Road to Tokyo

4 days and 1,320km (Total: 129 days and 25,560km)

On the world map it looks like you should be able to hop straight from Kazakhstan into Mongolia, but there’s no official border between the two. Heading south through China was a no-go because foreign vehicles aren’t allowed, so we gladly rode back into Russia on the pricey multi-entry visas we’d secured in London before the trip began.

This time we entered four thousand kilometres further east along the country. The border crossing was a breeze compared to last time and only took us an hour on the Russian side. We just had to fill out a form about our jobs, which always causes minor hiccups when the answer is “unemployed.” But the staff were, as at most borders, friendly and welcoming — going about their day-to-day lives and happy to see others visiting their country.

Our first night back in Russia was at “Guest House Man Wearing a Dress”. Not its real name (which is something in Cyrillic we can't read or pronounce), but what we named it based on photos from their Instagram. The owner (not wearing a dress this time) showed us to our room, pointed out the well where we could find “holy water,” then proudly told us we were his first ever foreign guests. To welcome us, he gave us a complimentary bottle of champagne, which we really didn't need considering the beers already stashed in our panniers.

The second day took us northwest to a city Google calls “Barnaul” but road signs referred to its actual name of ‘”Барнаул” — making road signs not particularly useful to us, or vice versa. Thankfully the road there was straight, rolling over lustrous meadows which were a welcome change after Central’s Asia’s endless flat plains. No more camels either, which I didn’t miss as their favourite hobby seems to be standing in the middle of the road chewing grass with a face of confusion but interest.

That night we stayed in another apartment block, the kind we’ve oddly grown to love. Cheap, private parking, a grocery store downstairs, and usually at least one pull-up bar lurking near the kids play area. Everything you need an elevator ride away and the perfect antidote to the constant and consequential unknowns of life on the bike.

Such an unknown hit us the very next day, as we came the closest yet to falling off the bike at speed. Not camels this time. Not crazy deep potholes. Nor crazy crazy drivers. Instead: a helicopter. Out of nowhere, one suddenly lifted above the trees, maybe twenty metres overhead. The downward gush of wind jolted us sideways at 90kmph, and I only just managed to keep the bike from veering off the side of the road and into the trees. Probably the one time I’ve been thankful K weighs as much as a small car. Fittingly, it turned out to be an ambulance helicopter, so at least we’d have been in safe hands if we’d crashed.

Day three we set off south towards the Mongolia border. The ride looked arduous on paper but turned out to be splendid in practise. Six hours through the Altai Mountains with smooth, empty roads winding alongside a river. Each town we passed getting smaller and smaller as we covered the four hundred Ks on K, before we arrived at the smallest and most peaceful of towns and settled there for the night.

We thought about staying another night, but we’ve learnt it’s often better to leave on a high, so waved goodbye to our host and her crazy chained-up dogs. Two more days to Mongolia. Our last stop was a campsite tucked off the road, where €10 got us a pitch near a flowing stream and €15 more bought dinner for both of us: two chicken legs, a good pile of bulgar, a small pastry, and unlimited tea. Simple, but perfect.

We woke early and put our down jackets on for the first time in months, brewing an Aeropress from the shared kitchen as the sun rose with just enough warmth to overcome the morning chill. Summer felt well and truly behind us. The last leg of the journey just beginning.

Next stop: our 22nd country.