock to the road but in the process we discovered Tony’s metal mule luggage rack had come off its front mountings. Must have happened during the fall.

After considerable faffing about we realised we were not going to be able to fix it, and Tony decided to ride on without the front attachments. By now it was drizzling again and we headed on with the roads slippery again and increasingly muddy. Our  perseverence did pay off and just before reaching Ust Kan, the sun returned, and so too did the asphalt.

The scenery had been fantastic, and had it not been raining most of the time, I would have taken a hundred photos. But cameras and rain don’t mix well. In fact, despite the rain I will put it down on the recommended roads list, because in good weather it would have been a highlight of any trip.

Just before entering Ust Kan I saw a sign saying to go beyond there was to enter a restricted border zone, permits needed! This now corresponded with yesterdays problems at Ridder (Leninogorsk). The crossing from Ridder came out not far from ust Kan, and the border zone there too had been a permit only restricted zone. I had hoped to ride further south to Ust Koksa, but the weather and the restricted zone put an end to that. Tony and I refueled and headed east towards the M52 – the Chuisky Trakt.

What started off as a promising asphalt road from Ust Kan deteriorated as both the asphalt ended and a severe storm came out of nowhere drenching us. But yet again persevere we did, and we made it to the M52 at Tuekta, and turned south. I had been told there was a decent sized town at Ongudai, 25km south of the road junction and decided we should head there for a late lunch and to dry out.

As fate would have it, the rain stopped and we pulled into Ongudai in bright sunshine. This day was all about on-again / off-again weather. We feasted on pretty mean rations (the Cafe’s here don’t seem to have awe-inspiring menus) and as it was now after 7pm, we headed on. There was a decent sized town called Aktash, 150 km down the road, and we should find a hotel there.

This was my first taste of the Chuisky Trakt, Tony having had experienced it downstream while waiting for me at Gorno-Altaisk. Its a lovely road. Good asphalt surface, dramatic scenery thru rugged rocky mountains, and yet very very green. Perhaps that was the recent rain?

We reached Aktash 15 minutes after darkness and found a hotel. This time we were not so lucky re wandering off to the centre of town for some food and beer. The hotel was not in the centre and the town looked very very sleepy. We showered and went to bed.

- – -

10.06.09

Rain stopped play. For the first time in the trip, I canceled biking due to the weather. Tony was happy with that too and we headed off to Aktash’s mechanical guru, who happens to have the same name as the President, Dmitri Medvedev. Looks like him too! ‘The President’ washed and fixed a number of niggly things on the bikes, a rivet here, some soldering there, and manufacturing some new parts for Tony’s luggage system.

We took advantage of the halt in travel to wash a few loads of clothes. Not sure how they will dry in this weather – maybe flying off the back of the bikes tomorrow.

Brunch and dinner was a similar meal (again very limited menu) in the towns one cafe.  For the benefit of those who understand russian menus, it was kotlet c makaronom, i pirozhki.  For the others, I wont bother translating, but will try and score a foto tomorrow to explain.

Its been at least the third day in a row of rain. I saw rain the day I arrived ino Russia in the distant Altai Republic, then Tony and I hit it yesterday, and now again today. This has me worried for the days ahead, specifically the crossing into Tuva. 150 km of dirt tracks plus about 80 km of almost no tracks.

The day was rounded out with a couple of local beers, both at the cafe and then in the hotel room.

11.06.09

We left Aktash excited at the prospect of tackling the ‘Tuva Track’, and just getting into Tuva.

Tuva is one of those mysterious exotic places that fires the imagination. Tuva IS adventure. Thoughout its history its been part of Mongolia, then China, then independent, and now part of Russia. Taiwan still considers Tuva to be part of China, and doesn’t recognise the independence it gained soon after the last Chinese emperors fell in the early 20th century.

The staging post for our ‘Tuva Track’ was the Altai town of Kosh Agach. The ride to Kosh Agach was typically dramatic thru rugged mountain valleys lined with pine trees, down the Chuisky Trakt, the M52 – main road to Mongolia.  We passed a convoy of French 4wds heading the other way – obviously having recently left Mongolia. After the first 70-80 km the landscape gradually began to change and we morphed over the next 50 km into treeless dusty plains, broken by softer rolling hills.

In Kosh Agach we stopped to fill up tanks and to get some food. I grabbed a couple of extra pirozhki to eat on the road as I had no idea how the going would be on the track.

Very few travelers get to Tuva.  Officially there is really only one way in – Via Krasnoyarsk, and then south thru Abakan. Our plan was to turn left about 7-8 km south east of Kosh Agach, and get to the village of Korkorya. This would the be the last settlement before Mugur Aksy in Tuva, and Mugur Aksy is a place where no-one could tell me whether they had food or fuel or a place to stay. The one report I had heard about Mugur Aksy was that it was full of semi-hostile alcoholics.  Hardly encouraging.

Two years ago, when I first came up with the idea of crossing into Tuva the hard way, an Australian mate, Simon, had been preparing to 4WD across Russia and asked me if I could recommend me some interesting roads. I had sketched a track on a map from Kosh Agach to Mugur Aksy and beyond, and Simon had taken it on. He went a different way to what I had planned, going further south via the Tuvan village of Kyzyl Khaya before skirting the Mongolian border and getting to Mugur Aksy that way. Simon had taken a few wrong turns and ended up getting fined by Russian border police for straying too close to the Mongolian border (or was that illegally entering Mongolia – Simon isnt sure).   Russia operates a different border system to most countries, in that there are many “border zones” that extend up to 50km into Russia, and you cant enter those without a permit – unless you are on a federal highway or railway.

I was unsure of the status of the Tuva Track under this rule. The route I had planned took us north-east from Korkorya, over the Buguzun Pass, past Ak-Khol (white lake) then Khindiktig-Khol, approaching Mugur Aksy from the west. This left plenty of room between us and the border and I hoped this would be OK. I had checked the route on Google Earth thoroughly, and apart from a vague 10 miles of so, looked feasible.

The asphalt, and indeed even graded road ended at Korkorya, and only wheel ruts from 4WDs indicated the track onwards. Within 5km from Korkorya the track became a kind of motorcycling paradise traveling on a smooth ‘path’ though wide grassy valleys. The only cloud on the horizon was dark clouds on the horizon … over the mountains ahead of us were heavy dark clouds and flashes of lightning. That would make the upcoming pass interesting.

We stopped when we reached a section of river that still was covered in ice. It was incredibly beautiful. Soon afterwards we realised the track had faded out. I checked the map, we were due for a river crossing. Sure enough, on the other bank was the continuing track. I found a path to the river and stopped. It was fast flowing but looked only a foot deep. I committed the cardinal sin of not walking thru when unsure of depth and flow.  I didnt waant to walk thru it because of all the ice around – I might get cold and wet – and I paid the price. Where I was crossing was twice as deep as I thought – I was up to my thighs. The flow was intense. The bike went down for the third time in the trip, this time underwater. The flow was so fast the bags were being ripped off the mountings. Tony jumped in to help me right the bike and it was soon on two wheels again. We pushed it to an island in the middle of the stream, from where I restarted the bike (no water ingestion) and rode across the second (shallower) part of the river. It was the first proper river crossing of the trip and I was kicking myself for being lazy and not checking the river by walking it first.

We decided Tony had to find a better route. By now we were both soaking from the crotch down in icy water, so more exposure to it was no problem. We were already cold and wet.  By chance a rare 4wd van coming the other way indicated a shallower route (it was the first vehicle we had seen since leaving Korkorya) and Tony took that, with me walking along side his bike. It was a tough initiation to water crossings for Tony, but he had made it across successfully.

I didnt want to tell Tony there were two more crossings of the same river before we reached the pass. As it happens the two later crossings were easier. Less water, less flow, shallower. It would have been nice to warm up on the easier river crossings first.

As we began to climb, the track deteriorated and became very rocky. A couple of times we had to skirt ice and snow across the track, but by 4:30pm we had made the pass (we left Kosh Agach at 12:30). It was windy and bitterly cold. We stopped to eat some of the pirozhki we had packed. Tony wanted to stop and fix some of his malfunctioning luggage system. It was hardly an ideal place to do repairs and I suggested we bodge it with cable ties until we reach a more suitable location.

Now we were in Tuva. A sign at the pass indicated that we had been but were no longer in a border zone. Oops.

The track on the Tuvan side was a different animal. Boggy. We continued on an successfully found my first Tuvan checkpoint, Ak-Khol. This was a marker on my map to confirm I was on the track I planned to be on.  The track at this point was still ok, but we were approaching the point where even max zoom on Google Earth could not verify the track. We passed a pair of Russian 4wd van / buses and I stopped to ask them where they were from. They did a regular shuttle service daily between Kyzyl Khaya and Kosh Agach but couldnt really tell me where the turnoff was for the direct track to Khindiktig Khol and Mugur Aksy was. They did indicate there was an old bridge somewhere near here. I couldnt see it and continued on. If I couldnt find my track, I would have to continue on this decent track to Kyzyl Khaya and take the graded border road from there to Mugur Aksy.

10 minutes later we passed a couple of Tuvan lads on a Russian Planeta 5 motorcycle. They offered to show me the track to the bridge and we turned around and backtracked most of the way to where we had met the 4wd vans. Then the boys pointed to a vary rarely used track heading east. I was sceptical this was the track i wanted as on my map it was marked as a well used track.  Never-the-less, I took the boys advice and went down the faded track.
Sure enough, 5 mins later we got to the bridge. It was the first piece of ‘infrastructure’ of any kind we had seen since the border zone signs at the pass. But the approach to the bridge was not much more than a bed of boulders. Tony went down just before the bridge. He fell to his left. Had he fallen the other way, he and his bike may have been swimming.

By now it was 7pm. We had only a few hours of daylight left and I now realised we would not make it to Mugur Aksy tonight. I turned round and advised Tony to mentally prepare to be camping rough tonight. The vague trail led to a farm of sorts up on a hill. It looked pretty grim but I thought we might as well confirm directions there. A young rough looking lad was working on his own motorcycle when we arrived. The farm was a dirty collection of yurts for the people and wooden building for the animals in winter. I had harboured thoughts of fishing for accommodation for the night from them but now that was there I soon decided against it. The farm folks confirmed the track we were on as the right one.

Constant cross referencing between my GPS and maps confirmed this. The GPS had no roads or tracks anywhere near here, but it did have the lakes and rivers marked and that made approximating whether or not we were in roughly the right location not too difficult. The track at this point was very faint. We were really just freestyling cross country most of the time, picking up the track every now and again when it was more prominent. We crossed three large extended hills and then as darkness was falling we saw it – the stunning Khindiktig Khol. It was the most beautiful lake I had ever seen. Surrounded by snow capped mountains and covered in ice.

Tony and I found a place to set up tent overlooking the lake and made camp. The ground had been wet and mushy the whole Tuvan side and here was no different. The tent pegs went into the ground with the lightest push. As soon as the tent was up, it began to rain. We were at 2500 metres here and it was not warm. We were both wet from the assorted river crossings. There were no trees in sight and there would be no fire tonight. Apart from the view, we were cold and wet and miserable. At least the Khyam tent was a 20 second job. Just what you want when its cold, dark and wet.

Tony started cooking packet soup on his mini stove as I realised my sleeping bag was soaking wet from my river fall. There was nothing else to do but wring it out and use it. I couldn’t sleep in this cold without a sleeping bag … I would freeze. I wrung it out as best I could and prepared for a night from hell. Tony’s soup cheered me a little and I pointed out on the map how far (or un-far) we had come. The good news was that we only had to go around the lake, maybe 15 km, and we should be on a more major track for the last 40km into Mugur Aksy.

After dinner I gritted my teeth and crawled into my cold wet sleeping bag for the night.

As I lay there trying to go to sleep, I thought of the great Tuvans of history, and how they would have shrugged off the ordeal of sleeping in a cold, wet sleeping bag at 2500 metres, above an icy lake. Tuvans (Also called Uriankhai) were prominent in the army of Genghis Khan and the greatest general the Mongol empire produced (some say the greatest military commander in history – and I struggle to disagree) was a Tuvan. Subeedei (Subotai / Subedei) was the man behind some of the most brilliantly planned and executed military victories in history. Were it not for the unexpected death of Ogedei Khan in 1241, Subeedei (then at the gates of Vienna and having just destroyed the Poles and Germans at Leignitz, and the Hungarians at Mohi) would surely have conquered the whole of Europe.

Unlike other great Generals like Alexander or more more modern equivalents, Subeedei didnt campaign for a 5 year war, or a dozen year period.  He was a general of the Khan from his late teens till he was over 70.  Over 50 years of almost constant warfare, and the guy didnt lose a single campaign.  There is simply no peer, strategically, or in terms of track record.

- – -

12.06.09

I only slept about 3 hours, on and off. I was constantly waking and shivering from the cold. I was amazed that I was managing to slowly dry my sleeping bag with body heat. By the morning it was only 50% as wet as it had been when I first crawled into it.  Looking ahead, my only source of heat this morning would, apart from a cup of soup, come from the heated vest and gloves on the bike, so I was keep to get going so I could plug in and feel warmth. Tony was snug and warm in his bag and it was cold outside so he was the opposite. Eventually we rose, had our soup and got on the move.

The road around the lake can be described in three words. Bog, bog and bog. I reckon that morning we did 10 km around the lake, 80% of it bog. The clutches both got a hell of a workout but eventually we made it to the pass, over which was the valley in which the more major track to Mugur Aksy ran.

From the pass down was much drier (and easier) though the trick would be crossing the river in the valley below. This time I planned and plotted my route across, going upstream from gravel bank to gravel bank. The river bed (like all the others) was just football sized boulders, anything smaller just got swept away in the current. After a good 30 minutes of pondering and manoeuvrings we were both thru and on the track to Mugur Aksy.

It was also two wheel ruts across the ground, but was wll used, and dry.  I was tempted to re-enacted the Long way round scene where the boys kiss the alphalt after riding a while on dirt.  I was tempted to kiss the dirt after riding too long in mud and bog!  I dont even want to think what I would have wanted to do to the road had it been asphalt !

In the next 15 minutes on the more trafficed track, we covered 15 km, the same as we had done in the 4 hours before that.   Around that time we also crossed 90 degrees east – a quarter of the way round the world.

I thought alot on the road today of Chris Colling, back in the north of England. Chris really wanted to join us for the Tuvan section of this trip but had to look after the Adventure Spec motorcycling business. In his younger days Chris had managed a Tuvan folk band and had wanted to visit Tuva ever since. Doing some hard core off road motorcycling in Tuva would take the biscuit. So thinking of you over here in Tuva mate, if you are reading.

By 2:30 in the afternoon we had reached Mugur Aksy. It had taken us about 14 hours of riding from Kosh Agach. Tony needed fuel. his reserve light had been on for the last hour or so. I stopped and asked a few locals where we might find fuel but the answers were all incoherent. This was the alcoholism I had heard about and feared in Mugur Aksy. We continued on thru town eventually spotting a UAZ jeep. They must know. I stopped to ask them and horror of horrors, I had stopped to ask border police. Their opening gambit was ‘documents please’ … I persevered asking for petrol and eventually they led us to the petrol station. Incredibly it was closed. Out of fuel. no idea when the next load comes in.

The border guards by now were taking fotos of us and the bikes and we got a lot of freindly banter going.  They had forgotten about the request for documents.  In the spirit of goodwill (very useful in these situations) I let them sit on my bike. The senior guy went back to his jeep and produced a canister with 20 litres of fuel. Wow !  What a guy !

I cut a funnel from an old water bottle and began to load up Tony’s and my fuel tanks. The guys said we needed to go to the Border Guards office and get a permit if we wanted to continue on the road to Sagli and Solchur. It was 25km out of town, but on the route anyway. Tony paid them 500 rubles for the fuel and we were on the way.  I kicked myself for not filming or photographing it.  All thru Tajikistan and places like Tuva, Fuel was just poured into the tank, yet I had failed to score a single foto or piece of video so far on the trip.

Mugur Aksy had looked grim. I didn’t see any cafe’s or stolovayas or anything. The road out of town (south east) however was a proper graded road, complete with corrugations. In some sections it was 110km/h, while in others the corrugations were all enccompasing any anything over 35km/h was impossible. Sure enough after 25km we reached the border guards complex and hooted and yelled to gain entrance. The commandant there apologised for not being able to give us tea as their power was down, and was unable to give us a written permission to use the road but after some sweet talking banter he gave us verbal permission to use the road. Woo-hoo!! I also noticed we had changed timezones when we entered Tuva and I needed to move all my clocks an hour forward. It was not 5:30pm

We rode off with glee in our hearts at getting this permission, but the glee was short lived. 300 yards from the guards base I realised my rear tyre was flat. A rusty old nail was sticking out of it. Damn. How were we going to make civilisation tonight? it was still 160 km of dirt road away.

I pulled the wheel off, and realised the valve on my spare tube that had been expertly repaired in Ust Kamenogorsk was too large for the hole in the rim. The new puncture was too large to patch. Fortunately Tony had a spare tube. It was for a 17 inch tyre and mine were 18, but that could be made to fit. I changed tubes and we began to pump it up with Tony’s portable compressor but no joy, no pressure. I must have nicked the tube in getting the tyre back on. We went thru the process again. Still no joy. The small tube was sticking very close to the edge that I was levering against and this made it very tough.  I was feeling faint and had to sit down and take a break several times.

We were only 25 km from a town and I suggested to Tony to take my back wheel into town and get a tyre repair place too do it properly. We needed food and water anyway, so kill a few birds with one stone. At 6:45pm Tony headed off with my wheel. The sun was out and a warm dry breeze made my skin feel a bit dry. Ah … perfeect chance to dry out my sleeping bag and anything else that was wet. Over the next few hours I discovered everything had gotten wet. UK passport, drivers licence, passport fotos, insurance docs, carnet … clothes, everything. I dried it all out in the sun and breeze, along with my soaking boots and socks.

Tony returned at about 10pm. It was getting dark. There had been no shino-montazh (tyre repair) place in Mugur Aksy. Very odd as these are in every little village across Russia and the CIS. Tony had found a local mechanic of sorts, drunk of course, and with his sober friend had eventually managed to repair the tube (also after nicking it a few times). There had been no food for sale anywhere in Mugur Aksy but Tony had found a general store and got some pot noodles, water and beer. I refitted the back wheel and was ready to roll.

We set up the tents and boiled up some water where we were, but the roadside, 300 yards from the regional border guards HQ, had our pot noodles and beer. It was a lot better than the previous night. Warmer, drier and our first solid food for 36 hours – if you can call noodles solid food.

- – -

13.06.09

The warm sun woke me at 8am, and we had a lazy morning, not getting underway till 11. We had 160km of dirt roads to cover before we found asphalt, and then we hoped to do 300km more to make it into Kyzyl for the night.

Within 5km, we knew it would be a long day. The dirt road that led from Mugur Aksy to Sagli and on to Solchur, following the border, was a heavily corrugated, rocky road. Yes it was graded gravel, but it was very difficult to travel much above 50km/h. The countryside was remote and stunning. It was all mountains and we spent our time between 1600 and 2500 metres the whole time on the dirt road.

10 km before Sagli and for the third day in a row (I have only ridden with him 3 days) Tony has problem with the Metal Mule mounting system for his F650. To me the system is a flawed, compromised design. The front mounting attachment is way to weak and Tony had lost both by the end of our first day on the rough stuff back in Altai. An hour was lost as we figured out a way to repair it in the Tuvan highlands. Amazingly we worked something out that was superior to the original, but only temporary. Tony will have to get that sorted properly in Krasnoyarsk or Irkutsk – basically get a metal worker to craft a proper mounting system for the front mounts of his rack.

I have never been a fan of hard luggage and the time lost to us on every day we have been riding together has only hardened my opinion. Riding on dirt roads when the occasional fall is inevitable with hard luggage is just asking for bent metal, broken bits and wasted time.

We got underway and despite us both hungry and thirsty, we didn’t stop at Sagli, or Solchur near the end of the dirt road, but instead relished being back on asphalt for the run north to Chadan. We reached Chadan about 5pm and refuelled the bikes then went looking for a cafe or stolovaya. The only one we found was closed so we went to the shop across the road for some energy drinks. The two young Tuvan girls in the shop took and shine to us and one summoned up the courage to ask if I was free that evening. Sorry lady, but I have to be in Kyzyl, 220 km away tonight.

By the time we finished chatting, eating and drinking, Tony and I were well on the way to internally feeling normal again. Tony had mentioned a couple of times of feeling giddy and I had fainted for the first time in my life and fell to the rocky ground while working to fix my punctured tyre yesterday (another reason to get someone else to fix it). We were both dehydrated (despite the weather being cold and us taking 4 litres of water with us onto the track) and lacking food and sleep. On top of that I had the thermally challenging evening in the cold wet sleeping bag behind me. The food and drink break got us feeling a little closer to normal.  A shower and a shave would complete the job.

It was 3 hours ride to Kyzyl and while the scenery was still impressive, the biggest challenge was dodging other cars and cattle on the road. The only stop was to fix Tony’s clutch. He had a new clutch fitted in Moscow and it was down to that he had no adjustment left at the lever end of the cable, so we had to adjust it the hard way, at the clutch housing end.

After almost 60 hours in the wilderness, we found one of the nicer hotels in Kyzyl and splashed out 25 EUR each for a room … first shower in 3 days. Then we went out for beer and shashlik – and got hassled by drunk locals. Ah the joys of life on the road. Its Tony’s better half’s birthday today, so I left him in his room to have the long birthday phone call.

14.06.09

We celebrated our Tuvan wilderness survival by sleeping in till after 9 in Kyzyls finest hotel.  We had breakfast at 10, and were on the road by 11:30.  An hour north of Kyzyl we pulled in to get some food and drink at the town of Turan.  It was raining by now and it was a good excuse to get out of the rain for a while.  We were soon surrounded by local Tuvan men, all middle aged, all wanting to touch the bike.  Normally I dont mind a bit of that, but these guys were all drunk and I made it clear they can look at it, fotograph it, but were not to touch it or lean on it / play with it while I was in the shop.

When I emerged from the shop 5 minutes later, with one drunk local begging me to buy him a beer, another local 40 odd year old was sitting on the bike.  Tony yelled at him to get off but I was already charging.  It was one of the guys I clearly told not to touch the bike.  I shoved him off the bike violently and the crowd of drunk men fell backwards, and didnt come within 15 yards of us again.  Sometimes you just have to put the foot down or people will abuse the fact that you are a foreigner.

It saddened me to think of what has become of Tuvan people.  I knew before I got there that the over-riding general impression of the very few people I either knew who had been to Tuva or comments I had read regarding Tuvan people, was one of alcoholism.  In the time I was there, apart from the yurt dwellers, I would say over 50% of the males I met in Tuva were drunk when I met them.  The crowd of guys who had been hanging around the bikes that morning in Turan were all 35-50, all drunk and clueless at lunchtime.  Every single guy in the crowd, every male I saw in Turan, was drunk and clearly alcoholic.

I wondered what the great General Subeedei would think of the state of the average Tuvan male today.

All the businesses were run by women. Perhaps they were the only ones sober enough to be able to handle money.  I pitied the females of Tuva, and realised why the girl in the store yesterday was so keen to chat.  It was just because I was sober.

We sped out of Turan, the back wheel spitting gravel on the pitiful drunkards of the town.  Before long we crossed a pass and were in Krasnoyarsk Krai – part of Russia proper (as I like to call it).  Incredibly, as soon as we crossed the ‘border’, the whole picture changed.  The countryside looked like stereotypical Siberia.  It was suddenly all pine and birch forest … the Taiga … while in Tuva it had been largely grasslands. And while there were no Russians in the villages on the Tuvan side of the border, suddenly the villages were full of Russians.

We made good progress towards Abakan, the rain stopped and the sun came out.  Just as we felt the going was good, my rear tyre was flat, just 6 km from the town of Ermakovskoe.

It was an amazing coincidence because I had been thinking of Ermak (Yermak) since we hit the dense pine and birch Taiga.  Ermak the Cossack was the conquistador in chief of Siberia.  As I rode thru this dense forest on the nice asphalt highway, I considered how difficult it would be to walk thru it, and yet Ermak and co went by foot, horse and boat all the way from Europe to the Pacific.

Russia was a small state hemmed in by the Kazan Tatars back in 1550, with no access at all beyond the Volga, just 200 kilometres or so east of Moscow, but the defeat of the Tatars in the 1550s opened the door east for the Russians, and they wasted no time.  By 1600 the Cossacks had reached the Pacific, started settlements all the way and claimed the lot for Russia (well for the Tsar anyway) and this huge chunk of land, Siberia, has remained Russian to this day.  To have explored and secured so much land in just 50 years is worthy of serious respect.  To explore Siberia by foot you have to be walking thru hundreds of miles of swamps, deal with the worlds most savage mosquitoes and cross the worlds largest forest.  And thats just summer.  They also had to survive winter with just whatever they could find.  Ermak was one tough son of a gun.  Respect.

Being so close to a town, I just removed my back wheel, jumped on Tony’s bike and headed in to Ermakovskoe.  Tony had gone ahead to scout for a Shino-montazh while I removed the wheel and so I knew exactly where it was.  It was also a chance to sort out my spare tube.  The tube that had just died was Tony’s 17 inch spare.  The young tyre repair lad, Pasha, at the Shinomontazh took the tyre off and found it was a valve that had de-vulcanised from the tube.  Pasha repaired Tony’s valve and sorted out my spare, before fitting my spare expertly to the rim.  By the time we were back on the road it was 8pm.  The sun was up till 11pm these days, being almost the longest day of the year.

We both stopped for some phone calls back to better halves at home base in sunny London, then rode into Minusinsk.  It was near here that Lenin was exiled for political crimes back in the days of the Tsar, and apparently there is quite the museum here.  Locals told me this after spotting my Sibirsky extreme logos on the bike.  Tony and I just wanted a hotel.  It was near impossible to find any and when we did find one, it was full.  So we thought ‘fu@k it’ and rode on.  We figured we would find one on the highway.

It was about 10pm when we crossed into Abakan and the Khakass Republic.  Khakassia on the brief look at it we saw seemed very russified and developed, compared to Tuva for example.  We even passed a “carvery” and pub called The Fox’s Tail in Abakan.  By midnight we were out in the middle of nowhere and no hotel to be seen.  We stopped for dinner at a roadside diner type place and while eating I asked the truck drivers.  ‘None for almost 200km’ was the reply.  Damn.  We hit the road, but after an hour I was feeling very drowsy and pulled into another roadside cafe (plenty of petrol stations and cafes, just no hotels).  I asked there if there were any hotels nearby and voila, there was one in a village just off the main road 5km away.  In the dark, at 1:30am we fould the hotel and got lectured to by the lady running it.  But she did give us a room!

I bought my 500th Euro worth of fuel today, and passed 20,000 km all up for the trip.  Apart from my flat tyre, it was a mechanically problem free day.

- – -

15.06.09

Having got to bed after 2 am, it was hardly surprising that we didnt wake up until after 10.  Breakfast was at midday and we didnt really get moving till after 1pm.  We were in no rush.  Krasnoyarsk, the biggest city we will see for months, was only 260 km away.

Over breakfast we had texted the contacts we had in Krasnoyarsk.  Tony had the number of a guy called Dima, who was a friend of bikers he had met in Barnaul a week or so back, and I had the number of Lena, the mother of another banking contact in Moscow.  Lena had received an emergency shipment of spares from Adventure-Spec, required after some unfortunate incidents in Kazakhstan … namely the new chain breaking and the wrong front brake disc arriving.

We made good time and Dima texted back to say he will meet us on the outskirts of the city at 5:30pm.  We had time to spare, so we stopped off for some lunch and tea, and sat out some of the drizzle we had been riding thru most of the day.

We arrived a little bit early to our rendezvous point with Dima, and set about re-creating a fotograph of the big dam at Krasnoyarsk that I had taken 15 years ago, now with Tony in place of James Mudie.  Due to bridge security (there was none 15 years ago), we were a little rushed and I didnt get to replicate it exactly … but  close enough.

We told Dima, a lawyer and off-road rider, what we needed to get done in Krasnoyarsk in terms of repairs and he led us thru the bustling city towards his off-road club mechanic.  On the way, he took us past the massive BMW centre, complete with BMW Motorrad dealer and service station.  Tony needed a new visor for his BMW helmet, and incredibly he got one there.  We decided to pop back in tomorrow morning for an electronic diagnostic check.  We would still get all the mechanical repairs done at Dima’s off-road specialist guy, but both our BMW bikes have a diagnostic plug that can tell of any electrical faults or engine management problems, and it would be handy just to have a run thru the diagnostic computer before we really end up in the middle of no-where.  If there were any problems with those components, we could get the BMW Motorrad guys to fix them.

We met Lena, who gave me my box of emergency spares, and had teed up a rental apartment for us.  It was a nice big modern place right on the very central street of town, Prospekt Mira, and most importantly, it had a washing machine.

As soon as we had said goodbye to Dima and Lena, we stripped off and the washing machine began running continuously for several hours.  Everything had to be washed.  The bathtub became a boot and luggage scrubbing station while the machine ran.

Dinner time was 11pm and we headed out to walk Krasnoyarsk’s prosperous clean streets.  It was like being back in the real world again after the challenges of Tuva.  We found a steak house (for me) that had beer on tap (for Tony) and indulged ourselves.  The corner of the steak house had a small stage and pole, but it must have been just for decoration … there was no dancing that night.

- – -

16-06-09

7:30am and Lena was already on the case, picking us up to take us to the secure car park where the bikes were stored.  I had the location of the BMW guys in my GPS so we made our own way there.  By 8:30 we were at the BMW dealer, earlier than expected – it opened at 9, so we popped down the road to wash the bikes.  BMW could have done it, but Tony was charged 300 rubles for it in Moscow BMW and we could wash them ourselves with a high pressure hose for 100 each.

The BMW showroom and service centre was immaculate.  I was stunned.  The tiled floor of the workshop was of course spotlessly clean.  The toilets luxurious.  The coffee was perfect.  The ‘technician’ plugged my bike in to the diagnostic computer first and it seemed I had a few minor bad contacts.  Some wiring dismantling followed, a few squirts of contact spray, and the bike was electrically spot on.  No issues with the Engine Management System.  Tony was next, and same deal … a few contacts needed cleaning and then all was perfect.

Dima arrived to take us to Zhenya, the off-road club mechanic, who was barely a kilometre from the BMW centre.  Zhenya’s workshop was a hive of activity, with a dozen off road bikes in for various work.

Dima and I gave Zhenya the list of projects for my bike … fit new front disc, fit new chain, replace three bolts (two luggage rack ones – luggage systems are the bane of our travels so far … but I got my new ortlieb bags from Tony and need to fit them now) and finally I wanted to check some more of the ‘work’ done by Boris in Almaty.  Last week when we were rained out in Aktash, I checked my air-filter … Boris said he had cleaned it.  He hadnt.  It was filthy, much more than the ride from Almaty to Aktash should have done.  It was Tajik dirt in there I suspect.  I washed it myself there in Aktash.

So Boris probably didnt do things he was supposed to do as well as all the things he had done badly.  That means I needed to have his work replacing my headset bearings checked as well.  He was also supposed to check / replace spark plugs … but as I am skeptical of that too, I asked Zhenya to re-do it. As it was a proper off road workshop, it was a good chance to get my forks serviced.  That hadnt been done since Valera in Yalta.

Next up was Tony’s chunkier list of projects for Zhenya and his team.  Tony needed some welding and new mounting system for his luggage rack, a handcrafted front mudguard extender, fork gaitors, oil and filter change, new mirrors, clutch checked, and front rim beaten back  into shape.

Zhenya just nodded his head.  It was clear that like Valera, this wasnt just a job, he was an enthusiast.  He understood it all and discussed solutions with his team, and then said ‘OK, call you when its done.’

Dima took us to a massive new shopping mall on the way home, as clean, stylish and modern as anything anywhere in the world.  As we ate lunch in the food court there, the contrast between Krasnoyarsk, and its immaculate, modern shopping malls and BMW motorrad service centres, and the primitive simple life we had seen in the Tuvan yurts just 3 days ago, caused both of us to wonder at the incredible variety in Russia, in peoples, in cultures, in almost everything.  Its an amazingly diverse place, and you do have to remind yourself its one country.

- – -

17.06.09

This was a day to check progress on the bike, do a lot of internet catch up, buy some bike supplies like chain lube, luggage straps, assorted nuts, bolts, washers, organise minor clothing repairs and in the evening we got to take our fantastic host, Dima, out for beers at an English pub with its own brewery.

The bikes are coming along well and the repairs are more thorough that we even hoped.  A fantastic pair of metal parts has been crafted by the metalworker at Zhenya’s bike workshop for Tony’s luggage system.

I have made an odd decision to use two soft luggage systems on the back of my bike … the new Ortlieb motorcycle bags are too small to use on their own.  Zhenya can fix my old luggage system so I will have a near empty back bag and double side bags.  Cool or what?

- – -

18.06.09

A lazy day in Krasnoyarsk waiting for our bikes to be finished off.  Tony and I spent it mostly at the pub … the James Shark Pub, an english pub just round the corner from our apartment on main st – Prospekt Mira.  Dima came round after his work at 5pm and we trotted off to collect by riding pants (they needed a repair done, a boot (which had a seam re-stitched) and to check out the bikes, which after 2 days in Zhenya’s workshop were now finished.

On the way we stopped off at the workshop of another extraordinary motorcycle enthusiast in Krasnoyarsk, a guy called Misha Shestakov, who is a world war 2 motorcycle restorer.  Among his 22 bikes were a collection of amazingly restored German (BMW and Zundapp), American (Harley) and British BSA bikes form the war.  Evey detail, down to the manufacturers stamp on the head of the bolts had been restored or replicated.  A couple of the BMWs were ex Afrika Korps, a couple were European theatre.  It was a stunning collection.

Back to Zhenya’s garage – not surprisingly, the bikes were sorted to an impressive standard.  A look at every item of work showed the commitment to do the job properly first time that you need in bike prepping for this kind of project.  Time will be the ultimate judge of the quality of the work done, but it looks to me like I just found my second master mechanic of the trip, and he was another KTM rider.  I half think its because KTM guys tend to be enthusiasts, and half think its because if you have a KTM, you better be a good mechanic cause you will need one a hell of a lot.!!

In any case, Zhenya in Krasnoyarsk joins Valera in Yalta in being awarded the Sibirsky Extreme Order of Lenin for services to motorcycle maintenance.  His reward was a rare (and getting rarer) Sibirsky Extreme Lenin sticker.

Dima then gave us a little tour of the city before leaving us at the James Shark pub and promising to collect us at 10am for our departure from Zhenya’s garage.

Tony and I really have grown to like the James Shark … good food (we had a spanking lamb shank and steak tonight), good in house beer (they have their own micro brewery), complimentary wi-fi internet and good service.  It too gets the official Sibirsky Extreme stamp of approval (big red stamp obviously).  For anyone passing thru, Krasnoyarsk is our recommended stop.  Take a couple of days off, get the bike serviced by a master, and enjoy the James Shark.

- – -

19.06.09

The sun was shining for the first time in days when we woke up in our main street apartment, and we packed up the bags optimistically.  After 3 days off the bikes, we were both missing them and were looking forward to putting some miles in.  Its about 1100 km to Irkutsk, and I reckon its 3 days to get there.

Dima came round and picked us and our luggage up at 10am and we headed off to Zhenya’s workshop, where the bikes were.   My headset bearings and spark plugs had been checked and were ok.  My forks services, My new front disc and chain were on the bike … I was ready to go.  I got the guys to install a fuel filter into the line the connects the two fuel tanks.  It wont catch everything, but I reckon over 80% of the fuel I use passes thru that line so it will catch most of the crap, and it will give me an idea about how much other fuel crap has gone thru the engine.  I loaded up my double barrelled side bag luggage system for the first time, and it worked.  That means my small side bags are now the only luggage I need to remmove from the bike at the end of each day.  Thats light and easy.

Tony had been admiring his new luggage mounts.  The guys had not only made two new solid mounting points for the front of his luggage system, but had reinforced the entire rack.  The Metal Mule racks use the strength of tubular steel and then render that strength meaningless by flattening it at every mounting point, so that the mounting points are weak flat squashed ex-tube.  Whats the point making something strong if its full of weak points?  A couple of the mounting points not only have the steel flattened, but then make it even weaker by bending the flattened bits.  Not surprisingly, those bent flattened bits had cracks all thru them and in one case sheared off completely.  I am certainly no metal wizard, but I learnt enough after a few days with Erik Bok to know the basics.  Flattening tube to make a convenient mounting point was something I never saw Erik do.  Tube is tube .. its round precisely because that shape makes it strong.  Take away the shape and you take away the integrity of the frame.  The tube should be welded directly onto strong separate mounting plates, not squashed to create a two ply thin steel mounting plate.

Back in Zhenya’s workshop, those squashed and bent tubular mounting sections were reinforced with several mm of flat steel, bent to shape and should now be as strong as the tubular sections.  All the metal work was touched up in black paint to match the original and refitted.  I looked at the work and thought even the Dutch metal master himself would approve.

Tony also had a new front mudguard extender crafted from thick rubber and riveted to his beak.  It was in the right spot, but it looked small.  Would it do that job?  We had to trust Zhenya and his boys on that one.  Tony’s bike  also had an oil change, new mirrors attached and a few other minor bits n pieces.

We packed up the bikes, said goodbye to the team who had done such a solid job fixing what needed fixing and set off for Irkutsk, with Dima leading the way our of town.  It was good to be rolling again.  The bikes felt happy and refreshed, and we certainly were happy and refreshed from our 3 day stay in Krasnoyarsk.  On the outskirts of town we said farewell to Dima, who had looked after us so well in Kras.  He will be taking his Yamaha to lake Baikal and across the border to Hovsgul in Mongolia in July.  Lucky chap … as a Russian he can cross Russian borders we westerners can only drool at.  (most obscure border crossings are locals only crossings).

After an hour on the road the sunshine ended and it clouded over.  After another hour it begain to rain.  Yet again.  I have been with Tony 10 days now and every single day it has rained.  An hour or so in the rain and  I stopped at a roadside cafe.  I wanted to get warm again.  By now it was cold.  I needed to plug in the Exo heated vest and gloves.  Tony also needed to go for his heated vest.  The temperature had dropped to 6 degrees.  Throw in the rain as well and it was full on winter riding.  Average temperature round here this time of year is 20 – 25 … what it was doing at 6 degrees is anyones guess.

Fortunately we just called up the support trucks who were waiting 2 miles back (just out of shot), one of which has been hauling a trailer complete with fireside bar, staffed with the swedish bikini cocktail team of bar girls.  Tony and I had a little argument about this, as I felt the trailer with the heated jacuzzi and sauna would be more appropriate at the current time, but in the interests of friendship I folded and we crawled into the fireside bar trailer.

When I woke up from my daydreaming it was time to put on the cold wet jacket and notch up a few more miles.  the two hour tea break had helped – a bit.  Between Krasnoyarsk and Irkutsk we are on the main road.  No interesting diversions.  Much of the interest for me of this section is remembering how the road was 15 years ago vs now.  We soldiered on and passed the big Army base at Kansk where James and I had been led into the basement 15 years ago.  (see www.TokyotoLondon.com for what happened in the basement)

Soon after Kansk, we crossed into Irkutsk Region, where the time changed again.  We are now 8 hours ahead of London.  I believe its also Beijing time, thats how far east we have come.  The road around the Kansk – Taishet area is being worked on and there were plenty of dirty muddy sections.  Unlike 15 years ago, these dirty muddy sections go on for a few hundred yards rather than a few hundred kilometres.

At Taishet, where the BAM road emerges onto the main Trans-Siberian highway, we stopped to refuel the bikes and found a cafe to try and warm ouselves up as well.  I checked weather in other cities ahead.  6 degrees in Irkutsk.  25 and sunny in Yakutsk way up north.  Amazing.  I noted a few days ago that Magadan and Yakutsk were both 30 and sunny.  I hope the warm sunny weather up North will hold until we get there.  It will mean roads are drier and easier.  The only thing that will stop progress will be rain and mud.  To a large degree the success of the northern objectives depends on how lucky we are with the weather.  Down south here we have had 2 weeks of constant rain.  The dirt side tracks off the main highway are just mudbaths.  Thats fine here and I hope we use up our quota of crappy weather here.  Its easier to deal with when the roads are mainly asphalt and cafe’s exist every few dozen kilometres.

Again we put on the wet gear.  We had been told both by Dima and by the guy we sat next to in the cafe, that there were good modern motels by the roadside at Alzamai, 60 km down the road from here, and so at 11pm (still a little light outside) we soldiered on thru the freezing drizzle.

At midnight we saw the bright lights of a pair of new motels, one of each side of the highway.  As we approached we also saw over 100 trucks parked in the various parking lots.  This was quite a popular stop.  I feared for room availability.  I approached the first motel and asked gingerly if they have any rooms left.  The woman shook her head.  We crossed the highway and tried the other one.  Also no…but the lady said shold be some freeing up in about an hour.  The rooms are paid for by the hour here.  About 35 EUR cents an hour, per person. Patiently we waited in the cafe, in our cold wet clothes, for the lady of the motel to summon us.  That hour seemed a hell of a long time when shivering and cold and wet, but sure enough at 1am, we were summoned and told ’10 minutes’… and 10 mins later were were led to our room and raced each other to see who could strip out of the cold wet clothes the fastest.

One positive note from today, the rubber beak extender added to Tony’s Dakar works …  100%

- – -

20.06.09

Didnt wake before midday.  Still cold and wet outside.  This was the 11th day in a row of rain.  The only rain free day since meeting Tony 12 days ago was the ride from Mugur Aksy to Kyzyl. Weather forecast for tomorrow for warmer drier conditions.  Decided to stay put in motel for another day.  Incredibly while its wet and rainy and 5 degrees in Irkutsk today, its +25 and sunny AGAIN in Yakutsk today.

Did minor maintenance on the bike.  If there is something I forgot to get done in Krasnoyarsk it was to get Zhenya to look at the wheel spacers on the X-C, as they form part of the dirt / water / mud sealing system for the wheel bearings. They are made of aluminium alloy and the dirt grinds away easily the surface – exposing the bearings to greater risk of failure.  Simple to make some steel or stainless steel units on a lathe … or just some sleeves for the alloy units.

Then we took an afternoon nap.

When we awoke there were 4 more motorcycles outside our window; 2 Poles, a Lithuanian and Greek … all on road tyres, heading for Mongolia – 3 big 1200 GSs and an Africa Twin (even bigger).  They too had pulled over for the day to avoid the rain, mud and cold. I guess you get that when you are on the main road across Siberia – other bikers.  Havent seen any other foreigners since the Germans at Sary Tash.

One of the Polish guys said they werent very experienced off road and feared their bikes were too heavy for Mongolia, as they had struggled in the muddy sections on the main Trans-Siberian highway.  He asked me my opinion since I had ridden across Mongolia before … I said I think they should be fine.  It was half the truth.  I think the 1200 is no problem in Mongolia … These guys might be inexperienced, but they wont be after Mongolia.  Its meant to be a learning experience after all.

A comment from Tony today reminded me that there is more than just the bike in need of maintenance.  Hair is getting a bit long.  It hasnt been cut since the disasterous mullet attempt on my head in Feodosiya Crimea, that I barely salvaged at the last minute.  Since then its just been a case of trying to grow it out.  Apparently now its beginning to look a little “Jonathon Ross”.  Oh dear.  Another mission for Irkutsk.

21.06.09

Up bright and early at 6:30 am. The 1200GSs and Africa Twin had already gone. One of them mentioned something about leaving at 6am last night, but didnt think they were serious!

Tony and I had breakfast and were on the road by 8:20. The road south was pretty muddy with many dirt sections of up to 10km. I figured we would be catching the bigger bikes with all this dirt, and sure enough at 10am we passed them as they pulled over into a cafeteria for a break.

After Nizhneudinsk the road became pretty much sealed, and my thoughts turned to the village of Sheragul. The stretch from Krasnoyarsk to Irkutsk was almost the only part of the route thru Siberia that I had done before, and the reason for that was trying to look at new and interesting road possibilities.  But the 1100 km from Krasnoyarsk to Irkutsk was still interesting to me none-the-less, as there were a lot of memories associated with this stretch from the Tokyo to London Project 15 years ago. We had passed the Kansk army base, but because I assumed there would not be the same army personnel there now than then, I had not sought to enter the base to search for old contacts.

But there were a couple of other points of interest for me on this stretch of highway. James had broken down here and we were helped out by a policeman called Zhenya, in a village called Sheragul. He had taken care of us and our bikes, while we returned to Irkutsk to await spare parts. The other point of interest was the spot were were stuck camping by the highway for 3 days, wet and cold, waiting for the end of the rain.

.We approached the village of Sheragul and I wondered what were the odds of tracking down Zhenya. Tony seemed almost as excited about the prospect of a 15 year re-union as I was. Once in the main street of town, much looked familiar, and yet, much had changed from my memory. It had changed enough that I was no longer sure which house was the one in which Zhenya had lived with his mother. I stopped to ask a woman in the street. All I had was his first name and that he had been a policeman. ‘Zhenya Ivanov?’ she asked. Wow, that triggered a memory, yes Ivanov was his last name. ‘Da, da’ I replied. And she gave me directions to a new house off the main road.

We rode up to the new house, complete with big gate, and I stuck my head inside. A woman was sorting out some clothes. I asked her if Zhenya was around. She said he was out. I told her I was an Australian motorcyclist, and she seemed to know exactly who I was – her face brimming. She was on the phone straight away and said Zhenya is immediately coming home.

10 minutes later, Zhenya burst in the door, with a grin from ear to ear. I had known I might meet up again today, but with no means to contact him, he had no clue. It was a complete surprise to him – out of the blue.

Zhenya is no longer a policeman but now seems to be one of the village’s more successful businessmen, at least if his big new house is anything to go by. The woman I saw earlier was Sveta, his wife, and he had 2 new kids – Nastya and Polina. He asked where is James … he remembered our names after 15 years. Apparently he even tried to look us up when he first got internet 2 years ago, without success.

Sveta his wife had known immediately who I was too, from the stories Zhenya had told her. James and I had really made an impression 15 years ago it seems. I asked why … and was told that as the only policeman in town for a few years after we passed thru he had seen a few other motorcyclists the following year 1995 (maybe including Mondo Enduro) and increasing numbers since, but that James and I had been the first he had seen. He had really been struck by the audacity of these first two guys he had met riding motorcycles across Siberia.

We spent a couple of hours re-living old memories and exploring his big new house before I asked to visit his parents place on the main road thru town, where Zhenya had lived back in 1994. Sadly his father had passed away just 3 weeks ago, but his mother was alive and kicking.

I rode the bike thru her gate and onto the wooden driveway where James had repaired his bike in the freezing cold, and she too immediately knew who I was. I was touched that their memories were so strong and vivid. After so much time under the bridge and with no time to prepare the memories, they were still instantly there. Zhenya’s mother scolded me straight up for taking so long to return and asked where James was. She too remembered our names. I re-created some old fotos and we went inside for tea.

Ever since my first visit to Siberia, I have drank my tea black, preferably with jam. Prior to that it was always standard issue milk and sugar. I got into black tea with jam in siberia, and in particular at Zhenya’s mothers place. She used fill James and I up with a warm cup of tea almost continously. In the cold of the time we definately needed it. I saw the old kitchen where we used to eat, the sofa that was my siberian bed (I didnt remember but they remembered that I slept on the sofa while James slept on the floor).

By mid-afternoon I apologised but had to move on. Tony and I wanted to get too Irkutsk tonight. I told Zhenya I will be back after 2 months, after I have tackled the BAM road.

It was 3pm and Irkutsk was still 370 km away. Its a measure of how the roads have changed, that by the time we reach Irkutsk, we will have covered the same distance today as 3 tough days of riding back in 1994. The 50-100 km south-east of Sheragul had been all mud then, now it was all asphalt. In fact it was alphalt from here all the way to Irkutsk. Our 360km would only take 3.5 hrs of riding plus one hour of breaks.

Half an hour of those breaks came when we passed a cyclist on the road with 200km to go. It was the same British cyclist that Tony had met and chatted to 2 weeks earlier between Omsk and Novosibirsk – a guy called Sam (Tony calls him as ‘Tom’). It was a day of reunions all round. I will let Tony elaborate more about that reunion. We also stopped for half an hour to have a shoarma at an Azerbaijani snack bar by the side of the road, and to refuel.

I searched for the camping location where James and I had been shacked up in the rain for 3 days, but couldn’t find it. Its likely the road has moved. Much of the road had been reconstructed or a new road built 100 yards away from the old. I will have another chance to find it when I pass thru again in September.

We had been told to call Stas, the head of a big bike club in Irkutsk, when I reached the edge of the city. I had texted when we were about 2 hours away. As we rode into town a guy rode the other way on a big Golddwing and waved furiously at us. We pulled over while he turned around and he introduced himself as Pyotr, a friend of Stas and would lead us to the club. I remembered a rumour that the Irkutsk guys have a club house with bar and accomodation.

And sure enough we pulled up at the “Bike-konur” club guesthouse. Gates were opened and we were invited to park. There were two German bikes in there as well, an F800GS and single cylinder F650GS. We were led into the bar, upstairs was the living quarters and snooker table. A couple of dorm rooms were there, and the German couple were in one, and Tony and I moved our gear in with a Finnish guy in the other room.

We changed and immediately went to the bar, as you do. The bar was staffed with mini-skirted Irkutsk biker girls, and I even spotted a pole dancing pole. Not sure when that gets a workout. There was food and a selection of beers on tap. There was a modern warm shower and washing machine upstairs. This place was an adventure bikers wet dream.

The Finnish guy’s bike (an Africa Twin) had broken down 400 km down the road, somewhere near Tulun – due to a complete shock absorber failure and he was trying to work out how to get a whole new shock sent out from Finland.

After a few beers I was singled out by Artyom, a local biker – well not really local, he lives near the remote village of Bodaibo, 200 km north off the BAM road. We spoke about the BAM road and the track to the BAM from Zhigalovo, north of Irkutsk. In all, I got invaluable information from Artyom, a guy who rides the remote roads of this region on his Africa Twin. So add useful sources of information to the many reasons this club house was a bikers heaven!

- – -

22.06.09

I collected my new dirt tyres and had them fitted my a member of the bike club who runs a tyre business. Then I left Tony in Irkutsk for a day and half while I trotted off to Moscow. The main project for Irkutsk was to the one thing I forgot to get Zhenya in Krasnoyarsk to do … make 3 new wheel spacers out of steel or stainless steel for the XC. The originals are soft aluminium alloy and are now pretty badly scored by the dirt and grit so far on the trip. The spacers are what the bearing seals seal against, so the condition of the surface of the spacers is pretty important – and mine were in poor shape. Fortunately they are simple round bits and would not take long to get spun up on a lathe. Siberia has no shortage of metalworkers. Steel would be infinately more durable than aluminium for the purposes of effecting the seal without deteriorating rapidly.

- – -

25.06.09

My return to Irkutsk on the overnight flight from Moscow was the start of a productive day. After lunch I got stuck into the motorcycle, beginning with a walk with Tony and Hannes (The Finnish Africa Twin guy) down to a huge automotive bazaar to pick up some bits n pieces for our assorted bikes. Tony and I picked up a cheap thermometer each, I grabbed a small tube of axle grease and a 26mm socket (dont see them too often, but they do both the front and rear wheel nuts). Andreas and Claudia, the German couple, had just returned from several days out at Lake Baikal, and we all beered it up till late at night in the club bar.

- – -

26.06.09

Hannes needed to extend his Russian customs form and wanted some help with the russian language. I was planning to extend my customs form in Magadan, but if I went with Hannes then I could get it out of the way here in Irkutsk. We woke up at 8:30am and taxied it out to the customs office, 20 km out from the centre of town. It took us a while but by 11:30 we had our customs extensios approved, at no cost, and were asked to return after lunch, at 2pm. There was nothing to do out there in the burbs, so we headed back into town.

By 2pm we were back out at the customs office and by 3pm we were back at the bike cluehouse, with our docs. By now it was looking too late to leave, and when Tony returned from his shopping excursion we made an executive decision to leave tomorrow instead.

Later in town, at the internet cafe, a guy walked in, brandishing a northern UK accent, carrying a motorcycle helmet, and announced “so there are two more british bikers here” to the internet cafe … as Tony and I were the only people in the room, I guess he figured the bikes outside belonged to us. This was Leon from Manchester, on his way to Mongolia on a Yamaha 600.

We chatted a bit before realising he was holed up in a lonely planet hostel. We told him about the bike club and he was keen for a look. 15 mins later and he had decided to stay for a few days at the Bike Club, starting tomorrow. He was keen to change to a spare tyre he was carrying, and Tony had been looking for a spare back in 17 inch. The two met halfway, and Tony agreed to take responsibility for the tyre change, in return for Leon’s tyre.

As I started to pack up all my gear, I noticed the two new tyre changing levers Adventure-Spec had sent out from the UK with my new tyres were missing. I had left them out in the yard of the bike club, and someone must have picked them mup thinking they were surplus. Bummer … they were a nice length.

Tony still has a couple of shorter ones.

- – -

27.06.09

We left Irkutsk about midday, after doing the Tony – Leon tyre switcheroo, chatting with Andreas and Claudia the Germans, taking Leon to the local auto parts / tools market (Leon had had almost everything stolen on his trip over .. tools, phone, you name it), and checking on the status of Hannes’ new shock absorber. Stas, the captain of the bike club, returned just before midday and we said our goodbyes and hit the road north.

The road to Olkhon Island on Lake Baikal was a good one, sealed most of the way. My only concerns related to the new off road tyres I had fitted in Irkutsk. They were squidgy on the asphalt compared to the Mefo’s I had left behind in Irkutsk (to collect on the way back) and took quite a bit of getting used to.

Initially I had planned just to head north to Zhigalovo for the first days ride, but 10km before the turnoff to Olkhon, I had a change of heart. Tony had always wanted to see Baikal in general, and having seen Baikal 3 times in the past I was keen to see Olkhon Island, which I hadnt seen before. Besides, what would the Sibirsky Extreme project be without a trip to the sacred Olkhon Island … a travel destination / pilgrimmage many Russians dream of making.

And so we turned off the road north and headed for the ferry to Olkhon Island. As we didnt know about fuel on the island we filled up in the last major town before the island and sped on to catch the ferry with seconds to spare.

25 miles of dirt road later and we had made it to Khuzhir, the main town on the island. I wanted to see Shaman Rock, the most sacred site on Lake Baikal for the local Buryats.

We found a guesthouse soon after (thanks to the local internet cafe – complete with one computer) and headed out for dinner … only to find Tony now had a flat tyre. His front. I zipped around town asking for directions to a Shinomontazh and ended up at the closed gates of a house a few hundred yards off the main street. I yelled across the fence and eventually a guy emerged asking what do I want. “do you do shino-montazh?” I asked.
“maybe” was the reply, that might as well have included the line “who’s asking?”. I explained that my english colleague had a flat tyre and we just needed to get it vulcanised. Eventually he relented and said “ok, where is he?”

I zoomed back to the main street to fetch Tony, led him to Anatoly, the local tyre guru, and then back to our guesthouse to get a couple more tools for removing Tony’s front wheel. When I returned to Anatoly’s, a tall german guy was talking to Tony … this was yet another cyclist he had met on the ride across Siberia. Tony stopped and talked to 3 cyclists on his way over, he had now re-met two of them. Anatoly fixed Tony’s wafer thin front tube and sent us on our way for 100 rubles (2 quid).

We headed off to a local Buryat cafe for dinner, beer and then home. Our home for the night was an outdoor room about the size of a large garden shed. The guy who owned it had built 3 or 4 in his back garden and rented them out.

- – -

28.06.09

I woke at 7:30 … we had told the lady of the house last night that we wanted breakfast at 8. It was pissing down rain. I wanted to try and catch her to postpone breakfast, but it was too late. She had already cooked our pancakes. I woke Tony and told him if he wants breakfast its time to get up. As we ate our Olkhon Island special breakfast of pancakes, cottage cheese and tea, the sky slowly lightened. By the end of breakfast the rain had stopped.

I needed to back up some data onto a portable hard drive, and told Tony to go on ahead to the one terminal internet cafe. No point us bother being there at the same time if there is only one terminal – and he packed up his bike and rode off.

Half and hour later, once I had packed up my gear and loaded the bike I rode down to the internet hut, to find Tony chatting to a couple of Australian retired couples, driving across Russia in 4x4s. I said my “g’days” and was offered a vegemite on vita-wheat biscuit … something I havent had in years. The internet was super slow and was occupied by a german guy uploading squillions of fotos, so Tony and I decided to forget about it and head off – I could upload the text by phone and the pics would have to wait. It was well after 12pm when we got going.

We arrived back at the ferry and were loaded on within 5 minutes. Not quite as quick as the way out, but the Australians said they waited 3 hours for a boat – so we should consider ourselves lucky – again. We headed for Bayanday, the turnoff point for driving to Olkhon, at at a road detour, Tony clipped a barrier with his hard luggage (not sure he would have had a problem with soft luggage and the bike fell on top of him. I was beaten to his rescue by three car loads of Russians, who lifted the bike up off Tony’s leg … and on to his ankle …ouch!

Anyway, I told him to be a man about it, rub some smelly ointment on it when we stop in at Bayanday 70km down the road, and he should be fine for a 100 metre dash tomorrow. And he did just that.

Bayanday was our lunch and fuel stop. Tony rubbed the goop onto his leg after our lunch of lagman soup and a chebureki each. We powered on after our late lunch and made Kuchug, in the pouring rain, by 5pm. I pulled into a shelter and decided to wait out the rain. Tony and I took advantage of the break by doing some minor repairs to the bike. We were of course approached by Kuchug’s finest assorted drunk locals … we pretended to speak no Russian. Kuchug was also our first sighting of the mighty river Lena … not so mighty yet, as we are right near its headwaters.

By 6pm we were underway again – the rain had stopped, at least the heavy rain. I wanted to make Zhigalovo for the night. The asphalt road stopped at Kuchug and it was 140 km of dirt road to Zhigalovo. The road followed the Lena and for much of the way it was a high speed dirt road with red cliffs on the right and the Lena on the left. The villages in this stretch were exceptionally pretty and traditional. Many of the villages from Kachug down all date from 1600 – 1650 … the great Cossack populating of Siberia.

It was about 7:30 when we arrived in Zhigalovo, and I followed signs to the “Hotel California” on the outskirts of town. Tony waited while I checked the place out. The skanky girl at reception said it was 500 rubles a night… for the room. Cheap. I asked to have a look at a room. She took me into a room, and it was uncleaned, with empty vodka bottles littered about. I asked to see another. She went downstairs and woke the ‘administrator’ … he was totally dishelvelled and reeked of booze. I went outside and spoke to Tony … suggesting we look for another place. Some locals said their was another guest house in the centre of town, right behind the Lenin Statue – cant get much more central than the Lenin Statue in a Russian town.

We found the central place, it was clean and run by a sober woman. It was twice the price but was worth it. And she had a yard for parking. We unloaded, and went out to look for a cafe. By now it was pissing down rain again. We failed to find a cafe so went to the general store on Lenin’s left. There we bought beer and instant noodles … all the dinner we needed.

- – -

29.06.09

No breakfast demands meant we slept in quite late – finally stirring about 9:30am. Tony needed to do some metal repairs on his side box … the attaching points had become a little bent in his fall yesterday. He found a vice and went about squeezing them back into shape.  The weather was still overcast.

I had been fantasizing about a combination of dirt roads and dry weather … it was something I hadnt seen since Kirgizia / Tajikistan. In general, it had been raining either partially or completely every day since hooking up with Tony. We were probably lucky the dirt roads were not more of a nightmare, considering all of the rain. I have always thought the chances of reaching the ultimate objectives of this trip are totally weather dependent. If we have good weather, the tracks I hope to try will be possible. A lot of rain and the picture changes. So far we have been unlucky, but have managed to struggle thru.

We stopped on the edge of town to refuel the bikes and ourselves … a surprisingly unsatisfying brunch today. Crap cafe. No cute serving girls, and grim food. It was 12:30 by the time we got underway … and we had a big day ahead. The pressure would be on. We were trying to ride from Zhigalovo to the BAM.

Most maps dont even have a road, but one detailed map I had showed a road, and the chat with Artyom in the Bike Club in Irkutsk a few days back confirmed that there was a road, and it was possible to get from Zhigalovo to the BAM. We were lucky to meet him… none of the Irkutsk bikers knew there was a road from Zhigalovo to the BAM, meaning none of the locals had ridden it. Artyom was one of very few bikers (or maybe the only one) who knew there was a rideable road there.

We crossed a pontoon bridge to the start of the “Zhigalovo Road” and were now in a map free zone. The sun was now out, and the road was pretty much dry. The first dry dirt road I had ridden since the the first 30 minutes with Tony back in the Altai. As a result we flew along it. At one muddy stretch I took a detour off to the side of the road and saw the unmistakeable tracks of Artyom’s Africa Twin. He had ridden here 4 days ago on his way home to Bodaibo. Artyom had driven the road before, but this was the first time he had ridden it on a bike.

Tony had mentioned that as an Englishman, he was not used to such long dirt stretches. He used to be in the rally scene (back in the days of steam engines I suspect) and was saying he cant remember a special stage of more that 25 miles in the dirt .. and here we were doing about 200 miles between villages in the dirt. So 25 miles from the end of this 200 mile “special” I stopped to wait for Tony … after waiting 5 minutes with no sign of his headlight, I decided I better check out whats up.

I drove back 17 kilometres before I saw him … he had slid off on a corner. But a passing Kamaz all wheel drive bus had picked him up and all was normal. We continued on and finally reached the village of Okunausky … and the BAM railroad. We had done the Zhigalovo Road. We had made it to the BAM!!

We turned left and made the more major town of Magistralny, where we refuelled the bikes and found a railway canteen. Dinner for two in the railway canteen came to 70 EUR cents. It was after 6pm but seriously hot … must be about 30 degrees. Warmest weather for ages. I contemplated taking off my vest as we rode off, heading for Ust Kut 170 km away.

The first 50 km out of Magistralny was a breeze, but there were dark clouds brewing ahead. In the distance lightning was flashing and the temperature was dropping fast. I stopped to put on my windproof fleece. The dirt road was becoming wet. Argghh ! Rain had recently been here. before long we caught up with the rain. Just as I thought we would have our first rain free day on the dirt. It was tolerable until we his a section of roadworks near Zvezdny. We were now only 50 km from Ust-Kut but the road was a nightmare. Deep and long stretches of mud bogs had cars stuck on the road, unable to go forwards or backwards. Tony and I plotted our own routes thru the bog and both made it clear, eventually, but the relief must have been too much for Tony as he went down in a much smaller muddy section a few hundred yards later. I returned to pick him up, showing my reluctance, and Tony just shrugged his shoulders.

I really admire the old guys balls. He is out here in Siberia …. not just riding across Russia or Siberia on the main road, but riding unchartered roads in Siberia. And he doesnt let the tough stuff faze him. His stiff upper lip and pluck is really admirable. He doesnt complain or moan. He has had a few falls in the last 2 days and a decent collection of bruises, but he just gets on with it. Class act. Must come from the half a million motorcycle miles he has under his belt already!.

Soon afterwards we met the Lena River again. We are getting familiar with it and will only get more familiar over the coming days. I have decided from now on, I will call her “Lenochka” .. a familiar form of Lena. This meant we were only a few dozen miles from Ust-Kut.

We pulled into Ust Kut and crossed the last bridge across the Lena … there are no more bridges at all for the remaining 3700 km (2300 miles) of its length. We needed a jet wash … but it was almost 10pm by now. I didnt like the idea of trying to check into a hotel totally covered in mud and with luggage that was totally covered in mud.

I saw a policeman and stopped to ask him where I might find a car wash. He immediately responded by asking me for my documents. “What an asshole” I thought. Cops almost always help when you approach them, rather than when they approach you. It was like he was taking advantage of me by asking for documents when I had asked him for help. It was poor sportsmanship! The game of driver vs cop has rules in Russia … and this was against the rules.

I broke off the conversation after showing him the docs and asked for the centre of town. “That way” he said – Ust Kut is 40 km long – stretched out along Lenochka.  We zoomed off and found the railway station and a hotel … the Hotel Lena … flashest hotel in town. They had no parking and I was frowned upon as I walked across the lobby in my muddy riding gear. but I got a room and returned to Tony and the bikes to begin unpacking.

As I unpacked I was bitching away to Tony about the cop, and how I felt he had broken the ettiquette rules by asking for documents when I had approached him, when Tony replied “Well here he is again”. And I looked up and the cop was there outside the hotel with his colleague, waiting to meet us. Lucky he didnt speak english!

As if to make a monkey out of me, he then invites us back to use the police jet wash. Wow … fine … done! We follwed him back to the station and parked up in the courtyard. Tony and I used the jet washer for a good 20 minutes each … and there was still mud coming off the bikes even then. We jet washed each other … from the knees down tho Tony needed a bit more after his falls. I blasted his back and sides. When we had finished, the police (Andrei and Andrei) offered to house the bikes in the police garage (we had nothing at the hotel and would have had to take every piece of baggage up to the room.)

The police also asked how many bears we had seen on our route up from Zhigalovo. None, i replied, should we have seen any? Aparently yes, this was bear coumtry

So it turns out I was completely wrong in my initial assessment – the police were excellent guys, very friendly and helpful. They told us to come back the next morning and they would help us sort out a ferry to Lensk. Top guys !

30.06.09

Tony and I ate a post-midnight dinner in the 24 hour diner / discotheque (called the Ermak) at Ust-Kut’s Hotel Lena. It was a kind of cordon bleu chicken dish that was simply titled “Meat- French Style”. We finally made it to bed about 2am.

I was woken at 9:30 am by a phone call from Andrei the policeman, checking when we wanted to be picked up. I said 11am would be good and went back to sleep. Andrei came round about 11:30. Tony and I had by then visited the bank to stock up on cash for the days ahead and grabbed some food to substitute for breakfast at the local store. Andrei drove us back to the police station where we took out the bikes from the police garage.

While we packed up the bikes a TV crew appeared … arranged by the police I suspect. I had to do an impromptu TV interview in Russian for the Ust-Kut evening news. After that was done, we said farewell to the other police guys and Andrei drove us down to the makeshift loading ramp where a barge was being loaded for Lensk.  By the time we got there it was looking pretty full, but since we had the police on our side, we were optimistic of a positive outcome. Andrei spoke to the man in charge of loading and gave us the thumbs up before heading back home to his family. Tony and I decided we should buy him dinner when we again pass thru Ust Kut in 2 months time.

Time passed and a few more cars were jammed onto the barge and then to my shock and horror I saw the barge declared full and the loading bridge pulled up. These barges only run every 3 days or so. I approached the loading man and he told me that another barge will come shortly. We waited and waited and by now it was 3pm. I spoke with many of the waiting lorry drivers. They were confident we would all be getting to Lensk and I relaxed. One guy, after asking how we got to Ust-Kut, asked if we saw bears on our route. This was the same question that the police had asked. Maybe there really are bears on the Zhigalovo Road.

A larger unpowered barge approached, drawn by a tugboat. Before long we were all queueing up to load. The first barge was in the middle of river …. it hadnt gone anywhere and I suddenly realised the barges would somehow be joined together for the journey. Tony and I stocked up on food and water and beer for the journey. By now I had found out it would be two and a half days. We would leave Ust Kut about 6pm and arrive in Lensk about Friday lunchtime.

We were called up and approached the makeshift loading ramp with some caution. It had been awkward for a few of the vehicles before us but we made it on without too much fuss and were allocated a spot on the front right of the barge, just behind the loading winches.

I was unlikely to have anything more than very occasional mobile phone access over the next few days so quickly checked my email and sent a text back to home base. We are now 10-14 days behind the initially planned schedule due to the long stops in Tashkent and Irkutsk (my fault) and that makes some planned rendezvoux dif ficult. I had planned to hook up with Mac Swinarski in Magadan in about a weeks time, but just got news that “Mac is in Moscow, proceding Magadan-wards”. We will miss that rendezvous in Magadan. Good luck with MotoSyberia 2.0 mate.

As the barge pulled out of Ust-Kut we quickly got a feel for the wilderness were were travelling through. I had first developed an interest in visiting the Lena region after reading a book by Moscow based travel writer Jeffrey Tayler, called “River of No Reprieve” – About life, death and exile in the villages along the Lena River. In the book he travels by boat along the Lena from Ust-Kut to Tiksi, where the river meets the Arctic Ocean. That created a thirst to see for myself life on the Lena and beyond, and is the origins of wanting to get specifically to Lensk, Mirny and Udachny.

A lot of the towns on the Lena are related to the exile industry … The prettiest town we passed thru between Kachug and Zhigalovo was Verkholensk … which was the place of exile in Tsarist times for Felix Dzherzhinsky, the founder of the soviet secret police, which later became the KGB. The first village we passed after Zhigalovo, Tutura, was the place of exile several times for Kuibyshev – one of the initial soviet powerbrokers.

Around 10pm, with most of the truck drivers on the boat well and truly drunk, Tony and I decided it was dinner time. Tony’s portable stove and some pot noodles were the solution. I had foolishly brought only 3 bottles of beer onboard for the 3 days and was consuming my second one on the first night. Russian bottles are larger than those in the west – 500 ml rather than 300 or 330ml, but still I was facing beer shortages in the coming nights already. We chatted with some of the truck drivers till after midnight before retiring. It was still only half dark due to the date and the latitude.

- – -

01.07.09

Tony and I had a great nights sleep in Tony’s Khyam tent. (we have one each and sometimes use one and sometimes use both). We had put it up soon after we got on board yesterday as we thought it prudent to do the german thing and “reserve” our own space as soon as possible, before there is none left. There was a small bow deck area and a large part of it was already taken by a river trader taking goods downstream to Vitim. The first thing we saw this morning on the river bank was the number 3500 on a small sign. This point is 3500km upstream from the mouth. Ust Kut is at 3715km, so we had travelled 215km overnight. Only 750 km to go to Lensk.

The day began working on the bikes. We both had a bolt missing from our assorted luggage mounting systems. Mine will need to be fixed with a new threading tool, and Tony’s has a snapped bolt … and will need to be drilled out. Nothing we could fix on deck. Tony changed his air filter and I washed mine.

Yesterday we had been praising the engines on our bikes – these BMW Rotax engines dont consume oil or need anything but the most minor maintenance – and I mentioned to Tony what a blessing that is, as its inevitable that if you carry oil, the container will at some point burst on roads like this. Unknown to me, Tony still had a small container of oil that he was using on the asphalt roads as chain lube … we discovered today that the lid had come off … so half Tony’s morning was spent cleaning out and degreasing his pannier. Luckily we had some petrol with us. I meanwhile had found a bucket on a rope that a truck driver had left by the edge of the barge, and went about washing myself in Lenochka’s waters, hauled up one bucket at a time.

The scenery had not changed from last night. The river carved lazy gentle turns thru the wooded taiga forest … 50 metre hills usually lined each bank. It was both very wild and yet very serene at the same time. Our end of the barge was a long way from the engine … we were right at the front, and there was almost no noise. We just were peacefully gliding north through the Siberian taiga, on the beautiful River Lena.

By midday the sun was out in force, and the obvious thing to do was to slip into shorts, lose the shirt and take the air mattress out on deck. Tony followed and another passenger as well … 3 of us, lounging in the sun on our river cruise, with headphones in our ears. I for one needed the sun. 3 months inside motorcycle riding clothes has left my arms, legs and chest pasty white – with brown patches for my hands and face.

Six hours and a lot of red / pink skin later, Tony tuned in to catch the BBC news on his shortwave before preparing dinner. He has the cooking stove and has assumed the cooking duties. In a couple of weeks we will be joined by Terry, another englishman flying out to take part in the project. Terry is a camping guru, so Tony and I have decided that Terry should be in charge of cookery once he arrives.

Meanwhile, Tony had taken a packet soup and combined it with a couple of potatoes that had fallen out of the traders sacks to make a potato and vegetable soup. This was washed down with some warm beer and our standard chicken flavour noodles. Mmm delicious.

There was less drunkenness on board this second evening as we drifted past Kirensk, the last town of any notable size before Lensk and consequently having sensible conversations with the truck drivers was easier. We got good information about the roads ahead, the places that have food, petrol and even the rare hotel room. Clearly we would be camping a lot more after Lensk (indeed after Ust Kut). The good news was the weather was definately on the improve. It was clear skies as we headed to bed, both suffering for over exposure to the sun.

- – -

02.07.09

The river was wider now. We had begun in Ust Kut and there Lenochka was 150 metres wide. The barge we were on could just turn around in the river. Something this size could not have gone much further upstream. Now, as we drifted past Korshunovo, it was at least 400 metres wide. While a look at the flat surface indicated serenity, the power and speed of the river was apparent only when we passed a navigation buoy. These things were being pummelled by the fast flow.

The morning was spiced up when an elk was spotted drinking by the shore. I reached for my camera, while the crew (100 yards back) reached for the tender dinghy and a rifle. The dinghy sped out to the elk and a single shot was heard.

Its not my cup of tea, but I refuse to pass negative judgement in situations like this. The people in the far north of Siberia dont hunt for sport. They kill for food. There are no cows or sheep or pigs or chickens up here. Its a way of life to hunt wildlife for food.

In the afternoon we passed the “cheeks of the Lena” … where the river narrows and speeds up through some cliffs. It seemed the whole boat was up the front with us taking fotos.

By midnight we had reached Vitim, where the large Vitim river joins the Lena. At Vitim the river was wider still, between 500 and 800 metres wide, and still flowing just as fast. It was still light at midnight and in reaching Vitim we had passed another timezone. Now 9 hrs ahead of London.

- – -

03-07-09

The whole barge was still awake at 1am when we pulled in for the first stop of the trip, at Peledui. Tony and I were by now running low on supplies. We had not prepared adequately for the 3 day journey so I went ashore at Peledui to search for beer. It was twilight, but as dark as it was going to get. Mosquitoes were out in force. The boat was docked only for 30 minutes we were told, and a few intrepid drivers joined me for the walk along the streets in search of a cafe or shop. We found a cafe-bar place and was shocked by the prices. Its more expensive than Moscow here. I bought 2 bottles of beer, a litre of fruit juice and a large packet of crisps for 500 Rubles (about 12 EUR).

I returned to the barge just in time to see the gangway pulled up behind me. The Lena had been joined by a major tributary, the Vitim, and as we left the town of Peledui the River was notably larger … 1000 metres wide now, flowing just as fast as ever, and still 2900 km to its mouth. Huge ocean going ships could be seen from Vitim onwards, with registration details in latin script as well as the usual cyrillic.

We have been on the barge about 70 hrs now and are both looking pretty extreme ourselves. Tony is considering ways to shave … we could heat some water for shaving purposes. The onboard ‘facilities’ have been pretty grim. We piss overboard and so far have both held off on the need for anything more substantial.

We are over 60 degrees north now – poised for our big push up towards 66.7 degrees … the (arctic) polar circle. There are three continents that cross the polar circle and in 2 of them, Europe and North America, driving / riding to the polar circle is simply a matter of following the main roads north in Norway and Alaska … but in Asia there are no roads that cross the polar circle. We will have to ride across Tundra from the furtherest north we can find a road to … the mining town of Udachny.

I will post this update now, as our barge drifts into Lensk: the mighty Lena now 1500 metres wide.

New Note:  Photos updated now – Blogs updated with pics all the way back to Krasnoyarsk.

- – -

The barge took surprisingly long to dock at the earthen jetty at Lensk. Last night at Peledui, in the twilight the barge had docked almost instantly on a makeshift pile of dirt jutting out into the river that made do as a jetty.

We were one of the first vehicles off and waved goodbye to our friends of several days – the truck drivers on board the barge. Many of the drivers had begged me for Sibirsky Extreme stickers … and though I was low on supplies, I felt obliged to give them stickers. The truck drivers had helped us a lot on board, donating food supplies, tea and information freely.

The first stop was a petrol station. It was only 245 km to Mirny but we were now in Yakutia and I think its prudent to fill up at every opportunity in Yakutia. When we were done, a curious local Lensk-ite at the petrol station led us to the start of the Anabar Road – the road that leads north from Lensk thru the diamond mining towns of Mirny, Udachny and continues on as a zimnik (winter road) as far north as Anabar.

The Anabar road was a dusty affair. We had 3 totally dry hot days while on the Lena and it was clear that the weather had been no different here. It was hot and dusty. When meeting oncoming vehicles of passing other vehicles, visibility dropped to 30 metres or less. Not exactly safe at 100 km/h which equates to about 30 metres a second. The further we got from Lensk, the more traffic thinned out and the easier riding became. We had to ride a kilometre apart as the dust made it impossible to ride any closer.

We stopped for food, kitchen cooked food, the first in 4 days, and soon after I stopped to have a crap in the woods, the first in 3 days. Damn mosquitos are fierce up here. My trousers were down for no more than a minute, but it seems my pasty white butt was manna from heaven for the local mosquitos – who feasted gluttonously. I didnt realise how badly I had been bitten until 5 minutes after we rode off when I felt no less than ten itchy stinging bumps rising on my buttocks.

We were passed while stopped by one of the truck drivers from the boat, who tooted loudly. Once on the road after my gentlemans break, we hauled him in and in a cloud of dust burst back past him … to yet more rapturous tooting.

Two hours later and we were on the outskirts of Mirny. I called Ilya, a local Africa Twin rider (recently converted from sports bikes) who zoomed out to meet us as we rode into town. Mirny is a modern decent sized, educated town. Ilya took us to see Mirny’s main attraction, the largest, deepest hole in the world. For almost 50 years diamonds were mined in a giant pit around which the town has grown. The pit closed in 2001 and the diamonds are now mined underground.

Then it was onto a mechanic friend, Andrei. Tony and I still had a couple of bolts to sort out. Andrei would sort it tomorrow. He would store our bikes overnight and he found a friend with a spare apartment to lend us.

- – -

04.07.09

Andrei the mechanic came to collect us at the apartment at midday. First stop was the general store near his workshop where we stocked up on pirozhki and samsas for breakfast, then go to work on what we could fix. Andrei was pretty busy (one of his customers was a drunk guy from Aikhal in a Nissan Pathfinder who had been on the barge with us … he was very excited to see us again and asked us to call him and come round for a party wheen in Aikhal. – I said we would think about it)

Due to all the work, Andrei only managed to get around to our bolt needs by 4pm … but we fixed both bikes, stripped off half the gear (we would be back here in 3 days time) and with Ilya along side we headed off to refuel and hit the Anabar road north.

Ilya rode with us till near Chernyshevsky, 100 km down the road. A big storm cell was in front of us and Ilya was just in jeans, so was prudent for him to head back. It was the furtherest out of Mirny he had ridden. he said there were 7 bikers in Mirny, but all but him were on street bikes. They stick to the asphalt in Mirny. Ilya’s bike had been flown in to Mirny air freight from Moscow less than a month earlier, so he hadnt ridden it here. We were on virgin motorcycling territory heading north from Chernyshevsky.

We stopped in Chernyshevsky to get some dinner and refuel. It was only 3-4 litres each, but we would need it on the 425km ride from here to Udachny. We were a very popular attraction in the town store … not many foreigners up this way we were told. The ladies in the towns store even insisted on giving us a free cup of tea each. Our charm goes a long way up here

Then we crossed the Vilyui river at 7pm and from here to Udachny was pretty much due north. The Vilyui is a pretty big river in itself … we are 1500 km from Yakutsk here and will follow the Vilyui for most of the way to Yakutsk. It is one of the larger tributaries of the Lena, and was pretty big even here – 1500 km before it joins the Lena.

As soon as we crossed the Vilyui, the taiga forest changed. The 20-30 metre high pines and birch trees were smaller and continued shrinking as we sped north. Light would be no problem. We are only 2 weeks from the longest day of the year and we are only a few degrees short of the Arctic Circle, so we could expect “white nights”. We passed the drunk guy’s Nissan Pathfinder … it was parked at an odd angle by the side of the road with no sign of life around … strange. We went on.

About 9pm we exerienced what we experienced on the barge. Up north here there is no huge change in light levels between night and day, just a gradual softening between about 11pm and 3am, but there is a dramatic change in temperature. Daytime temperature (about 20 degrees) lasts till 9pm, then in a 15 minute period drops rapidly to about 8 degrees or less. The sun was still out and shining but the temperature dropped like a stone and we stopped to rug up. Tony poured his 5 litres of spare fuel into his tank and the earphones went back in for another 200 – 250 km of dirt and mud.

At 11pm, now just 65 km from Udachny we reached the turnoff to Aikhal, another diamond mining town. Aikhal was just 10 km off the Anabar road and my fuel light had just come on. I asked Tony how much he had left and he reckoned about 35 miles (55km) … hmmm it was risky. I decided to turn in to Aikhal and refuel. Its the only place between Chernyshevsky and Udachny with fuel. 5km down the road to Aikhal, and I ran out completely. I was shocked. For starters I should have about 500 Km range and had gone only 375 km. Secondly I normally get 70km once the reserve light comes on. I had barely got 5km. had I sprung a leak? I sent Tony onwards to Aikhal to get fuel and waited in the cold and the wind for him to return. 15 mins later and Tony had filled up and got 5 litres for me. 76 octane … the worst of the trip so far, and nothing to dilute it with (no half tank of 92 or 96 octane). I poured it into the tank and fired up the bike … both bikes ran fine on the pure 76. They have an anti-knock sensor that adjusts the timing to suit the grade of fuel you put in. We wont get as much power out of the 76, but the bikes will run with it. Did I tell you how much I love this engine??

I rode into town as Tony led the way to the fuel station. Initially Tony had been rebuffed in his attempt to buy fuel, but reluctantly the lady had relented and sold him enough. Now down at the bowser myself I saw why. There was a sign indication limits and rationing. I decided just to take 10 litres. We would go to Udachny tomorrow and maybe they would have 92 octane.

It had been light drizzle for the last hour or two and we were both pretty cold and wet by now. The lady in the fuel station took pity on us and called the local hotel (run by a friend), who agreed to take us in. It wouldnt be cheap, but beggars cant be choosers. In diamond mining towns like this, the only visitors are accountants or consultants flying in from Moscow or South Africa etc, so the prices for accomodation tend to be very high.

The ladies in the hotel passed us on to one of her friends, a lady at the police station 300 yards aaway, who agreed to store our bikes in the police car park in exchange for a few midnight photos. Once the bikes were parked, Tony went off in search of beer and chips, and I set about cleaning up a bit. I walked into the shower in boots and riding pants and hosed the last few hours of mud off myself.

Tony and I sat up till 3am, still light outside, discussing the strange day we had just had. By now we are at 65 degrees 57 minutes north, and I am confident that we have now travelled further north in Asia on motorbikes than has been done previously. The road of bones only gets as far as 63′ 25″, and the new northern variation via Ust Nera only to 64′ 36″ North. The only riding being done further north in Russia is by locals who have had their bikes flown in.

- – -

05.07.09

I woke several times before our official rise and shine time of midday, but each time I looked outside the window in Aikhal and saw nothing but thick grey clouds and rain. This was a bad day to try and get beyond Udachny. There was a knock on the door. No idea who that could be. It was the drunk guy with the Nissan Pathfinder. He had tracked us down in Aikhal. What a ‘lucky’ co-incidence.

After he left I even stuck my hand out the window. It almost froze instantly. I consulted with Tony … we decided to wait a bit. I went downstairs to see when we had to check out. A bit of debating followed but as we had actually checked in just after midnight (thus todays date) they agreed that we could stay till tomorrow morning. Since we were paying 85 EUR a day for the serviced apartment, getting that extra night in was a real bonus. And it meant we could leave everything in the room and travel extra light up to Udachny, as we would return in the evening.

Daylight is not a problem for us. We could return at 5pm, 8pm or 11pm and it would be just as bright. Here it darkened slightly between about 2 and 4am, but was still twilight in those hours.

By 2:30pm the rain had eased to a drizzle, and we walked down to the police station to collect our bikes for the final assault on Udachny. The riding gear had dried a bit, but was in general still wet, and now also cold. Oh what a fun day we were going to have.

The road north was muddy but not too slippery, just like it was yesterday, and we covered the 75km to Udachny in just under an hour. The temperature today was 8 degrees and with the rain and the constant northern wind, we were both freezing by the time we got there. We passed a fuel station of sorts, but on closer inspection it was completely closed. There must be some fuel around I thought to myself as local cars were moving about.

The cold was getting to us and we decided to find a cafe in town where we could (a) warm up (b) get some breakfast – at 4:30pm and (c) get information about petrol and any road that could get us further north. We found our cafe and settled in for a lot of cups of warm lemon tea to accompany our fish, meatballs and sandwich that we ordered.

I spoke with the lady that ran the cafe about permafrost. Here in Udachny its just 10-15 cm below the surface of the ground. In Mirny it was 1.5 – 2m below the surface and Lensk didnt have any at all. With all that frozen earth just below the surface, drainage was a real issue. Any rain just sits around until it evaporates.

One drunk local sang our praises constantly for half an hour but said the road north is impossible this time of year. A couple of more sober younger lads offered to lead us to (a) petrol and (b) the road north that crosses the Arctic Circle. I had heard several distances mentioned by locals regarding how far north you need to go to get to the Arctic Circle, but all were between 15 and 20 km. Some said 16, some 15, some 18, some 20km.

We donned the wet jackets (at least after 2hrs in the cafe they were only wet, rather than cold and wet) and saddled up to follow the boys in their Lada. First stop the petrol station. Similar signs were seen … limits etc. And one that said closed from 6:30 to 8pm for dinner. It was now 6:40pm. Doh !.

Then we drove on following the Lada and saw signs to Anabar … the continuation of the Anabar Road. The road was in decent shape and our spirits rose. Maybe it is possible to get to the Artic Circle in summer (if you can call this cold and rain summer). But our hopes were dashed 6km north of Udachny. The constant recent rain had left an huge amount of water cascading over the road. It was an enormous torrent. The guys in the Lada shrugged their shoulders andd turned round to head back into town. Tony and I just stared forlornly at the sight in front of us.

We were there for half an hour, at 66′ 27″ North wondering if there was any way to cross the river and do the last 10km to the Circle. I had a thought that we could return tomorrow, hire a massive 6WD Zil truck to take us across, and return the same way an hour later.

There was nothing to do but wait for the petrol station to re-open. We rode into to two and waited under the steps of the local post office to shelter from the rain (but we couldnt shelter from the cold and the wind). At 8pm I rode to the station and it was open. I asked the lady there for 15 litres of 92 octane. “No petrol” she repied.
“Please”, I countered, “just 10 litres?, 5 litres?”
“Ok, 10 litres – 330 rubles”
And so a bit of begging, grovelling and looking like a sorry, cold, wet foreigner standing in the rain with a motorcycle that was low on fuel actually helped.

And with my 10 litres of 92 octane fuel we headed back to Aikhal and our warm, dry serviced apartment. However if the cold wet day we had enjoyed so far today was tough, we were about to begin 26 hours of utter motorcycling hell.

15 km out of Udachny, and Tony’s front tyre became flat. We were still just 10 minutes ride from town so we stripped the wheel off and I carried back into town to find a shino-montazh. It took over an hour to find one, but they got to work fixing the split along the seam of Tony’s original tubes. These tubes are too thin for rough dirt roads and Tony has had several similar problems in the past few weeks. Fortunately he has some heavy duty ones coming out in the next Sibirsky Extreme supply shipment.

Sibirsky Boeing 707

I would love to have bought an old Boeing 707 and convert it into a Sibirsky Extreme supply plane – something like the Led Zeppelin 707 from the early 70′s … maybe with drying racks and warm beds … flying around Siberia full of spares, Sibirsky Extreme logo emblazoned on the tail. But I am fantasizing again. We are in Udachny, cold and wet, and we have a flat tyre … back to reality.

No patches here in Udachny, so they just cut a bit of rubber from another tube and vulcanise it using heat and pressure for 30 minutes. As soon as that hole was fixed, we tested the tube and another hole was found. So another 30 minutes went by while it was vulcanised. The guys at the Shino-montazh loved the motorcycling up to Udachny story and insisted on coming with me out to Tony to see the second bike. So we went, me riding and they driving 15 km south of Udachny where Tony was waiting in the cold and the rain.

We quickly fitted the front wheel and were about to ride off when we spotted Tony’s rear tyre was now flat. It must be a slow leak as we were able to pump it up, but the thought of a problem developing in the middle of the night half way back to Aikhal made us return to Udachny to have it repaired and so in a convoy of 2 bikes and one jeep, we went back to the Shino-montazh HQ. By now it was almost midnight. Tony and I sat upstairs having tea while the boys went to work on his back wheel. 45 mins or so later it was fixed and Tony and I refitted the wheel to the bike. As he was about to saddle up, we noticed the front wheel was now flat. Well if you are going to have a flat, might as well have it as a tyre repair place. And so more tube repairing went on. One of the first vulcanisations hadnt taken well and was easily ripped off (too easily it seemed to me).

I spoke with the boys about hiring a Zil truck tomorrow for the river crossing, since they were in the automotive business but they said not even Zil’s are going across that river now. Well that was it. If Zil’s aren’t making it over then nothing is crossing that road, at least while the water levels are as they are. The Arctic Cirle would have to wait for someone else at someother time, perhaps with a week of dry weather prior to their arriving in Udachny.

By 2:30am we were done and Tony and I hit the road for our ride back to Aikhal. Only 10 km out of townand the front was flat again. We took the wheel off Tony’s bike and I returned again to the tyre place, saying that I think the tube was dead and they should just fit the spare. In reality I was by now convinced that something was not working in their vulcanising method. Maybe it was the wrong type of rubber, who knows. They fitted the spare and I returned yet again to Tony waiting out in the cold, fitted the front wheel, complete with proper tube now, and rode back to Aikhal.  All the way I had been fearing Tony’s rear wheel. If I was right about the dodgy vulcanising, then his rear tube was at risk too, as they had repaired that one once as well. But we made it back ok, about 4:30 am, finally. Nothing has felt better than the warm shower after we had after making it back. We had left Udachny about 8:30pm for a 45 minute ride to Aikhal and made it 8 hours and 4 flat tyres later.

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06.07.09

Our alarms went off at 10:30. We needed to be out of the apartment by midday and there was a fair bit of cleaning and reshuffling of stuff to do. But by midday we were out and had the bikes. First stop was a canteen (stolovaya) as we hadnt eaten thoughout our evening ordeal. Then it was back to the Aikhal petrol station to top up on 76 octane for the 375km to Chernyshevsky, the next fuel.

Two extra days of rain had made the road south worse than when we rode it on the way up. It was muddier, the rain was heavier, the temperature was colder. And we had hours and hours and hours of it. It would be 5 hours on dirt roads in good weather, travelling at 100 km/h, but in the heavy rain and thick mud, we would be lucky to average 70 km/h. Thats almost 8 hours of mud. Any slower than 70 km/h and we wouldnt get out before winter. Tony seemed to sense my desire to get back to relative civilisation as soon as possible and we powered on.

We stopped breifly in the village of Morkoka, (the only inhabited place in the 375 km between Aikhal and Chernyshevsky) as we had been told there might be fuel there. (There was a cafe with limited accomodation there too in case anyone else heads up this way some time). The fuel station was open, but had onnly diesel. If they had petrol, they werent selling it to us, even with puppy dog face and begging.

On and on thru the cold and the rain we went. We had a loose plan to meet Ilya back in Mirny at 6pm and were just on track to make that as we had been making better speed than initially thought. With about 300 km done and about 75 km from Chernyshevsky and the start of civilisation, Tony stopped. My fears had been realised, his rear tyre was flat. It would have been the dodgy vulcanisation from last night.

It was time to do a tube change. In the rain and the mud, and swarms of savage mosquitoes too we took off Tony’s back tyre. Nearby was a stream and in freezing cold water Tony had to wash the wheel, tyre and tube to avoid getting mud into the inside of the tyre. Initially I wanted to patch Tony’s spare with proper self-vulcanising patches, but this was impossible due to the rain … there was no-where to get the tube dry. So Tony’s spare rear was put in, the tyre refitted and pumped up. We had managed to refit the tyre without pinching the tube. All of this had been done in slow motion as both of us had fingers so cold that nothing was happening automatically. We had to force our fingers to do this or that. And so an hour after stopping we were again on our way. The only one piece of satisfaction I got from that exercise is knowing Safran will now cease his complaining that we dont change our flat tyres ourselves.

The last 75 km to Chernyshevsky was the muddiest of the lot. Rear ends were slipping and sliding all over the place and it took an hour and a half, but we had both made it. Neither had resorted to our 5 litres of reserve fuel and we went straight to the fuel station to feed the thirsty bikes on 92 octane juice.

Phone coverage existed there too and I texted Ilya to let him know we would be late. Maybe 8pm. We had planned to get a bite to eat in Chernyshevsky but with Ilya waiting for us 100 km down the road in Mirny, we pressed on after refuelling. This dirt road was in much better shape and I roared along at 100 km/h, defying the rain and the cold. My heated gloves and vest had been on all day, and now my phone was charging up. We would soon be warm and clean.

30km out of Chernyshevsky and Tony’s headlight disappeared from my rear view mirror. I stopped and a few minutes later it re-appeared. ‘come on Tony, this is no time to faff about going slow’ I thought to myself. The light caught up with me and I roared off again only to leave Tony’s headlight trailing far behind. This was not like Tony. Even on the muddy roads he was now pretty comfortabe riding about as fast as I liked to ride. I stopped to wait for him and he pulled up next to me. His engine was overheating. We killed the bikes and checked out Tony’s radiator. It was clogged with baked mud, about an inch thck, that had set like concrete from the heat.

As the mosquitos again began feasting, Tony set about with water form a nearby stream and a wooden stick, trying to clear his radiator. He had actually done tthis several times over the past few days, each time successfully, for a few hours before a few hours more mud clogged it again, but this time it was hard work. 20 minutes later and it was as clean as it was going to get.
We saddled up and fired up the bikes, or tried to. My battery was now flat. I had been riding all day with heated gear. There was nothing for it but to jump start the bike. We had no jumper leads, but Tony had a cable with a DIN plug at one end. I stripped the ends of the cable while Tony took off his battery panels. About a dozen screws need to be undone to get at the battery on his F650, and in the cold, with the mosquitoes, it took an eternity. Finally the batteries were connected and my bike fired up. It took another eternity to put all the panels back on.

Back on the road again and 20 km down the road Tony needed to stop and again squirt as much water as possible over his radiator. My bike stalled as we pulled up and the battery had not charged enough to fire it up. While Tony squirted his radiator, I puched the bike up a nearby hill. The 650 engine is not an easy one to clutch start, due to the compression, so I needed a decent hill. Fortunately unlike 20 km back, there was one available. Clutch starting the 650 needs to be done in 4th gear, as any other gear just results in skidding the back wheel. Amazingly it fired up first time. I had become accustomed to thinking life was meant to be hell and it was nice to know something still worked.

I went back to where Tony was. We were now only 50 km from Mirny. We had different problems with the bikes, Tonys being one that meant he needed to stop regularly, and mine being one that meant I should not stop at all. I told Tony that I was going to ride ahead non-stop to town to get to Andrei’s garage. If I didnt see him in an hour I would send out a car search party. He agreed, meaning he could take his time with his radiator and then hose it out properly when we got to Andrei’s.

I finally made it to Andrei’s about 10:30pm. The day had been tough, but the period from Tony’s flat rear to arriving in Mirny had been utter hell. Cold, wet, muddy and everytime we stopped we were eaten by mosquitos. It was an endurance test par excellence. An SAS style training course for motorcyclists.

I immediately reached for Andrei’s Karcher pressure washer and turned it on myself. From the knees down I was covered in about an inch thick muddy slime, and then I started on the bike. 10 minutes into the process I heard the tell tale sound of a 650 rotax engine, and Tony pulled in. I immediately stopped what I was doing and turned the hose on him and on his radiator (from a safe distance) while he was still riding in. It took several minutes before his radiator was clean and well over 40 minutes before both bikes were acceptably clean.

Andrei turned off the Karcher and there was relief over Tony’s and my faces. We were back in Mirny and we were in the hands of friends … and were were halfway to clean … clean enough to sit in Andrei’s van as he took us to the apartment, via the beer shop of course.

- – -

The morning after the 3 days before didnt really stand a chance.  In fact we didnt wake up till 3pm.  We just made it down to Andrei’s workshop in downtown Mirny before dinner time to check out the state of the bikes after our 3 days of struggle.

It was immediately apparent that the mud had taken a severe toll.  The texture of the mud was such that it wasnt a slimy clay like mud, but it was a sandy gritty mud.  The road wasnt as slippery as it could have been but the grit had eaten away at anything that moved on the bike, over the 1300 km I had covered in the past 3 days.

My back brake pads, which were brand new in Irkutsk and still 75% when I left Mirny to head North, were quite literally down to Zero.  In total 4 long muddy days, one on the Zhigalovo Road and three on the Anabar Road, had each chewed away a quarter of the pads each day.  It wasnt me, nor the bike, nor the compound, as Tony, riding a different bike, and different brake compound found his back pads whittled away to nothing by the time we had reached Udachny, and rode back to Mirny without even touching his rear brake.

The sprockets were looking beat.  I had no discernable wear at all on my steel rear sprocket for the entire trip, save the last 3 days, now wear was most definately discernable.  The front sprocket, as you would expect, was worse.

The centreline of the underside of the bike had been thoroughly sandblasted and Tony’s rear tyre, fitted in Novosibirsk was now toast. It was a knobbly, with tread down to a few millimetres – and sure you could get another 3-4 thousand kilometres out of it – if you were riding on dry asphalt roads, but in wet mud, you need traction.  And a knobbly worn to the point of approaching a road tyre is dangerous on the endless dirt and mud roads we were riding.  Fortunately, Tony had scored Leon’s rear tyre in Irkutsk, and now was as good a time as any to stop carrying it, and fit it.  Tony’s dodgy tube repairs were fixed, with Andrei removing every single patch and refixing them to him far more exacting standards.

Two electricians were called to examine my flat battery problem.  They compounded the problem by opening the engine housing that stored the generator, ignorant of the fact that the generator spins in oil – losing half my engine oil over Andrei’s floor.  Obviously there was no Motul fully synthetic motorcycle oil in Mirny (there are only 5 western / japanese bikes), so I had to go with fully mineral oil and do a full oil and filter change while we were at it.  After making a hell of a lot of mess and doing a dodgy repair on my gasket that they broke, they decided that my battery was rogered and went home.

Unsurprisingly, I couldnt find a battery to fit the space on the BMW, so I bought the only other 12V motorcyle battery for sale in Mirny.  Andrei made a temporary tray for it and we mounted it at the back of the bike, with cables running to the old battery box.

While this was happening, the most urgent task, new brake pads, was being undertaken by a contact of Andrei’s.  The new pads were being fabricated from some car brake pads, being cut to shape and then the metal and the pads being ground down to match the thickness of the originals.  This was the most time consuming task as the guy doing the pads was very busy with other jobs.  Tony and I set us ourselves up to wait a while in Mirny and relax for a few days.

Late on Wednesday, 8th July, we saw the weather begin to change, the sun came out and it warmed up.  We celebrated by having a big night of shashlik and banya (sauna) at Andrei’s dacha, just outside Mirny.  This was no small banya session  of 10 minutes or so but was a constant rotating process of barbequed food, beer and banya for about 4 hours with Ilya, Andrei and a few other folks who dropped in from time to time.

We had hoped the pads would be ready on Thursday and we could hit the road, but it was not to be.  But that did give me the chance to upload a whole bunch of photos and update the blog with pics going back 4 posts … all the way to Krasnoyarsk.  The weather had now completely changed from the earlier 8-9 degrees and rain, to +25 and totally sunny. We yearned to be back on the road.  In the evening we met up with some of Ilya’s biking friends … there are 5-6 bikers now in Mirny.

Just after 4pm on Friday, 10th July, the pads were ready and I fitted a set to my bike.  Tony refitted a pair he had changed  earlier and kept as a spare.  As long as the roads were dry, they would get us to Magadan.  By 6pm we were packed and ready to roll.  Ilya and his girlfriend Masha rode with us for 20km to the village of Novy, near Almazny and the first river crossing.  On the way we stopped for fuel.  My bike wouldnt restart.  Flat  battery.  The brand new battery.  Maybe it hadnt recharged enough yet, since it had only been installed 3 kilometres ago.  We jump started the bike (we now have starter cables, home made, to speed up the process) and continued on.

The Vilyuisky Trakt (the Vilyui Track) runs from Mirny, 1200 km east to Yakutsk, approximately following the Vilyui River and the towns and villages along it for much of the way.  Four times the track crosses the Vilyui itself, each crossing served by ferries.  Andrei had driven the full road last year and had briefed us pretty thoroughly on the road conditions.  In general the road would be no problem, if the weather was dry.  There were however, two question marks, and both were in the first 150 km from Mirny.  Two river crossings of tributaries of the Vilyui, not served by ferries (obviously no bridges), and the first was at Novy, just south of the town of Almazny.

We pulled up to the river bank and saw the answer to our problems, at least for this river crossing.  A couple of local heavy vehicle operators ferried cars across on the back of heavy duty russian trucks for 1000 rubles (25 eur) each.  Nothing is cheap in Yakutia, especially around the Mirny diamond region.  Our accomodation was about EUR 80 a night for the whole time we were in the region, the ‘manufactured’ brake pads came out at 40 EUR a set and now river crossings would hit the budget hard.  One of the drivers, Alyosha, decided to take us over for free and we saddled up.

But not so fast.  My bike wouldnt start again.  I was in favour of jump starting it and continuing on, but Tony’s calmer head was concerned about a less than fully operational bike if we break down in the middle of nowhere on the Vilyuisky Trakt.  One guy (another Andrei) who had been hanging around spoke pretty good english and told us to take the bike up to the village, 100 yards away and he would look at it.  I was sceptical as this was the middle of nowhere and the village was maybe 10 houses, but went along with it.

Andrei produced a multimeter and diagnosed a faulty cable … the positive cable carrying charge to/from the battery to the old terminals was wrapped in steel and this was removed to Andrei and his multimeters satisfaction.  But he continued testing and found more resistance that shouldnt be there in the starter relay.  This guy was doing the work the professional auto electricians should have done after they diagnosed the dead battery 3 days earlier … they should have bothered to find out why it was dead.  After more testing it was deemed to be the electricals inside the starter itself that was the problem.  There would be nothing for it but to remove the starter and look inside.

Open heart motorcycle surgery took place out in the open, in front of an old shed in the 10 person village of MUAD, near Novy, near Almazny, near Mirny.  It was, as far as I could tell, not a BMW-Motorrad approved service centre.  We caught the oil that came out of the engine to re-use and Andrei didnt like the broken reused gasket used by  the electricians earlier.  He decided to make a new one from gasket material. The starter came out, eventually and was opened.  It was full of metal particles.  Andrei felt this was from the starter running while the engine was running.

The starter hadnt worked as it should for some time.  And thinking back it was Ridder (Leninogorsk) in northern Kazakhstan that had been the start of it.  I had lent the bike to my host, Sasha, for a ride and remember hearing the starter running while he rode off.  The starter had felt weak ever since then.

The starter was cleaned and the bike re-assembled, saved oil poured back into the engine. It was 10pm by the time all this was finished and Andrei, who tuned out to be an engineer with the local oil firm in Mirny, just visiting friends in Novy for the day, offered to take us back to Mirny for the evening.  We parked the bikes in his friend Alyosha’s garage and went back to Mirny for the night, but not before Alyosha and his wife gave us all dinner … and samogon! (home brewed ultra strong booze).

- – -

11.06.09

Andrei cooked us breakfast before we all drove the 15 minutes back to the bikes and the river crossing.  My bike fired up first time, which inspired confidence and the Yakut driver of the Ural truck ferried us across the river after we had said farewell to Andrei and Alyosha.

After he turned back across the river I tried to start the bike and nothing.  The battery had died again.  Maybe it hadnt charged enough since fixing the electrical leaks since yesterday.  We jump started it and I took it for a ten minute ride.  The bike started by itself soon after the engine had been switched off, but leave it 5 minutes and it wouldnt.  Either that battery wasnt holding the charge or there was still a source of electrical leakage.

We waited for the 6WD ferry truck to return to our side of the river and got on to take my bike back to Alyosha and Andrei on the other side.  More electrical diagnostic gear came out, and the verdict was the new battery was dead. Killed by the strain of all yesterdays drainage.  The only realistic solution was to continue down the road, jump starting when necessary.  We had the cables and my battery was now externally mounted.

Alyosha drove us back across the river and we rigged up Tony’s bike so it too had quick access to his positive terminal – under his seat.  As long as my engine was running, it would be ok.  When it stopped, it would be a 2 minute job to jump start it.  It would do till we got to Khabarovsk.

Finally we were back underway on the Viluisky Trakt.  The next 70km would be the stretch between the river crossings.  This stretch was messy, the road bed having been churned up into a mudbed in the  recent rains and now much of it had set in the shape of awkward deep tyre tracks.  It was dry, and mostly fine, but sometimes there were deep tyre grooves that had set like concrete.  I was glad we werent doing this stretch in the wet.

After an hour or so we reached the second river crossing, the Vilyuchanka, a tributary of the Vilyui.  The Russians have built a bridge here, but have not got around to building the approaches.  Here too there was a large green Ural truck and an earthen loading dock.  We approached the driver, in his hut 100 yards away, but he said the river was shallow enough to ford if we took the right path.

I went back to the river and walked it.  Sure enough, I found the best route across the river and indeed it was shallow enough.  We plunged in and across, and continued on our way towards Krestyakh and Suntar.  At Krestyakh we hit the Vilyui itself, for the first time since Chernyshevsky 220 km back.  This crossing had thhe potential to be time consuming I had been told that the ferry runs only when the ferryman has a full load.  The ferry was based on the other side of the river and I had heard its not rare to wait 5 hours for a ferry, even  overnight is entirely possible.

We set up for a long wait when a young local Yakut lad driving a small chinese tractor pulled up next to us.  He was drunk, stank of Vodka and wanted to chat.  We needed to replace a missing nut on Tony’s bike.

We had not seen many Yakuts so far in Yakutia.  The mining towns of Udachny, Aikhal, Mirny and the service town of Lensk had been mostly Russian, but the Vilyuisky Trakt towns would be mostly Yakutian.  I had also been warned about alcoholism among the Yakuts.  The warnings had not been as strong as they had prior to visiting Tuva, but they were there none the less.

The next Yakut we met was the driver of the ferry, about 45 minutes later.  In pleasant contrast he was sober, and refused payment; a foto in lieu.  So two different views of Yakuts in the first ferry crossing of the Vilyui.  We were the centre of attraction on the ferry, which had taken on a bus load of 10 people packed into a small Ural 4WD van (staple vehicle of these parts – tough reliable and inexpensive).  At one point we had half a dozen camera phones pointed at us.

By 6pm we had reached Suntar, where we refuelled the bikes and ourselves and sorted Tony’s nut problem.  We pushed on towards Nyurba, where we would spend the night.  Apart from the first 120 km, to Krestyakh, the Vilyuisky Trakt was much much easier going than the wet Anabar Road.  It was more lush, broken by villages evey 30 km or so, populated, and really pretty scenery that reminded me of Finland and reminded Tony of Estonia.  Lakes, pine forest, grass, cattle.  It felt a lot more familiar than the remote Anabar Road.

The roads were increasingly gravelly and our back ends were wobbling around more than Oprah Winfrey having a  jog along the beach.  Speed was reduced to 80 km/h.

One of the river crossings featured a floating bridge halfway across the river.  I hadnt seen that before … you drive half way across the river , the shallow part, and then up onto the floating bridge to cross the deep part. I went first and reported back to Tony that the steel ramp up to the bridge mid river is very steep and when combined with wet rubber is very very slippery.  He would need to hit the ramp much faster than me to make it comfortably.  My back wheel had been spinning like a top trying to get up there but made it safely in the end.

Tony, exercising caution, crossed the unbridged section and approached the ramp slowly.  I was concerned.  He hadnt left himself enough room to get any speed or momentum for the ramp. Sure enough, when he pulled the trigger and tried to tackle the ramp, he went down … falling into the river.  Locals were on hand to help right the bike and get it up onto the floating bridge.

We stopped in Nyurba, now having crossed the Vilyui twice more by ferry, refuelled the bikes and pulled into a cafe on the northern edge of town.  It was run by a Buryat lady and her daughter who had moved up here some years ago from the Baikal region.  Not happy with feeding us what we ordered, she added a couple of extra piroshki as well, saying we looked hungry.

As we prepared to leave (by now around 11pm), she asked where we will stay the night.  I said we didnt know, probably pitch our tent somewhere down the road.  She offered us a place in her yard to pitch the tent.  We accepted.  While about to pitch, she had another idea.  An extra room in the building that was about to become a shop when the renovation is finished in a few weeks, was swept and we had a place to roll out the sleeping bags and charge phones indoors.

- – -

12.07.09

Sunday began around 9:30 when we woke up at the cafe in Nyurba.  The day began naturally enough with breakfast.  We didnt have far to go … the next room was the cafe.

We took our time getting ready.  Tony  had a lot of gear to try to dry out after his little swim yesterday, and I needed to deal with my non working battery, which apart from not working was also spewing battery acid over my luggage, fuel tank and rear tyre.

By the time we had done all that needed to be done, spoke to several dozen guests of the cafe and done some filming with the family that ran it, it was midday.  Our final act was to present them with the highest award possible  …  the Sibirsky Extreme Star of Lenin sticker (actually its only award we have to give).  Ira, the lady who ran the cafe, accepted it with glee, waving wildly as we rode off.

Reasonably good progress was made after our 12:30pm departure.  The only pause in our charge towards Yakutsk being for the ferry across the Markha river.  The second ferry of the day came up at 2.45pm, the final crossing of the Vilyui River at VerkhneVilyuisk.  It had grown … by now it was about a kilometre across.  The only problem for us (and about 9 other vehicles) was that the barge had closed up shop for lunch.  We waited and waited and  finally at 16:00 they fired up the barge engine, took down the chain across the bow and began loading.

Having beached the boat hard for their lunch break, and then loading up to the max with 9 vehicles, the barge was now stuck fast on the sand and wouldnt budge.  A few vehicles had to go off, before the barge could free itself, before reloading the vehicles.

Most of the vehicles in these parts (as in other remote parts of  Russia) are the cool UAZ 4WD vans (sometimes referred to as a UAZik (‘wazzik’ or ‘khleboboulka’ – loaf of bread).  They look like a jacked up, slightly oversized VW combi van, and they seem to seat 10 people, acting as local buses in the remote regions.  They come in one colour only – light grey matt that looks like undercoat – tho some owners have painted thir vans blue or dark green.  When you see them, they appear goofy and ungainly, but the more you see of them on the remote difficult roads, the more you respect them.  I have grown to love the UAZiks.  They have been my main companions on this trip through the dirt roads in Tajikistan, Tuva, and now far north Siberia as well.

Finally, after a 2 hour wait and crossing of the Vilyui, we were underway again.  Betweek VerkhneVilyuisk and Vilyuisk itself the road became increasingly sandy.  By the time we got to 40 km from Vilyuisk, the sand layer had grown from 1-2 cm to 10-15 cm, and the closer we got to Vilyuisk the deeper it got.  By 10km from Vilyuisk it was all sand, 20cm deep and pure sand technique riding.  Tony didnt like standing up and I had to leave him to struggle through the last 8 km by himself.  It was too deep to stop, and slowing down in deep sand only make starting near impossible.  As long as I kept my bike in second or third gear and my hand on the throttle, I would be OK.

I got to the edge of Vilyuisk and waited for Tony.  We were both in mobile phone coverage now and if there was any problems he could call.  Many vehicles were heading the other way and again, if he went down there would be UAZik drivers aplenty to pick him up.  Going back on my non starting motorcycle was something I was reluctant to do when there were so many other options available.  I helped pass the time by checking emails, and stickering up the Vilyuisk town sign.

After a good 45 minutes I gave Tony a call.  He had been down in the sand twice but picked up straight away by passing motorists.  He was now about 4km from town.  I decided to zoom out there to check progress and to try and show him the best line.  I found him chatting to a passing motorist.  I turned the bike around and we headed in for the final few kilometres into Vilyuisk.  Tony had gone into ‘just get it out of the way’ mode and was intent on crawling along with both feet down.

Finally we were both in Vilyuisk and pulled over into the first petrol station.  The decision was unanimous.  It was hot, we were tired and needed a cold drink.  The thought of an airconditioned pub made me drool, but there would be no such luxury here.  Tony set off before me to stop at the first shop, and I didnt set off at all.  After a day in which the bike started every time by itself, it was ironic that the first time today Tony set off first, my bike didnt start.  He would soon be back I figured.

Half an hour passed and he wasnt back.  I called, but he didnt pick up.  I texted to say I was stuck at the fuel station (Tony had our jumper leads so I couldnt ask any other passing motorists for a jump start).  Finally I got a text back from Tony.  He had fallen again, found a shop, bought a cold drink and was heading back to jump start my bike.  Meanwhile, I had been inspecting todays damage from the battery acid.  Assorted plastic bits were sticky and distorted, some of the webbing straps holding my side bags had been eaten away.  I had to get rid of this cursed battery.  It barely worked and was eating away my bike.  I decided that as soon as I can get to Yakutsk I will get a sealed bike battery – any sealed bike battery.  If its a bad size, I will definately be able to get a better one in Khabarovsk, first stop after Magadan – but I needed something new ASAP.

Tony arrived and we drank the cool refreshing Fanta, before firing up my bike. Tony’s report was that the shop was full of drunks, with the sober ladies that ran it yelling at the drunk male customers.  Hmmmm … that sounded a bit Tuva-esque.  We headed thru town, looking for somewhere where we could stop and relax.  Including the flat battery at the fuel station, and the 2 hour ferry crossing, the last 85 km had taken us 5 hours. It was now 8pm.  Sadly we found no open cafe’s in Vilyuisk.  All the cafe’s were closed.  We decided to power onwards.

To Tony’s considerable relief, the sandy conditions appeared to end with Vilyuisk.  The other side of town was instead the worst corrugations of the road so far.  This went on for the first 30 km or so on the eastern side of Vilyuisk.  There were sandy patches, but only 5-10 cm deep, and these were no problem.

Around 10pm we stopped to refuel at the town of Khampa, and I noticed a cafe that was open (and popular) 100 yards away.  I went down to investigate, and while Tony filled up with fuel, I placed our dinner order.  We were soon the toast of the cafe, with all the customers rushing outside to take fotos by the bikes.  The staff followed and again the lady of the house suggested we stay for the evening by pitching a tent behind the 24 hr petrol station and cafe.  She added that the meal would be free.  We were being spoiled.  I had hoped to rack up another 100km before dark, but it was impossible to turn down hospitality like this.  We decided to stay the night in Khampa.  We had done less than 300 km today, but it had been a long, long, hot day

Once dinner was done (which took quite some time – there were many photo-calls), the tents came out and a barrel of water was placed at our disposal for washing.  By midnight we were both in our respective tents, Tony snoozing away and me editing fotos before drifting off to sleep.

- – -

13.07.09

With over 500 km to Yakutsk, I woke Tony early, at 8am.  We ate breakfast in the cafe and again they said there was no charge, but we insisted on paying. I did some writing before we packed up the gear and hit the road around 10am.  We were full of fuel, full of food and I was determined to make Yakutsk today.  But the guy who ran the fuel station said no.  ‘The roads are very bad.  It will be tomorrow, or at best after midnight tonight.’

‘Lets see these very bad roads and then decide’ I thought to myself as we headed off down the road.  We made good progress on the dusty roads, stopping at Ilbenge for a bite to eat and a drink after the first 2 hours, and the same again at Asima a couple of hours later again.  At Asima we tightened Tony’s chain a touch.  It had slipped forward.  We had made good progress, having about 300 km of the 500+ we had to do.  I was now confident of making Yakutsk tonight, but had no way of texting our contact in Yakutsk, as since Viluisk (6pm yesterday), there had been no mobile phone reception.

We stopped for fuel in Berdigestyakh, now just 180 km from Yakutsk.  We saw the first asphalt since leaving Mirny 1000 km ago, but it was just in the streets of the town.  As we left town it was back to the dusty track.  Its been over 3000 km since we last saw asphalt highway, the road between Irkutsk and Kachug.

Traffic was now much heavier between Berdigestyakh and Yakutsk and our faces got increasingly dusty with all the overtaking and passing.  I notched up the 25,000th km of the trip so far.  In this stretch it was clear Tony’s and my riding speeds were considerably different.  Tony was not comfortable in the loose gravel and sand, and while the road bed was good, most of the way from Berdigestyakh to Yakutsk also had a layer of gravel and sand several inches deep over it.

In the more challenging road conditions, such as sand or gravel, its important for everyone to ride at their natural speed.  For me riding more slowly was not an option.  I feel more stable at speed.  Going slow in sand or gravel feels dangerous and unstable.  Tony was the opposite.  We had to ride at different speeds and we would be riding alone for long parts of the afternoon.

It was hot (over 30 degrees today), and the large biting horse flies swarmed as soon as I stopped, so I really didnt want to stop.  Every 50 km or so, I would find a shady tree and wait to see Tony.  I was waiting 15-20 minutes each time.  I could not turn the bike off for fear it wouldnt start again and so the poor bike had its fan running continuously when stopped.  It took around 3.5 hours to get the 185 km from Berdigestyakh to Yakutsk and over an hour of that for me was waiting time.

By the time I reached asphalt on the edge of Yakutsk I was hot and frustrated.  I stopped to wait for Tony and finally get to send off some SMSs to Bolot, a local journalist who had been following our adventure since reading of it on the web some months ago.  Bolot was all ready to receive us and had arranged accomodation in a friends house, bike storage, etc etc.  My frustration eased as the thought of relaxing with a cold beer became more and more real.

Tony arrived and we cruised into Yakutsk, headed for the central square, our meeting point for Bolot, Artyom (who would host us) and Rayil (who would host our bikes).  Yakutsk was a feast for the eyes.  Modern glass buildings, good sealed roads, well dressed people … it was like we had ridden into a different world from the one we had become familiar with since leaving Irkutsk two and a half weeks ago.

We reached Ploschad Ordzhonokidze, the centre of Yakutsk and the starting point of all Yakutian road distances.  In doing that we had indeed become the first riders to ride the Vilyuisky Trakt, from Mirny to Yakutsk … 1200 km and 3 long days of riding.  Everywhere we had stopped en route, the cafes, the fuel stations everyone we met had never seen anything like us before.

We found our guys and immediately took the bikes round to Rayil’s garage, just a few hundred yards from the main square.  Rayil was the head of the local 4WD club, and also had a Yamaha 250 enduro bike.  As soon as we dismounted, cold beers were offered, and as we slapped the dust off ourselves with one hand, we grabbed the beers with the other.  That first sip of cold beer after 3 hot dusty days was an instant slice of paradise.

Rayil and Artyom took us back to Artyom’s apartment, also very centrally located, where the priority was the shower.  Once clean we sat up talking about the Vilyuisky Trakt that we had done and the road ahead, the Kolyma Highway (Road of Bones) to Magadan with Artyom (also a 4WDer) and Rayil.

I had known Rayil had been involved in the Long Way Round project 5 years ago, but what I didnt know was how much.  As we chatted, it became apparent that he was absolutely crucial to the Road of Bones stage.  Rayil had not just helped tham plan the route, he had actually accompanied them all the way to Magadan.  The big Ural trucks that ferried the LWR guys across the rivers didnt just come along when required, they were all arranged and contracted by Rayil.  It was all staged.  And yet there was no mention of Rayil or thanks for making it all happen.

- – -

This is hardly the first time I have met someone first hand with a similar story helping out the LWR project.  My good friends Austin and Gerald Vince dont really like to talk about too much, but they were consulted extensively prior to the LWR trip, on everything from what route is possible (so they knew every step of the way there was a route – all of the staring into the camera lens and saying ‘we dont even know if there IS a road’ stuff is disingenuous to say the least), to riding, eating, filming etc.  When in trouble in Mongolia, extensive after-midnight phone calls were made back to the Brothers Vince along the lines of ‘what do we do now?’.  Despite all of this, not a single mention was made of Terra Circa (the template for LWR – London to New York via Magadan) or Mondo Enduro, or the Brothers Vince.

I have always been extremely grateful for the fantastic publicity LWR has brought to adventure biking.  People get the idea now, whereas 5 years ago, even long-time bikers didnt get the idea of riding round the world.  It had been a very small circle of enthusiasts who liked adventure, travel and motorcycles all at the same time, but has since grown exponentially, thanks to LWR.  But its important to bear in mind that the total image in the film and the book was in many parts fictional and was certainly not an accurate portrayal of reality.

But most of all … it saddens me that people who put a lot of time and effort along the way to help were not even mentioned, let alone thanked … just so that the boys could more look like conquering heroes. Thats a bit cheap.

- – -

So what of the Vilyuisky Trakt? – you certainly dont need to be a hero to ride it.  Bearing in mind there is a sandy stretch for 40 km or so to the west of Vilyuisk, the rest is, in good weather, just a regular garden variety dirt road.  Any bike will do this road, including the larger GSs and Africa Twins. Some sand and gravel experience would help, but as Tony showed, is certainly not necessary.

Fuel is no problem, tho some of the stations occasionally run out of fuel and others have only 80 or 76 octane.  From west to east 92 octane is available at Mirny, Suntar, Nyurba, VerkhneVilyuisk, Vilyuisk, Khampa, Orto-Surt, Berdigestyakh, Magaras and Yakutsk.  The only lonely stretch with some distance between settlements is about 110 km from Novy (near Almazny) to Krestyakh.  Thats the same stretch with the two water crossings, that should be served by ferry trucks.

I can recommend the Buryat run cafe opposite the petrol station at the eastern end of Nyurba, the cafe next to the petrol station in Khampa and for the best ‘Sosisky v Toste’ (Sausage in batter) in Siberia, Asima is your spot.

All in all, I think its a great alternative route for anyone heading up to Yakutsk and Magadan and offers a much more thorough view of Yakutia.  The villages from Suntar to Yakutsk are pretty much 100% Yakutian, and the few people who have met foreigners have not met them here.

You can either branch off the normal Trans Siberian highway at Taishet and take the BAM road thru Bratsk to Ust Kut and the barge to Lensk from there or do what we did and cut up to Ust Kut from Irkutsk, via Zhigalovo.

Certainly the Vilyuisky Trakt is a more interesting route to the standard, as the long stretch from Ulan Ude to Yakutsk via Chita, Skovorodino and Tynda is known for being mind numbingly boring and heavily trafficked with lots of heavy Russian trucks.

- – -