3,000 Metres and Climbing

Mototaxis are designed for a purpose. That purpose is to ferry people around towns and cities for as little as the passenger is willing to pay. When presented with the idea that a mototaxi can be used to climb mountains or drive long distances, Peruvians scratch their heads and utter words like 'loco'. But that's part of the fun. The first few days of the junket have been an adventure all their own. Having decided to head to Huancabamba from Piura, the map shows a straight yellow (second class) road leading off the main route to the southeast. The only clue on our map to the challenges that lay ahead were the distances between the towns. On certain sections kilometer measurements were three times longer than their apparent scale.

The answer was simple - the Andes stood between us and our hostal for the night and the distance vertically was at times more than the distance horizontally. Taking a mototaxi up a 3,000m mountain in the late afternoon may not be everyone's cup of tea, but we had joined two other teams, Al and Sam from Thunder from Down Under and Jim and Ben from Kamikaze Kabs, for the journey. The views over to the west were nothing short of spectacular as the sun started setting through the haze that backlit the valleys and foothills thousands of feet below us. The road was a track carved out of the sheer cliff face and cars, busses, trucks, and the rare mototaxi clung on to it for dear life. Corners are blind and as we ascended into the clouds a huge tourist bus lunged at us from out of nowhere honking wildly. Size has right of way and with only a foot or two to spare the bus driver forced our taxis to the very edge of a 1,000m sheer drop so he could pass.

The track's grade was probably a steady 9-10%, steeper than your typical mountain road in the United States which are rarely more than 6%. Then there were sections that were three times as steep that the little mototaxis simply couldn't cope with even if they were empty - let alone laden. Thrashing the clutch and throttle controls and lots of pushing got us around most bends until Jim and Ben's clutch gave out all together. Stranded in the impending gloom, the mists swirled as silence settled over us and we decided what to do next. A night on the mountain, in the open, at elevation, in Peru is, we were told by two passing motorcyclists, an open invitation for assault. Muy peligroso, amigo, muy peligroso!

Meeting the Beast

The last few days have been spattered with touristy activities. A bike tour around the neighborhood of Miraflores gave me the impression that Lima is an endless row of little parks and green spaces connected by quaint coffee shops. Which it isn´t. Wandering around Barranco, Lima´s bohemian barrio, afforded the opportunity to make an abstract photo essay. At the sure hands of a new friend, Juvenal, we toured Lima´s city center and saw signs of revival everywhere. Peru´s economy seems to be doing pretty well, certainly if the numbers of Kentucky Fried Chicken outlets is any benchmark of progress. But all that was a side show leading up to Piura and meeting the beast.

With a last minute venue change from the University of Piura to the National University of Piura The Adventurists gave teams an opportunity to test their cartographic interpretation skills. An email from the director of crap maps with two Google satellite images of a large playing field was as useless as the lack of directional signs when we got there. Poking around the grounds of the university with the help of a charming administrator looking for the Mototaxi Junket meeting point, we eventually found our way to the dusty back side of the engineering department. There Duncan went over some basics, "These mototaxis really are terrible! They are going to breakdown.", and handed out vehicle assignments. Patrick, the Adventurists´ extremely patient support crew, did his best to get the recalcitrant mototaxis to start and guided beginners in their operation

It´s not that the mechanics of the thing are particularly difficult. Having completed my basic (motorcycle) rider training earlier in the summer, I found the clutch, gear shift, brakes and horn all in their expected places. It´s more that the mototaxi is a beneficiary of monumentally crap design. The motorcycle engine drives only the left rear wheel. Simple as this concept is, there is no need for a differential, it means the sodding thing continually pulls to the right, bogs down in sand as soon as it can, and tips over with remarkable ease. Muscling it around corners the driver is exposed and passengers terrified for their lives. Underpowered with no protection, the conversation over beers later turned on the question of helmets - yes or no? Seems like helmets for both driver and passenger would be sensible, but if you´re going to be mashed at high speed by a huge overladen lorry what earthly difference would it make? Decisions, decisions...

Off to Peru!

The call of the wild and Red Thread is off on another Adventurists adventure. This time we're heading south to Peru, the land of lamas and Incas and sheep and wooly hats and lamas (didn't we say that already?). Far from a car suitable for your grandmother's shopping trip to Safeway, our ride is a mighty mototaxi - something like the one in the photo. What's a mototaxi? Imagine taking a 125cc motorbike and strapping a sofa on the back. Together they form one of the worst ideas for crossing any country ever invented. Braving jungles, mountains, yellow fever and ceviche won't be easy, but it's a mere 3,000 km. A stroll compared with last year's adventure to Mongolia.

We are raising funds for outstanding causes so please take a moment to look at our giving page by clicking the BIG RED DONATE button. The whole story will be told when we're back, so stay tuned!

Mongolia 2011

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Thank You! Thank You! Thank You!

Regardless of whether or not you travel with anyone, no adventure is ever a solitary undertaking. The people that inspire you, the people that support you, those at home, those that you meet on the road, those that read your stories, all play a role. 

That our trip of just over 7,000 miles was relatively easy and free of much of the drama that befell other teams makes us appreciate their difficulties all the more. We were among the first 60 to arrive and finally clocked in officially at number 77, or 100 (depending on who you talk to). The old adage that you get out of life what you put into it couldn’t have been more true. An early Tweet stated that we were coming armed only with peace, love and understanding. When we asked for help we were given it unselfishly and we offered help to others in return. From the Russian tourist who made a cash donation to the Mongolian truck driver we gave a lift to, the trip inspired and rewarded us at every turn. 

Our purpose statement says: “Red Thread is a team of adventurers dedicated to the belief that we can make the world a better place if we act as one big family. We strive to make the world smaller and more caring by raising funds for worthy causes, participating in challenging activities and inspiring others with our stories.” So it is to you, our donors, all of you who gave your time, your money, and your good wishes, we say thank you, thank you, thank you. You have not only helped children in China and Mongolia lead healthier, happier, and more productive lives, you also helped drive us to achieve our goals, for which we are eternally grateful. We will honor your generosity by paying it forward. Together we are creating the future.

Yours,

MIKE & TOM

Everything You Know is Wrong

Thus far on this trip everything we’d been led to believe has been wrong. Here’s a quiz based on our experiences. Answer true or false to the following questions: 

1. Border crossings are a reason for officials to extort bribes, needlessly hassle you and try and make you cry.
2. Romania is full of people impersonating police that will pull you over and steal all your stuff.
3. The police in <choose your country> target foreign vehicles, pull you over and fine you on the spot for imaginary infractions.
4. In Kazakhstan your tires will be torn to shreds within 50 km of the border.
   
5. In <choose your country> it is a really unsafe to leave your vehicle unattended for any length of time.
   
6. There is no gas anywhere and you have to carry gallons, sorry, litres, of your own.
   
7. Russia is very dangerous and everyone is a <choose from the following>: terrorist, mafiosi, drug dealer, communist.
   
8. People like Americans in this part of the world.
   
9. It is unsafe to drive at night under any circumstances.
   
10. Europe has only one song.

Answers can be found here: EYKIW 

Perseverance

We have stayed for several days in Ulaanbaatar awaiting our flights home. UB is a great place to absorb the history and culture of Mongolia whether through the National Museum, the Mongolian National Song and Dance Academic Ensemble, or the bronze-age museum under the giant stainless Chinggis Khan. 

What was really on our minds, though, was the fate of the friends we had made along Rally. We asked teams as they came in about the others we had met, and most of all what had happened to our Dutch friends from the Dapp’re Strijders. By our reckoning they should have come in just one or two days after us since all that was left was to dispose of their crunched car and hitch rides with other teams. News was spotty and vague. Then, walking up to the finish line one afternoon, we were greeted with the news that the team had arrived and they had driven the entire route!! Hugs and celebration ensued. A German mechanic had tipped them off to a button on their car that locks out the engine after a crash. They took a big pipe and pushed up the roof, and replaced the windscreen with some steel mesh. Once it was running and driveable the Mongolian border guards had to let them through. They limped to a mechanic in Olgii who straightened their rear axle and that was the last of their car problems. 

Anne-Marie, Dominic, and Iwo repeatedly rejected the easy path of giving up and going their separate ways. They stuck together, worked through each obstacle, and made it to the finish line. The spirit of the Mongol Rally shines through them and all the rally teams that helped them along the way. 

Ulaanbaatar!!!

We left Bayanhongor after tackling SIM cards and money exchanges with the vague notion that if we could we’d head all the way to Ulaanbaatar and find a hotel there. Rumor had it that the road from Arvaykheer to UB was paved, so it seemed entirely feasible. Leaving town found us on brand new asphalt for about five kilometers. Our fear was that this was an early start to paved road, but in short order we were back tackling the track. It was something of a relief that we weren’t really done with our Mongolian adventure so soon. Mongolia’s astonishing rate of growth leads us to believe that the entire highway will be paved within the next three or four years. When that time comes the Rally simply won’t be as much fun. 


Our road divided and then divided again into a dizzying array of paths, all going around a huge marsh with herds of yaks. Continuing due east we found our route becoming narrower and narrower and less obviously used by trucks. But we knew we were heading in the right direction. We pressed on, stopping by a ger for directions and climbing a couple of steep hills before finally overlooking the wide Ongi valley and tarmac. It was the spiritual end of the adventure: we had found a shortcut by dead reckoning and driven on a track that was technically challenging for any 4x4 and conquered it with our tiny 2x4. We had used all of our new-found knowledge in one swell foop and success was now all but assured. We were elated. 

Knowing we’d soon be saying goodbye to Swifty was poignant, but just when we thought it was all over, Mongolia found a new way of making roads crappy. This time they introduced randomness. Like water torture the roads would be terrific for miles at a time, then a yawning crater would open up and attempt to swallow Swifty whole. With great patience and perseverance Tom took it upon himself to drive us in to Ulaanbaatar and we arrived shortly after midnight on Tuesday, August 23. Several days of sightseeing and shopping ensued and last Friday we finally turned Swifty over to the Adventurists for sale at auction. She garnered a handsome figure of three million tögrög, some $700 more than we’d paid for her (less tires and accessories). Swifty will lead her new life in Mongolia and we feel completely confident she can handle any adventure that is thrown her way. 

Utilities

One definition of a utility is something that you take for granted until it’s not there. Think about electricity. Most of the time we flip a switch or push a button and pay our bills. It’s only when all the lights go out in the neighborhood that we curse the power company and duct tape shut the freezer. Mongolians have lower expectations. Apparently their utilities are still something of a discretionary luxury. 

Our Lonely Planet Guide is an older edition, so we’ll forgive it for misleading us on where to stay in Bayanhongor. Particularly since we discovered on our own that the Bayanhongor Hotel is clearly the best place in town. After a clean bed and no roaches, we had two hotel selection priorities - running water and surfing the web. (Hard lessons were learned from our brief and disappointing visit to a nice looking hotel in Altai - it's always worth visiting the rooms and making sure things are as advertised.)

At seven o’clock, we were assured, the electricity would come back on. With the electricity would come water. The internet, however, was down indefinitely. The transmission tower had been destroyed in a Martian invasion and vaporized. Not even the university had internet! (Sometimes we take liberties with our lack of language skills.) No internet plus no electricity equals no ATM. We squandered the last of our tögrög on beer. Tom bought a Mongolian SIM card for his phone only to discover his Nokia was locked on to Orange’s network. Mike’s phone, however, was more catholic in its tastes and seeing as it was unlocked Tom used it instead of buying another. 

Eventually, Tom negotiated the sale of some Yankee greenbacks so we could pay for dinner. Back at our hotel the most intriguing character was our middle-aged, pot-bellied chef. Asking him what the best thing on the menu was, he immediately pointed at two lines. In 20 minutes we had tender beef in savory Mongolian barbecue sauce, as well as sliced, charcoal broiled, beef complete with a smoking lump of charcoal. Both meals were delicious. At nine o’clock the power suddenly reappeared, the water followed some four hours later and at last we washed off the grime of the past week. Rivulets of brown sludge poured down the drain (is this too much information? - ed.) as we scraped off half of Mongolia. Had the water not been frigid it might just have been the finest shower in history. 

Dirty Old Men

It’s been eight nights since Astana and our last shower. We’re grungy, dusty, dirty and smelly. It’s great! Yesterday we made our first big river crossing at the edge of the Gobi. As filthy as we were, we still didn’t consider a dip. Thus far our rivers have been pretty small and we’ve become increasingly overconfident with our abilities to ford them. Here at last was the real thing, the Baydrag Gol, a broad, obviously seasonal river with a massive wash of white stones and grey mud. Two young lads on a motorcycle came up and excitedly made the tow sign and gestured that we should follow them to a waiting tractor. The price was 15,000 tögrög, and being white and tourists we immediately accepted. The freezing waters ran fast and about halfway up Swifty’s doors. The tow line snagged momentarily and we spent an extra minute shipping more water than we’d have liked, but in the end there was only about a quarter inch in the cabin. 

We had met Pascal, who was busy crossing Mongolia by motorcycle, earlier in the day and again by the river. As he was running low on benzine we gave him a few liters from our spare supply. Tom and he got to chatting as Mike entertained a tribe of local kids by taking photos of them. Eventually, the three of us ended up sharing a lunch of rice and gristle in the local ger cafe and talking about life. Pascal has the heart and soul of an explorer. His work with special needs teenagers for the Paris public school system allows him time to travel widely. He learned from a trip across Sumatra last year that buying a bike locally can be cheaper than renting one. It’s pretty easy if you can agree to sell it back to person you bought it from. He also realized on that trip that speaking the local language is essential if you’re going to get the most out of your adventure. We agree wholeheartedly and were impressed that in three months of study Pascal had learned about 400 words of Mongolian. Mental notes for our next adventure. 

We made short work of the remaining 120 brutal, mind-bendingly difficult kilometers to Bayanhongor and found our first true hotel in Mongolia. Itself an experience of mixed emotions.