A difficult farewell, mountains, mud and rain

When we open our eyes, we look out through the window. “Doesn’t look good,” Tanja says quietly. “Not good at all,” I confirm. It’s raining cats and dogs. The temperature is around 15 degrees. “Will have to postpone our departure,” I mumble apathetically and turn to the other side again. The sounds of activity reach our ears from the kitchen. Mom Sascha has been cooking and preparing food for hours to provide us with meals for the first few days of the trip. At 9:30, I let my legs dangle from the sofa and watch the rain. “Well, then we’ll just stay another day. That’s actually quite all right. One day more or less won’t do any harm. Oh, then I’ll just rest today. The work is finished so far,” I think to myself as Jenya enters the room. “No departure today”, he smiles, as he has been wishing for rain on our departure day for days so that we can stay longer. “It’s your fault. You wished for the rain,” I joke. “Me? No, never. I wouldn’t do something like that,” he says with a smile on his lips.

Satisfied with my world now, I continue to watch the rain and look forward to not having to go out there. “Well, if it stops, we should leave today anyway,” Tanja’s voice startles me. “What? But it’s cold out there,” I reply. “Don’t be like that. We’re going to get wet a lot more on this trip.” “But not on the first day,” I say, seeing the recovery day fading but knowing that she’s right.

Then we fortify ourselves with a hearty breakfast. Mama Sascha has prepared extra delicious rice pudding. “Look, the rain has stopped,” says Tanja. Dark clouds drift over the blocks of flats, driven by the wind. The weather still looks unfriendly. Nevertheless, we start to stow the rest of the equipment in the Ortlieb saddlebags. In the short term, we panic a little. “How am I supposed to fit it all in?” asks Tanja. “I don’t know either. Do we have more than last time?” I soon ask myself a little desperately, breaking out in a real sweat. “I’m done,” says Tanja an hour later, full of satisfaction. Then she helps me organize my four saddlebags. Front right for cycling clothes that I need to have quick access to. By which I mean rain gear, overshoes, gloves, etc. The R stands for cycling clothing, so that you don’t accidentally open the wrong bag in the rush of an approaching rainstorm. This simple system has really proved its worth for us in recent years. At the back right, for example, is all the bike clothing that I don’t need to have access to during the day. In this case, change pants, shirts and the like. At the front left, the wash bag, spare video camera and sandals are stowed away, i.e. everything that is not directly related to cycling clothing. Sleeping gear such as a sleeping bag, warm underwear, socks and similar items are stored at the back left. An Ortlieb bag with a tent and sleeping mats is securely fastened to the luggage carrier with a strap. The Leica camera is attached to it in another Ortlieb bag. The handlebar bag contains cycling gloves, sunglasses, reading glasses, pepper gas against dogs, a headband, an anemometer, mosquito repellent, Leatherman, sunscreen etc. My laptop, satphone, spare parts, medication, solar battery, small folding chair for my paperwork and much more live in the trailer. With my bike, the total weight adds up to around 120 kilograms. If we then add water, it’s even 130 kilograms that I have to carry from A to B in addition to my own 80 kg weight. Without technology and camera equipment for live reporting, we would weigh around 70 kg with the bike. In other words, almost half the current total weight. Well, as already described in our last three books of the Trans-East Expedition, the purpose of our journey is not just the journey itself, but to document it for our readers, fans and possibly posterity. A challenge that is often greater than the expedition trips themselves.

Tanja is similarly packed, except that she has loaded food in her trailer and her Ortlieb bag on the luggage carrier contains the kitchen, e.g. thermos flask, stove, plastic plates and cups etc. A video camera is then attached to it instead of a Leica, as in my case. Your bike weighs approx. 90 kilograms with trailer and water load.

At 13:00, all our belongings are stowed away, down to the last shred. What we can’t take with us or have accidentally brought twice we give to Jenya. “I can’t accept that,” he tries to resist as we hand him two Ortlieb duffel bags and a small foldable Ortlieb wash basin. “Jenya, you can very well accept that. After everything you and your family have done for us, we are deeply indebted to you. Under no circumstances can you compensate for that with a few small gifts. So these are just a few tokens of appreciation that you are welcome to accept,” we say. “Well, thank you very much and before we leave, let’s have lunch first. My mother has cooked for us,” he says with a laugh. “Good idea,” we reply and look forward to enjoying Mama Sasha’s delicious Russian cuisine for the last time.

As Jenya and Anja want to accompany us on their mountain bikes to show us a safe way out of Krasnoyarsk, they talk about it over lunch. I can see Jenya and Anja wondering what speed we will be traveling at. “Oh Denis? How fast do you drive on average?” comes the question. “Us? Hm, fully loaded and with a trailer about 40 km/h on average,” I reply with a serious expression on my face. Jenya’s eyes suddenly widen. He looks at Tanja in astonishment, who nods her head to confirm my statement. “40 km/h?” he says, startled. “Well, when we’re fully loaded, mind you. Otherwise a bit faster,” I reply again, but I can’t remain serious any longer and burst out laughing. “Ha, ha, ha! That’s tremendously funny,” Vladimir now also belts out at the top of his voice. It only takes a fraction of a second and we’re all laughing our heads off together. “40 km/h! Ha, ha, ha, hi, hi, hi!” we laugh together until our bellies hurt. As soon as we calm down, Jenya’s father starts laughing again, making our last lunch together a very joyful occasion. Then we carry the riese und müller bikes, the trailers and all the saddlebags together from the sixth floor into the yard and load our steeds for the first time on this stage. Tanja does a test lap. “I have to get used to it again. It’s all very shaky,” she says. “How does it wobble? Nothing should wobble. Let me try out your bike,” I say and pedal it a few hundred meters through the yard. I immediately notice that it can be ridden like a rocking horse. “The Magura shock is not yet inflated for all the luggage. That’s why your bike is rocking so much,” I say and fetch the special air pump. Only when I fill it with 18 bar air pressure does the rocking stop. On my Intercontinental I also have to pump the shock up to almost the maximum. Then the road trains are ready to go. It is already 15:30 when we hug Sascha, who blesses us goodbye. Vladimir also hugs me tightly to his chest with all his heart. “Come back again. You can stay with us as long as you like,” he says, not making the departure any easier. The sky is still overcast with dark clouds. It thunders deep and ominous as we turn a large corner and lose sight of our lovely hosts. Jenya drives ahead of us dressed only in a light T-shirt, while Anja follows us, also dressed in light clothing. It starts to rain again. As soon as we hit the road, a few drivers honk their horns in salute. We pedal our heavy bikes through the city traffic with concentration. It feels like we are dragging a dropped anchor behind us. After a break of several months, handling the bike is not easy. When we have only covered one kilometer, we stop to put on our rain jackets. Jenya and Anja, on the other hand, remain unperturbed in their shirts. “They are indeed real Siberians. They just have a different perception of cold,” I think to myself. As we cross the mighty Yenisey River, it stops raining and the sun warms us with a few rays. Our mood is great, although I am still in the process of transitioning. By which I mean that at this point one part of me is stuck in the familiar world, while the other is just setting off into the great unknown. A state that is not easy to describe. Perhaps comparable to a snake that is shedding its skin in order to continue its life with a new appearance. Or perhaps better explained, this moment is the not entirely painless state of forcing my body and mind through a very narrow little tunnel in order to emerge at the opposite end in another world. A so-called leap into another world unknown to us. That’s why I would describe us as world jumpers. Of course, after all these years we know what it means to travel in a relatively extreme way. However, it is precisely the knowledge that we don’t know what lies ahead that makes this moment of transition not always easy for me.

“Lake Baikal here we come!” I shout with all my heart to free myself from the clamp. “Yes, Lake Baikal is coming!” answer Tanja, Anja and Jenya with amusement.

“Is that the Trans-Siberian Railway?” I ask Anja as a train passes us. “Yes,” she confirms with a laugh. I wave to the driver, who immediately responds with his mighty horn. Then we pass the Yenisey. As today is Sunday, there are many anglers and weekend vacationers on its banks who have placed their folding chairs in the cool sand. It doesn’t take long and Krasnoyarsk is behind us. For over 1,000 kilometers, the last major city on our route to the largest freshwater lake on earth. After 30 kilometers, the road forks. “We have to leave you here,” says Jenya. We lean our bucks against the crash barrier and hug each other tightly. “You’re not a friend to me,” says Jenya. “But of course you’re a friend,” I reply. “No, you’re my family,” he says, which brings tears to my eyes. Once again I realize that travelling means constantly saying goodbye. Sometimes, like today, it hurts. Because we never know whether we will ever see the people who have burrowed their way into our hearts again. That’s the way it is in life, without getting to know each other there is no farewell, without death there is no life. Everything is interdependent. Everything is connected and cannot be separated. This realization makes such moments easier for me to bear than before.

As soon as Jenya and Anja have disappeared into our rear-view mirror, the first elevation rises up in front of us. Panting and spinning the cranks in first gear, we climb meter by meter until the city lies far below us. The South Siberian Mountains have welcomed us and immediately show us that the route ahead will not be a walk in the park. Three motorcyclists speed past us. When they have identified us as cyclists, they turn back. “This can’t be true. Now we thought we were crazy, but we can’t believe it. Where are you from? From Germany? And all by bike? No, that can’t be true. We come from Moscow and ride our motorcycles to Vladivostok. You know, there on the Pacific, where the Trans-Siberian Railway ends,” explain the friendly Russians. We take photos of each other and wave after them as they start their heavy machines again. Then we puff further up the mountain. We stop after a total of 35 km. As soon as I’m back in the saddle, the typical cyclist’s hunger kicks in. “Have you got a chocolate bar handy?” I ask Tanja. “Of course you do. I know my rabbit,” she says, handing me the power food I’ve been waiting for. We knew that we were in the middle of the South Siberian mountains, but we didn’t expect to be caught without mercy in the first few hours. “We need a place to camp for the night!”, I shout as we continue our journey, which is why we are constantly on the lookout for a place to pitch our tent. As everything is soaked due to the heavy rain of the past few weeks, we have no chance of leaving the asphalt. Every attempt, no matter how small, causes us to sink into the mud and mire in an instant. “There’s a narrow path up there. Let’s give it a try,” I say, putting my bike on the stand and exploring the possible camping spot. As soon as I leave the road, I sink back into the sticky mud. After just a few meters, my shoes are several kilograms heavier. Shaking my head, I come back. Of course we didn’t want to exhaust ourselves on the first day. At least that was the plan, but this situation also shows that no matter how good your plans are, you often have to throw them overboard. Then comes a road construction site. To our right, a new paved strip leads upwards, while to our left, the old road continues to wind its way upwards. We take the new road, which is still closed off. After just a few hundred meters it ends in gravel, which is why we are forced to push our sumo bikes. It doesn’t take long before our bikes are full of mud up to the mudguards and the Magura brakes are blocked. “Well, this is getting off to a good start,” I groan after just 40 km at the end of my tether. In order to be prepared for such situations, especially at the beginning of a stage, we trained a lot at home and, in addition to our daily yoga sessions, we made it our mission to pedal up our local mountain (Moritzberg) at least twice a week. Although it is only about 500 or 600 meters high, the last section is a real challenge and is therefore an ideal training mountain. Sometimes we conquered it three times in a row and today we have the very satisfying result of not collapsing right after the first climbs.

“Tanja! Pull over!” I shout because I’ve found another supposed camp spot. Before I make my way behind the row of bushes behind which we can hide from prying eyes, I spray my shoes and trouser legs with Jaico insect repellent. Hopefully protected from the dangerous ticks, I trudge through the meter-high grass. After five minutes I come back. “And what does it look like?” Tanja wants to know. “Very good,” I reply. With all our strength, we push our roadtrains into the bushes, as we have done many times on the previous Trans-East expedition. We trample down the tall grass to check the ground for a suitable campsite. “Oh, that’s a lot of anthills,” warns Tanja. “What a bummer,” I grumble and think about how we can pitch our tent between the holes in the ground and the anthills without getting into trouble at night. As soon as we set up our fabric house, it thunders loudly above us. “Quickly! Quick! Hand me the equipment!”, I shout and quickly put all the saddlebags in the vestibule. We immediately slip behind and experience the first heavy shower in the South Siberian mountains. “A real contrast program,” I think. “It’s a good thing we found the campsite in time,” Tanja replies. Then she prepares a hearty snack for us, which we eat while huddled in the awning. “Thanks to Mama Sascha!” I shout, delighted with the delicious feast. After the thunderstorm has passed, we crawl back outside and are greeted by a beautiful double rainbow. “It arches directly over our tent. That must be a good omen,” says Tanja happily. We stand there together and admire the enchanting painting that Mother Earth has painted in the sky above our heads. “Without a doubt, I have now passed through the eye of the needle with my body, mind and soul. I have shed my skin of the western civilized world and find myself in Siberia with full consciousness,” it goes through my head. Countless mosquitoes cause us to turn our backs on the sight of the colorful strips of sky and seek refuge in our tent. While Tanja is already asleep, I type the first pictures of the day into my laptop and write down my new experiences.

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