Blog 6.
Amazing people, tough terrain.
Thur July 24^th.

The next morning, we arose to find eggs and tea/coffee on the table for us and that Igor had taken a sickday from work.

They were disappointed we were leaving early…well not that early.

Today, we encountered some very enjoyable trails, punctuated by more rivers.

One very wide but, for the most part, shallow river meant that we had to cross it in stages from island to island. It took longer to find a route than to cross it. This was the sort of dealing with the obstacles trail riding I expected and enjoyed.

The next river we arrived at was, however, way too deep.
We could hear work going on close by. Gary disappeared and returned in the passenger seat of a huge Kamaz 6 wheel drive truck with a crane on it. As Ned said…”a fair man for the auld lingo”.

The bikes were hoisted aboard and across we went. Gary complained about being thrown about in the cab as we crossed. He should have been in the back, trying and failing to keep the bikes apart.

Around early afternoon, we stopped at a shop in a tiny village to buy our now usual lunch of processed meat, cheese, sometimes bread and tea/coffee.

In most places we stop, we’re treated like celebrities (well, maybe curiosities). This was no different.

A lady from the shop asked me how many of us there were. I told her three.

Every “character” in the village who’d already clearly indulged in the Russian tradition came out to chat.
The lady from the shop told us we’d be staying overnight. We insisted not as it was too early in the day. One guy disappeared and returned with about half a dozen smoked fish. Another lady appeared with a bag of berries. We weren’t allowed leave them behind, despite our protestations that we had no space.

We escaped and came to a long section of fast trail, leading to a tarmac road. Though the surface was good, it undulated more than any bog road I’ve been on in Ireland. (not a problem for Gary)

My bike, which has been flawless until now, was refusing to idle. I tried adjusting the idle screw, checked that the air filter wasn't blocked and drained the carb, all to no avail.

We arrived in Novyurgal after 10 p.m. Gary was adamant that he would negotiate accommodation for us, not wanting to camp. Some guys in a car indicated that we should follow them and raced away, Gary following, then Kev.

I was facing the wrong way and had my helmet off. By the time I was moving, Gary was out of sight but Kev was waiting. When he saw that I’d seen him he headed after Gary.

Having lost his tail light cluster on day one and with my lights caked in mud, I didn’t see him turn left and headed to the edge of town.
Now completely lost, I returned to the last place I’d seen Kev and in time, he returned for me.

The guys had led Gary to the railway station, where there were rooms but we couldn’t get in.

As well as Gary wanting not to camp, his team at work had arranged for painkilling injections at the hospital in a town 35 kms behind us.
Gary wanted to head there, where there was also an hotel.

Going backwards along a dreadful road to arrive at midnight, where there may or may not be a room didn’t appeal to Kev or I. There was a little tension and the compromise was that we camped next to a petrol station and Gary got up early the next morning and went back for the painkillers.

Fri 25^th July.

We got up to a misty morning, packed up and headed for breakfast. We joked about last night’s awkwardness and all was forgotten.

I’d long since given up on the idea of ending each day with dry feet. By now, I’d also given up on starting a day with dry feet. As perfectly waterproof as the Sidi Adventure boots and Sealskin socks are, when you’re wading through rivers, the water gets in and overnight drying just does not happen.

We filled the bikes with fuel. I had done 484 kms on 23 litres, indicating 60 m.p.g. and a potential range of 550 kms.

Gary’s bike kept stalling as on previous days. Kev had been thinking about it, having noticed previously that the HT lead was at one point very close to the frame and wondered if, when wet, electricity was arcing to the frame. He moved the lead and, while not eliminating the problem, it improved the situation hugely.

Kev’s mechanical knowledge and experience, together with his strength when needed have proven essential on this trip.

More deep puddles ensued for the morning. We arrived at another impossible river, luckily around the same time as another guy in a 6 wheel drive drive truck, though with a box body on it this time, he could take only one bike at a time.

While Kev and Gary went across with the first bike, I unloaded the other two. During this, I scratched my scalp and removed what looked like a tick from my hair. I don’t think it had attached itself yet as it came away so easily.

When the lads returned, Gary was laughing heartily. Turning in a tight spot on the other side, the driver had reversed the back two wheels over a cliff and Kev, who has a fear of heights, was certain they were going over.
While riding earlier, it had dawned on me that my idling problem started when our bikes were being knocked against each other on a similar crossing yesterday, when my left hand controls were pulled away from the handlebars.
While the luggage was off, I lifted the seat and tank, a 2 bolt job on the 640, to find that the choke cable was unseated. 15 minutes, problem solved. Yeehaw!

Later again, we arrived at another impassable river and decided to ride across the railway bridge. I recorded two failed attempts at climbing the bank up to the rail and forgot to turn the camera on for my third, successful attempt. The others got up the first time but that’s only because I’d marked the best line. (well, that’s my excuse)

When we got to Etirken, our target for that evening, Gary spoke to a few guys in a jeep and a few minutes later, one of them, Ivor, led us to his flat and handed us the key.

You may remember me saying that Alexander’s flat 10 or so days ago wasn’t palatial. Well, by comparison with this, it was. However, generous hospitality had been offered and we weren’t going to reject it.

We threw our mattresses on the floor and went for food. This town seemed to have virtually no mosquitoes but it certainly wasn’t devoid of pests.

One guy wanted me to take his 500cc 2 stroke single for a spin, as it was such a good bike. Not wanting to return the favour, mainly for safety reasons, I declined. He invited himself into the flat. We said we were tired and needed to sleep. He knocked on the door a couple of hours later, having arranged benzine for us and wasn’t pleased when we didn’t follow him, having gotten the wrong impression earlier that we needed petrol that night.

It was a night for mistaken impressions as Ivor returned at 10.30 with beer for us, ready to party. As we were already getting into our sleeping bags, he said that he’d gotten a different impression earlier and he left.
We don’t know where he stayed but it wasn’t in his own flat.

Sat 26^th. July.

Ivor called at 8.30, seeming kind of anxious that we’d leave. We offered him breakfast from what was left over from last night.

He said we could do that in the Fire Station. He opened one of the beers we’d bought for him last night and he led us, bottle in hand, to his workplace, the fire station.

It transpired that his parents had put Walter Colbach up in the station house 5 years ago.

We chatted, had some of our dried meals for breakfast, took photos and left.

We were told we wouldn’t get any further, due to a bridge having burned down a few years ago. We headed on, having been told a few occasions already that each next section would be impossible.

Not long later, Kev got wire wrapped around his back wheel and while leaving from this stop, I rolled back into a rut with a rock in it. Unable to get out, I changed direction, made some progress but dropped the bike in the process.
Kev came back and we got it out.

During this time, Gary had been speaking to a railway worker about getting onto a railway bridge to avoid another impassable river, where the aforementioned washed away bridge had been.

He said he couldn't let us and that we’d be stuck on the other side anyway.

He did offer to come down to the river to help after the next train passed and, sure enough, delivered on his promise.

He arrived with a chainsaw and we set about making a 2.5 by 1.5 metre raft. Unfortunately, we hadn’t yet bought the inner tubes we’d planned to use for such a crossing and we certainly weren’t going to go back looking for some. We put our airbeds under a tarp, under the raft and floated Kev’s bike across with a line extended from either bank.

My bike being substantially heavier, fighting the current became more difficult and the raft nearly sank but we got it across. In this process, one of the airbeds got punctured.

To add buoyancy, the lads inflated a bike inner tube. This floated away as Gary’s bike was being brought across and again, the raft dipped so far into the water that his bike went worryingly under the water.
We got it across but the other two airbeds were now punctured.

Just in case, after draining my airbox, I turned the bike over a few turns with the decompression lever pulled, then without and it started but wouldn’t rev. I drained the carb and all was well.

Gary’s wasn’t as lucky. Some lights didn’t work on his dash and he jabbed the starter to see if anything would happen. We became concerned that he may have done some serious damage due to the bike being hydro-locked.

Kev’s backup in situations like this is Martin Whittering. He went to the top of the hill up from the river, looking for reception, to no avail.

It was decided that Kev and I would go as far as necessary to get reception and return. As we left, Gary said that if that was some distance and we couldn’t get back that evening, he understood. It was 6 p.m. already.

As it turned out, we had to go as far as Isa, about 40 kms away. This was possibly the most horrible piece of track we’d encountered to date. The puddles were long, mucky and, for the first time, covered in a manky slime. Checking for depth in one of these, I was surrounded by the buzz of horseflies, big enough to swallow a horse, swarming around me.

In another of these, I got steel wire wrapped around my rear wheel. This terrain is horrible. We decided to ride up onto the railway trackside for 3 kms or so. We ended up being up there for 10 to 15 kms. Remembering the first two days, I dreaded this but this time the sleepers were wooden, therefore flat and in time I got my rhythm and ended up doing most of it in third gear at about 40kph. In this time, no train thankfully came from behind. We did have to pull in to avoid one coming against us. Coming against us, we can see it some distance away and pick a suitable place.

We landed in Isa, a far nicer town than most we’ve seen to date, around 8 p.m. Having traveled much further from Gary than we’d planned to and still at a loss as to what to do next, we were a little dejected. We went into a shop, asked in broken Russian if we could hire a truck to retrieve Gary and his bike but to no avail. As we sat outside, drinking coffee (Gary Who?), a 6 wheel drive tipper truck drove around the back of the shop. At the same time, a guy, Sacha, with some English came over to chat about the bikes and his Suzuki KingQuad 750. We explained our situation and that a truck like that one over there would be ideal. Did he know the driver?

As it happened, the driver, Andrei, reemerged from his flat, heading in our direction. The lads chatted, Andrei indicating that he was carrying a bowl of meat, planning a barbeque and continued across to his dacha (a separate garden).  
Ok, what’s plan B?
2 minutes later, Andrei gestured for us to bring our bikes over to his dacha. He’d called his wife, Margarita and as soon as she arrived, himself, Sacha and one of us would head to rescue Gary.

Having spoken to Martin Whittering, Kev had a few ideas as to what might be wrong with Gary’s bike so away they went.

I was left to chop wood for the bbq. , Tanya, a friend of Margarita’s, joined us. She had some English but after a while, we ran out of conversation. Her lovely 7 year old daughter joined us for a short while, then they left.

Margarita, a fantastic hostess, seemed more comfortable than I was, in the company of somebody with none of her own language.

After a while, she indicated that she was heading to get milk and I offered to carry the can, hoping we’d be heading to a shop where I could buy some drink as a gesture of appreciation.

We went to a private house instead and on the way back were joined by another beautiful Tanya, who has very good English, having studied it for the last 10 years. This Tanya was only 16 but turned out over the next day and a half to be fantastic. She became our translator, helper and friend in this short time. If anybody googling Tanya Kurbanova comes across this blog and can help her with her ambitions in journalism or diplomacy, please do. You will not be making a mistake. She is as personable, pleasant, intelligent and helpful a person as you could meet.

Now, Margarita and I, with Tanya’s help, were able to communicate. Margarita and Andrei proved to be fantastic, selfless hosts while we were in Isa and I can’t thank them enough.

Unfortunately though, even the 6 wheel drive wasn’t able to make it back to Gary. They got to within 7 kms of him and had to turn back, arriving at the dacha around 11. We ate, drank and were treated to the use of Sacha’s bania for a very welcome shower and sauna.

The plan was already in place to head out on the quad the next morning, Sacha confident he’d make it all the way.
I stayed with Andrei and Margarita that night in their lovely flat and Kev stayed, as comfortably, with Sacha and his family.

Gary, however, slept where we’d left him, not knowing where we were or even if something might have happened to us. He’d set up the three tents in case we returned but ended up using the three flat mattresses in a failed attempt to get some comfort.

He’d managed to get the bike going around 8 p.m., coincidentally the same time that we were arriving in Isa, through pulling every electrical connection apart and drying them but wasn’t going out alone in the dark.

He packed everything up the next morning, stowed our gear and decided that if we hadn’t returned by noon, he’d have to try and follow us.

Sun 27^th July.

At 11.45, the cavalry arrived by quad to the melancholy Laoisman. Kev described an horrific journey there on the mudguard of the quad.

Gary very happy to see Sasha

Kev, being far more capable than the injured Gary, rode Gary's bike back while Gary rode on the quad, now far more comfortable with all our gear strapped to it. Even with all it’s go anywhere ability, the quad had to be extricated a few times from the marshy terrain by winch.

I spent the morning and early afternoon updating the last blog posting and enjoying a lovely breakfast and lunch with Andrei and Margarita.

Around mid afternoon, I was summoned with great excitement. The lads were back.

As we’d expected Gary’s bike to be immobile, Andrei and Sacha had already arranged for a truck to transport it to where it could be fixed. It was decided, though now running, to stick with the plan and to save Gary’s knees, at least tomorrow, so the bike was loaded.

I brought both Margarita and Tanya for a spin on the back of my bike. Margarita pointed to an eagle flying above us as we rode along. We collected a guitar from Tanya’s house on the way back and the party started. It was madness to party as we did, ahead of the track ahead of us the next day but, given the generosity of the help and hospitality and the positive outcome, not partying wasn’t even considered.

The three of us fell into the building in Andrei and Margarita’s dasha for our final night in Isa, a town we will always remember in the most positive way possible.

Monday 28^th.

Margarita and Tanya woke us around 7.30, ahead of Gary’s scheduled 8 a.m. departure in the truck. Tanya had only had two hours sleep. She had stayed up most of the night, braiding the name “Isa, Russia” into 3 bracelets for us, a memento we all value highly. It was an emotional departure, leaving these great people and their wonderful town.

We certainly hope our hosts, Tanya especially who has no reason not to, take us up on our sincere offer to return their hospitality in Ireland.

Kev and I left, a little tired from last night’s celebrations, for what we were told would be a wet trail. No problem. It was warm, so wet would cool things a bit.

Wrong, wet quickly turned out to mean more puddles. These puddles, however, had thick grippy, sticky mud in the bottom. I’d swear you could make pottery out of this black mud without a potters wheel, if you liked black pottery.

No sidestand needed. The mud holding Kev's bike upright.

Very early on, Kev’s bike stalled and refused to start in one such a puddle. He took the panels and tank off to take the injector out, then noticed that there was no fuel coming through. It was a simple connection separated on a fuel line and didn’t require the stripdown. To add to the frustration, a jubilee clip bent out of shape and we wasted half an hour trying to seat it before taking it out altogether to reshape it. In the heat and with last night taken into account, we could do without these pointless frustrations.

Anyway, away we went. Well, for about 30 seconds, to the second next puddle where Kev’s bike wedged itself in mud, toppled left, and fully submerged itself.

A language, neither English or Russian, filled the air.

Gary, in the truck with his bike, a driver and another passenger were shadowing us now. Gary took out the quadcopter and got some good, if unfortunate, footage.

By now, I’d lost one glove and soon, I’d lose one knee pad.
This was one miserable day, struggling with puddle after puddle. Most were rideable at the edge. Sometimes, however, these edges were ledges and slipping off them meant landing in up to two and a half feet of water. It meant that a lot of them had to be walked first and that alone was tiring, as well as frustrating. My bike started the idling problem again. This and the heavy clutch due to the first day’s break made for heavy going.

It was a hot day and the water was amazingly warm.

Eventually the mud became a lesser feature, the puddles less frequent but then the sky turned dark and thunder heralded miserable steady rain.

We ended up travelling at a reasonable pace for about 80 kms in this, arriving totally wet, cold and miserable at the only hotel in Favrausk. This was nearly as miserable as we were but was very welcome, nonetheless.

Victor showed us to the only two rooms in this, the only hotel in town. He then drove us into town to get phone credit and cash. Did we want food? Yes? Ok, food was produced. Not a menu, but food. Luckily, it wasn’t anything we objected to.

Having noticed that we were now off the bikes and settled, the weather knew it was time to become pleasant again.

Favraust sits on a wide river, one we knew would be a problem crossing. Victor drove us down to it. Wide, deep and crossed by a railway bridge with armed guards, it was beginning to look like our only option was to take the train to the next station, 80 kms past the river, something we didn’t want to do.
Where there's no road bridge across a river, we'll use the railway bridge. Where there's no track, we'll ride on the railway but going that far when there was a track was a concept contrary to our objective.

Victor’s son , Denis, said he’d make some phone calls to see what could be done.

Before retiring, I went to get something from the bike but had to abandon it as the mozzies started to dine on me. 
During the night, we had thunder, not all of it emanating from Kev.