A trip across Europe, Russia and Mongolia and back by Bob Scott
A breakdown on a journey is never a good thing, whether it be nipping to Tesco’s or on day 36 of a motorbike trip to Mongolia.
Losing the chain off the rear sprocket of a XT, allowing the chain to wrap itself round the front sprocket is the dilemma facing Bob on the 5th of July 2011.
Stepping off the now stricken machine he lights a cigarette, behind him there’s nothing for 100 miles, in front of him, the same, nothing.
A conversation with me a few weeks earlier springs to mind, “well, I’d better fix this” he muses.
A few days before setting off on this journey Bob and I meet at the Whistle Stop Café in Whitby, we do this a couple of times a year, catch up, swap stories and drink tea. All morning Bob has been telling me about this trip, Mongolia and back, the outbound leg with four friends, the homeward leg solo, two trips for the price of one.
A fellow biker sat on the table next to us has been listening in and cannot help himself from asking, “what are you going to do if you break down” before Bob can reply, I answer, “fix it”
“No, I mean really break down” he persists, “fix it” I reply again. On a journey such as this, this is the only realistic solution, if there’s an issue, you fix it, cos if you don’t, you’re not riding a motorbike to Mongolia and back.
Bob has a long history, now retired from his working life in the RAF fixing Valiants and Victors and afterwards running his own garage in a small Yorkshire village, he has form, for fixing things.
On his return to the UK, we meet up again, “did you have any mechanicals” I ask, “I did” Bob informs me, “what happened?” “I fixed it.”
The trip stems from something many of us can relate to, chatting with friends over beer and whiskey. The friends come in the form of people he met in 2007 when he booked himself onto a trip to Timbuktu run by Nick Sanders.
A couple of years later waking up on a conservatory floor in his sleeping bag the beginnings of a hangover kick in, broken memories of the previous nights’ conversations come to mind, the map strewn table confirms, adventures have been planned, and where would life be without adventures.
The previous day had been the final journey for one of their number, Bill Wilson. The drinks and conversations a legacy of their friendship.
Mongolia, two years in the planning, the best laid plans can often run awry, as is the case here. A total mileage of 12,856 tells otherwise but this didn’t come easy or without incident, read on.
Leaving the North East and other points of the UK, four of the five travelers meet up on the road to Hull, Paul and Peter at Ferrybridge services, another Paul on the road into Hull, but Andy is late. Give him 30 minutes he’ll be along they reassure each other. Some time later Andy has failed to arrive a phone call finds him happily packing for the start of the trip, tomorrow!!
To compound matters, Paul Cornish has all 5 passports having collected them from the embassies in London where they had been since the group visited earlier in the planning process to apply for the visas required for entry and exit to countries en route.
Four make it to the ferry check in desk with a made-up story that the fifth person has had a breakdown and isn’t going to make this crossing, booking Andy onto a crossing the following day is the easy part, convincing the reception staff to hold onto his passport till his arrival is another matter. After much conversation and convincing the staff kindly agree to hold onto the passport and that’s Andy sorted for the following day
When Andy does rock up for his crossing one of the members of staff who just happens to ride the same model of motorbike enquires as to what was the mechanical that led to the breakdown, erm, after some thought ‘A wheel bearing’ Andy informs him.
The trip title comes from a book Bob read many years before, ‘As far as my feet will carry me’ by J M Bauer, the story of a German soldier, Clemens Forell, sentenced to 25 years in a Russian lead mine in North East Siberia. He subsequently escapes, walks 8,000 miles over 3 years to freedom. His journey plays through Bobs mind in the planning and the undertaking of the trip. Their routes and paths surely crossing during the trip.
At the concept of the trip Bob was riding round on a Triumph 1050, a bike not best suited for what lay ahead. As if we need an excuse to buy another bike this is surely it. After due consideration a Yamaha XT660R is purchased and prepared for the trip. Bob’s pays a visit to his local Yamaha dealer Ian Bell Motorcycles in Bedlington they assure him, we can ship anything you need to wherever you need it. As a further back up Mark and Carl, Bob’s two sons are on standby to obtain and ship parts if needed, and have all the bikes details including chassis and engine numbers to be sure any parts needed are the correct ones.
By day 3 of three Andy had caught the group up and they were the intended 5, having missed nothing more than miles across Holland and Germany in great weather and onwards to Poland leaving behind the developed Europe we know heading into the old Eastern bloc.
Mechanicals so far, a gear lever adjustment and the removal of wheel balance weights.
Poland is dispatched in a blur of tarmac trees and the first gravel roads of the trip. Lithuania and Latvia follow. Nights in cheap hotels or under tarps strung up between a couple of the bikes follow and the first of many hospitable acts by locals encountered, an invite to a BBQ.
By June 5th the travelers are at the Russian border, an 8 hour wait or head 80k further north, it might be quicker, it was, only 6 hours! Whilst the local population encountered so far has been friendly and helpful, put a uniform on someone and it seems to change their character, border guards make the group fill out the same forms over and over again, not telling them which aspect of the previous form they got wrong. Robert the Bruce would be proud, they try and try again until they succeed. UK bike insurance ends at the border and it being a Sunday there are issues obtaining insurance for the next leg of the trip, eventually secured and another 80k stretch to a truck stop in hot conditions getting savaged by the mossies.
In addition to the bureaucracy issues they drop a bike, dominoing into another. Lose and fix the brakes on one, lose electrics on another to a loose battery connection, fix that, and have to secure the services of a local biker to guide them to their hotel in Moscow via Red Square and the Kremlin.
The next morning, they have to register visas with the hotel and the Police, who check your itinerary given on entry to the country to make sure you are sticking to what you said you were going to do. Late morning Moscow traffic on leaving is chaotic and only adds to the navigational problems of trying to exit the capital. Another puncture adds to the delays of the day before another truck stop and camp.
The next day dawns colder and wetter. Officialdom strikes again, Police, for crossing/clipping the white road line. Bob finds himself in the back of a police car and is wondering what’s next. Next turns out to being ordered out of the car as the police radio bursts into life, a stream of jabbering in Russian and the feds leaving the scene with blues n twos flashing. Lightning strikes twice though, after checking into their hotel later in the day the same cops spot them again and haul Bob back into the car demanding 400, Rubles? About a tenner, then Dollars, considerably more, then Euros when Dollars are not offered. A quick bit of thinking saves the day, “I don’t have Dollars or Euros, but I have the number of the British Embassy, they should be able to get them” Rubles are hastily taken and the instruction of get out makes another appearance.
The group ride through the top of Kazakhstan, a hotel and a wild camp before its back into Russia towards Omsk tripping over mile 3,990 on day 14.
They’re now officially in Siberia, reflected by cold riding and colder nights in a tent, although on hearing a train in the distance Bob reflects, he’s probably not as cold as those prisoners sentenced to the Siberian lead mines.
Onwards to Novosibirsk through fantastic countryside, very flat, very green, birch type forests, getting lost in cities and accepting another offer to be led out of one by a biker who puts them on the road to Irkust.
These are back-to-back days of 300 miles or more on roads of questionable quality, tarmac to bone shaking gravel, they wonder how the bikes stand up to the abuse, Although Andy does blow a seal, a fork seal to be clear.
A hotel awaits in Baikal, close to the lake, surrounded by beautiful scenery and decent roads, almost alpine in character lead to Ulan Ude.
Bob had anticipated the trip would see him cover in the region of 10 to 12 thousand miles, one pair of tyres wasn’t going to be enough. From various forums he picked up third hand information and obtained a contact in Ulan Ude. ‘Where?’ you ask, Ulan Ude, eastern Russia, close to Lake Baikal and the Mongolian border.
Speak to Victor (of course) Victor could source tyres. Contact made, Victor assured Bob he could get tyres and would hold onto them until his arrival, just send the money through and he will sort the rest. Money is sent, to Victor, a random contact in a country populated by people who have little or no time for us western types, or so the news would have you believe. Would the tyres be there, was this some obscure catfishing tyre scam, yea sure send me money I’ll get your tyres!!
It took till day 21 to find out. On arrival in Ulan Ude Bob phones Victor, what a guy, Victor rocks up at the hotel, with the tyres and then takes Bob and Paul N out sightseeing, local temples, parks, gardens, tea and food. Shopping is different to what we might be used to, there’s no actual goods on the shelves, just cards or tickets, you collect the card, go to the till, pay and wait for the goods you have ordered to be brought to you.
Bob services the bike, a good once over, oil change and decides whether or not to fit tyres, a quick glance shows they are ok for a few more miles and Bob decides to leave them at the hotel to collect and fit on the return journey. Now he knows he has them and the money sent earlier in the planning stage has not been squandered he can remove that concern from the bag of concerns a trip like this creates. The bike fettling is complete with a repaired top box, now stamped, made in Russia. The fettling extends to lubing all the door hinges in the hotel, their constant squeaking lessened by liberal use of WD40.
Day 22, Mongolia, the goal of the trip, another border crossing, only 4 hours this time, a change of money and also a change in the weather, rain and lots of it, tarmac and degrading dirt roads ahead.
Ulaanbaatar, after quite possibly the worst conditions possible. Rain, wind, roads that do not drain, mud, stones, diversions, suicidal drivers and missing man hole covers. Bobs sat nav has bailed, lost to the road and the elements. Maps, a compass and a sense of direction for the rest of the trip.
Directions in Ulaanbaatar, hopeless, a local taxi driver finally shows the group to the Oasis guest house. A couple of days rest follows and more shopping, this time for straps to secure the bikes that were making the homeward leg in packing crates.
There are still some miles to do before 4 of the bikes are packed up, the others all have jobs to go back to, Bob doesn’t so is making the return journey alone. His return journey means getting back into Russia and that requires a multiple entry visa, not available to tourists. A business entry visa must be obtained to allow passage; this comes in an unusual form. Bob becomes a sales rep for Pretty Legs Hosiery. Sue, Bob’s partner works for said company; after speaking to the boss, he agrees Bob can be their representative, so long as it doesn’t cost the company money. Company headed paper is all that is needed, letters are typed and submitted with visa applications and Bob adds to his CV.
Five days around Mongolia follow, first East then South East. Taking in the impressive statue of Genghis Khan, approximately 5,800 miles from the UK. The tallest equestrian statue in the world, standing at 40 meters tall.
A night in a Ger (or Yurt) follows, a few beers and fresh unpolluted air, most welcome after the city fumes they’ve experienced.
The following day the tarmac runs out and it’s a day of picking bikes up as one followed by another hits terra firma. River crossings and flooded terrain are navigated before coming across a hotel complex and they are able to confirm they are where they thought. Fuel is scarce, Bob fills a 16-litre tank with 15.5 litres!
They ride, questionable terrain, finding a monastery they had been searching for. Another night in a Ger, they are joined by an unfriendly group of Swiss riders, who are on a guided tour, riding local bikes with support vehicles. The group repay the Swiss unfriendliness by buying all the beer in the fridge, knowing there’s not another drop to be had for some considerable distance!
The poor road conditions continue, Bob goes down, hard, having failed to clear a deep rut. Strapped up by Geordie Paul whose day job is a paramedic, so he knows things, advising if they were back home it would be 6 weeks rest, but they’re not, so its strapping and man up pills. After a restless night the knee and leg feel stiff, but functioning, although getting on and off the bike is painful, as is changing gear.
Dirt roads take them back to Ulaannaatar, where they note, the manhole cover is still missing.
A broken bike rack is fixed up the next day, welded and painted for the equivalent of a tenner, Bob vows to pack it with lighter gear.
The four bikes being shipped back to the UK are packed into crates. The bikes dimensions had been forwarded to Oasis before the trip, the owner also runs a timber business and made the crates up prior to their arrival.
Oasis is just that for the weary traveler and also for the ex-convicts they employ. After release prisoners are pretty much disowned by their families, they have to prove their worth on release by settling and holding down a job, Oasis provides that environment for them.
Bob Leaves Ulaanbaatar on Saturday 2nd July, standing on the pegs of his bike, high fiving the others as he rolls out leaving them and the missing man hole cover behind him. Making the first of his border crossings. Meeting and dining with some Polish people en route, before making it to within 40K of Ulan Ude, wild camping under the stars on a mattress fashioned out of pine branches in the forest to be woken by a woodpecker at 5am, who has chosen the tree immediately above Bobs head to get his breakfast, thousands to chose from but he chose that one.
Ulan Ude on the 3rd, back to the hotel storing his tyres, fitting the rear, tying the front onto the bike as its not needed yet. The road out of town takes him to the Trans-Siberian highway, left is home, right would be Vladivostok. Turning right for a short distance towards Chita where Lt Forell had stayed and worked years before. A brew and some thinking time follow before heading to Lake Baikal and on to Irkutsk. Caught in a mother of a storm and uncomfortable wet night ensues, should have stopped in a hotel!
Waking the following morning in addition to the soreness and cramps of the long wet night there is another problem. Bob had bought some spray to freshen up his riding gear which by now could be described as ripe. Unfortunately, the spray has brought him out in tiny blisters, raw on his thighs and behind the knees and perhaps worst of all, you know where!!
Stopping for a roadside brew Bob finds himself in amongst a group of soldiers who have appeared out o the woods, then a big car, with flags, a General, who stops, asking Bob who he is, what he is doing, travelling, where to, for how long. Intrigued as to how Bob can get so much time off work, he asks what he did back home. The mischievous side of Bob almost gets the better of him, does he advise the general he used to look after the cold war bombers with targets deep inside Russia or that he ran a village garage. The garage story wins the day. The General rides a Harley and as he leaves tells Bob, “If you have any problems tell them the man with the Harley says it OK”.
Now heading to Tullin, another night in the wet forest, no hotels or truck stops. Blocked roads and diversions to follow, diversions that are not well signposted. Arriving at a very obvious cross roads Bob is unsure which way he should be heading on the diversion. He waits, until he spots vehicles coming towards him, they must be on the diversion from the other side, that’s the road he needs out of the three options.
The fourth day of the solo trip brings us to where this article started, something broke. The chain issue. Refusing the assistance of a well-meaning trucker Bob is determined to fix the chain himself. Mid way between Irkutsk and Novosibirsk is a long way from anywhere especially the local Yamaha dealer. The chain is damaged in 3 places; a piece of new chain takes care of 2 and a repair to the old chain the 3rd. The repair takes most of the afternoon, some ingenuity and 2 new rivet links. The days problems further compounded by running out of fuel requiring use of the spare can of fuel he has carried all these miles. (Note, if stopping a truck to buy fuel, stop a refrigerated truck as they have petrol to run the fridge motor).
The next day dawns after a night in a hotel and a breakfast of eggs, bread and tomato sauce. A combination of tarmac and dirt roads the chain appears to be holding up ok. Stopping for a fag and another chain check Bob is joined by a Japanese rider aboard a Honda Transalp, Akira, who has ridden west from Vladivostok. They start riding together, on muddy roads, Bob still troubled by blisters, they overnight in a Truckers hotel.
Heading to Novosbirsk the next day, riding with Akira, a long day, 718Ks @ 450 miles, more mud and a dropped Transalp, the duo eventually find a hotel at 3am, sleeping till 11am after the trials of the day.
The final 200ks to Novosibirsk are dispatched and they find a huge building with lit up Yamaha sign, a new chain perhaps, only to be denied, when on opening the doors, he’s greeted by pianos and keyboards. Another biker they meet takes them to a Yamaha motorbike dealer and with sign language a new 520 chain is sourced and fitted the following day with the help of an angle grinder. The front sprocket is now badly worn so Bob restricts himself to 70/80Ks, just in case.
That night the pain from the blisters is easing, some 250K’s from Omsk, now reaching the point in the trip were home beckons, perhaps a little bit too much when there are still so many K’s to cover. Still riding with Akira who is unwell and takes himself straight off to his room.
There are some bikers in the hotel from Brazil, they air freighted their bikes to Portugal and have been riding across Europe and Russia since collecting them.
Leaving the hotel mid-morning and it’s raining, it continues through the day, rain here is cold and the combination forces an early finish about 4 pm and another hotel on the outskirts of Omsk. Problems with the hotel come in the form of Akira’s paperwork, it’s not in order, Bobs papers are already booked in and held by the staff, so he is staying. The combination of English, Russian and Japanese languages is not going well until Sergey steps in, who speaks good English, he tries and fails to mediate with the hotel staff so disappears with Akira in tow to another hotel a short distance away.
Sergey returns, Akira is booked in just down the road, beers and conversation ensue. Sergey worked in Cramlington, just down the road from where Bob lives, small world.
Next morning Bob and Akira meet up and continue, in the rain, getting heavier through the day. Wagons throw spray over the pair, either on coming or overtaking, getting swamped each time.
Tried, in vain to obtain a front sprocket in Omsk, the computer says there’s none to be had, not even in Moscow. A stop roadside for some bikers, they’ve just fixed a problem they had, a brief conversation leads to an invite to a party nearby in a house, sounds too dodgy to the duo so they make their excuses and journey on.
The following day, the rain has stopped, Moscow doesn’t appear to be getting any closer. Kilometers pass. Next day, day 43 of the trip and a good day in the Urals, (that’s not a euphemism, the Urals are mountains running across Russia North to South) The road takes them through Jekatrinerburg, past Perm on onwards to Kazan, distance is covered but home still feels a long way off.
Rain returns and the road conditions deteriorate, the concentration required to compensate for the ever-changing surfaces drains the riders and Akira is unwell, running a temperature, the pair find a hotel about 5pm and call it a day. After a restless night they press on but Akira only manages about 90 minutes of riding, he needs a hotel, Bob needs the wheels to be turning, so the pair part.
Riding solo now Bob presses on till 11.30pm getting to within about 400K of Moscow, riding on would have been foolhardy as the combination of roads, potholes, wagons and suicidal driving would take its toll.
After a good sleep its on the road by 10am, no breakfast at the truck stop to stopped at the first café, eggs, lawn cuttings, bread and coffee, not necessarily in that order. 500Ks towards Moscow, turning onto the outer ring road A108 to St Petersburg. Riding through villages, like you might find in Kent perhaps, hard to imagine the city bustle of Moscow a stones throw to the left. A few days earlier Sergey had advised, if you don’t visit St Petersburg, you have not been to Russia. Bob takes him at his word. Almost too hot today, stunning weather, a stark contrast the previous few days. The Ks disappear under turning wheels, great lit roads, no hotels so the ride continues, black clouds and an electrical storm ahead, a coffee stop and conversation sets a target for a hotel in 10 Ks
The storm hit before the hotel, a service station offers refuge in the nick of time, nowhere to sleep so maps are laid out on tables and staff take interest in the journey and the route. Falling asleep at the table the staff leave Bob to catch a few winks, knowing the journey he has had and what is ahead. Away at 5am
Riding until early afternoon, rain strikes again, after the previous night of barely no rest a hotel beckons 50Ks short of St Petersburg, parking the bike outside the hotel room sleep engulfs.
St Petersburg, Sergey was right, what a city.
Navigation issue kick in, no sat nav remember, another local guides Bob to Peterhof (Palace), Peter the Greats answer to the palace of Versailles.
Conversations with stall holders result in a cap badge and questions of did Bob know Ewan McGregor and Star Wars, westernism strikes!!
Searching out a ferry to Stockholm Bob discovers there’s one in 30 minutes or in another 3 days, given his insurance has run out en route, the ferry is boarded and someone else can drive for a few hours. 24 hours rest on the boat and a 12-euro breakfast followed by watching the navigation between dozens of small islands. Docking at 8pm under a clear blue-sky Bob rides all night and onwards until 6.30pm the next day, 750 Miles / 1,207 Ks, whichever you prefer.
A good hotel between Hamburg and Hanover then onto Rons in Holland. It’s been 5 years since they saw each other, some catching up to do. A phone call to another, Geoff, from previous adventures, the three reminisce.
A ferry booked to Hull, sailing at 9pm on Tuesday 26th July, day 57. Arriving in Hull, the 1 becomes 5 again as Bob is greeted by the lads from the outbound journey, another catch up before the journey home.
12,856 miles, 58 days, 31st May – 27the July 2011.
Thanks to Sue for typing up Bobs hand written journal providing the notes I worked from and of course to the fellow travelers, Paul Nicholls, Paul Cornish, Peter Masters and Andy Richards
