| this is the most diverse counrty, expect the unexpected, its a little like india but its been kissed by the west. i have ridden main roads that are noting more than dusty tracks, twice in one day i though this country had beaten me, i had come off my bike, the sign post are non existant, i stop and ask and i am bombarded with advice i can not understand helpful but abrupt directions are thrown at me and i miss every one. roads end , tracks fade away, ruts and grass land become my route heading for a row of telegraph poles that depict a path that tunns into a track and meets some gravel and occasionally that turns into a road and the ache of stress leaves the bottom of my spine and i realize how much the rest of my body is suffering , other times the directions are wrong or my confidence in them is unsurstainable and i have to turn back to a village i hoped i would never visit again. my mood is a volitile as the road conditions ,dusty road - dirty fun, smooth as silk road ,mind accelerates to other places, potholes and gravel and the consentration exhausts me. the day usually has 2 guarenteed high points my favorite being the dusk, my shadow is long and my day is complete, where shall i camp?as i past the endless steepe of parched grassland and infinate horrizions, i shall cammmmmmmmmmmmp here, i pull off the road and ride a little ways and put the bike on the side stand and this will be my home for the night, pull of my boots and my other sweaty clothing and the other night i couldnt stop undressing and ran arround naked the red sun falls and the stars appear a crsent moon balances on the land where it meets the sky, and makes me jump its so big and unexpected, for a second i try to figure out what it is how big how close before i get my space perception. i make something that resembles food and fill my stomch , if there is a desert breeze i dont get bitten and bravly sleep with my tent open. this is why i am here, this is what i came for some people who know this area have said why here? there is nothing there, exactly ,nothing but me, my thoughts and my words so open, so clear, so honest, i could see inside my head , if i dindnt keep my helment on. Kazakh is Turkish for Nomadic, I'm not pretending when i live like this, ok i need my supplies from the villages, but i get my tomatoes from the venders at the side of the road, and my water from the small markets so its still being a huter gatherer in a way. i dont think all the pictures will ever bring back the feeling of this vast expance. the challenge is to cunger it up and reproduce it with words but i think ultimatly i can only live it as i see it, appriciate the old babookas with therir head scarfs selling the fruits of their labour, the pretty girls squashed into tiny busses with a mobile pressed to their ear, the endless goats,geese, camels, horses, cows, turkeys that wonder across my path. they are there for the moment as am i.and that monet has to be lived in and appriciated cus it can never be reproduced , a bit like a blow job. the cattle hurded by men on horse back but somehow the trem cowboy does not apply, these are tribesmen almost scratching a living not living a romantic dream.my dream is quckly becomming a nightmare, i am running out of fuel i divert to a tiny village the heat so intense now i have taken off my bike trousers and replaced them with combats keeping my levi's for best they could do with some new geans here too.i follow yet an other Lada to a dusty area with an old russian tanker its not so much parked as abandoned a black hose comes out of the top i'm told this is my fuel,i think not my friend if i put that im my tank my engine will knock like your father didnt on you sisters door. so i get back on track and stop at a small dewellling which the hand painted sign optomistically calls a cafe inside are bearfoot truckers and a couple of van driving youths they tell me the ony petrol is back the way i came 200 kms or onwards 300kms, i have not enough fuel to do either, i stand in the shade of a truck and wonder what to do, i f i turn back ive quit, no more mass mails,no destination reached,defeated by the road. if i keep on going i simply run out of fuel and then what? stranded in the desert? what to do? what can i possibly do? i have a firm talk to my self, no one to banter my options with, fuck it, ill keep going. when i run out i will take off my tank and hitch, so i keep going, sometimes the road is so bad the veichles have made a better smoother track at the side of the road, i ride on that wondering if the road has improved, back to the road stones and gravel, holes and bumps the dust track is better, i go back. its almost fun , it would be if i wasnt playing russian rulette with a tank that was running dry. always somethign to worry about, always. road improves, then disapears, and then its back again. this continues for miles and miles. ok and what is there up ahead? it s canopy, could it be a petrol station? i get closer, i looks like one or is it just my desparate optomisium,is it open? does it even have petrol? yes , yes yes. all of those, its clean pristeen straight out of my highest hopes is it for real? is my reality in this world? the pump flows life blood into my bike, my trip,my hopes and my survival. and in the squeeze of a triger i have been given an extension on my life. next door the only other building is a hut /cafe and i order soup cus its the same word in russain. all is well again and i stop for the night with full tank and tummy in an empty land. see you just cant beleive what you hear, ok may be the petrol station was not there before , it is new, and everyones opinion of a bad road differs. so i head for the next town, not because i want to visit not because i want to see the sites, but i need wi fi to connect to the world with my new pink reconditioned notebook. i seek and i find and i check the overlanders wedsite for a potensial riding buddy going the same way. but no one is, i only get a message to say the route i had choosen is 180kms of sand and no fuel at all. shit, the feel good factor is a fragile thing out here. i hear english being spoken without a 2nd thought i go to the sauce. an american peace worker and a local student, not only can they tell me which timezone i am in they ahve a friend who would love to help me , they call him he is going to come over, he scans my map showes me which roads i should take, and then i am to follow him to a hotel, the girls get in his lexes too and i follow, out of town , off road, am i being taken to be mugged? i follow surpiciusally , i and end up at some strange holiday getaway, i am more ordered into a room than checking in and there i am left with promise of company later. im so isolated here and its friday night. i feel trapped , captive. but true to his word my lexus driver returns and buys me dinner, gives me adive and phone numbers of 'fixers' on my intended route, is this to keep tabs on me? i even speak to one on his phone, he will sort hotel and tours for me when i arrive at his city, the the daughter and boyfreidn arrive and they have got a Kazakhstan phone card for me, i cant pay for anything, the rest of my travels round Kaz have been arranged and taken care of. I'm so surpicios but am comming to understand that i have found genuine people with hospality that extends beyond my synicisium. i dont really get it, but they fear for my experiance as a lone traveler in their country and want to take care of me, thats all. i have to promise i wil call any time wiht any problem so as they can fix it for me. and then next morning they are there to make sure i get the right road out of town, but they are late, i wonder what car daughter will drive,i think maybe a nice little VW but no up she comes in a big Merc sports car, i dont know the model but its not cheap, she was late cus she got stopped for speeding, whilst i waited 2 bikes went past with the trademark over land sign of big aliminum panniers, they are the equivalent of the dreadlock and peirced eyebrow of the gap year backpacker, im torn, do i wait from my 'fixers; or chase my potensial new ridning buddies. i wait and am met greated and wishe well credit has been bought for my new sim card. who have i stumbeled across here? i ride on, i apply the tourtoise hare stratigy, the 2 bikes that past will stop ,inevitably, and if i dont drink dont piss dont take photos i will catch thne up. and i do a german couple on identical yamaha xt660 with identical riding cloths and identical helmets with helmet cams, and sat nav, and satalite phone, and big SLR' with bigger lens and spare petrol and carrying more water than a prenatal class. i stop in the stinking shit and fly infested shade of a bus shelter where they were resting they give me information i didnt know about the mongolian boarder and after a chat we ride together, i 'm in the middle and in german they can talke about me on their helmet intercoms. well this sucks, i feel like a brick in the berlin wall with germans either side of me. but when we stop so they can swap wires an recharge batteries for electric gadgets we talk and i laught and joke and they frown and indure and we agree to camp together tonight. and again that wonderful point where we just pull off the road and make a base. i cook rice and caned fish with garlic and bread, i think its one of the best meals ive made and they bring out brokworst and other supplies from home,? how long does that stuff keep? we left 6 days ago, they have 5 weeks to get to mongolia, i stay with them for 3 days and nights, they are on a time budget and the milage is high. and i'm moving on, i cant make them laugh, but i learn lots from them, and even indulge in the ease of satalite navagation,, 've have not the time to take zee wrong direction' best i dont lead then. but they are all right and the only thing i dont want is sympathy companionship, tell me if i spoil ya plans , but actually i think i enhance them and we do have some fun we are a spectical , whne ever i look up there is a mobile phone pointing in my direction filming and photographing me, i feel like a scruff wingin it through this trip next to my prepeard and researched german friends, i ride in combats and fingerless gloves, they in matching air flow warm weather bike clothing but im still cooler. i flert with the road side venders and take phots of girls siting on my bike, every one has a smile weather its from behind he window of a lada or a lexus there is always intreagure , always encouragement always good will we stop for a water mellon, the women have been drinking all day, one lady wants me to go to her stand , how can i refuse , when a drunk woman takes me by the arm to go look at her mellons. i have a little russian lanugage now, enought to joke and laugh, a few inopropreate words go down well, and i have my hands full and photos are taken of my fruity purchase. i begine to wonder if things are just manufactured old in this country like the way they manage to bake their bread stale, the trucks and cars and houes and everything are all in a state of disrepair. im beginning to learn to expect the unexpected . a new morning and pack up camp,batterys are put on charge , satalite reading are taken, and documented,bikes are inspecten while i go take a shit in the woods, just an other (ger) manic monday , apparently whilst we camped wild the last night the world cup was being played, we ride out of the trees and onto road and that is always the second best bit of the riding day, fresh and rested, fresh morning and cool engine , the road turns into smooth 3 lane hiway is this the smooth as silk road? its sudden evidence of where the oil money is being pumped. empty pristeen road, you can still see the stensil where the whitel lines have been drawn, the bus shelteters still have the plastic on them, i could be the first person ever to take a shit on one, if only i hadnt eariler..... and we are on the road to Astanta. im so excited, i so want to see this city. but its not so good. the accomdation is so expensive and we have crossed another time zone, its 10pm . 2 nights camping and into this, we were kings of the country side but now we are peasents of this city of extrvagence and wealth, and i have to spend 2 days entire budget just to get a foodless and fueless room. these high milage days have taken their toll on my bike my back and my budget, i cant keep the pace. my budget is based on finance not time, they worry about not meeting their destination, I worry about not paying my bill. freedom verses commitmant, we both have worries inside our helmets, there are no cheap hotles in this city only less expensive ones, its a lovely room how lovely? not only does it come with shampoo and conditioner but its of such good quality i actually put it in my hair. and its looks georgouse. flick swish my problems start when i get off my bike. the next day was awful, i didnt get my visa registered,. i didnt know i had too,now it is too late, i went to police migration, but they insist i have a translator to help with the report with will determin the fine, i go to british embassy,,and i walk till my feet are blistered, and get nowhere, i am staying in a place i cant afford to pay i fine i cant determing, to find a translater i cant precure, and i cant leave untill this stamp is stamped on my passporti'm stumped. i watch my trip being cut shorted with every bill and i cant go anywhere, and when the working day finished and the jobs worths leave there offices to go to there homes and stick a steel rod up there arses.i walk back to my unafforodable accommodation the other side of the river, on the bridge an older woman is standing on tip toes looking over the railings, likea little kid, i say older but she is probably younder than i am , i forget how old i really am sometimes, she says something to me, and points at big fish trapped in the reeds, we both watch it and i wonder how symbolic it is, she insists on walking with me, we both have our hair platted, and her only word of english are 'i love you' i respond by counting to 10 for. and that is the story so far, and monklet? well whne he doesnt understand a single word spoken to him, he smiles, when he cant understand why we cant ride he smiles when i find the embassy and they ask me what i need and i reply 'a hug' he smiles and when i look down from my my airconditoned room at him on the bike he has cool little smile on his fury little face. Love flid |
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