The final chapter

Dirt Tracks

As soon as the dashing and dapper yaks finally trotted into their ancestral lands, they were immediately accosted by a huge number of ‘wheeler-dealers’ seeking to exchange any possible currency the yaks were carrying for some Tugrik. After James endured a great deal of stress trying to speak to hundreds of different ‘do-gooders’, offering a number of varying rates on every possible currency the yaks could have, a juicy settlement was finally negotiated and the convoy could finally pull off into the Mongolian afternoon sun.

With hunger dogging the progress of our superstars, the group pulled over by the side of a rare tarmac road and cooked up an elegant meal of baked beans, sausage and onions. Whilst munching away, a guy riding a motorcycle to Kazakhstan stopped by for a chat and some melon. After Elliott wooed him with some Mongolian by asking for some camel yoghurt and offering his hope that the man’s animals were ‘fattening up nicely’, the teams said their goodbyes and headed off to a nearby city to fix up the cars and buy some supplies for J-Yak’s birthday that evening.

After initially losing each other in the city of Ölgii, with the help of the Dane’s walkie-talkies the teams were soon reunited and guided towards a mechanic shop by a seemingly friendly man on a motorcycle. The yaks set about putting new tyres (kindly donated by Cambridge Coachworks) on two of their wheels, and turned down the advice of motorcycle man to stay at his family’s hotel and have a brand new suspension put in, with James instead removing the coil that had snapped clean off and reinserting the spring. Meanwhile, Elliott was off with the Danes in a nearby supermarket searching for some local ‘Piv’ and knocking down the shop’s clocks.

With the small amount of work finally finished on each car, the teams packed up and begun to quickly try and talk money with the motorcycle man to distract him from poking through all of their possessions. After the teams tried to negotiate with the workshop having been quoted a ridiculous first price for the tiny amount of work done, motorcycle man suddenly became extremely aggressive and shoved Henrik as the scene threatened to get nasty. In order to avoid serious conflict, James and the Danes quickly packed away the cars, whilst Elliott calmly tried to get a fair price with the livid man. Eventually, a tasty deal worth a fraction of the initial quote was reached and the dude suddenly wanted to be best friends with the travellers again. Turning down his advances, the group sped off into the evening sun in order to find a delightful spot by a nearby lake to set up camp and welcome James’ 22nd Birthday.

After getting stuck in the sand by the lake’s shores a few times in search of the perfect location, the convoy finally pitched up their tents next to the spectacular lake just before the sun set behind the surrounding mountains. Being somewhere between 2-3000m above sea level, it quickly became rather chilly and the group was forced to enjoy a fantastically fun night wrapped up in every item of clothing they had packed.

The next morning, with the birthday boy feeling a tad worse for wear, the two sets of explorers treated themselves to breakfast and a swim in the breath-taking (both in terms of coldness and beauty) lake before finally heading off at 2pm. With Elliott and Emil recalling a hazy conversation with a man in a 4x4 the previous night, talking about a restaurant they could go to, they texted the number they had been given, only to find out the poor guy had been waiting for them until 1:30pm and had now left.

Once on the road again, the yaks became lulled into a false sense of security, as the supposedly dreadful Mongolian roads seemed so far to be pristine tarmac. This all changed however after around 70km, with the smooth surface instantly giving way to rough dirt track. Free of potholes however, the drive was still rather pleasant, with Catharine able to speed on at 60 km/h, winding her way up into the Mongolian mountains with the Danish car eating her dust. Once the peaks were scaled, they flattened out into a huge plateau full of herds of animals, gers dotted about, and a huge gushing river that Catharine needed to cross. Growling with determination, she lurched forwards and surged through the torrent of water, safely carrying the yaks through, with the Danes close behind.

After a crossing much akin to the Parting of the Red Sea, the wanderers flew down the mountain, through the first rain they had experienced since the very first night of the adventure in Brussels. Unfortunately the fast pace was not to last for long as James hit a rock and cracked open the gearbox. Luckily some left over supplies from K-Seal meant he could patch up the crack and the Yaks were back on the road and tentatively made their way towards Hovd. Upon their arrival in the early evening sun, the group trotted down to a restaurant recommended in the Lonely Planet, and gorged themselves on some delightful Mongolian delicacies. Now fully satisfied, and with the sun dipping below the horizon, the group quickly drove 45 minutes beyond Hovd and towards an appealing looking camping spot by the side of a bubbling stream.

The next morning, an intrigued Mongolian man joined unusually early-riser James while he was having breakfast. James however lacked Elliott’s natural flair for the Mongolian language, and it was up to the other yak to again enquire as to the fattiness of the man’s animals and where a yak could be ridden. When it had seemed that Elliott’s incoherent babbling had bored the man into leaving the camp, Nikaeli decided it would be a good time to grab a quick bath in the stream. Little did he know that the man quickly returned with a pal and a big bag of watermelons, leaving the naked Gollum-esque Dane to scurry to the privacy of a towel. After more riveting conversation, the duo left the camp with what seemed like a very welcome gift of 2 watermelons, before the adventurers were back on the road again.

Despite the first hour or so treating Catharine to kilometres of smooth tarmac, this next day proved to be terribly tricky for our horned heroes, with the infamous Mongolian bumps, potholes and large rocks causing havoc for the wagon’s suspension and the comfort of her passengers (although it was terrifically fun driving). After a much-needed stop in the desert for a long cooked lunch, the conditions of the track truly deteriorated as a wrong turning was made and the two cars found themselves in GPS wilderness. In the summer heat, nearby streams has dried up leaving a huge number of very steep riverbeds for the cars to traverse as they desperately sought a route back to the safety of the atrociously bumpy ‘motorway’. The issue was, the riverbeds were so steep that if tackled slowly the cars would become stuck and unable to get out of their predicament, meaning Catharine now had the true chance to demonstrate her rally pedigree. She therefore pelted over the rough terrain at great speed, destroying the threat every potentially car-destroying riverbed that came her way presented.

Finally back on the ‘motorway’ (various dirt tracks), the breathless teams clambered out of their vehicles to inspect the damage. Catharine had lost her bumper and last hubcap, destroyed her suspension, ruined her clutch and lost the use of the rally lights. Quite how she managed to make it through that two hours of brutal rally-driving, the yaks will never know. After a quick session of swapping cars to take some sick –pics, the issue of the damage clutch became more apparent. Wannabe-mechanic Lamming therefore sought to fix this in some way, but ended up getting crushed under the car as the jacks gave way on their flimsy sandy base leaving the hot engine a mere inch from his muscular chest and Hercules-esque torso. Having survived the ordeal, the Greek Gods must have been smiling down on the team as the clutch miraculously fixed itself and allowed the group to trundle their way towards Altai in rapidly fading light.

Unfortunately, every restaurant and shop in the city was closed by the time the warriors arrived at 9:30pm, leaving the hungry herbivores to pitch up camp by a less aesthetically pleasing river outside the city without a proper meal. Exhausted from the most testing day of the rally so far, the yaks quickly retired to the warmth of their hay-laden pens in order to rest up for another trial the next day.

The following morning was not fun, with the yaks forced to empty the contents of the car and wash it all in the river. The roads of the previous day were so bumpy that two big bottle of coke, cans of beer, and those wonderful watermelons had exploded everywhere. The car therefore smelt truly rancid, with not even an incense stick bought in the local market by James doing too much to alleviate the pong. The big clean took a long time, meaning the courteous convoy had a great deal of time to make up if they were going to make their next destination of Bayankhonghor before all the restaurants shut again.

The route again started off with beautiful tarmac roads but, unsurprisingly, quickly transformed into brutal dirt tracks. The group aimed for what appeared to be a short cut by following tracks not featured on the GPS, and failing to learn their lesson from the previous day, entered unknown territory. More isolated than the day before, but with slightly better ground under-tyre, the group sped along some incredibly windy roads as they gradually crawled towards their destination. Careering over some razor sharp rocks, it was really quite astounding that the only issue the cars encountered the entire day was a flat tyre for the Danish Micra.

Strutting into the city at 9pm, with the last light of the day just behind them, the group struck gold when they came across a Mongolian-Korean restaurant that was about to close. With a mixture of well translated ‘rice with meat’ and ‘noodles with meat’ on the way, they debated the reasoning behind by the town had apparently declared a ban on drinking alcohol on Mondays. Having finished slurping their non-alcoholic beverages, the convoy tottered off back to their cars and found another luxurious riverside campsite.

Tarmac

With the Micra needing some work done to it the following morning, the group again suffered from a late start and made the aim of reaching the capital of Ulaanbaatar unrealistic by the end of the day. Fortunately, the rough terrain of the country had been left behind, leaving only smooth tarmac (with a few potholes) standing between the group and the finish in Ulan Ude, Russia. Consequently, the two battered wagons surged along the hilly but smooth tarmac for hour after hour without issue, eventually stopping at a ger marked with the universal sign for food for a spot of lunch.

Having heard the legends of the unrivalled Mongolian hospitability, the convoy was incredibly excited at the prospect of eating in the ger. This excitement was however slightly flattened as a huge number of people, herded by a growling mother, streamed towards the cars as they arrived with their hands out. Fortunately, the groups were both prepared with souvenirs to hand out along the way, with the Danes handing out toy animals and the Yaks a wide variety of Yik Yak merchandise. While most people the groups had met previously had been very kind and grateful for the small gifts, this ambush simply took what they were given, passed it along a conveyor belt of hands, and came back for more. The situation got so ridiculous when the people started forcing their way past the yaks and into the boot of the car to take stuff for themselves that Elliott and James locked the car up and walked towards the promise of food, rather irritated by the whole ordeal.

The experience inside the ger was unfortunately not much better, with the fierce mother relentlessly asking for more presents, ranging from James’s phone and watch to Elliott’s sunglasses, while one woman spent the entire time staring at Elliott until he made eye contact, and then holding her hands out for more goods. She even followed him to the car to try and get more items when he went to collect his phone. The entire situation was extremely uncomfortable and not at all expected given the friendliness the group had encountered almost the entire time up to that point. The ger itself was very modern, equipped with a flat screen TV and laptop which made the group feel even more aggrieved as the gers prime location clearly made the restaurant rather profitable. After a time trying to use the Lonely Planet guide to converse in Mongolian again and a rather unsatisfying lunch, the convoy set off again. Even leaving the ger proved to be problematic, with the mother demanding a huge sum of money for the lunch in comparison to restaurants the yaks had eaten at, and even using her young daughter to prevent the cars from moving.

From what the yaks had heard from other teams and other Mongolians they encountered, the entire episode was completely unrepresentative and unfortunate. Given the luck the yaks had had with people everywhere else on the trip, they were well over due a slightly less romantic experience!

After a solid afternoon of driving, constantly having to stop as herds of goats, horses, cows and camels crossed the road in front of them, the convoy eventually wound up at a huge river about an hour and a half from the capital city as the light began to fade, and proceeded to set up camp and have a delicious dinner of instant pasta, provided by Tesco.

The following day, the two teams arose early and powered quickly on to the madness of Ulaanbaatar, parking up near a potential hostel and cantering into a restaurant for a mega-lunch of steaks for everyone other than Lamming, who went for a local dish of Mongolian pasties. Unfortunately, the proposed hostel was full, meaning a short drive to another that was luckily incredibly keen to put up the brave travellers. The lady who ran the hostel also turned out to be very involved in charity work, and so welcomed all of our leftover food, camping equipment and remaining yik yak stash as donations to various worthwhile causes.

With ‘Camp Legends’ established, the group (minus Henrik) headed off to the big market of Naran Tuul in pursuit of some souvenirs. The market was seriously impressive and absolutely massive, with the squad losing each other in the aisles of fur hats, fake snap backs and Mongolian knives repeatedly. Now bulging with memorabilia, the Henrik-less foursome trotted back to the hostel and prepared themselves for a night in the Mongolian capital.

The evening started off with a failed attempt to have a drink at one Sky Bar, as the group refused to believe it could be closed for a corporate function and proceeded to go right to the top of the tower before they were politely turned away on account of their lack of ties. With hunger mounting and KFC’s closing time approaching, the convoy threw the dice one last time with a trip to a final Sky Bar. This decision defined the night. The restaurant was absolutely incredible, and offered up fantastic views of the city while the weary wanderers gored themselves on an incredibly fairly priced starter of quail’s egg, steak tartar and caviar. A memorable rounds of drinks to toast the trip, sponsored by Harry Walker (#ThankYouHarry), was meant to signal the end of the group’s time in the bar, having been warned it would shut in the next few minutes. Fortune favours the four-legged however, with a chance meeting with Leila and Ganzo- two incredibly friendly and generous Mongolians- resulting in the bar being kept over for another two hours and a bottle of vodka appearing for us. The rest of the evening was incredibly enjoyable, with James trading phone numbers and organising a ‘corporate lunch’ with Leila the following day to continue their discussion of exporting Mongol Rally cars from Mongolia, and a great deal of dancing completed in a club into the early hours.

Suffering ever so slightly the next morning, the group eventually managed to drag themselves out of bed, packed up the cars, and headed for the Holy Grail of a KFC before beginning the final leg of the great adventure towards Ulan Ude. With their bellies full of chicken, Catharine stocked up with petrol, and just 500km of paved roads standing between the yaks and their destination, spirits were high. Disaster struck however when Catharine’s engine heated and suddenly lost all power, forcing the team to pull over to the side of the road. The next few hours were spent trying a range of different fixes in order to get the wagon to the finish line, with a change of battery and then oil threatening to cure Catharine and send the yaks into delirious joy, until the poor girl spluttered and faded a few minutes later.

Eventually, with light fading, James called up Leila (who had earlier stood James up for lunch due to having to pick up Ganzo from prison for drink driving) for help. Amazingly, she quickly offered to help by sending her driver along with a mechanic to see what could be done. While waiting for reinforcements to arrive, a couple of guys on a motorbike pulled over to offer their help. They turned out to be mechanics, and immediately set out to try and fix the issue that they believed to be a leaking radiator. Given we had topped up the car with coolant just before the yaks set off, this initially seemed unlikely, until they saw the torrent of water that flowed out of the car. An hour or so later, the driver, mechanic and Ganzo showed up to help too. With Catharine now being treated by 4 surgeons, the yaks were hopeful of a solution being reached quickly; with the finish line party the following day and flights beckoning.

The army of engineers proceeded to remove the rusty, leaky radiator, and take it off to one of the motorbike men’s house to try and fix it- firstly by plugging the holes with greased cotton, and next with sheepskin. They triumphantly returned 3 hours later, after many attempts, informing us that Catharine would be able to struggle on to the finish with her wounds covered up. Unfortunately however, with the sheepskin covered radiator back in, poor Catharine still leaked as much as ever, with new holes being forced open once old ones were covered up. The yaks therefore faced a tough decision of trying to get Catharine fixed, which would end their hopes of the finish party and potentially their flights, or brave it and leave the car for their incredibly helpful Mongolian friends to sort. Being the uncontrollable daredevils they are, the yaks emptied Catharine of valuables, squeezed into the Dane’s micra, and handed over the keys to their beloved Catharine.

Setting off at 2:30am, with a long drive to the Russian border ahead, the tiny Micra with a bulging roof rack did herself proud on that torturous night journey. With a flat tyre early on setting a bad omen for the trip (with no spares remaining), the brave Nissan powered through at a crazy 60 km/h and got the fivesome to the exit of Mongolia for 9am, by way of a spectacular sunrise.

The Russian border flew by, and the yaks were soon on their way to Ulan Ude in exceptionally high-spirits. The conglomerate of teams arrived at the finish line at around 6pm, and proceeded to pose for photos in front of the largest statue of Lenin’s head, check in to a brand new and very cheap hostel, and feast on burgers, calamari, chicken wings etc.- they hadn’t had a meal since that KFC 30 hours previous. The Finish Line Party was a great event, initially held in Mongol Rally HQ- a pub, and then moved on to a club. With the bouncers refusing entry to such a shabbily dressed crew and two yaks, gaining entrance to the best nightlife Russia had to offer was proving problematic. Fortunately, James and the Danes set off with the help of some Russians to get cash from an ATM, while Elliott was taken under the wing of a local who spoke to those who ran the club in order to get him in. The night was fun.

The following day James left straight to the airport from the club, while Elliott chilled in Ulan Ude before setting off home the next day.