Day 49: The Day of the Bathtub Bathing

Sunday 4th September

The washboard roads of the remote Mongolian steppe continued into Day 49 with ruthless persistence. It was like a session of legs, bums and tums with Josie Jump. No need for the bacon slicer when we get home, the vibrations shook all cellulite from our muffin-top love handles. At lunch we stopped at a picturesque spot in the middle of nowhere and enjoyed the predictable pasta, salami and tomato sauce meal. Shortly after gobbling down our favourite dish ever, the familiar hum of battered up small engine tin cans greeted our ears. Over the brow of the hill thundered 3 more rally teams, 33% of which still had bumpers intact. After a brief exchange of niceties and an interview for the official Mongol Rally press, they continued on their way.

Eyeing up the relatively sandy track conditions for some potential sand boarding, the readily constructed towing rope was unfurled and Rich took up his position. With Alf in the bathtub and Caleb on the gears we attempted the board slide. Was Rich’s dream of gliding through Mongolia on a truck-less skateboard about to come true? No, no it wasn’t. 

The ground turned out to have more friction than Nigel Farage in a Polish barbers. It was like trying to knee slide in marmite. Feeling slightly deflated, we packed up the board and hoped for more sandy conditions further on. However, just before leaving the lunch stop Marigold was eager to join in the frivolous fun. Whilst all three of us were bonnet surfing on the exterior of the car, Marigold, who was tugging at the leash, suddenly burst into life and drove across the steppe land all by herself. With that level of telepathy we knew that from here on Team Rub-a-Dub-Dub was one immovable entity.

We had our very own queen but it was now time for an eligible king to sit beside her on the throne. As the flag of St. George was ceremonially raised to full mast, Bathtub Bilbo was unpacked to make way for Marigold’s first king, Alexander, to ride in the royal chariot. Choruses of Jerusalem and Land of Hope and Glory rang out across the steppe as King Alexander acknowledged the baying masses of sheep and horses beneath him. Marigold’s other entitled bachelors, Richard and Caleb, also took it in turns to ride in the royal carriage vying for her approval. In the end, Marigold couldn’t decide who was the fairest of them all and we returned to her side. By this point we were miles behind the rest of the convoy thanks to our exuberant antics so we endeavoured to catch up.

By early evening we had steered through miles of rippling dirt tracks to the large town of Bayakhongor. Once there we fuelled up, bought water and headed off to a secluded camping spot just outside the town. 

Posted by: Rich

Day 48: The Day of the Horse Milk Vodka

Saturday 3rd September

Up until this point we had relished the challenge of navigating such terrible roads and actually quite enjoyed taking our Micra off-road. However, Day 48 was where our romance with Mongolia’s diabolical roadways was severely tested. Heading west towards the large town of Bayankhongor, Marigold’s weary tyres shuddered over a relentless washboard surface. Shaking like a brick in a washing machine, we were now yodelling conversation to each other. Much to our astonishment, Marigold and Bathtub Bilbo appeared to remain completely intact. Even Monty and Mandy, our very much in love Mr and Mrs mudguard, who had been hanging off since Goodwood were still clinging on for dear life. It just goes to show, love is the strongest bond. Nothing can break it, not even mud.

Despite the poor roads, the vast magnificent steppe made up for it. As the barren slopes rose up before us, hordes of horse-mounted warriors riding down from the Mongolian plateau were imprinted in our imagination. Three dramatic waves of Mongolian empire – Hun, Turk and finally Mongol – advanced across these very steppes centuries ago, conquering everything in their path. The Mongols, led by Chinggis Khan, achieved a unique spot in the world’s imagination as perhaps the most influential tribe in Mongolia’s rich history. Merciless in battle, the ‘Children of the Golden Light’ conquered the greatest armies of the era and subdued hundreds of millions of people. Under their great lawgiver leader they shaped what we now know as Mongolia today.

Wild horses

Reminiscent of the fierce combat played out during 3 historic eras before us, the convoy battled to collect firewood and assert their dominance over the steppe. An initial skirmish broke out between Isaac, or Gosling-gis Khan, in the Kenari and Turk tribe descendant Will-ge Khan in the Agila. At the sound of the la cucaracha battle horn, Alf-tilla the Hun and his bath-tub mounted archers led a cavalry charge across the steppe and into the fray. An out and out bloodbath ensued until total supremacy reigned. The atrocities committed that day on September 3^rd 2016 will forever be remembered as Car Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Bark.   

We reached the small rural village of Buutsagaan, re-stocked our water supply and gained directions to the next town from the drunk village idiot. Thankfully there was one road in and one road out so we had a 50% chance he’d be right. Barely a kilometre out of civilisation and we were alone again in the steppe. Apart from the occasional collection of wild horses and camels, the beige-tinted grasslands and vibrant blue skies were all that was in front of us. Given the sort of calibre many of our camping spots had exhibited so far, standards were high. As sunset neared we located a suitable spot beyond a small crest and pitched up.

Just off in the distance Rich and Caleb located a lone horse that was saddled up and ready to go. Rich vaguely recalled watching Bear Grylls give tips on how to mount a wild horse and suggested they head over to have a go. Not convinced but intrigued all the same, Caleb joined him and the pair strolled over to the seemingly owner-less horse. Not backing their horse-riding abilities or Rich’s vague memory, they decided to pet the horse instead remembering how the game of Buck-a-roo ends. As they turned around to head back to camp a Mongolian local was visibly striding over the hill towards them. When he wandered over, a highly intelligent and stimulating charade conversation ensued ending in “no you can’t ride my horse”.

Trying to tame (and ultimately ride) a horse

Halfway through dinner we were joined by the same local accompanied by his brother who had just ambled over from their yurt the other side of the hill. They came bearing a large 1.5L water bottle of white liquid - obviously some kind of home brew. Speaking no English at all, it was the Mongolian phrase book’s moment to shine. We all sat around a roaring fire and tried to converse through the pocket sized booklet. First question, “what on earth is that white liquid you have brought with you?” to which they replied with horse milk vodka, or Arak in Mongolian. In exchange we offered them some cold pasta, Russian vodka and broke their marshmallow toasting virginity.

Trying to ask the Mongolians all the important questions ....

Since early on in Mongolia, Team Rub-a-Dub-Dub have been engrossed in a heated debate in search of an answer to the question: how long does one large goat feed a Mongolian family of 4. Not content with how broad the question’s phrasing was, certain constraints were imposed. We agreed that the meat is to be consumed everyday for lunch and dinner, and that suitable preservation techniques will be adopted to prevent the goat surpassing its best before date. The guesses were as follows:

                                                Alf:       4 weeks

                                                Rich:    1 week

                                                Caleb:  5 days

Determined to obtain an answer, Alf set about trying to describe the question to the curious Mongolians. Although he persevered well, it was like asking Prince George to explain Hubble’s Law of Cosmic Expansion. About an hour later and after witnessing a laughably disjointed conversation, the older brother was ready to give his verdict. Apparently, 1 goat lasts 2 weeks. He then went on to say that he owns 563 of them. That’s 22 years of goat lasagne for him and his family.

As we continued to burn all the wood we had fiercely contested for earlier that day the elder brother caught site of what we were burning. They turned out to be small way markers that were hammered in to the ground to trace out where the road was due to be built. Utter dismay was etched across his face when he realised we had just significantly delayed the laying of a tarmac road right up to his yurt. He snatched the phrase book and began to spell out “I only just received planning permission for that” but was interrupted by his younger, slightly more drunk brother. He saw the funny side and started tossing more wood on the fire himself. Confused by which one to believe, we found the Mongolian word for “sorreh” and continued to toast our marshmallows.

Seeking revenge for ruining his planned driveway and diminishing his yurt’s house price, the elder brother challenged Caleb to a Mongolian wrestle. Railroaded by the rest of the convoy, he didn’t really have an option but to take him up on the offer. What proceeded was the Mongolian edition of WWE Midnight Raw between Caleb ‘John Cena’ Murray and Bazarsad the ‘Village Eagle’ of the steppe. After a cagey opening round dominated by stalemate grappling, the Village Eagle upended Caleb and floored him flat on his back just as a loud trouser rip could be heard all down his leg. Tag teammate Alf ‘The Undertaker’ then entered the arena to claim back some pride for Team Rub-a-Dub-Dub. Different tactic, same treatment.

The now slightly wobbly younger brother continued to hurl more and more wood onto the fire in an excitable fashion. We soon found out why. The horse milk vodka that they had kindly offered us was only 3% whereas our slightly stronger Russian vodka was more like 40%. We had served him scotch bonnets when he was used to garlic mayo. When they retired back to their yurt we extinguished the fire, kissed each other goodnight and climbed into bed. Barely an hour later the now sloshed younger Mongolian returned to our camp on his motorbike in an attempt to re-kindle the party. Camp hero Caleb stepped up and sat him down for a deep meaningful chat whilst everyone else remained cocooned in their sleeping bags. The broken conversation descended into neanderthalic grunting until Caleb managed to coerce him back onto his motorbike. Nearly popping a wheelie straight into our tents, the merry Mongolian eventually sped off into the darkness bringing a bizarre end to what was an action packed day.

Posted by: Rich

Day 47: The Day We Just Followed the Pylons

Friday 2nd September

Departing from our camping spot on the outskirts of Khovd, we set our sights on the city of Altai, 450 kilometres away. Long stretches of beautiful tarmac deteriorated after lunch to much more difficult terrain. It was fair to say Simon Sump took an absolute pounding this day as we tried to negotiate over rocky grasslands, washboard roads and undulating sandy tracks. Navigating through the remote surroundings proved to be tough given how many pathways had been forged by travellers in the past. Thankfully, long stretches of electricity pylons led us to the nearest settlements. Apart from these landmarks there was very little sign of life. The dry, desert-like grasslands either side of the road did not nurture much wildlife apart from beaver-type animals and camels. As our lonely planet guide informed us, Mongolia is the least densely populated country in the world with only 2 people per square kilometre.   

We hit a bit of a snag on the roads

With Mongolia’s infrastructure experiencing a mild boom at the moment, tarmac roads are being built left right and centre. Frustratingly for us, large immovable piles of earth block off the seemingly completed roads. For long distances we were forced to drive parallel to this pristine surface on slaloming dirt track filth. It was like dangling the softest, moistest carrot cake in front of a donkey. Marigold was beside herself with anguish, being able to see the gates to heaven but knowing you are firmly shackled in a washboard hell. All of a sudden the driving surface went proper off-road. Faint tyre tracks leading into an expanse of deep sand lay ahead of us. From here on it was windows up, air vents closed and full power to the front wheels! Amazingly, Team Honeymoon were the only ones to beach themselves - nothing a quick push can’t sort out.

As the setting sun washed an orange glow over the surrounding landscape there was to be one last spark of excitement. Whilst battling with the sandy conditions, Will re-ignited the on-going convoy mutiny and lobbed an egg at Team Thunderbirds. Rather than splatter mercilessly across the Kenari’s windscreen, by some dark sorcery it somehow landed in the clutches of Hockey’s elbow completely intact. Leaping to his feet he quickly turned the tides on his aggressor and darted for a now exposed, defenceless Will. As the Agila’s windows were frantically wound up Hockey, a usually reserved calm fellow, approached them with the face of pure possessed evil. In a sudden rush of rage he launched the egg straight back at Will who’s partially closed window could not prevent the cold wet slime from slapping him in the face. An event of tectonic historical significance, Car Wars Episode IV: A New Yoke will always be remembered as Hockey’s redemption.

It was much more civilised around dinner outside Altai as once more we sat accompanied by just the stars. Whilst toasting marshmallows over a roaring fire, Rich received a message on the tracker from rally cult hero Alan Horton in response to the eagle sightings the previous day. The setting was perfect to share some wise words from the big man. This time he had sent us some evocative song lyrics that seemed befitting in our current surroundings. They went as follows:

There’s an eagle, and it keeps on flying

Over mountains capped with white snow

In green valleys lonesome people trying so hard

To tell each other what they think they know

With greedy hands they take each other’s money

Just to buy back each other’s pain

In this land of flowing milk and honey

They wonder thirsty in the rain

Lovely. 

Toasting marshmallows

Posted by: Rich

Day 46: The Day of the Drag Race

Thursday 1st September

Leaving Ulgii southeast towards Khovd, we encountered our first Mongolian toll road. For 50 cents we were treated to a road with smaller, more frequent potholes that was no better for our suspension. It was like rotating one of those 4 sided cheese graters from the cheddar slicing side to the lemon zesting side. The road however did give us our first glimpse of the picture book scenery that embodies Mongolia’s natural beauty. Striking ridges, snow topped mountains, sweeping lakes and the odd distant yurt peppered the otherwise desolate landscape. One single road unfurled itself into the distance out of sight. The only disturbance great enough to pierce our tranquil surroundings was the dust trail left behind in the wake of each rally car. As the cloud of dust descended and settled back on the ground, no trace of our passing was visible and serenity was restored. Totally alone in the wilderness, this was the rally!

The further we ventured away from the border, the more extraordinary the wildlife became. Flocks of sheep and goats evolved into herds of yaks and then into packs of wild horses. As nomadic dwellers also became more ever-present it felt like an almost progressive insight into the hunting culture of indigenous Mongolians. Huge eagles soared high above us circling imposingly, flexing their majestic feathered torsos. We were lucky enough to stumble across a large rocky outcrop where a number of eagle nests were housed. At the foot of the rock the most magnificent sight greeted us – at least 30 eagles feasting on a dead yak.

Just over the nearby hill we came across two Mongolian lads who offered us to hold their own hunting eagle. Naturally we all jumped at the chance. Slipping on the glove one by one, the bird of prey had astonishing grip strength in its talons. As we each lifted the spectacular creature high up in the air, we caught sight of its immense wingspan. Clutching such a revered bird of prey in wild Mongolia and feeling its vice-like grip around my arm is something I’ll never forget.

Back on the road we encountered several river crossings prompting a thorough channel cross-section analysis. Keen to impress with their GCSE Geography field trip skills, measuring sticks were employed to gauge water depths at various points across the width. In the end, the human body proved to be the best measuring device. Rich waded into one of the river crossings using shins, knees, thighs and his pelvis as passable, you’ll have to send it, the bath tub might make it and definitely end of the rally measuring guides. Much to everyone’s amusement, Marigold’s low front end beached on entry to one of the crossings, scooping up a ton of gravel in Simon Sump. But thankfully the convoy made it across unscathed and we cracked on.

A little further on we came across a perfectly flat, wide and straight stretch of dusty road. Without saying a word, all 4 teams lined up next to each other, stepped out of their respective cars and knew instantly what was about to go down. It was time for a drag race!

Keen to capture this moment from every angle, 9 separate cameras were trained on the ¼ mile race track including 5 GoPros, 2 conventional cameras, 1 iPhone and 1 drone. The whole event was a well-drilled exercise. Chequered flags, driver’s briefing meeting, pit lane interviews and a voluptuous Fast and Furious style race starter chick (Rich) were all part of the spectacle. Check out the edit on our Facebook page, it’s rather epic. Thunderbird 4, ridden by Isaac, was a late entry to the race backing his green electrical power credentials over the dirty petrol guzzling competitors lined up to his right.

 

Lined up at the start

Lights out and away they went. The Agila, driven by Guy, was fastest off the line but he was no match for Marigold who soon drew level. Matt, driving the Wagon-R, showed early promise until a gaping pothole obstructed his lane causing him to swerve violently, losing him precious seconds. Hockey, in the Kenari, had a sluggish start but after engaging DRS late in the race he reclaimed ground and finished strong. Marigold, the pre-race favourite, romped home to a comfortable 2 car length victory, leaving the Agila in 2^nd, the Kenari in 3^rd and the Wagon-R in 4^th place. 

It became clear merely a second into the race that Thunderbird 4, the mobility scooter, was not destined for glory. But it was about more than that. Thunderbird 4 epitomised the people’s champion. Like Eric the Eel in Sydney, a hobbling Derek Redmond at the Barcelona games and the Jamaican bobsleigh team of 1988, he was determined to finish the race. It was a powerful symbol of utmost resolve. The sheer fearlessness exhibited by that battery powered machine set a precedent that one day we will all follow. One day electrical power will rub shoulders and even surpass oil in a greener, more sustainable world. That day we learnt a valuable lesson from Thunderbird 4. It’s a marathon not a sprint. It’s not the mountain in front of you that tires you; it’s the pebble in your shoe.

Reeling from their earlier loss in the drag race, Two and a Half Men instigated another bout of car wars but this time with oranges, bread and anything they could get their hands on. Reciprocating like we always do in a scenario like this, Team Rub a Dub Dub fired back with bin bound Big Bons and a cunningly disguised tomato paste oil slick. As Two and a Half Men lost traction, we seized our time to strike and hurled the contents of our last remaining tomato paste jar all over the Agila’s bodywork. Marigold sped off leaving what looked like a gunshot wound splattered all over their car. With that killer blow the contest was effectively over and we claimed victory in Car Wars Episode VII: The Sauce Awakens. When we re-convened in the nearest town, the scornful daggers exchanged between the two teams spoke volumes. We knew we’d won the battle but the war was far from over. To be continued ….  

For dinner we found a local karaoke hall that doubled up as a restaurant and sat down for a large pan of sizzling beef each. It was an uneasy experience for Alf and Caleb as the last time they had eaten surrounded by flashing disco lights had brought on the rusty rain. Confiding in each other’s strength, they were re-assured by the absence of a stuffed tiger in the corner like there had been in Uzbekistan. Just as they’d fully exhaled a sigh of relief they spotted crates of Tiger beer sat in the corner and jumped in fright. Flashbacks of darker times immediately flew through their minds kick-starting a PTSD induced nervous eye twitch. Was it a sign of things to come? ….

Posted by: Rich