Full of anticipation, we headed to Tashante (the border) after a grocery and a fuel stop. Truth to tell, it was an awful day at the border. I didn’t get stamped for exit, and the border guard at the final Russian check point insisted that I rode the 13 kms back to the Russian border official. Under normal circumstances one would think that he might of alerted them to let them know I was coming and to just give me the stamp to clear me. But no, after the ride back to the Russian side, the Russian official locked the gate in front of me and told me to wait, and motioned they were going to eat. So, I had to hang around for over an hour until they all got their scran in, and I baked in the sun, refreshed by the warm wind blowing the smell of human excrement from the pit under the ‘toilets’ outside the gates. Eventually I got a stamp and the same guy stopped me asking for my passport. Now, if he’d been doing his job right in the first place, I wouldn’t have had all of this hassle, so when he asked, I was at less than my politest best. Russian officials were no longer scaring me and my Ulster ‘thranness’ was coming to the fore. He’d no idea what I was saying, but he could tell I was pissed.

Getting through was not smooth. While I waited at the Russian side, the rest of the guys had a long wait at the Mongolian side. We had to pay 50 rubles for a medical check, which was not so much of a check as a signature on a piece of paper? A scam, no doubt. At this point it was clear that the 2 fellas from Manchester were going to have problems getting the car in and leaving it there. The officials were not one bit interested and insisted it wasn’t going to happen. Pavel, who had far and away the best Russian of us all, spent quite some time translating. All in all the process was 6 or 7 hours and the thrill of getting into Mongolia, a dream I’d had for a while now, was a bit of an anti-climax. We left the guys there and pressed on, instructing them to text us when they had figured anything out. It seemed that they’d leave the car at the border that night and sleep in it. In the morning they’d call the church responsible for it and see if they could get it through. Later addition: they paid a several hundred dollar bribe and got it through the following day.

While I was sitting around waiting for Pawel and the boredom set in for us all, I rode a hundred yards or so and fulfilled the obligation that I had to Jon Fox (everywherevirtually). It was the least I could do for him functioning as the HQ back home. I stuck one of his stickers on the Mongolia border post and put it high up so that he might find it there some day. Perhaps if you pass here, take a photo and send it to him.

We rode in, and sure enough, no roads and out of your mind beautiful scenery. We got to the first village where we were ripped off on benzene, by two guys who seemed the epitome of friendliness at first but who turned when we didn’t tip them. They looked at us with murderous intent and attempted to stop us. I rode at them and decided to give them the option of standing their and taking the weight of a quarter ton bike plus passenger, or move aside. They chose the latter, and we wondered if this would be par for the course for a country we’d heard so much about in regard to hospitality. Our conclusion was that from now on we’ll negotiate hard before buying fuel. We rode some way out of the village and found a place to camp by a lake. It rained hard all night and so much so that the ground softened and Pauli’s bike toppled off the centre stand. He could be heard trying to sort it out in the lashing rain in the dark. Kristian got up to help him, but he’d snapped a wing mirror. Can this bike depreciate any more? There was lightening so intense that you could read a book in your tent. An eventful start to a place which would soon fill with promise and adventure…

Today saw us in the same place, but with an assortment of activities. Sami and I did a run to a town some 30kms away to get some more food and drinks. Sadly I dropped several litres of water and a 6 pack of beer off the back of the bike, which indicated that Tesco delivery man is not what I should be aiming for on my return to home.

When we got back, Dale had the idea of us crossing the river. We grabbed a large climbing rope from his car, and went scouting for a decent place to cross. Eventually we came upon it and I volunteered to go first. Kristian, the climber, tied a few knots in the rope to wrap it around me as a harness. This meant that if the current got me unstuck, they could haul me in, rather than leave me to the waterfalls downstream. It turns out that I was grateful for this moment of genius.

I got a big old stick, and gentle began to make my way across. Moving towards the middle it was noticeable more tricky to make progress. With your body angled against the current and the stick dug in and feet planted, you stood their knowing that if you lifted one food to move just a couple of inches, the current had you. I had a few cracks at it, but  eventually bowed out unsuccessful. The river had conquered me. It was time for Dale to see if he could tame the mighty river. No joy, with hoots and guffawing, we hauled him in a few times too.

While we were being little boys, Aga and Pawel went and scaled a mountain. Gesa sat listened to music and may well have written a track to be performed by her band ‘Munavoi’ when she returns. She (paving the way for everyone else) then got into washing some clothes. Kristian borrowed a copy of ‘The Road to Gobbler’s Knob’, which I had with me, and he could be heard chuckling to himself at various turns of the page. Pauli went and found the head of a dead cow and walked up the hill holding it as though it was a mask. Sufficiently spooked by our mad Finnish friend, Gesa promptly walked away like the boy had leprosy. Minutes later he was trying to de-horn it so that he could mount them on his motorbike! I made a start on my friend Kester Brewin’s fantastic new book ‘Other’, which he presented to me on the day I left London. Aga, who is a hairdresser, then embarked on the tall order of cutting everyone’s hair. I have to say, the Altai mountains are just about the nicest barber shop I’ve ever frequented…and it was free!

That night we ate, lit the fire, and Pawel, Aga and I decided that we’d go and do a little bit of moto-cross. The terrain all around us was perfect for it, with steep slopes, sand dunes, small streams, and various other kinds of terrain. We took off and played for about an hour, during which Aga, who had only got her test in December, was given a few lessons in preparation for Mongolia. Pawel was constantly telling me that my bike was too heavy and their little Yamaha’s were much better for this kind of trip. That was like a red rag to a bull, so when we got back, Tuomas described the session as like watching a ‘pissing contest’.

I got packed up first and left dead horse plain behind. We were to find Pawel and Aga using co-ordinates that they had sent through the night before. Eventually, after playing around in some woods, I discovered them. In time, the rest would get here too.

It was a beautiful place, with stretches of rivers and surrounding mountains. The weather was settled and everywhere was bathed in sunshine. After a moment or two of arriving and being greeted by Pawel and Aga, 2 Manchunian boys walked up, shook hands and offered me a tea. They were Mal and Dale and were two very top blokes. Rather than do the usual Mongol Rally which is exorbitantly priced, they bought a Skoda Fabia second-hand, got a load of sponsorship and free gear, and took off to Mongolia. The aim was to get there and donate the car to an orphanage run by a church.

Once everyone arrived, we set up camp and set about collecting firewood for the evening ahead. Tuomas was like Ray Mears and seemed to arrive back with entire tree trunks, ripe for burning. Pawel got to work on his and Aga’s bike, and Pauli and I sat on our asses.

We rode all day among the lovely twisties of the Altai mountains. Hundreds of kms of stunning scenery. Along the way we met a crew from Australia who had just come out of Mongolia. One of them, named Cain, was on a KTM 990Adv. I had a good chat with him about his route through and he recommended that instead of the oft taken northern and southern routes, we have a crack at the middle route. I liked the sound of it, for he too, unlike his crew, was a dirt man.

There were so many photo stops that it took us a while to make progress. However, we did and later that evening, we pulled off by a river in a green field near the road. After we got established, Toumas and I set about getting firewood so that we might get some atmosphere going tonight. We both went off in different directions, and in the woods that I went to, I heard these very distressed yelps and groans from some kind of animal. Owing to how loud they were, I knew this wasn’t going to be a guinea pig. In fact, I wondered if here be a monster. I crept into the stoney and tree enclosed enclave and found a horse on its back. Was it giving birth or dying? I took some video of the situation but will put them up at the end.

Gesa and I went back 2 hours later and it was dead. Quite a morbid end to the night, made worse by the fact that we heard the baying of wolves or wild dogs who had clearly found their next meal. Gesa barely slept. I too didn’t sleep much, but mainly because Pawel had sent me a text saying that the Russian/Mongolian border had been closed for 3 days over the weekend because of a festival in Mongolia. Was he joking me??

So in case you are really bored of those sequences, we stopped and pondered the map of Mongolia for a few minutes, in anticipation of the wonders what await us.

I awoke with something on my mind. It wasn’t anything more pressing than whether or not to leave the half used conti trail-attacks behind or whether to carry them with me through Mongolia in case of running the knobblies down on the run to Moscow. If I left them stashed around the hotel somewhere, it would be a 250km detour off the run home to collect them, but I figured that would be better than lugging an extra two tyres through Mongolia, when the lightness of the bike is paramount. So, if you’re in that neck of the woods and your tyres are worse for wear, there’s a pukka set of tyres behind the garage of a hotel I can provide you with the details of. If not, I’ll get them next summer!

We stopped off at a supermarket, got a few blini’s and then started making our way to the Russian Altai. The Altai mountains are a major tourist destination with great rapid-rafting, hiking and climbing. It didn’t take long to see why. We gained altitude and the scenery was stunning. Added to this, for one of the first times on the trip, I was able to put the bike on it’s side in the twisties. A few stops later, some of which involved meeting Hans from Holland – the tallest man I’ve ever met and who rode a grey version of my bike – a meet with 2 Finnish guys on 1200Adv’s on their return from Mongolia where we were taking some photos and a last stop for food and our ritual can of beer for camp as well as photoshoot with locals, the rain started coming down heavily. I pulled in ahead of the guys and saw what seemed like an ok campsite by the river. There was an outside covered table which would offer us enough shelter to relax and cook. We bathed, cooked, and listened to the rapids, which were soothing after the dry winds of the desert. Pauli and I slept outside by the table while the others preferred their tents. It wasn’t the best night of sleep, but none of us had anything pressing to do the next day other than continue towards the Mongolian border.

Today was largely spent with the crew relaxing around Barnaul. We tried various coffee shops, ironed out the registration process with the immigration police (which incidentally is not necessary if you’re constantly travelling, provided you keep your fuel receipts etc. The truth is that I was holed up in Irkutsk for a week and then Moscow for a week and when exiting the country, no one mentioned registration, so it’s basically a waste of time. If you’re caught without it, there are ways to work the system too), and sat in an internet cafe. In the evening Sasha and friends gave us a tour of the port etc.

Now on automatic pilot, we got up, packed up, and got on the road. Our destination was the city of Barnaul. We were looking forward to some civilisation again and the opportunity to scrub ourselves down, give the bikes some TLC (at least those of us who didn’t do anything to them in Almaty), and to take a day out of the saddles. We once had some contact details for the Altai off-road club which Tiit (the Estonian who’d buggered off earlier in the story) had connected with prior to our departure. Now that he’d gone though, we were all a bit clueless. I knew that I could count on Jon Fox (everywherevirtually) to turn them up for us. I texted him and a few mins later he’d searched for the club and turned up Sasha’s contact details. I called Sasha and while I was doing so, a Russian chap pulls up and tells us to follow him to the notorious biker bar. It was all coming together. We would arrive there, eat and drink some, and await the arrival of Sasha. Not too long after, Victor arrived. Victor is a biking legend in these parts and what he doesn’t know about bikes isn’t worth knowing.

Anyway, we all ate, had a bit of craic and then decided on a plan of action. Everyone needed different things – I needed a workshop, Gesa an internet cafe, Tuomas a pedicure and scrub down, and Sami an x-ray machine for a hand that was still regretting the horse. Our common denominator was that we all needed an inexpensive hotel. We followed Sasha out the road and ended up in some place which appeared to be a ski resort in winter. It wasn’t bad, but wasn’t worth writing home about either. After unpacking and falling on our beds until our odours forced our beds to eject us, we each went and did our thing. Victor brought Pauli, Tuomas and me to his workshop…if that’s not to grandiose a title for it. I think his workshop hosted the Sibirsky extreme boys when they were passing through here. Effectively it’s a big concrete room in the middle of multi-story car park. There was almost no lighting and we all had to wear our head torches for the work. Victor seemed to provide the space for people to work on their own bikes, and if anyone needed his help, he was there. Owing to the 80:20 air composition of carbon monoxide to oxygen, I wondered if I needed to leave a ‘by accident suicide note’ as the young bucko’s around the place insisted on keeping their scooters at the red line. Sami turned up later with his x-ray which he and the doctor (a fellow rider) asked me to take a look at. Honestly, the doctor didn’t really seem to know what to read on it, but we were glad to see that nothing appeared broken. Geza, Kristian, Pavel and Aga found their way to an internet cafe and we all met up that night back at the hotel at 1:30am. I can honestly say that it’s the first time I’ve been standing there, covered in oil and dirt, working on my bike at 1am! I thought my bike was weeping oil at the bottom of the sump, so I did some stripping and discovered that it was only chain lube kicking up. Now shod with knobblies, filter changes and a thorough check-over, Pietro was a much happier camper and the two of us rode back to the hotel with a collective smile on our German and n.Irish faces. That was until I found out that the hotel shower was locked and I’d have to now wait until the morning! A couple of final acts were for Sasha to give us a presentation on the Altai Off-Road club, and some ‘must see’ sights and GPS co-ords in Mongolia, as well as t-shirts etc, and finally for me to take the stitches out of Pauli’s now healed foot. The gloves were necessary to prevent oil and brake dust infecting what was now a well healed 1.5 inch gash to the bone.

After getting up, cooking up porridge or whatever, we packed the bikes and made for the Kazakh/Russian border. A quick stop was required to get some more rehydration juice. After a few mins, 2 or 3 ladies came running out from their little home across the road and presented us with a big bag of homemade dumplings and freshly baked bread. The epitome and friendliness and kindness, the women told us that they were Christians and they considered us as their children and therefore wanted to look after us. It reminded me of when Jesus said (I think in Matthew 5) unless you look after the ‘least of these, then you shall not see the Kingdom of Heaven’. It made a pleasant change for me to be at the ‘least of these’ end of the spectrum. At that moment of hunger and fatigue, I wasn’t for arguing!

In order to get to Mongolia you have to jump out of Kazakhstan into either Russia or China for severeal hundred kms before you reach Mongolia. China was off-limits because you need to pay $1000′s for a guide. The communist authorities couldn’t have some curious Westerners wondering freely around their country now, could they? So, Russia it was, which wasn’t a bad thing because the next big city was Barnaul which has a huge biking community, and after that the wonders of the Russian Altai mountains down to Mongolia.

The border crossing was a 4-5 hour process and in the heat was a little frustrating as the officials seemed to be on lunch break. We worked our way through the gifted dumplings and bread and then I lay on the side of the road and tried to kip for a short time while some of the others began to get a card game up and going. As though watching us and to spite us, 2 mins after the card game began and I started entertaining the Greek goddess ‘Coma’, we were beckoned through and began the endless tirade of meaningless paperwork and interminable bureaucratic stamping. In all seriousness, what do they do with all these dusty books that they write your details in?

After getting through we stopped in the first cafe and the ‘deerwouska’ (girl/waitress) shouted us some nice potato pastries and coffees. I think they felt sorry for us having to suffer that border crossing.

As the entrance into Russia took so long, we didn’t cover much ground today. We also had to stop for Pauli again, as the main bolt holding his engine to the frame had almost rattled out and was still in by only a few threads. The only reason he found it was because Pauli made a ritual inspection of his bike every time we stopped. Watching how this guy could contort his body for the purposes of inspection was quite a sight and if ever he applies to be the Finnish equivalent of an MOT tester, I’ll be more than happy to write his reference. Eventually he and Pawel got it sorted and we were ready to hit the road again.

Russia felt very different to Kazakhstan with the air being more humid and clouds offering some shade from the sun. As dusk approached, Pavel and I took off down a track to see if there was a suitable place for us all to camp that night. Whilst not anywhere near as pleasant as the night before, it was tolerable. A lake was visible from the site, so while Pavel went and fetched the guys, I did a reccie to see if we might be able to swim in the lake. If getting through inches of green algae is your thing, then I guess it was ok to swim, but none of us had that particular fetish, so passed on bathing that evening.

Again the roar of the stoves piped up and at the same time the legendary Siberian mozzies came out to play. Everyone plied themselves with each others mosquito repellent in the vain hope that the cocktail of German, Finnish, British and Polish sprays and roll ons might have some effect. It was in vain, and so we called it a day to the sound of the rain on canvas.

Today was a good day. Again I took off ahead of the guys and after around 250kms were covered, I could see a bigger bike with two people on it disappear over the hill. A couple of moments later I was up with it and they caught me in their mirrors and pulled in. I could see that the plate was German and it was an old GS fully loaded. After the helmets came off, we had a chat and identified what each other were up to and where we’d been. They were Kristian and Geza and they too had done the Stan’s and the Pamir and were heading towards Barnaul before going to Mongolia. They asked if I’d met Pavel and Aga and I told them that in a few minutes some Finnish guys and said couple would probably pull up. Sure enough, they did, and they had a reunion and we all chatted a while. This really was a convoy now, but I knew they were good people and the affinity was clear. Kristian’s sarcasm and wit didn’t take long to kick in. After some time, we reached Semey and stopped to get some provisions. We got speaking with some policemen, or rather Pauli got speaking to some Police and as is his way, made best friends with them. They insisted on giving us a police escort out of the city and I’m guessing it made them feel quite important with a convoy of Western bikes behind them. We rode for another couple of hundred kms and found a wonderful place in the woods just to the north of Semey. We had thought about trying to make it to the border, but suspected it would be closed by now, so camping down for the night seemed like the best idea. In a clearing surrounded by trees, we made a brilliant camp and enjoyed some good food and banter together. This really was a brilliant group of folk.

The story goes that when JFK visited Berlin, he announced to the people, in an act of solidarity when it was DDR, that ‘I am a Berliner!’ A ‘Berliner’ in German is a donut. The crowds all cheered and laughed, but I’m told by my German friends that they didn’t make that connection and were simply cheering in support of the US president. One wonders what he said when he went to Frankfurt…or Hamburg?

Getting out of Moscow was eventful and took longer than expected. I’ll write more when I get home. We then descended through the Baltics and had a long ride through Poland yesterday, reaching Berlin in mid-evening. Tom advised me that my clutch arrived in Moscow yesterday, so I’m glad that I didn’t hang around waiting. My fix has lasted thus far.

I will spend the day exploring Berlin and then head to Koln tomorrow morning. I’ll leave Koln early on Friday and make my way to the Greenbelt Festival in Cheltenham, stay there until Monday, and then hopefully make it home to Ireland on Tuesday, when I’ll begin bringing you fully up-to-date on everything. I hope everyone is well and for those that have queried, quipped, or commented and who plan to be at Greenbelt, I’ll see you then.