Ali G Shoulda Stayed in the House

i ve never seen Borat, i started to watch it but i dont find cringing funny, if i did i would wake up laughing every morning after a night of heavy drinking and outragous comments and behavour, but what i do know is he gave people an image of Kazakhstan and althouhg I havent seen that much of it yet the image he portrayed was of course totally wrong may be he was never here , maybe he just stuck a pin in a map. yet another boarder with a differnt world waiting the other side, the biggest change so far, in russia i blended in,.. well as much as i have ever blended in, i would be spoken to in russian handed leaflets in russian. i kind of looked like the majority , incedently when i was in cacasus mountains i leared that some dude in the 1700's went there and saw the strong mountain people and termed the phrase caucasian to discribe the white human, the ironey is ,in that area then are less white than the now common lable implies, aslo there iis a cocktail available called a caucasian which the rest of us call a white russian, see , its all making sence now eh? anyway russia may be al white but Kaz is better. took me 2 bloody hours to get out of the city of Astrachan, i had packed the bike with an audiance but i didnt mind, i was fresh clean and rested , except from the inivitable resless night before a boarder crossing, i know the women were checking me out as i pulled the straps tighter than i needed to.' ya want a show? i'll give ya a show', well its not ya average monday morning site i suppose, so. its not a big city just a complete lack of signposts and then whne you find one it takes you to a major junction which has no signs at all i look for the road most traveled but its not necessaly the one i want. i turned round in the end to go back to the center and try again, only to see signs for my destination in the direction i had just come from. arrgghh. i wanted to open up the throttle and just pass everything riding like a twat to vent my frustration at the wasted time but i screamed at my self that i was feeling fit, i had not had any negative police encounters, the bike was running fine, and if i stayed another day it was no problem, get this in perspective and calm down, if you have an accident now you only have your tantrum to blaim, and it worked , to a degree, in all this confusion i aslo found an oil shop and changed my oil right there in the shade of a tree, ,i filled up with petrol and changed more money because one way or an ohter i will be back in russaia. so havingfinally got on the ellusive right road i reflected that everything got done, but it was done irritable, sweatily, and with dificulty. i stopped in the shade and had a snadwich and drink i;m filthy again, sweat, oil, dirt, dust, its like this most of the time, im just getting used to it, the fresh clean entry into the morning lasts till the first red light then its all over tilll the next available shower. i stood in a queue in a supermarket the other day self-rightiously glairing at the stinking people around me as you would if a mobile phone rang in a funeral service only to realize the smell is from my bike trousers, ive gone to riding in combats now, not as much protection but more air circulation. so then for the next few miles towards kazakhstan i found it very hard to find anything to worry about. but that ofcourse was short lived. a little temperary toll bridge , 'see' i said to myslef lucky you changed money eh? it was a wobbly affair but im used to them. and at the other end a choice of direction and no clue as to which one to take, is this a road trip or a relationship analogy? it took 5 directions and asking 3 people before i got it right, and i got the hell out of there, its about relationships isnt it. to the boarder and exiting russia was easy they didnt even want to see my visa registration which i had spicafically stayed at an expensive hotel to get. so as not to meeet with any fines or problems, typical. so i'm out but i'm not in. just a long bit of road, im in no mans land, what would happen if i came off here? i saw a small red velvet custion at the side of the road, perfect of my boney aching arse, but why would some one throw out a custion here? wahts inside it, i decided it was best left and aong came Kazakhstan.not to tricky only one cleaver litttle burocratic fee to pay and i haggeld and got it for five quid. but the heat, the officials seem to get great pleasure in watching you bake in the queue when thye could so easily let you into the shade of the inspection area. with documents stamped i passed through the barrier and i am besizged by money changers and othervendors, i got an ok rate and bought a bottle of frozen water off an enterprising kid on a bicycle. all the time trying to keep an eye on my pannies and posessions as the crowed surrounds me, its time like this a loud exhause note is a bonus. its disperses the throng better than bad breath. so wet with sweat all but a numb horrizontal strip on my chest where my frozen water is stuffed inside my jacket i head into Kazakhstan, whooping in my helmet at my acheviment. and on my god what a change, russia , ukrain and the ones before were western dispite there indivualality but i am instantly in a hostile desert with mud huts, and camels roaing across the road. CAMELS ROAMING ACROSS HE ROAD, i have riden this far, lizzards on the hot tarmac and nothing on either side of me, no trees , nothing but parched dry inhospitable desert. i make a mental note to carry more water, the road is ok but there are big potholes with out any notice, so it s probably just as well there is not much to look at as i neet to keep attension on the road ahead, i hit one, one in 5000 not to bad but tell that to my wheel and spokes they just dont like that. and then 3 bikes come the other way, we are such rare creatures out here, its not a matter of a wave or a toot, we stop and shakehands, they are 3 germans and before my sidestand had bedded into the dust the subjet has got round to the world cup. the usual reports of bad roads, expensive hotels and worse heat to come, but its good to chat, and i realize how different it is to ride alone, not better or worse just different, mentally they are in a different place to me, its not just beating Argentian its that in my helmet is reflection and analisis in theres is a break from the company. ive done both kind of riding, and although i envy there companionship i wouldnt change not right now im taking this all in , right in, deep inside and 'theres a journey going on inside my head man' but really, i think how some people get up and instantly turn on the radio or tv, instant stimulation, and whne if ever do they have time for reflection. its good to have that, but like anything in moderation. so the camels become common as do hurdsmen in the fields. the cars hoot and wave and the smiles are back on the faces but the faces have changed the hair is black and the skin dark, the dress is all encompassing and the beauty is discreat. i stop as a train track crosses the road, and as the acient heavy engine drags its cargo across my path i focus on the stationay car in front of me there is a pink floyd sticker on the boot,, how cool is that? and i sing learning to fly in my head for the rest of the day i have gained another hour and as the desert skies turn brilliant reds in my mirrors as i enter Atyrau, and the divecity of this oil rich country becomes instantly apparent. big hight rise hotels, wide clean streets, big squares surrounded by multistory banks and people of every discription playing in fountains under flags and banners, gold roofed churches and round topped mosques . and best off all the occasional signpost, and i cross the Ural river from europe into Asia, although confusingly it going north south, ho humm. and that is where i still am, aclimatizing and emersing myself in this beautiful diverse city, its so hot the hotels are not expensive, and the roads are ok, the people are friendly and speak a little english,and a little russain much like myself. the faces are so different, and the mud huts of the old city stand in the shade of multinational hi rise buildings. im in awe and monklet is smiling, even when i flex my mussels and tie him on to tight he smiles, , when i scream at my self to slow down he smiles, when i turn around and go back the way we came he smiles when im distracted by camels and potholes monklet still smiles.. , and when the germans think they will win the world cup i think i heard him laugh. Love Flid

Russia

well ive been in russia a week now it seems so much longer, and to try to recount it all is daunting, i said good bye to an 11 day riding comapnion and there was a physical pain as i roed away from fun farmilia company back on a lonley unknown road towards the ferry to russia, one more police check one more bribe, this time the 'present' they wanted was 2 10p coins,the cheapest curroption so far but still princebaly outragous. this sad transition was not made any more pleasent buy spending yet another grey sunday at yet another ferry port waiting for a ferry that was canceled, it started to rain i sat on my bike shelterd under my poncho, some moments you could just cry and with rain on my face and ipod on even i wouldnt know for sure if i was. i cant explane how difficult it is, every aspect of this, first find the port there are more than one, do i need a ticket? is it a free service? i can see russia from here, its a shuttel ferry, then wait , then buy ticket for me and bike, everything has to be pointed, mimed , explaned, customs, immergration, and ontoferry , having to hold my bike up for the crossing in the damp smelly hold of the boat, whilst others watch the view. then want i was dreading the entry into russai, but as is often the case then things you fear most are the leas proiblems. people will always put the frighteners on you , telling of there terrible experiance wiht roads and officials, and traffic, just cus it was a problem for them does not mean it will be for me just as an uneventful road for them becomes a traumatic event whne i come to it, the thing to always remember is the only experiance that counts is your own and my entry into russai was painless, i got a from in english and was helped every step of the way , professional and attentive i was taken to buy my insurance for russaian roads and with a smile i was told i was free to go into russaia, there were 2 probelms, both of which were my own doing, i had no fuel and no curency i could have filled up in ukrain before i left, i had money i had no other use for, how stupid, so annoyed at my self, i made the only probelms i encounted today, i gained an hour and all money changers were closed. so i found a petrol station who tool US $ and got some juice. well now what i ned to find a place to sleep , i found a town and roed around as the light faded, come on flid you got to do something, stop, ask, dal with this situation, i got out my phrase book, and looked at he shapes they call letters, so a star backwards 3 piramid shape and backwards n now do i pronunce that again? oh yes loudly and slowly i say " BED?' so i stop i see a sign that starts like it means room for rent but it was so much more, the lady shots a name and two 11 year old girls come running up both speak english, show me the room , its perfect, then take me to bank and to the late shop so i can get some food to cook, but when we get back granny has made me soup, chicken and potato, feet landed on again,

so i stay a few nights and the girls pull out there hair with frustration as i slowly pick up the russian they teach me. but i learn some good words and a grat phrase prounced 'wotbling' it meand oh bugger, or damit , or bollocks, i use it all the time. im invited to go to the beach with them and granny, its so difficult being an older single man and playing with girls, the world is so quick to point its pedo finger, and the only thing the girls think is slightly strange behavior is my standoffishness. i have shown granny photos of madalynn and her mind is put at ease whne se see's i am a father. so we make sand castles and i learn my numbers written in the sand. and even the cat makes friends with my sheep skin seat cover and sleeps on it in the sunshine. i buy thne all chocolates before i leave ans everyone comes out to wave me off, im so good at finding good people and leaving them.

so i ride the black sea coast to Sochi, you will all know this name is 4 years after they host the next winter olypics. its full of money and not much else, im fed up with sea side tourist towns, it doenst matter whare you are india , chile, or russai its never good to go where the nativs to to holiday , its not the real country and its not why im here, in fact why am i here, i was having a few down days, its inevitable thye come and they pass, i couldnt find the road i wanted across the mountains so had to double back along the stinking slow truck filled exhausted poluated lada crawling coast road, everything was annoying me, my squealing back break, my constsant sweat, the constant stareing and no waving, the seaside tourist tack, the potholes the erasticic driving. its time to stop when this happens. i get on the road i want to the mountains and pull of into a orchard un seen . i put up my tent , cook a meal and call me mum.

next morning i wake to havvy dew and bright sun i get up to wee and then is a man tending to his trees, he comes up to me with ah massive sythe, hes not that happy, but thankfully hes not grim either. hes indicates it ok for me to camp , so i pack up and decide it would juse be bad eticate to leave a steaming dump in his orchard, so i head out the track is nowe slick from morning moisture, and for the first time i drop the bike, no damage, and wiht adrenalin enhanced strangth i lift it up like superman. so too mt elbus europes highest peek, its definatly about the journey not the destination, the village at the base of the mountain is a shit hole ,somewhere between a quarry, a scrapyard and building site, a man with tanned hyde for skin and 70's sunglasses comes up to me, i thought it was just another well wisher telling me im crazy to ride this far, but its a carparking attendent , what this bit of litter filled gravel is a car park? ya know what i dont think i even want to stop. man do they know how to ruin natural beauty, its awful. i go down the road and stop to eat a yoghurt . well shit, i throw the pit on the ground whne im finishedm its a statement, its hard to put into words but it was something to do with their lack of respect for the sceenery they have and everywhere is rubbish, half built monstrosities, and decaying machinery. its amazing how a mood can change wiht direction on the way up thisa caynon i was in awe and full of excitement, now im full of discust , disapointment and yoghurt.
but anyway i continue, my reguard for road regualtions becomming less by the mile, the police checks are frequant but no currption in this country, just doing their job, all my docs in order. big language barrier, one gold tooth official says "barrack obama" to me and we both laugh and im free to go. overtaking the slow trucks and the crawling ladas. i stop at yet another junction and check my map again. i had oven taken too off duty cops, they give me a telling off. i carry on and again they catch me at next junction, they instruct me to follow them out of town, i dont wat to leave, im looking for a market to get food, or amy be a room to stay the night but at a safe and aanal 30mph i am lead out of town the the road i sort of told them i was looking for. well thanks guys, see ya, and i go find a hidden place to camp which had not been used befored and there foe covered in plastic bottles and any other rubbish deemed not worth packing up and despoing of thoughtfully,
and this , tis is the point of the email

i deaming about a confrentation with incompetent british airways officials about a missed flight, when im woken by 2 stray dogs barking at me, i grawl back and they run off, i pack up my departure lounge and take off. its 400kms to astrachan whne i will have a day off the riding. but my plans are to be somewaht different, the speradic sign posts fool me again and i inadvertantly leave the main road. at the next police check im told i can go another way, ok that will work , but wait that sends me into Dragastan. and place of unrest anf kidnappings, frequant bombings, shootings, shit, im heading into it, i cant really stop it, dont ask me why i dindnt just turn back, may be it was not to loose face with the chack point officials, everthing has changed the land is barren, the heat is intense, what building there are are abandoned, and in a state of disrepair, the few petrol stations are unatended and have been for some time. and everything is scary , i dare not trust any more 'officials' but if i keep ridinh will i be shot in the back and if i stop will i be mugged or worse? i find a fuel, in my fear i miscalculate the amount i need, and dont get a full tank, (you pay first for the amount of fuel you require) then\re are several men standing round excitedly studing a map, are they discussing no go arears, signs have become yellow, are they danger signs? probably best i cant read them, i have enough fuel now to get out a full throtel which is only 70mps i long for my triumph for the forst time this trip which could get me out of here at 120mph, im over taken by tinted window mercedes with no plates or form of identification. in the heat haze ahead to truck are stopped on each side of the road ,someone walks across the road, an ambush? i pass at full speed, no wire had been strung across and neck hight. on top of all this the heat and the fear the sky is full of locus or crickets and they splat big and yellow puss over my screen i cower behind, they hit like hail stones on my legs, the T junction im half way a few huts are all the depict the village, i hurtal north, im so thirsty but dear not stop to drink, some trucks with plates from countries i cant spell, like abergerzan and north orsetta georgia, but also ukrain, so that makes me feel safer. and then the river, and the chack point, im back in stable russia. and greeted with a gold tooth smile but the official, but he has some bad news, the road is no more, i have to take a different route, now 3 sides of a rectangle a totla of an extra 300kms, and its so hot, i find shade, eat out of my hot panniers and feed a stray dog. thne the road just ends, what the fuck? its turns to not just dirt but deep ruts and sand i cant really ride this it must be wrong, i go back to the tarmac, but the only choice is to gointo a village, this must be right, so back to the dirt track, i ts not a matter of how many times i nearly drop the bike, its constant, im not riding im balancing, a constant struggle to keep it up right. i cant do this i turn back again, ive been riding 8 houes in extream heat now. i ask a fisheman the way he pints to the village, ride rounf the dusty tracks of the abandoned village, anf find hard road, i find a broken down truck he says it the right road but indicated it will turn to dirt, he is right but at least its level dirt i reduce my tyre pressures and get on thne in time it tunns to tarmac again, and unexpectle i run out of fuel, its been 30mph and 3rd gear yeah than makes sence, i find a small village, indicate to a chinnes looking person i need petron he points at a container, and sure enough iinside the 20foot container is a petrol pump, i pay a grumpy mongolian woman she doesnt seem nearly as pleased that im here and i am to be here. its a mongolian village, its amazing, even the roofs are up turned like chinnese roofs, i could take some photos , go to the beach for 3 months and tell ewveryone i made it to mongolia. so finally after 450 miles i get to Astrachan, 12 hours it should have been 5 hours and 400kms. but what an adventure. i cant find a hotel, im so hot, so tired , it takes over an hour, i find one it expensive, but nice, the woman opens the big metal gats for me to bring my bike in and cant close them. i help and she slids the metal bolt into my thumb full force. it bleeds like a bastard. all that road and its the hotel that breaks my skin. she rushes me to a sink, puts iodine on the gaping woumb andput on a bndage so big that it ruins my spelling on this keyboard, it almost hurt as much as i made out it did, whilst she cooks me a dinner made of pork and guilt. , ant that is where i am right now ready to cross into kazakstan, on monday, monklet has endured all kinds of chalenges, whne he is humilated buy officials who point and laugh at him on the check points he still smiles , when crickets fly into his face he keeps on smiling, when i drop the bike and his tail is trapped under the handle bars, he still smiles, and now whils i sit in an airconditioned interent cafe he is guarding the bike and i just bet hes smiling , i know i am.
love flid

hey send mesome emails, i miss ya.

Odessa

So part 2 of the story so far, I met up with a guy I had been in contact with during the endless months of winter research, he was on his way back from Russia on the same model bike as me, so the last 10 days have been constant company, adding an other dimension to the journey. I keep hearing about the corrupt cops who will pull you over and relive you of you money. They are everywhere and despite the on coming vehicles flashing there lights in warning, getting pulled is inevitable. I have turned my mugging wallet into a corruption wallet which basically means taking out most of the money and putting in a driving licence, not a moment too soon either cus as we leave a wet and smelly nondescript city we are overtaken and flagged down by a cop car. The fat one stays in the dry while his ‘bitch’ gets out to show us a video he has of us doing an unrealistically high speed. It’s a nice little video of us riding side by side, but he not here to be congratulated on his photographic skills. We are ushered into the car one by one ad then when the rain gets heavier we both sit in there and are told of out outrageous deeds and how reports have to be made and fines of 800 have to be paid, to put this in perspective beer is 5 so 800 is out of the question, after much frowning and flaunting of there authority suddenly it occurs to them that for a small gift the whole incident could be over looked and out came the corruption wallet and I empty the entire 180 on the dashboard and by passport is returned with big smiles and the game is over. We didn’t have a goo d hand to play but with gritted teeth to keep the dummy in, we got away as lightly and ya can hope to. Andy is into his camping, I can deal with that it will be good to break the hotel habit, so we stop to get some supplies as we pass through yet another tiny village. As we walk into the little shop the young girl visibly jumps, well yeah I suppose we don’t look like ya average shopper. Lots of pointing and laughing and a bit of miming and we are sorted for e numbers and whizz off but first a little beer in the sun. The shed next to the shop is full of sewing machines with miserable people operating them. I m looking through the door and thinking how lucky I am to be out here by my bike with a cold beer in my hand and not slaving away in a sweat shop. Even when the minibus comes to pick up the workers at the end of there shift there seems to be no sign of relief on there faces no chatter or interaction they are just sewing machines in the material world. When it comes to riding capabilities and bike maintained me and Andy are on similar levels but once the camping stove comes out I’m out of my element where I have a pannier dedicated to hair care products he has one for food and all sorts of spices and condiments appear. I decide I can either watch and learn or drink and daydream; I opt for the latter and spray some red ken in my hair. Frogs croak out side my tent all night and although it is sagging with dew in the morning the sun dries it off as I eat my sausage sandwich. Its such a perfect morning the shadows cross the road to shade us as the sun rises high in the solstice sky,there is no traffic no cops no worries just a vague destination and to bikes heading for it. problem is said destination is actually the other direction so once my head comes round to the practicalities of navigation over the appreciation of the day we turn around and ride on the sunny side of the street towards Maldivia. The way to deal with passing the constant speed traps is to always find something to look at as ya pass the cops, a glance at a part of the bike, a study of the map on the tank bag of a turn of the head to take in the scenery, anything but eye contact cus if your eyes lock and the baton is raised you are now either going to be robbed or become a futurtive. The best thing is to keep behind a truck so the cops don’t see you till the last minute. Of course the obvious answer would be to actually do the speed limit but that is a dangerous option. No one does the speed limit so all you get is constantly overtaken and cut up. Some time this is only done to hoot and wave the foreign plates and spare tyres scream excitement and adventure to the enthusiastic and revenue to the law. So there was this river on the map it sort of lead in the direction of Odessa so it seemed like a good idea to head for the river. The river of divided and undecided boarders we knew it was in Moldavia no problem just another boarder, or so we thought. The land begins to undulate, if ya can’t have mountains an undulation will do nicely. Then the river appears and we sit at a tiny boarder stop and our documents and scrutinized whilst the sniffer dog sits in the shade. We wait with the excited passenger who have all come from market with there rolls of Ukrainian wall paper to decorate there Maldivian houses, its seems to be a popular export, the crossing takes about 10minutes and that is followed by 3 hours of bureaucratic hell on the other side, with insurance purchased and papers stamped we enter Moldavia. All I know about the country is that iron maiden sing about it in the song ‘Alexandria the great’ and I want to play it on my iPod, I like to play relevant songs, I played going to Montana buy frank zappa when I was going to Montana and on the train to Bangkok by rush when.... well ya get the idea, so I was keen to hear Bruce Dickenson scream ‘totally defeated the armies of Moldavia’ and get my history lesson from heavy metal. In a statement that is rapidly becoming a catch phrase we realize that ‘I don’t think we are where we think we are’ as we are surrounded by villagers and then lead to the main road by the first of many speeding Ladas that willingly lead us to out of the situation we have got ourselves into. The people here are noticeably different in their clothing and manor. They show their emotions here much more, the Ukraine stares have been replaced but smiles and waves even the truckers hoot and wave. And I love to wave, best of all they use the Roman alphabet and I can read the signs again. But we still can’t seem to find the road to follow the river. And when we do we have to cross a confounded bridge that takes us through more boarders. Where the hell are we? I though we were in Moldavia, but now what are we crossing into? Its taking hours, anal bureaucratic authoritarians are thoroughly filling in forms and asking for yet more money we have to give exact routs we will be taking and places we will be staying, which is a bit tricky when ya don’t even know what country your in.. We finally clear the hurdles and then ride into the dusk finding no where to stay or to camp. We end up in some dormitory type thing and i finally get to play my ipod, he says Macedonia no Moldavia so even that was bloody wrong. Next morning I go to a supermarket for supplies they don’t accept the money I changed yesterday or the Ukraine money I have, am I in some parallel universe? Where the hell are we? I have to go to a bank with in the supermarket to change money again whilst the Saturday shoppers stare at the freak who had been up and down the isles with his basket and biker boots singing along out loud to ‘ too much love will kill you ‘ by queen as its pumped put over the supermarket PA. And then as we head to Odessa another bloody boarder, I don’t think we are where we think we are. And now the officials are really corrupt. And our passports are stamped differently , the discrepancy is of great concern to the officials and we have to deal with a double act of nice corrupt cop and high ranking nasty ‘you must go back to the last boarder and get the right stamp in your passport ‘ nasty cop. ‘But boss’ pleads the nice cop’ let them go, please boss, let them go’ ‘ speak to my boss give him present’ they don’t need a present they need a fuckin Oscar , but we give em $20 and are free to go. What a bloody waste of time that trip across the boarder was, what bloody county were we in anyway? Turns out Moldavia has had some sort of revolution and has a republic with in a country. Ill know more when iron maiden release their next album. Unless there there is an invasion by America in which case ill get my rhyming report from roger waters. So into Odessa trying to find a room a guy in a car stops us at the lights, ya here for the bike show?’ what bike show? Follow me, and we spend the next 2 days camping at a bike show with thundering music and right next to the sea, meeting lots of friendly people the now obligatory beautiful women and drinking 50p beers to the point on utter dehydration and loss of balance on the 3rd day which resulted in a day in Butlins type room drinking water and eating salt. And on we go. People thinking we are brothers, turning heads and making friends, having lots of laughs and living the dream, nothing else i would rather be doing,now it feel less like a bike trip and more like travelling with a bike, we don’t pass through we stop and take it in, our bikes attract so much attention and conversation, we get our motor running get out on the hi way looking for adventure in what ever come our way, previously a cliché lyric now a way of life, and I never really considered it. When I was riding a Honda ss50 round Colchester in the early 80’s doing my star rider bike test, I never imagined it would lead to this, we pass the occasional backpacker and i appreciate our independence e. I no longer have any desire to do the local train and bus thing and despite the hassles of locking up the bike every time we walk away from it. I much prefer it to dragging a pack around a county being held hostage at every guest house bus station. So we are told of a place Sudak in the Crimea where there is a biker bar on the beach, we ride a windy cliff top road ruined by pissing rain soaked through on road deep in water that hides the gaping potholes, but next day we dry out our gear and find the bar. Then we are waved in and ride our bikes inside and as I dismount a Russian patch club chick runs up and hugs me I met her at the bike show last week. I think I’m going to like it here. But it’s nearly time to part ways and once again I am heading east this time to Russia and I’m scared and excited all over again. Monklet has left his pillion position and now sits upfront on the handle bars, when the police are corrupt he smiles, when the toilets stink, and there is only bread to eat he smiles, when you are simultaneously drenched by a downpour with the sun in your eyes he smiles, and when he is scrubbed hard and hung out to dry Monklet still smiles and so do I Love Flid

On the Road to Mongolia

Introduction

‘And after the break you’ll going to find out something else about this gentleman, he wants to make a long journey, on a motorbike. Have a think about where he might like to go; if you can come up with it we will give you... congratulations.’ Said Noel Edmonds before the commercials started for the viewing public, and for me the makeup lady waited with her brush poised to apply yet another layer of crud to my face. The sound man came and fiddled with my microphone and the motivational production crew told me to be more appreciative and give more consideration to the money that the banker was offering me. ‘It’s a lot of money to some people who watch, don’t disregard it’
‘It's a tactic’ I lied ‘if I don’t look like I'm excited by it he will up my offer.’ I wonder if the banker can hear me.
And we’re back
‘With a significant sum of money the big journey you want to do is to...?’
‘Mongolia’
‘Mongolia, why Mongolia?’ prompted Noel
I clearly knew nothing about it. But then that is why I travel, to find out. Research had never been my strong point.
I babbled something about it being a wild country, challenging, and adventure from the start.
And how much would a trip like that cost?
Oh I don’t bloody know, ‘I would need a specific bike, couldn’t do it on street bike...’
Well I'm committed now. I just told the nation of Deal or No Deal fans and all my friends who were watching. I cringe when I think of my response as to why I would want to ride my bike to such a place. In my defence they want sound bites not longwinded explanations. I’ll save that for the book.
So I was briefly a TV star, recognized everywhere from Marks and Spencer’s to Asda, even the local press had called for a story. In 10 days I went from celebrity status to white trash. I rented out my house to save for my trip and moved into a trailer.
Man did I pick a cold winter to live in, what I would explain to anyone and everyone, was not a caravan but a 33 foot long America 5th wheel trailer? The sort the caravan club frown upon in there reverse snobbery ways. But I wasn’t living in it to make friends in the caravan community; I was there to live a comfortable and compact life for a year. And I did until the winter of 09/10 decided it was going to break records and freeze my toothpaste in its tube. I was preparing myself for the hardships of the trip, saving money and sitting in the poorly insulated, freezing trailer. Whilst reading my guide books wearing a woolly hat and fingerless gloves and formulating a plan.
It was never meant to be a return trip. I can’t even imagine getting there let alone coming back. Ullan Baatar was where I was heading and that’s the goal, just that. It’s massive. End of story. My budget was £5000, 100 days at £50 a day; I wasn’t sure how realistic it was. It was not a holiday but it was not an endurance test either. Some days you want a hotel and a good meal some days there is nothing to eat and everywhere to camp, it should even its self out.
On reflection there was a major flaw in my plan; Mongolia was an unthinkable distance, unimaginable terrain and quite possibly an unachievable destination. But should I actually get there then what? Next time I do a one way trip I will try and make sure my destination is a port. Not a landlocked city in the middle of a land locked country in the middle of the biggest landmass on the planet. Ho hum ya live and learn.
Part of the motivation to go was, my social life gradually disappeared and no longer exists at all. Everyone seemed to get partners at the same time. They are all staying home playing happy families. There’s usually a divorcee around who wants to catch up on the fun they’ve been missing out on and I’m Mr. Goodtime, Mr. Commitment free and unattached always up for anything. But there has been a lot of time alone recently and if I'm going to be in my own company it may as well be on the road. I steered my life in this direction it’s time to go and take advantage of it.
I knew it was getting bad when the door bell rang one morning and it made me jump. The postman had bought another eBay purchase to my door. Yep when the ring of the door bell is unfamiliar it’s time to go out the door and close it behind you.

Inspired by ‘the long way round’? Was I? No I don’t think so. Mongolia was first bought to my attention in China when I met a Dutch couple who had ridden the Trans Siberian Express. Listening to their tales of wild horse men and staying in gers, that was the seed.
It germinated on a 11000 mile ride to the Arctic Circle in Alaska.
So I never wanted to even mention ‘the long way round’ and I refused to cast judgement on what they did until I had done it too. But Ewan and Charley are, (regardless of opinions and there are plenty) as associated with Asia overland as much as Borat is with Kazakhstan. So I can’t and won’t ignore what they did, and as my trip progressed I learnt just what talented actors they were.
It was probably 2005 when I saw their series. I watched it again in the May of 2010 for research. Ooo I thought we have the same panniers. And that’s where the similarities ended. And the butterflies began. How the hell I'm I going to manage that on my own? The most challenging ride to date had been to the Arctic Circle.

Years ago I decided to get a big piece of art tattooed on my back. I’d considered this for many years, every time my top was off it would think ‘now if my back was tattooed would that be a problem’ after years of the answer being ‘no’ I started to save and look for a suitable tattoo artist. I considered techniques and design I thought about colours and textures, size and time limits. After much consultation with the tattooist I chose; the day came when the design had been agreed and the entire out line had to be tattooed in one sitting from my shoulders to my coccyx. As the needle first penetrated my skin around the area of my kidneys and later over the bone of my shoulder I realized that the one thing I failed to consider in all my research was the bloody pain factor.
I’m wondering if I will find this has happened again when I hit the road. I know from other bike trips that the bum is a mussel that develops slowly, but the roads will become horrendous and I know that picking up my bike single handed and fully laden will be next to impossible. Removing luggage every time will be infuriatingly tedious but I’ll deal with that when I have to. For now making it to Ukraine will be an experience, riding into Russia will be remarkable, negotiating the roads in Kazakhstan is a daunting challenge, and if I do make it to Mongolia it will be a massive achievement. I'm not sure what I’ll do when I get there, I will see if anything is broken, bike, body or budget, if everything is intact then maybe I won’t turn around, but that is a big maybe.
Right, there’s this monkey; It’s a stuffed toy. It’s more than a stuffed toy. Monkey is a very significant character. He played a co-starring role in my TV game show. For the last 3 years or so I made picture books of Monkey having adventures, and then I would video myself reading them and would send them to my daughter in America. The idea being she would become familiar with scenes of England from the book so when she comes for her first visit it wouldn’t all seem so strange to her and secondly she would recognise my voice, accent and know what I looked like. Monkey evolved into a character and the stories always ended with him getting in trouble and so the catch phrase ‘Oh Monkey, he’s so bad’ was born
I managed to find another monkey on eBay he was going to be stunt monkey but when he arrived, although identical in every way he was half the size. He became Monklet. That led to new poignant story lines of how much fun Monkey would have with Monklet and how much he missed Monklet when they weren’t together.
In my idol hours I had made a crash helmet for Monklet out of a tennis ball. It was matt black and open face with a silver chain for a chin strap. My friends said I had too much time on my hands. Perhaps, just think of all those trips to Matalan and episodes of Strictly come dancing I missed out on. Whilst packing the bike I had moved Monklet around but there was no room to take him. It was unnecessary and impractical. He had a permanent cheeky smile on his face and I may be 44 but it kind of warms my heart to see it, particularly as he has become a common bond between me and my daughter when we speak on the phone.
‘So how’s Monklet doing?’ Madalynn would ask
‘Oh he’s so bad; you’re never guess what he’s just done...’
So at the eleventh hour Monklet was strapped to the spare tire with a bungee cord and it may have been the pressure from the elastic but I think his smile got a little bigger.
I'm leaving for Mongolia; I'm not catching a train not going to the airport. If I didn’t live on an island I wouldn’t be going to any port at all. If my panniers were empty and I did a right instead of a left out of my driveway I could have been doing a usual trip to Asda but I wasn’t. I was going under my own power to the Centre of Central Asia. Oh, and with the help of ferry company too.

So here we go with the first mass mail on the road to Mongolia . So much for an overland trip I have already been on 3 ferries. The last one took me from Sweden to Poland . Prior to that I had spent 5 nights camping at the Sweden rock festival- defiantly the coldest and possibly the most expensive, definitely the friendliest, maybe the healthiest and even after all that camping still the most beautifulist of festivals I have ever attended. I had travelled forward 1000 miles and back in time 22 years- the guys all had hair spray and scarves tied round their legs, bloody hell don’t tell me this look is back again.

To give some examples on the first night I was paying 10 quid for a beer, but I hadn’t exactly grasped the exchange rate yet. All I had grasped after putting up my tent was my bottle of duty free jagermister I had got on the ferry to Denmark. Also I was in the company of a very pretty sweed and I was not about to loose that company by counting on my fingers to figure out exactly what 100 kroners was. During most of the festival I wore more than I do when I am riding my bike, except one wonderful sunny afternoon when I went to get a Mexican meal from a stall the meal was as disappointing as any Mexican meal I have had outside of America but the compliment was way better than the salsa, he said ‘been working on ya biceps man?’

‘no not realy I’m a lazy git’

‘well ya lookin good man’ well I got back to where my friends were sitting with a smile so big the chile sauce was dribbling down my chin. One morning, I don’t know what time due to there only being 2 hours of darkness, it was hard to say but birds were singing and the sun was up but no one else was and as I weaved my way through the tents to the toilet block it occurred to me that the sweeds are such a considerate nation that not even anyone was snoring. It was silent not ya average festival camping area. Perhaps the birds are louder in Sweden cus on my so far most loveliest ride on the coastal back roads at the most south of Sweden I could hear the bird song through my helmet and over the noise of the engine. I was having a bit of extra bonus spring and everything was in blossom and the sky was blue the roads were empty and the smells of the lilac drifted through my open visor, and having my fingerless gloves on is always a good sign too.

So the Sunday morning and the packing up was really sad , not only was the festival over but it also meant that it was time to hit the lonely road again. I had butter flies all over again just like the Sunday before when I left my house . the difference was this time I was slightly more focused as I methodically packed my bike in its ordered manner. On the humid post storm morning of me leaving my house it was so preoccupied with the daunting journey ahead of me I put my underwear on back to front, I noticed almost immediately but it was a not the cool and calculated departure I was hoping far. The 2nd morning leaving Drobs parents house in germany I put my boot on the wrong foot, but since then things have got better. So I rode the short journey to the ferry terminal, its always weird going back into civilization after a prolonger festival environment but the grey cloud combined with the post festival blues and reluctantly back in my own company was a downer that half made me want to follow my friends up to Stockholm . Some Sundays scream Sunday and this one did, the hellish retail parks were heaving with obedient shoppers buying there electrics and other latest fashions to try and enhance there lives. even though I was not working tomorrow I could still feel the sense of just waiting for Monday to arrive and the ferry terminal was grey and concrete everywhere and was all closed up cus I was so early , yuk noting to do except wait . wait for the barrier to open, wait for the ferry to arrive and then finally my much anticipated single berth cabin, where I instantly stripped off and washed everything in the sink and strung it around the room. And that was that

I didn’t get the good nights sleep I had anticipated and 12 hours later we docked in Poland . My 8^th country this trip and I haven got my passport out once. I stopped for money exchange straight away there was a scabby dirty stray cat outside and straight away things here felt more foreign I filled up with petrol and there was a wall of vodka behind the checkout. Yeah now I'm abroad. I got on the main motorway out of Gdansk and what do I see a big tescos. Ok not so foreign then. The first thing I notice was the smells, strong diesel fumes pumping out the back of slow trucks and the pungent toxic emmissions from the factories and suddenly I realized how incredibly sterile our western world is unless ya live in the gulf of mexico of course. Also the unfamiliar food smells that drift into my helmet . I take some back roads and wind round villages of old women with head scarves and cobble stone roads. Definitely back in time. There was a big stork type bird in a huge stick nest on top of a telegraph pole I stopped to take a photo but was not as strange of a sight as the 2 old men watching my every move though I was.

Back on the main road there are lots of prostitutes just sitting there on stalls waiting for passing motorists loads of them of varying degrees of attractiveness the other things being sold was pots of popcorn well I looks like popcorn but I didn’t slow down to check as id had a big breakfast on the boat. And the driving, oh my god its so aggressive and impatient, ya have to spend as much time lookin in ya mirrors as ya do in front of you. I was leaving a little space between me and the car in front and the car behinds passes me to get in the space with no intention of overtaking the next car. And they over take straight into on coming who then veer over to the hard shoulder , it seems to be recognized method but god. So when a car comes up behind me I have to go over onto the hard shoulder to let him pass, and if ya don’t notice he has come up behind ya he pass by you so close. Its really dangerous but when in rome…. so I was coming up on a truck and rather than slow down I just went past into the path of an oncoming can and sure enough he pulls onto the hard shoulder. So it does work but I didnt try it again. So between looking for trucks in front cars coming up behind whores on stalls and popcorn it was all pretty exhausting. I contemplated sightseeing in Warsaw but to be honest I’m not really intending to do any sight seeing untill I get further east. Its not what I came to see. That’s why I didn’t stop a Dover castle before I shipped to Calais . Every decision I agonize over. Its impossible to elliminate uncertainty from my life I read once Albert Eonstine had 7 suits all the same because he didn’t want to waste his brain power on thinking what to wear, I deliberate over weather I should wear jeans under my bike trousers today ,where I should stop to eat my bun I stole from the buffet breakfast and every other choice I have to make. Like should I spend one more night in Poland or go into the Ukraine . suddenly finding my self in a massive queue I realized that decision was made for me. I had run out of Poland and with the smell of sausage still on my breath I started to negotiate my way over the crossing. drivers kept telling me to just go to the front on my bike. So I did it was just as the sun decided to be its hottest and shiniest since I left and I stood in my bike gear (thankfully with out my jeans underneath) and sweated my way out of poland and into the ukraine it was going ok and I was just pulling away from a customs booth when there was a screech of tyres and crunch of metal. I looked behind, someone had got out of their car with the engine running and still in gear it rammed into the car in front and pushed the next car 20 foot forward right where I had been balancing my bike 5 seconds before. Phew, the entry into ukraine was going ok until the customes official tried to pronounce my post code. Bless him. Then we had to wait by the barrier ,why? Lunch time? Army search? No because they had just painted a new white line and we all sat watching paint dry before we could drive over it.

And what a line it was the other side of it is a very different world. The cyllic alphabet so I cant read any signs at all, there are horse and carts trundeling along next to massive sacania trucks. Workers in the fields with sythes and the roads have deteriorated even more although the driving standards have improved dramatically. Its so exciting to to have transported my self into such a different country. Its exhilarating and also very scary. I rode into L’viv looking for a hotel. I found my self right in the city centre and the traffic was awful because I didn’t realize I have gained another hour and it was rush hour. The pavements were full of beautiful women and the roads were full of ugly vehicles . then with an over heating bike and no idea at all what any sign said the roads turned to uneven cobble stones and just to really fuck with me they threw in some tram lines oh yes the motorcycle wheels fit in there perfect, well the front does. Shit. So I head out of town in some direction or other, I would like to go back in, it was beautiful architecture and fountains and parks and so many pedestrians. But I found a hotel out of town and been lent a lap top I am writing this on in my room and as I have been writing a band has set up below I kept looking up from my typing as another amp was dragged up. Thinking oh shit its right under my window but its really good, bass guitar, squeeze organ and a drum and its all kind of folky like unkrain traditional (I would imagine) music and no singing, so that s all for now ive seen food and road kill I cant recognize,I signs I cant read, I met people who have bought me beer and taken photos of me . just this morning a guy out side the hotel was loitering about and then took a photo of me on his phone and then showed it to me and then all the other ones he had taken of my bike ‘yeah I know, I do it all time’ its great having monklet with me too, he sits on the back tyre and people look and smile and monklet always smiles back he always smiles, no matter how cold and wet it is, how bad the exchange rate or how bumpy the roads are or how bad the drivers are, how impossible the communications are, no matter how uncomfortable ya helmet becomes. monklet always smiles and I’m trying to learn from him how I can do that too.

Look this is a forign language computer and im not about to risk loosing all this, but pressing spell check. So love it or leave it, its is what it is.

Love flid