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. 

What begins with 'F' and ends in 'uck'?

The less than 10-year old rule is waived for teams taking emergency vehicles on the Mongol Rally. This year there’s at least five ambulances, a school bus and a couple of fire engines. Having met Team Ready to Mongol at several points along our journey, we were most chuffed when they joined us at our camp halfway between Khovd and Altai. As the brave six pulled up in their trusty Carmichael/Volvo ‘H’ reg firetruck, we let them know that the price of admission for the campsite was a driving lesson for each of us.  

No problem! No problem at all, said Drew, just let us get set up and we’ll take you for a drive. As I advance in years it’s always a treat when I can tap into the energy and enthusiasm of young adventurers. They have no boundaries and the world is a better place for them. 

Drew got his LGV license as a 21st birthday present and has been around lorries all his life. He has an easy ability to instill confidence in the novice driver and in short order I’d slipped the handbrake, found second gear and started this comparative behemoth on a her way. Earlier in the day the lads had lost a spare wheel off the top of the firetruck, so our objective was to spend a half hour looking for it. We headed onto the dirt track road and despite Drew’s warnings about keeping an eye out for potholes, I opened her up a bit. Mongolia is no kinder to large vehicles than it is to small ones. We immediately hit a brace of divots and humps that had the truck nearly lifting off the ground. Naturally enough I braked, only to discover Volvo’s excellent stopping power was fully capable of throwing the rear seat passengers through the windscreen. More subtlety and finesse was required. Too soon it was time to change drivers and in short order Tom’s sure hand on the wheel had us turned around and back in time for vodkas by the stove. 

Lady Carmichael was donated to the Mongolian fire service at the finish line and will continue to see duty in Ulaanbaatar or its environs. When calculating the smiles per mile ratio, for about £3,000, split six ways, she was a real bargain and did the lads proud.  

Cliff and Berm go to Mongolia

There are no roads in Mongolia. That’s not entirely true. There are roads, some of which are paved after a fashion, but they amount to a paltry 1,500-ish kilometers in a country twice the size of Texas or three times the size of France. The rest of the unasphalted populace runs around on highways that are really only gravel reinforced dirt roads. The good news is if you don’t like the track you’re on, go ahead, make one of your own. Who knows? Others may follow and you’ll have created a new road. Plus driving off the beaten path rubs the sage and releases an incredibly fragrant bouquet.

Liberating as it is, this freedom comes at a price. Just when things are going smoothly and you’re haring along at 40mph, flying through swales of rock and sand like an out of control HotWheels racing car, you’ll run smack into a ditch, a car killing boulder, or both. In short order you learn that driving in Mongolia is organic. You not only have to know your car and its limitations (hint: it’s capable of far more than you might think), you have to know your skills and your limitations (hint: you know a lot less than you might like to believe). Perhaps most importantly you have to understand the topography of the countryside and predict where water will collect, because where there’s water there’s craters and potholes. If you can’t learn the lessons the road is trying to teach you, either your car will die or you will. At 40 mph there’s a lot of learning and a lot of processing going on. We soon realized that to stay alive we’d have to cut our driving shifts from the vague “however long we wanted” down to a maximum of two hours. 

In the last few days we have crossed rivers, sand dunes, rock strewn alleys, marshes, mountains, and climbed 8,500’ passes. We spanked Swifty pretty hard more than once (her bumper is zip-tied on now) and so far she has bounced back. At one point as we zoomed along on a river of mud we worryingly started losing power. Turns out that for almost 50 miles Swifty was firing on only two cylinders - one of her spark plug leads had shaken loose during our third stream crossing. Another time screeching metal on metal sounds made us stop and remove the front right tire for an inspection. Turns out we had inserted a few shards of gravel in the brake caliper after a failed attempt at jumping over a berm. But when you’re doing 40mph, steering by compass, watching for the dips and the cliffs, then accelerating through the curves, Swifty and Mongolia are the best fun on four wheels there is! 

No Stone Left Unturned

Mongolia! Mongo-liah! Ah! Mon-go-li-ahhh! The rally finally begins in earnest. Those of you that have run a a marathon know that at 21 miles you’re halfway to finishing the 26.2 mile race. The Mongol Rally is no different. We knew there were no roads, no signs, no means of getting to Ulaanbaatar other than on our own. Yet, nothing really prepares you for a week-long drive at 20 mph in the most incredibly beautiful scenery imaginable. But more on that later. 

Carefully making our way down the rocky, pothole strewn pass towards Tsaaganuur, one particular motorcyclist made himself known by flashing a Christina Noble Children’s Foundation (the official Mongol Rally charity) t-shirt at us. Temujin followed us and eventually we gave into his spirited entrepreneurialism and agreed to join him for dinner, besides it had been some 24 hours since we’d eaten and we were starving. Almost as soon as we sat down with his “I Love You”, a head of mutton was produced and Temujin proceeded to carve it up for us as we hungrily dived in. Hygiene, like asphalt, is a thing of the past now. Horse, camel and goat cheeses, traditional breads and hearty broth complemented the meat. 

Grandpa and Grandma welcomed us and after dinner we were joined by the archetypal disco-dancing drunken brother and his young son, then later by the sober, sensible brother who worked for the army, along with his fetching wife and their new son. The circle of Mongolian family life was completed the next morning as we watched the goats being milked. Our version of couch surfing was for us a perfect introduction to this vast, empty country. Temujin gave us directions and recommendations on what and who to avoid along our route. He reassured us that Swifty’s new Barum tires would reach Ulaanbaatar and so far they’re holding out.