One hot, steamy Florida night, my brother and I, in a moment of adolescent and slightly intoxicated over-exuberance, decided it would be fun to drive his Camaro Z-28 on the local golf course. The absence of roads and signs (except the one that read ‘golf carts only’) and endless grassy hills were the perfect landscape to test the car’s powersliding abilities and its airworthiness. It was quite possibly the most fun I’ve ever had on four wheels. Sadly, the police ended our little fandango just as it was getting interesting, but the experience of grass, hills and absence of roads was euphoric.
Mongolia is a bit like that, but the golf course is four times the size of California with only a tenth the population. The low grass, mowed without cessation by herd after herd of goats, sheep, horses, cattle and yaks, is a mossy blanket draped over firm, undulating ground that stretches to the horizon and infinity. Of course, that’s only partially true. That would be boring, eventually. To interrupt the endless carpet of green, the land is punctuated by jagged rock teeth that shred tyres, mug bogs, sand dunes (the Gobi Desert), steep, switchback rock trails, river after beautiful river, dense forests, epic mountains and the odd volcano. I don’t want to say it’s perfect, but I’ll do it anyway.
Begrudgingly, from a very early age, we learn to tolerate obstacles. Whether stairs, chairs, walls or doorways, we start to understand how we move around in the physical world by navigating around things that constrain our freedom. One of the first realisations that hit you when riding Mongolia is that many of the obstacles we are accustomed to are gone.
Nothing can prepare you for the vastness of this place. It’s only when you roll out of the capital, Ulaanbaatar, that the scale of the landscape permeates your mind. And it is there that our story begins.
The Big G
As with the singularity that started the universe, the inception of the Mongol Empire started with one man: Chinggis Khaan. And before you jump down my throat about the spelling, take one giant step back. That’s how Mongolians spell it.
Herr Khaan did some pretty nasty things but, to be fair, it was the 12th century and dirty deeds were all the rage. But if you put his ruthlessness aside for a moment, he was quite a progressive ruler. He created an empire that spanned from Eastern Europe to the Pacific Ocean that allowed the Silk Road to flourish. He promoted religious tolerance at a time when Christians were still burning infidels on stakes like marshmallows. He was a big fan of meritocracy over nepotism. He created the first postal service that spawned the creation of endless unwanted junk mail. And he created the basis for the rule of law that allowed a more or less civilised society to develop. He is absolutely ubiquitous to the fabric of Mongolian culture, and you never need travel far to find a museum adorned with his name, a bank note emblazoned with his image or a statue portraying him as a demi-god.
All of this reverence for the man and the legend has infused the society with a level of pride that is palpable. The people of Mongolia don’t need skyscrapers or fighter jets to instil national pride. They have the Big G.
The Culinary Experience
If anyone told you they took a trip to Mongolia to experience its culinary delights, that person is a liar. But contrary to the countless (3) stories I heard from friends about the utter wretchedness of the Mongolian food scene, I would say they either a) are delusional or b) their food budget was the coins between the sofa cushions. If you are vegetarian or, even worse, as dreaded vegan, you will indeed have to plan ahead. Yes, you can find meals without meat but prepare yourself for root vegetables and perhaps some pasta. But again, planning is key and most better camps (we only stayed at ‘better’ camps) are aware of the western migration toward vegetarianism and do their best to cater to these needs. If you are fortunate to be a carnivore, you, my friend, are in for a treat. Even the normally discarded fat is delicious and, especially when flushed down with airag (fermented mare’s milks) or a Chinggis vodka, you will not be disappointed. Bone broth soup, yak stew, meaty steamed dumplings, marmot meat cooked in its own stomach: it’s all here so dive right in.
On the Road – Our Route
I recently discussed my Mongolia experience with someone who was thinking of doing it as part of a tour on four wheels, rather than two. I thought about it for a second and had to be honest. Driving (or being driven) in a 4WD on our route would have been quite boring in comparison to riding the Enfields. Of course, when you are on a highway, the excite-o-meter is pretty static either way. But once off road, and this is where you spend a lot of your time, the bike is where the fun is because the surface never stops changing. Settle into a 70 km/h romp down a dirt track while standing way up on the pegs and then a big ‘whoooops!’ as you tankslap over an unseen sand trap and the adrenalin snaps you to 100% attention! In a car…meh. You don’t even feel it.
Our route started, as most do, in the eclectic post-Soviet quirkiness of Ulaanbaatar. Getting there isn’t easy, but that’s your problem to solve! A day or two in the city allows you to start to understand the foundations of what makes this country great.
As we make our way westward, we pass through the wild horse sanctuary of Hustai National Park, then make our way to Ogii Lake where, after 180 km of tarmac, we were treated to 26 km of dirt road was perfection. No sand, no mud, no rocks, no rivers. Just wild horses, goats and eagles flying in fighter escort formation.
From Ogii we rolled west to Tsertserleg and put our offroad tyres to the test. On wide open steppe, the sky massive and blue and filled with light clouds, herds of horses run with us, huge flocks of sheep block our path. The hills are soft, pale green and treeless and the dirt roads often split off in directions leading to another infinity. Freedom!
Waking in Tsertserleg and a proper bed, we are treated to a superb Mongolian breakfast of beef bone broth soup, beef tripe, beef liver and sweet curd with currants. Then we hit the road for Terkhiin Tsagaan, or the White Lake, the most western point reached on our circuitous route. The lake is a great place to give the bikes a day off (we didn’t, but that’s another story) and trek up to the caldera of Mongolia’s biggest volcano, the 1,200-metre wide Khorgo Mountain. A try on horseback to crank up your inner Mongolian cowboy is a great way to explore bikefree time as well.
Next, we headed from Tserterleg to Tsenkher Hot Springs and the first of 25 (!) river crossings. If you have never crossed a river on a motorcycle before, this ride will forge an expert out of you. The trick is never to waver. Pick your line, stare down the face of adversity, twist the throttle, go. Over the next few days, our tyres scarcely touch the tarmac. During a lunch stop at a nomadic settlement with a family who owns 800 horses, we dine in their ger on a meal of noodles and meat washed down with fermented mares’ milk. We closed out our social gathering with these wonderful people with dared glugs of fiery mares’ milk schnapps.
The Impression
In my lifetime, I have managed to leave a trail of empty bottles in 80 countries. 49 of them were breached on a motorcycle of some kind. Some were spectacular, some were diabolical. Out of fear of future visa denials, I will hold my wine-stained tongue on which is which. But I can say without a nanosecond of hesitation, riding through Mongolia was something very different. There was no single, definable attribute that makes it rise to the top like the foam on my beer. It was a confluence of things. The pride and confidence of the people. The Soviet scaring left on its epidermis. The variability and ultimate challenge of the ride terrain. But most of all – and this is coming from someone who spent 25 years in the wide-open spaces of the American West – is the sense of the endlessness of it all and how Mongolians do not seem to dominate but rather symbiotically co-exist with the natural world there. Nomads with herds of semi-wild horses dominate the vast landscape and for the first time in a long time, I found a place in its beautiful natural state.
Mongolia’s wild side is definitely not a Sunday cruise to the pub. But every time you grit your teeth, put your head down and forge ahead, you will be rewarded ten-fold by what is quite simply the best motorcycling expedition on Earth.
Based in London, Delhi and Austin, Texas, we are a group of people with one concise mission: To expose as many people as possible to the ultimate high of motorcycling the globe.
We believe that travel is the key to understanding our planet and our own place on it. When combined with our love for motorcycles as the mechanism for exploration – out there and at one with the elements – Two Wheeled Expeditions creates experiences like none other in the world.
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