Blog 5 Mongolia

Mongolia, desert, bikes and storms

This is the second blog about my Mongolian bike ride; a charity ride raising funds for the National Deaf Children's Society. We were in the middle of the ride in southern Mongolia and just moving north away from the Gobi Desert towards the Khangai Mountains. The 20 riders and the support crew had established a daily pattern which involved briefings and approximately 60km rides through magnificent, remote valleys and hills. This blog highlights one day in which there was an epic bike ride. All mountain bikers have an epic bike ride at least once. I've had a few but this is one of the most epic. It's all about the weather. 

What stood out for me in Mongolia was the rapid changes in weather. I was there in June - mid summer. And, when the sun was out, it was warm - hot even. But, many rivers had thick ice on the edges, sometimes up to a metre thick. This was difficult for me to grasp; warm weather and ice? 

Frozen river edges in m id summer. 

As the sun went down the temperature plummeted. Cold nights are not unknown in deserts due to the clear night skies that allow the day's heat to escape rapidly and Mongolia is famous for its clear blue skies. But clear blue skies were not something seen all day, every day, as in the South African highveld winter. Far from it...

Blue skies are characteristic of Mongolia.

Sunset Mongolian style. The weather changes rapidly there. 

A few days into the ride we woke to light drizzle. But it was reasonably warm and we set off into weather which got progressively worse. We were wearing shorts and summer shirts but were soon cold. After about 15km we stopped for tea in the support truck and, following a quick discussion, decided to try to continue. I managed to find a warmer cycling top but soon after leaving the truck the weather got worse. I was riding head down into the gale and just pedalled as hard as I could, focussing on the few metres in front of me and blanking out the cold and wet. Somehow I pulled ahead of the main group. Then it started to snow! We had agreed in the truck that we would reassess conditions after 10 km. As I approached the waiting truck, I resolved not to stop and was riding fast to keep warm. Sitting, wet in a truck, waiting for slower riders was not an option for me and I blazed past the truck on my own, trying unsuccessfully to keep warm. At some point three other riders caught me, having made the same decision to continue. We encouraged each, other taking turns working on the front. My feet were numb and my hands, in fingerless gloves, too cold and stiff to change gear. At more than one point we waded through rivers of melt water, adding to our discomfort. On reflection, it was more immediately before entering the water and emerging into the bitter wind, cold and wet that was so unpleasant, rather than actually wading through the water. 

Eventually as we came over one of many hills we saw one of the the support trucks! And beyond the truck, about a kilometre away, was the village of Tseterleg, our lunch venue! We raced the truck into the village to a small hostel. The four of us just dropped the bikes and staggered inside, numb with cold. As we collapsed, delighted to be out of the wind and rain, we were offered tea and cake. We cradled the warm tea in frozen hands and devoured the cake, not caring if we finished it all. While we were gulping sustenance, incredulously, a voice asked if we wanted a shower! 

I was last in the shower and spent the waiting time anticipating the feel of warm water, the first for several days. The brilliant support team had got to the hostel ahead of us and arranged this reception. They even organised a power wash of our bikes, which had also been through a lot.

It was too epic to photograph during the ride but this was 

Tseterleg just after we arrived. The snow must've melted!

Cleaning the bikes in Tseterleg in front of the heavenly place

that offered showers, tea and cake!

Only nine of us managed that morning's ride. The others, sensibly, seeking shelter in the main truck. That evening our team leader called it the day from hell. But when we pitched our campsite outside Tseterleg we noted nods of approval and smiles from the Mongolian support team. By the time lunch was eaten, the storm had blown over and we explored Tseterleg under a sunny blue sky! 

Buddhist temple in Tseterleg.

I suppose this is an ovoo with customary blue khadag.

Tseterleg as the storm cleared to give rise to blue sky!

In Tseterleg there was a supermarket where we eagerly stocked up on supplies including Chingis Khan vodka, and spent ages photographing a Buddhist temple, one of the main religions in Mongolia. Tseterleg reminded me of small villages in Africa and of Alice Springs in Australia. But unique to Mongolia was the array of stuff just lying around the village: animal bones, skulls, tow hitch, tyres, the odd shoe and a few side shafts. Eventually, of all places, we ended up in a disco, in the dark with strobe lights and beers, it was incongruous to say the least! It was six in the evening. I sat in shorts and T shirt drinking a cold beer reflecting on the epic ride a few hours earlier. Ekbold, our Mongolian support handyman, looked over the rim of his beer glass and said he saw nothing out of the ordinary! 

Bikes, deserts and travel

This blog is a little bit about diabetes (ha ha! it's with us 24/7 isn't it) away from the comforts of home where treatment is a tad easier. But it's not just for diabetics, it's a story about an amazing trip. I'm sure all of you have had these. This is one of mine! The location is remote, very remote. In fact it is the most sparsely populated country on the planet. And we visited one of the least populated areas of this country - the Gobi Desert in Mongolia. A vast area of grasslands and U-shaped glacial valleys.

How and why you may well ask. 

After living in England for about five years one of the many things I noticed was how generous Brits are. You name it and there is a charity in Britain working to support that cause.  If there is a disaster somewhere on the planet, the Brits will support it. As an example, a letter about a cycling trip to Mongolia in aid of the National Deaf Children's Society dropped through my letterbox one day. Raise some number of thousand pounds and go for free, or words to that effect. I immediately went about enlisting the help of the small village I lived in to raise the necessary funds. The next 6 months were, to say the least, hectic. Split between fund raising, 5 to 6 hours long training rides, planning and buying gear as well as being employed full time!

Gradually we reached required amount. I was set and off to Ulan Bataar I went. 

I can't remember how 20 or so strangers found each other at Heathrow Airport but we did and soon set to getting all the bikes through customs. Then the introduction to this unknown world of Mongolia came in stages. The hubbub of Heathrow airport and the commercial, intercontinental aeroplane was well known. But it was my first trip to Asia and we landed at  Ulan Bataar, the Mongolian Capital via Seoul. Ulan Bataar is a mix of modern capital and the rustic roots of Mongolia with strong Russian influences. The contrasts were stark; our plush hotel on the first night had neighbours living in a yak-skin ger! 

Our first night. An upmarket hotel in Ulan Bataar.

The hotel neighbours seen from my room window. 

Next morning we boarded a noisy, prop-driven plane, which fitted well with our destination, the sparce landing strip at Bayanhongor in the Gobi Desert; the starting point of our ride. The bikes and support crew were already there and we eagerly sorted out who would ride which bike and the kit we'd take on the bikes for the short ride to our first campsite. Of course, I filled my rucksack with glucose and my trusty glucometer and impatiently circled the ditherers on my new bike.  A light rain fell but stopped soon after we set off.

From an inter-continental Boeing to a prop-driven plane.

 

Day 1 preparing the bikes at Bayanhongor. the rain had 

just stopped!

Yaks, goats, sheep, cattle and horses spread out around the village. The ride was easy but cold. As I rode I viewed the snow on the surrounding mountains with some concern despite their beauty. We rode up a valley surrounded by hills. There were no trees and grass stretched to the horizons. 

Day 1 ride to our first campsite!

We soon got to the the first night's camping spot. Our gear had been unloaded from one of the large support trucks and groups of two were quickly assigned small tents. I immediately got on with Jim my partner and we chose a spot for our tent before joining the others around a warm fire where we drank beer and got to know each other. There were 20 riders with a support team of cooks, a mechanic, a doctor, a cycling guide and drivers for the three vehicles. Five were Mongolians and turned out to be the nicest, caring people you could wish to travel with. In fact, the whole support team was fantastic and we were all keen to start the riding next morning. I finished my last beer as the sun bade us goodnight in a blaze of colour. 

Magnificent views of Mongolia. The fist night under the stars 

was wonderful but cold. 

That night was really cold and I was thankful for packing an inflatable mattrass, thermals and arctic sleeping bag. These items would be well used by the end of the trip.

I was up before seven and the sun. Breakfast was nearly ready and I happily accepted coffee. Standing in the cold dawn clutching the cup to warm my hands, I watched the sun rise and eagerly anticipated the day's events. After breakfast we got our daily briefing about the ride. We had lost some time the previous day and needed to make up 15km in addition to the 45km on our way towards the Khangai Mountains and would stop briefly for a quick lunch in Shargaljuut where hot springs are claimed to cure all manner of ailments.

A pattern emerged over the next 6 days. The support crew drove our kit, tents, food and beers from campsite to campsite and provided wonderfully welcome meals. We rode about 60km each day across vast valleys, and frozen rivers crossed by rickety wooden bridges. 

A rickety bridge; tricky to ride across but speed was the 

best approach. 

In these vast open spaces we occasionally came across clusters of white-walled gers inhabited by self-sufficient nomads. These nomads take the term ecologically sensitive to a level unheard of by us modern humans who are dependent on everything to be manufactured and provided. The nomads lived in circular tents called gers made from yak skins. A central was stove is powered by dried yak patties and they live off delicious milk, yoghurt, cheese and cream from, you guessed it - yaks. Special occasions called for yak meat. 

Traditional nomad gers with tethered yaks on which the 

nomads depend so much. 

Their main transport is the horse with magnificent wooden saddles. Everything is pack upable and they, their yaks and horses move across the remote landscape up to 5 times a year. A few families had entered the 21st century and used solar panels to provide some energy. Sometimes families had motorbikes but how they got fuel was anybody's guess.

A nomadic family with their main transport. Note the 

wooden saddle. 

A nomad family with home packed on yak carts.

We rode along wide, glacial valleys where meandering rivers flowed. I was surprised to see many rivers had edges of thick ice as it was mid summer. I should not have been surprised, Ulan Bataar is regarded as one of the coldest capitals in the world! Despite the cold, a day of riding provided enough impetus for me to strip and wash in the freezing water at every opportunity. 

Even in summer many rivers were icy. Nonetheless, I bathed 

in them regularly. 

On day three we climbed to a 2600m point up a magnificent ridge of limestone boulders with amazing views across the vast landscape of mountains and rolling valleys. At the top was an Ovoo, a pyramid of stones, sticks and silk scarves which is a shamanistic offering to the gods. We passed many of these ovoos some of which were large enough to be more of a temple than a simple altar. The custom is to circle the ovoo clockwise three times and to add rocks or a blue Khadag (a ceremonial scarf symbolic of the blue sky and sky spirit Tengri) to confer safe journeys. 

After lunch and several more climbs we had a fantastic rapid descent of several kilometres into the glaciated valley of the boulder strewn Tuy River where we spent the night. 

These days were idyllic. Fantastic scenery and great riding. Not a building or road in sight. Well, idyllic if my blood sugar behaviour is ignored. On day 3 my diary simply states "blood sugars difficult to control ranging from 20's to 1.9 mmols" (normal range is above 4 to about 8). "I will get it right. Must monitor bloods before eating sugar!"  The note to monitor before taking sugar relates to the pre-Continuous Glucose Monitor time. CGMs appeared about a decade later and hugely changed the lives of diabetics. Small sensors on the skin with hair-like implants monitor body fluids. You scan the sensor to get an instant measure of your blood sugars. If the reading is less than 4 - eat carbs. If higher - don't. All while not stopping riding! I've no idea what diabetics complain about! Simple! But that technology was not yet available and checking blood sugars was much more time consuming.

Mongolia was characterised by wide valleys and many, 

many hills. 

One day a storm hit us at our customary lunch break. The support crew drove one truck ahead to prepare lunch each day. On this day, the cold winds again started in late morning and by the time we got to the lunch truck the wind was ferocious. We sheltered in the truck but the support crew continued to prepare lunch of soup and pasta. One person did the cooking and the others held onto the cook tent to stop it blowing away! Just before lunch was served, the storm cleared and we ate under calm blue skies.

The next Mongolian blog will continue where this left off and describe another storm. This one much more severe with near arctic conditions.