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He dropped to the ground and I ripped our belongings from his hands. This only
enraged the other two who began ordering the third horse to attack.
The commotion went on for half an hour or more. There was nothing we could
do but stand and protect the gear. Eventually, fed up and terribly cold, I began
shouting abuse in Russian and Finnish. They made a final lunge for our tyres and
took off galloping. Chris chased, screaming wildly, until the tyres were dropped
and they rode out of earshot.
Afterwards we had little energy left for talking. The matter wasn't helped by
further convulsions in my bowels. It was going to be a long night.
The following day we continued upwards, covering the first fifty kilometres in
six hours. Several giant eagles followed above, no doubt waiting for me to drop.
Beyond them, I could see the fading jet streams of planes. As we neared the flight
path, I sought an escape in the distant specks in the sky. Where were they flying to,
and from where? Were there passengers flying for the first time? What were they
thinking? Probably they were sitting back with an orange juice and settling in for
sleep. I tempted myself with thoughts of relaxing in the air-conditioned cabin, com-
pletely removed from the bikes. And it wasn't just pure fantasy, was it? In about
two months the bikes would be in a box and we would fly more distance in one day
than we had cycled in more than a year. The ground would pass below effortlessly
as I slept. The specks in the sky represented more than just planes. They were the
mechanism with which I would be whisked away from all this and dumped so ab-
ruptly in another world. Usually, I found myself dreading the thought of Australia,
but in my current state, I found comfort in the idea.
From a high saddle we snaked downhill towards the city that glittered in the
evening light. Ulaan Baatar was a collection of apartment blocks,
ger
tents and
factories, all squeezed into a steep-sided river valley. It had seemed like such an
exotic place for so long. Back in Babushkina people had laughed at the idea of Ch-
ina and Mongolia; now Mongolians laughed in disbelief when we told them of our
starting point. The significance of the moment boosted our morale and we took a
break at the 'Welcome to Ulaan Baatar' sign.
After days of riding on almost car-free roads we found ourselves swept along in
the throng of Ladas and expensive four-wheel drives. A couple of farmers herding
their yaks to market were having trouble keeping them off the road. Drivers tooted
in frustration and fists came waving out of windows.
Everything - from the apartment blocks, the power station and street layout -
were of Soviet design. From a distance it appeared like another Russian city. Yet
