With East In Mind

The weather outside the morning after my late arrival into Bayankhongor was brutally ugly. Mongolia receives something like 270 days of sunshine a year, but on my seventh day I still hadn’t counted a single decent one yet. Precisely when I needed a break for the soul, I got clouds and drizzle. After doing a load of wash in the sink, I made my way to the container market with two objectives in mind. First get a handle on my transportation options out of town, and then find a pair of black leather Mongolian boots that fit. I felt after the previous leg I’d earned the right to wear them. I found the boots and I found a van heading to Arvaikheer at 2pm. The idea of getting back in another Furgon so soon went down as smoothly as a warm glass of nails, but I reasoned the faster I got to the warm center of the country the sooner life and my spirits would turn around. The van was said to leave at 2pm and I still had to run back to the hotel, pack, grab money, and pay for my boots. It was 1:15.

I hustled back to the hotel and was about to walk into the lobby when a most beautiful sight caught my attention across the street: two giant enduro motorbikes complete with all the trimmings. I sprinted after them like a chubby kid to a Mr. Ice Cream truck and bombarded them with questions. The two bikers and two drivers of the accompanying SUV had just rolled into town and were looking for a hotel. I told them the Hotel Seoul was the best in town (which means nothing) and ran off to address my list. Back in my room however I caught myself and took a seat on the bed’s edge. I started talking out loud and something like the following dribbled out: four guys your own age from Switzerland riding motorbikes around the world just arrived into town and you’re going to get back in another van and leave? What are you insane? With that I downshifted myself comfortably into 1^st gear and lazily made my way toward the market. I wasn’t going anywhere that day.

With my new used boots in hand I walked back into the hotel an hour later and enjoyed proper introductions with Markus, Markus, Markus, and Peter, four friends from Switzerland riding east around the globe to New York over a six month period. As you can imagine I immediately developed a serious man crush on this friendly group of fellows. With their world map laid out on my bed they walked me through their journey thus far: Switzerland à Austria à Hungary à Ukraine à Russia à Kazakhstan à Russia à Mongolia. They will continue east to Russia and ship the vehicles across the Pacific to Alaska, Canada, or Seattle before eventually making their way to New York City in late August.

We spent the remainder of the afternoon and earlier evening knocking back bottles of Mongolian lager, trading stories from the road, and laughing aggressively. They talked about the corrupt police in Ukraine and the beautiful women of Barnaul, Russia, and I of riding a bike through India and the beautiful women of Tomsk. It was safe to say we hit it off and then some. As our dinner in the VIP room of the town’s best restaurant (which means nothing) was coming to a close the boys presented me an offer. It technically was an offer, but what they had no possible way of knowing was that their offer was perhaps the single greatest wish I could have asked for in Mongolia.

If on my first day in Mongolia you asked me what my ultimate dream day would consist of I promise you I would have said something about riding a motorbike across the steppe under a blue sky with great friends. With Markus and Markus able to transport my backpack in their customized two-seater Landcruiser, the group extended me an offer to join them and ride on the back of Peter’s 700lb African Twin Honda the 230km to Arvaikheer. I smiled, laughed, and said absolutely.

Day 250

I don’t know if it was the excitement of what lay ahead or the four glasses of Mongolian sink water I drank, but I was wide awake and alert at 4:30am the morning of Tuesday May 18^th. Up until that day I hadn’t shot a lot of what I considered to be compelling footage. The weather had been grim, the landscape hadn’t been photogenic, and I wasn’t accumulating much in the way of strong material. As I lay in bed that morning I thought through how I wanted to shoot and document the epic day ahead. At 6:30am I walked out of the hotel to get some still shots of the vehicles and as if Mother Nature herself was in on my fantasy day, there was not a single cloud in the sky. Everything was coming together perfectly.

Peter and Markus had been riding bikes for twenty years and had recently taken their Hondas to Morocco and back. I would not be wearing a helmet but it was risk I was prepared to take. By 10:30am we had left Bayankhongor behind and were riding through landscape that was changing before our eyes. Disappearing were the rocky arid deserts the five of us had crossed until now, welcomingly replaced by slightly greener landscapes. Blue skies and beautiful empty space, this was finally the Mongolian dream we had all come for.

Face and hair blasted by warm air and skin cooking under the strong sun, my feeling from the back of Peter’s bike was nothing short of pure exhilaration and bliss. I kept thinking about all the little things that had to happen just right for this moment to exist, and I couldn’t help but think that someone or something out there was helping to pull the strings and orchestrate this dream come true. A manventure day for the ages. I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves.

(7:14am: Morning glory.)

(9:51am: Markus was the recipient of the Wesley Hays Award for being the most photographed and filmed man of the day (of all the photos I’ve taken in my life, Wes is somehow featured in 60% of them).

(10:31am: I crossed the river dry from shotgun of the Landcruiser.)

(11:05am: When a Furgon van threw up a dust trail in the distance I could only smile at my vehicle upgrade.)

(11:49am: When the paper and GPS maps both fail, you resort to the old fashion method of knocking on a local’s door and asking for directions.)

(12:14pm: When the GPS says turn left, you turn left.)

(1:54pm: When it’s time for lunch you find a scenic spot and pull over.)

(3:41pm: You never know who you’ll meet on the road. Frenchman Hubert had been riding a sidecar around the world for six years. He has four left.)

(5:24pm: One more for the collection.)

(5:35pm: A great relief for all, the paved road to Ulaanbaatar.)

To the generous and legendary boys of With East In Mind.

Thank you for the gift.

See you in New York.

Godspeed.

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