Red Falcons, Ulaan Baatar

I know the last post about our ride and the places we go was set in Estonia, and I realise I have a lot of writing to do to bring the avid fan up to speed on many kilometers covering-, amazing place visiting-, crazy people meeting-, lamb-fat-eating-, horse-milk-drinking-, fuel-stealing-, and borsh-swilling- kind of adventures.

But indulge me while I fast forward and get out of time, as it were, like a Guy Ritchie thriller, and I’ll tell you the latest, with the promise of returning one fine day to the aforementioned stories that you have been whetted for.

I’m writing this from the Headquarters of the Red Falcon Motorcycle Club of Ulaan Baatar, drinking instant coffee and deciding where, and indeed what, Tegshee, the President is going to tattoo me. Like Theresa, I am ostensibly working on a scientific report with my feet up. Like Theresa, I am actually doing something else and listening to Kendrick Lamar. Welcome to the high-paced world of research.

Theresa and I are living in the HQ having been picked up by Tegshee, the President, and one of the Prospects (like a new gang-member who is still on probation, so not trusted with deep secrets and important things). We were escorted into UB through the snarling traffic, and arrived at the headquarters with only one fist fight on the way. High doses of coffee, cognac, jaegermeister, Airag (fermented horse milk), traditional noodles, horseshoes (pastry), and manti later, and we’re basically part of the furniture now, and organising a karaoke night and winter camping trip to the Gobi desert with the club.

<< Rewind >>
Russia. In tea we trust.

Riding from the Altai mountains to Irkutsk, Theresa’s front suspension died and my rear tyre went bald. We stopped in Kemerovo, and made good friends with the Yamaha guys there, who helped us out. We told them we were in a real hurry to get to the Mongolia border since we only had 14 days of visa left, and 2200km to go. It seems like plenty of time, but we really wanted to spend time exploring Lake Baikal. It was one of the places that Theresa especially wanted to see on the trip. The Yamaha guys fixed the suspension and tyre the next day, and we were off the day after. No worries, 12 days left. We made it to Krasnoyarsk in 2 days, and pulled into a hotel to wait for an ice-cold rain storm to pass. It took two days. While we were there we got felt insoles for our boots which has improved our lives measurably, so it wasn’t all time wasted. We pushed on as soon as the temperature came above zero and the rain stopped (8 days, 1700km to go). It was about 4 degrees as we rode to Kansk, and we were rugged up in everything we owned. It turns out that no matter how rugged up you are, 4 degrees C in a 100km/h breeze eventually gets cold. Bone cold. Theresa had the foresight to buy a thermos in Krasnoyarsk (really, that place was all about getting warm), and tea pretty much saved us.

We decided to push on to the next town and find a hotel, but the only hotel there was a member of some kind of crazy Krasnoyarsk Oblast Superior Hotel League Association (with a stamp to prove it), and was so expensive we decided to push on again, and in Nizhny Ilgash we found a nice place to sleep, with 8 days left. 

I’m going to splice in another timeline here, so  ​

<< Rewind more >> 
Estonia-Russia border. The second attempt.

(I was denied entry on the first attempt to enter Russia. The second was more successful)
August 4, and Theresa and I are waiting in the vehicle line to enter Russia. We’re approached by a Russian man with his little boy, keen on seeing motorcycles (the boy, not the man). Max couldn’t help himself and needed to see the bikes up close, so Vasily brought him over. Theresa bribed him (Max, not Vasily) with biscuits and pretty soon we were all mates. Vasily and his wife Anna helped us to cross the border (Russian paperwork is somewhat intimidating), and they invited us to spend time with them in Valday, at a cottage on a lake, which we did, but that is a story in itself, really. The important thing here is that we became pretty good friends with Vasily and Anna, ad they promised to help us out on our journey if we need anything.

<< Fast Forward >>    Back to the present story
​3.. 2.. 1.. Ignition. Blast (off?).

Vasily had posted our story on VK (Kontakt, a Russian social media site), and at some point in Nizhny Ingash, I went outside for a cigarette and met Denis, a local biker who had heard about us and came to meet us. We had a chat. It was cold, he went home, I went to bed. 

Early start the next day. 7 days to go, no problem. We’ll ride to Irkustk, check out Lake Baikal, and tootle down to Mongolia. Theresa and I get out of bed, pack the bikes, eat and have coffee, all in record time. The temperature comes up to 1 degree C. Fire up the Yamaha, pat the cat, warm the bike up, fire up the BMW. Stall the Yamaha.

And that was the last full revolution that the Yamaha engine gave me. The final spark. It wouldn’t go. It wouldn’t anything although I tried and tried. I took the bike apart. Tested the fuel lines, checked the airbox: all good. In general a machine needs three things: fuel, air, and spark. Really, that leaves only the spark. Out with the plug, ground it against the engine block, kick it over. Nothing. Out with the multimeter, testing and poking. Out with the internet, reading and learning. Conclusion: the ignition is dead.

I know that there is no electric ignition available in Nizhny Ingash. In some towns you don’t even need to ask for this kind of thing. Very small place. Haven’t even seen a Yamaha on the road in… well, months. I know there wont be one back in Krasnoyarsk - there are no genuine parts shops there for anything, everything is aftermarket and there was an outside (but very outside) chance of one in Kemerovo. There is one on ebay in France. No way to get it in time to fix the bike and get to the border in 7 days. Today is a Saturday, by the way (today in the story, day of writing is a Tuesday, if that matters to you), so even if there is a part in Kemerovo, it wont be delivered for 4 days, which is too late for the border.

We have a crowd around us. Speculating. Talking in Russian. Maybe they’re helping? Hard to know. We decide to abandon the Yamaha to its fate, and push on with only one bike. And if it were that simple, this wouldn’t be story worth telling. How do you abandon a bike in Russia? This question is exactly what I typed into Google Translate and showed the guy next to me. He said “no”. He said I could probably fix it in Kemerovo (3 days’ ride away on a working bike, wrong direction). Google Translate is good, but it really mixes some things up. Perhaps my question wasn’t clear. 
I changed tactic: How do I get rid of a bike? 
No. 
How do I junk the bike? 
No. 
Then he asked me: how much do you buy bike? 
500 euro (really, we paid 800, but it wasn’t a story you can go into visa translate, and for some reason 500 seemed the right thing to say)
He went and got a friend, and they talked. Who knows what about. Perhaps the weather.

He typed: In rubles, how much do you buy bike? 
… 35000

Wait a second. Are buy and sell the same verb? Maybe there is a mixup in the translator? I buy, you sell, you buy, I sell. Who knows, but it clicked. The guy didn’t care how much I bought it for back in France. He wanted the bike. 

You want to buy the bike?
Yes.
Ok.
​
And then he ran home, got 35000 rubles, handed it over, I gave him the keys, and he wheeled it away. Shit. That was fast. I feel a bit like a little part of me is gone. Forever to stay in Russia.

Don't be fooled, that grin is mirthless. I was sad to part with that Tenere.

Well, that is sad but far out, you should see how much shit we now have that needs to go on one bike. Things that came off the Yamaha include saddle bags, tank bag, duffel bag, small backpack, reindeer skin, and banjo. this can’t go on the BMW. Wait. Look at the BMW: it has a tank bag, panniers, duffel bag and backpack. Two people can’t fit on there! Try to channel some Douglas Adams: Don’t Panic. But we have only 7 days now to get to the border on one bike with way too much stuff. We need to unpack everything, and so in the street in Nizhny Ilgash, we dumped everything out. We have to get rid of at leat 50% of this stuff. We sort it into: we need it, we like it, we’ll post this home, and rubbish. Not very much rubbish, but a fair bit to post. It is 3pm, and the post is open until 6. It would in fact take us 3 hours in the post office to post the things we needed to, and in the end we could only send it airfreight because the appropriate paperwork to send by surface freight wouldn’t arrive in Nizhny until Wednesday (it’s Saturday), and we can’t wait that long.

We finish up, and head outside. There was Denis. Remember Denis? Local biker, came to say hi the previous night. Vasily, remember Vasily? Helped us cross into Russia successfully. Vasily, who was up to speed on our Yamaha issue had put out the call on VK (Russian social media..) and asked everyone east of Krasnoyarsk to give us a hand. So there was Denis. And Ivan. They would help us to figure ourselves out. We would stay the night with Denis drinking beer and Jack Daniels and eating smoked fish and playing music (I was too drunk to remember how to banjo), and early the next morning I would ride like a bat out of hell to Irkutsk, and Theresa would take the train with the luggage we still had (which we still had too much of to fit on the bike) and meet me in Irkutsk. A tour of Lake Baikal was now out of the question, we had some hard choices to make in the next few days, and a lot of logistics to figure out. And, not to sound too Stark, but winter was coming: Kemerovo (remember Kemerovo? We fixed the bikes there 4 days ago) had just received a metre of snow.

So, 6 days to go, I woke up early and rode 800km from Nizhny Ilgash to Irkutsk, and man that ride was cold. I thought I knew cold. There was ice. Lakes were frozen. Rivers were frozen. There was snow. I started at 8am, and the temperature only came above zero at 11am. My beard froze into my helmet so I couldn’t take it off - the helmet, that is. It snowed. Really, it was was cold. Theresa’s train, which we thought would get her to Irkutsk that day didn’t. Instead, she was going to arrive at 9am the next morning (what day are we up to here? I started riding with 14 days to go). That afternoon I got a message from a guy called Nikita. He also heard about our problems via Vasily’s VK call-to-arms, and he was going to look after me, just call when I arrive in Irkutsk.

Do I feel like it? Can I meet another person? I kind of just want to find a place to sleep. 

I arrived at 8pm, dark and, believe it or not, cold. I called Nikita. He came and met me and took me to a warm garage to park the BMW. He took me to the supermarket for vodka, and his Babushka lit the fire in the Banya (Russian sauna), and we sauna-ed and vodka-ed and ate, and he told me we would pick up Theresa the next morning and go see Baikal. Ha! so we would see Baikal after all. 

5 days and 680km to go. Nikita and his mate Daniil took us to Lake Baikal. We saw Nerpas, ate smoked fish (Omul), and came up with a plan. Since it was cold and snow everywhere, we would freight the bike to Ulan Ude (500km) on Nikita’s father’s truck. Theresa would go with the bike, I would go by train, and we would try to ride to Mongolia from there. The truck could leave in 2 days (T-3), it takes one day (T-2), one day to the border (T-1)… plenty of time..?

4 days to go. It became apparent that while Nikita’s father would transport the bike for free (awesome), there would need to be done a lot of work: pressure clean the bike, build a crate for it, load it to the truck. And it probably couldn’t happen until the day after again (T-2!). After that, we would be in Ulan Ude with only one day to Russia. But good news! For the next three days the area between Irkutsk and Ulan Baatar would be 15 degrees C (plus 15!, can it be?). So warm. We could ride. To get the jump on the whole scenario, we decided I would ride then next day to Ulan Ude and Theresa would take the train with the luggage. This would get most of the kilometers out of the way, and from Ulan ude we would ride together with the gear, only 300km to the border, but we would be slow with all that weight.

3 days to go. Really, on this day, the only thing to report was that a bloke by the name Tegshee was contacting Theresa and I, having been in contact (VK) with Vasily, and hearing about our problems decided he would help. We made it to Ulan Ude and with 2 days to go crossed the border into Mongolia, where we find ourselves with 30 day visas, and the only time pressure is to beat the snow storm to Ulaan Baatar.

The next day we rode from the border to Ulaan Baatar. Tegshee met us about 100km out of the city. Tegshee is a local biker, he knows bikes. He knows enough about bikes and biking that he is the president of the Red Falcons MC, Ulaan Baatar, and he organised an escort for Theresa and I into the city. Took us downtown to the Red Falcons Headquarters and has given us a place to stay. And.. a tattoo?