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DAY 164 | 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 27th, 2013. Hard day.
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  My stomach began to ache in the night enough to wake me up.
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  I'd eaten a can of baked beans for dinner.
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  That must have gone bad. I got them from a small rural
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  shop a couple of days ago. I purchased the cheapest food I
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  can, even as the quality keeps getting worse.
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  Maybe next time I'll splurge an extra $0.10 to not have to eat
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  the worst food available. By morning I was tired and still
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  nauseous. I wanted to rest where I was,
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  but I began to sweat as soon as the sun came up.
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  I packed my things, then went only a mile on a bumpy Rd.
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  before I had to stop to throw up.
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  I stuck my finger down my throat to get everything out, but there
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  is nothing left. I needed to rest, so I looked
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  around for a place to shelter from the sun.
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  Nothing insight grew any higher than my knee.
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  I pushed my bike away from the dirt track to a single thin
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  Bush. There on the ground was a cow
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  skull, sitting upright, dried and bleached by the desert sun.
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  The rest of the animal was gone. No flesh or bones insight except
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  for a palm sized patch of coarse black hair between the horns,
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  like a toupee. I wondered if the animal had
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  also been feeling sick when she lay down to rest and never got
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  up. I joined the skull on the ground
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  and stuck my head under the bushes sharp branches.
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  There's only enough of a shadow to cover my face, so while I
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  laid there, the rest of me baked in the sun.
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  I slept for a time and woke up wet with sweat.
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  My stomach was feeling a little better, though.
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  Then I got up to carry on. The road was empty all day,
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  except for one man on a motorcycle who stopped to talk.
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  He was about my age, a little shorter than I am, but stouter.
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  I shook his thick hand and felt the strong grip.
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  He didn't speak any English, so when he asked to see my
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  passport, I didn't know what he meant.
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  He got out his photo ID to show me, pointing at the card, then
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  at me. I didn't want to show him my
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  passport. I smiled, feigned confusion and
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  tried to change the subject. He tried again, holding his ID
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  up to my face, acted confused again.
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  We did a few rounds of this. He was obviously going
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  somewhere, but I had all day to stand there and play dumb.
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  I hoped he would get impatient and leave.
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  His frustration grew, but he wasn't leaving and I relented.
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  Before he became angry, I pulled the copy of my passport out of
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  my bag and handed the document to him.
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  He inspected the sheet for a minute, turning the paper over.
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  Then with the miming action, he asked where my stamp was.
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  I brought in an imaginary camera to my face and took a photo and
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  pointed to my photocopy passport trying to tell him he was
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  looking at a picture, not the real thing.
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  He got out his ID again and pointed to me.
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  I pointed back at the photocopy. He asked again where the stamp
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  was. I mimed the camera and pointed
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  to the photocopy. I had gotten us into a loop that
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  he didn't have the words to get out of.
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  At this point he changed his strategy and asked to look
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  through my bags. I wasn't going to let him rifle
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  through my stuff, but I felt OK showing him some of what I
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  brought. I went to where my bike was
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  lying on the ground and continued to try to bore him.
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  I got out my food bag to show him my pasta, cookies, and
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  bread, slowly explaining each item and how I ate them.
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  He was patient enough to get through all the food.
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  Next, I unpacked my sleeping bag.
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  I held the bag up, showed him how the zipper worked, and spent
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  long minutes struggling to compress everything back into
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  its stuff sack. The guy must have thought I was
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  an idiot. His patience ran out as I was
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  showing him how I put on my raincoat.
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  He gave me back the photocopy, said thank you in surprisingly
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  clear English, then got back on his motorcycle and drove away.
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  The experience left me feeling depleted.
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  The strategy I've adopted on this journey is to play ignorant
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  to bad intentions. I look right through them as if
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  I can't pick up on social cues. This gives me a point of
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  leverage as I understand the situation better than the other
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  person realizes. I knew this man was up to
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  something, but I refused to join him.
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  He urged me to be a victim. Why I urge him to be a friend.
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  I think we parted on better terms than he would have liked.
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  I continued into a quiet and empty landscape.
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  The earth rippled with heat and the sun was still high as I
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  drank the last of my water. Ahead of me was a broad, flat
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  expanse rimmed by dry hills. The moment fell, an archetypal
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  for an adventure on the edge. My supplies were exhausted and I
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  was placing faith in my own body as a vehicle to salvation.
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  I felt the gravity of my situation and pushed on.
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  I checked the nearby lake for a drink, the one that I could see
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  from my camping spot last night. I detoured 2 miles from my path
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  to get to the shore. We found only a muddy green muck
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  so thick I wasn't able to access any water.
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  The choice to go to the lake was a one hour detour that left me
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  back where I started and even thirstier than I was.
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  An hour after that, I felt a sort of primal desperation.
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  An hour or more in the matter consumed my thoughts entirely.
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  My pace was excruciatingly slow due to my aching knee from
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  yesterday's fall, the sandy Rd. that regularly forced me to
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  push, and my distressed stomach sapping my energy.
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  By the late afternoon my throat was too dry to swallow and while
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  the temperature was still 80°, I was getting chills, which I knew
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  was a bad sign. Finally, mercifully, I came
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  across A6 inch wide stream trickling across the flat land,
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  only an inch deep and flowing slowly.
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  I feared the water would run dry at any moment.
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  I got down on my hands and knees, lowering myself to drink
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  off the ground like an animal. I felt so grateful.
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  I drank until I was full, then I drank a little more.
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  I stayed next to the stream, filtering the water until I had
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  all that I could carry. Two men found me camping this
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  evening. I was a quarter mile from the
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  road and from the height of their horses I was spotted lying
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  behind thin bushes. They rode over at a trot then
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  dismounted to look at my bike and sleeping bag.
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  They were friendly, but being discovered has left me feeling
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  vulnerable. Hopefully no one will be coming
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  back tonight. Today I experience feelings of
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  desperation the likes of which I've never known.
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  I fought to take myself forward for 14 hours and covered only 23
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  miles. I can literally see the spot on
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  the hill where I slept last night.
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  I've never been anywhere like Mongolia.
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  The shift in culture, infrastructure and climate has
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  been so abrupt that I feel caught unprepared.
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  I'm disheartened by the thought that every day will be this
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  hard.