The final leg - From Mongolia back to the UK

October 2009

So after successfully crossing Mongolia two-up my enthusiasm to get out and do something, anything at all, seemed to have totally vanished. Maybe I'd been on the road too long. A few weeks were wasted sitting around a guest house drinking lots of beer, whilst slowly pursuing a new Russian visa to continue the trip. This climaxed with my passport getting sent home via DHL as it turns out British citizens can only get Russian visas from the London embassy. This proved costly, particularly due to not receiving the passport back until after mine and Eva's Mongolian visas had expired - For anyone considering doing this, I can tell you from first-hand experience that there is a fine and it is fairly substancial, even if you overstay by just one day.

Just before leaving Ulan Batar, and Mongolia itself, I did a couple of days trailriding in the hills outside Ulan Bataar. On the second of the two days I was with an accomplice, Walter Colebatch, who was coming to the end of a mammoth off-road exploration of Russia and Central Asia. His Sibirsky Extreme website, which is well worth checking out.

First snow of the winter, in mid September!

Out putting the dirtbikes to use near to Ulan Batar.

Idyllic scenery and terrain for some fun.

As we headed back into Siberia it was now turning cold so campfires were mandatory as were extra layers of warm clothing, including balaclavas. The roads were good, but the bike wasn't. Fuel consumption was at an all time high, and it was running worse than ever seen before - So no option of picking up the pace to cover the massive distance across central Russia.

After crossing the Russian border we again bumped into Tiffany Coates who took this photo of us. Unfortunately she had to rush on to Ulan Ude or else it would have been nice to camp up for the night together.

Mongolia had been great, but there was a severe lack of firewood - Definately not the case in Siberia.

Ballaclava donned, ready to set off after camping next to Lake Baikal.

Scrap-sculpture at the clubhouse of the Irkutsk bike club.

Typical camping setup.

So it's cold in Siberia in October? I think know the solution to that...

Everything a little on the frosty side, as the morning Sun appears.

At a radom tea pull-in we discussed the option of taking the train across Russia. Daytime temperatures were 5 degrees, and it was below zero during the nights. With our slow cruising speed and frequent tea stops to warm up, we were going to have to ride all day every day in order for me to make it out of the country before my visa expired. With increasingly repetative scenery and cold drizzly weather this didn't sound like an enjoying end to the trip.

We stopped off at the next big city, Krasnoyarsk, and made arrangements to put the bike and ourselves on the train. A contact in the city that Walter had put us in touch with managed to arrange a great deal which saw the bike going to Moscow almost for free. Travelling in third class (Placart), the Russian train journey turned out to be an adventure in itself, and I never once regretted the decision to skip riding much of the distance across the country.

Cold and mysty morning on the road.

Some of the supplies needed for the three day train journey.

Nearly losing our Lonely Planet 'Bible' when leaving the bike at the rail depot.

Three days on a train might sound quite a long time, and indeed maybe it would be to some people. But I chose to spend the whole time drinking, from morning till night, and the time flew by. Part of the fun of long distance Russian train journeys is meeting people, and we were fortunate enough to be travelling with Anatoly, the cliched Siberian alcoholic, and even more fortunate that our train passed through a small part of Kazakhstan where he stocked up on cheap (but very drinkable) Kazakh congac. Good times.

The trans-siberian railway!

Easy to make new friends when travelling in third class 'Placart'.

It was eventually time to pick up the bike from the rail freight yard, and head off once again. Now the direction was Saint Peterburg, Eva's home city. The temperatures hadn't improved, but fortunately it was only 800km or so to our destination. We started off on some wonderful village roads but eventually had to jump onto the main highway to get the kilometers done. Whilst riding on a section of road with tyre tracks sunk into the tarmac by lorry traffic, I lost concentration and caught the side of a particularly bad tarmac 'rut' sending the bike into a lock-to-lock tankslapper, and a split second later we were on the deck.

Our crash was thankfully at fairly slow speed so minimal damage done, however Eva was left with a bloodied and bruised knee. This is the point where those who favour full protective bike clothing can get all smug and condescending, so I will point out that my opinion on protective clothing remains the same even after being responsible for injuring my all important pillion.

We took a long tea stop at a roadside cafe before setting off again, however a short while later things got even worse. First the drivechain fell off the rear sprocket when opening the throttle suddenly. I normally pride myself on keeping good attention to crucial maintenance tasks, but in the freezing cold I was everyday telling myself  "I'll tighten that chain up tomorrow". I got the tools out and sorted the chain, with trucks flying past the whole time. No sooner had I put the tools away than I noticed the rear tyre was flat. It hadn't been when we'd first stopped so I was a little confused, but it turned out that the not-so-thick innertube had started to crack and perish, particularly where it was pressing against the shape of the rimlock. One of these cracks must have randomly opened up enough to leak out all the air from the tube at this prescise moment. The timing couldn't have been worse.

Working in the freezing cold, I could only accept the misfortune and set about replacing the tube. By the time I was done it was getting on for time to camp up for the night. This was the last night we were going to be camping, but with our enthusiasm diminished we settled for a spot just outside a small village, with no fire to raise our spirits. In the morning an old lady came out of one of the houses and invited us in for a hot drink, an offer we gratefully accepted after the coldest night yet. She scolded us for sleeping outside in a tent in such cold temperitures, and told us if we'd have asked anyone in the village we would have been allowed to sleep in a house.

Final night camping outside a small village just off the main road.

Greeted by the morning frost.

The last few days were so cold we had to try and see to the funny side.

My last days in Russia were spent seeing beautiful St Peterburg, before plotting the shortest possible route home to maximise my chances of making it on the now very tired DR350. The strange moody atmosphere of the city seemed to sympathise with our plight, as we had to face up to the reality of parting company after three happy months together.

Eva doing her best Gorbochov impression, in a soviet themed bar.

Me doing my best "I'm so drunk I can hardly stand up" impression, in a soviet themed bar.

Drinking some wine by one of the famous canals.

My way home was a dash across southern Finland, Sweden and Denmark, with two night-time ferries linking up the landless sections and most importantly reducing the mileage to cover on the ill bike. I was lucky to find a bike shop in Finland which had a front sprocket in stock, as the one on the bike was by now looking rather unhealthy. (I was aware for a while it was getting pretty worn out, but in the absense of a better plan I dealt with this by stopping looking at it.)

All the teethe snappened off, just stumps remaining to provide drive.

The worst of all roadsigns.