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DAY 163 | Mongolia | How To Move The Stars | A bicycle ride around the world · How To Move The Stars | A bicycle ride twice around the world

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  July 26th 2013 My bike stand is gone.
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  I left early this morning before anyone is awake to say goodbye.
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  The road leaving town was packed dirt and loose gravel with
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  sections of washboard. A white van taxing people
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  between town stopped and several people piled out to stretch
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  their legs and say hello. I asked the driver if the road
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  gets any better than this. He spoke some English and said
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  this is a good Rd. They only get worse.
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  The van was the first of only 14 vehicles to pass me today and
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  nearly every one of them stopped to see what I was doing.
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  I was glad to have the vast quiet expanse all to myself, yet
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  not feel alone, especially because I could never quite tell
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  if I was lost. The roads were merely tracks
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  across the open land. They were neither marked nor
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  contained and regularly split to shoot off in different
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  directions. I have maps downloaded for this
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  area, but the roads I followed were too primitive to be
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  included. I navigated by following the
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  most well worn track that took me east.
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  This worked fine until I came to two rutted tracks that had
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  indistinguishable mounts of wear.
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  I stopped there to take a closer look.
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  The left path crossed the valley head before disappearing into
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  the mountains on the far side. The right path followed the
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  valley South farther than I could see.
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  As I pondered my decision, a motorcycle came down the path on
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  the left and parked a young man wearing a black duster and
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  walked over and stood with me. He lit a cigarette and together
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  we looked at the dry hills and drifting clouds.
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  I might have asked him which way to go, but there is nowhere
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  specific I was trying to get to. Before leaving, he asked to use
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  my camera and step back to take a picture of me, a rare photo of
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  myself for more than an arm's length away.
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  I thanked him and he got back on his motorcycle and drove off.
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  I also got going, deciding to go left across the valley.
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  The way to motorcycle had come. A white taxi van carrying a few
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  Israelis and a French couple stopped to say hello and snapped
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  a picture of me. I was 4 hours farther down the
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  road when the same driver returned, but without any
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  passengers. He pulled his van up next to me
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  and stopped. He's eating a big chunk of horse
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  meat off the end of a rib bone rolling down his window.
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  He handed the rest of the rib to me.
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  I thanked him. Then he gave me a little wave
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  and drove off. I looked out at the quiet
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  landscape while I ate. Fist size clumps of dull green
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  grass started the pale red ground for as far as I could
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  see, each tuft growing 1/2 pace from every other.
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  As I chewed the meat, I realized that I was eating.
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  The grass around me filtered through the life of a horse.
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  When I finished, I placed the white rib gently upon the
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  ground, returning the bone to the land.
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  The road took me to the shore of a lake and to a short bridge
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  across the outlet. 3 yurts stood at the funneling point.
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  As I approached, a little boy, perhaps five years old, ran to
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  me and started pushing on my bike.
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  I swerved away and tried to stay ahead of him.
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  At the yurts. Four more young boys came
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  outside, stopping my bike, followed by three men about my
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  age and a woman holding a baby covered in red spots like
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  chicken pox or maybe a lot of mosquito bites.
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  The trash was scattered about, and even without words, I picked
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  up on a feeling of unwelcomedness.
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  I stood straddling my bike as they circled me, staring
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  silently, coldly. They all looked rough, with
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  scabs, scars, and skin damage from a lifetime of sunburns.
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  I could see an unhappy life etched into the lines on their
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  faces. The adult said nothing, but one
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  of the little boys in front of me punched his hand with his
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  first. This 40 LB frame was not
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  intimidating, but I was bothered that he thought to make the
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  gesture at all. I ignored their hostility and
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  smiled back at them all, making a point to look at each of them
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  in their glaring eyes. The alpha male held a nearly
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  empty vodka bottle on his hand. After a tense minute, he gave me
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  a small nod in the direction of the bridge.
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  I pedaled away with the little boys chasing, pulling on my bike
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  and trailer as they went on the sandy Rd.
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  I couldn't go fast enough to get away and they stayed with me
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  until they were breathless. I went another 150 meters before
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  getting off the check that my bags were secure.
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  The bags are fine, but the stand I used for my bike was missing
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  from the side pocket and aluminum pole that collapses
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  into a convenient size while being sturdy enough to support
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  my heavy bike. The stand has been particularly
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  useful in Mongolia, where there is literally nothing to lean my
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  bike against. I used to stand just two miles
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  earlier on the other side of the yurts, and I remember putting
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  the disassembled pieces into my pocket where I always put them.
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  I thought one of the boys might have taken the stand while they
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  were grabbing at my bags. The little boys restarted the
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  chase when they saw me stop. By the time they arrived, I'd
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  assess the situation. They stood shoulder to shoulder
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  looking at me. I'm I'm taking something from my
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  bag and look disapprovingly at them.
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  They all understood exactly what I meant in an adorable way.
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  They reached deep into their pockets of their ragged pants
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  and pulled them inside out. One of the boys wore sweatpants
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  with rips down the front of both legs.
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  He lifted his threadbare shirt to his chin and spun around to
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  show me he had nothing. I got out a bag of cookies and
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  gave them all a handful. I didn't feel safe going back
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  past those yurts by standing fallen overboard and was gone in
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  the middle of the day. I had a jarring fall.
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  I was rolling down a hill at a running pace when a rut swept my
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  front wheel from under me. I was down in an instant,
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  hitting the ground with a thud. I bruised my palm and my knee
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  banged on a rock hard enough for me to cry out.
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  I got up and limped in a circle until I was feeling good enough
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  to pedal. I'm still sore from the fall
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  tonight. With less than an hour of
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  daylight left, I pushed my bike away from the road to lay out my
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  sleeping bag. On a hillside with the most
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  spectacular view, I admired a grand lake below.
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  Reflecting off the surface was a sky of billowing clouds, shining
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  in the pink and orange fire of the setting sun.
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  Where shafts of yellow sunlight pierced through pillars of white
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  rain turned into shining columns of molten gold.
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  Beyond the lake, glaciers clung to cold and jagged peaks.
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  I watched until dark, riveted by the colors and the play of light
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  across the land. Every night nature puts on a
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  live performance and this was one of the best shows I've ever
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  seen.