At our borders

There is only a light breeze on today’s cycling day. The master has apparently taken a day off. We are in a good mood and have set ourselves 100 kilometers for the day. This is perfectly feasible because there are no mountains on the map that could slow down our journey. However, it doesn’t take long for the road to deteriorate. Larger and larger holes in the asphalt cause us to drive incessant bends. “Well, we’ve had worse roads,” I say, still in a good mood, as we’ve been predicted a bad road for days. Suddenly the asphalt disappears completely for about 500 meters. Still euphoric at this point, we eagerly photograph our progress. Then we reach Bitumen again and laugh about the small obstacle. However, it doesn’t take long for the black oil pressed onto the forest floor to disappear again. This time, pebbles up to the size of a fist form the surface. We only bump over it at walking pace and with extreme concentration. Even trucks don’t drive much faster than us, so they only overtake us slowly. The amount of dust is so high that visibility in some places is no more than 15 to 20 meters. Holding our breath makes no sense, because by the time the dust has settled we would have suffocated. “It’s unbelievable. We’ve never experienced anything like this on the entire route from Germany to here,” I say, coughing. Some drivers show no consideration for their cars and thunder past. They overtake us left and right. It’s just a matter of luck that no stones fly around our ears. “Strange, some people are actually able to erase all human behavior from their brains,” I think to myself and try to wash down the dust in my mouth with a sip of water from my sourcetrink backpack.

We stop at an old-fashioned petrol station from a bygone era to revive our dwindling energy reserves with a ready-to-eat Travellunch. Then it goes on. Suddenly a gradient of around 15% rises up in front of us. Cycling has become impossible. We descend and push. At around 33 degrees in the sun, we are dripping with sweat. The dust from the trucks and cars mixes with the sun cream and sweat to form an unpleasant slurry. For some time now, horseflies have been joining in, cheekily sitting on our exposed skin to sting us wherever they can. They are particularly large horseflies that are apparently only found in Siberia. At least that’s how it seems to me. They alternate with squadrons of mosquitoes that buzz around us like crazy at times. But sometimes horseflies, normal horseflies and midges are in the same place at the same time and don’t make our day any easier. To keep them at bay, we spray ourselves with insect repellent. However, this only stops them from biting, stinging or annoying us for a short time.

“If you think this is a mountain, then you’re wrong! There are much worse and higher things waiting for you,” a passing motorist bellows at us. Even if we try not to let it influence us negatively, the statement gnaws at our minds. Siberia played us another card faster than we thought. We had heard that parts of the route were unpaved, but we never expected it to be this bad. “If the mountains get any higher, I’ll just stop a truck and go with it!” exclaims Tanja. “And I’ll keep driving,” I reply. “No, I’m taking you with me,” she replies.

Then it goes through a village. The swirling dust lies on the roofs of the houses, sticks to the windows and covers all the plants in the gardens. It is simply terrible what people have to endure here. There is a footpath next to the extreme field, which was or will become a road. We leave the nightmare that has come true and push our bikes onto the path. At least we make better progress there than on the ground, which is absolutely comparable to a dried-up river bed. “It’s only a matter of time before something in the bike gives way,” I say, catching my breath. “Can our laptop take it?” asks Tanja. Who knows? I can’t imagine that anything can withstand this shaking,” I ponder aloud. Then there’s another hill, with a roadway that stretches upwards and is noticeable from afar due to its bright dust color. Even in first gear, our rear tires are spinning. We descend and push. “Hang in there, hang in there, hang in there”, I keep telling myself, suddenly thinking about what we even want here in Siberia. “Cycling through Siberia. What a stupid idea,” I grumble to myself.

A motorcyclist comes towards us out of a white cloud of dust, like a mirage. At first I only recognize his gleaming white teeth. He stops his heavily laden machine right next to us. “Where are you from?” he asks in broken English. We explain where we are coming from, where we want to go and ask what the road ahead looks like. “Very bad for about 200 to 300 kilometers. But then it’s all asphalt again,” he says. “Where are you from?” I want to know. “I’m from Vladivostok. I’m going hiking in the Altai Mountains,” he replies, pointing to his large rucksack, which is strapped to the passenger seat. After a brief conversation, we say goodbye to each other and wish each other a good and safe journey with very good roads and wind behind us. As I’m about to push my Roadtrain back up meter by meter, the motorcyclist runs after me, puts his hands on the trailer and laughingly pushes me up. “Thank you very much,” I say as we reach Tanja, who has used the time during our conversation to push her bike further up.

It’s 7 p.m. when we reach a valley through which the gravel path makes its way through the dense forest. We are now at the end of our tether. We push our Intercontinental back up in a controlled manner. We have to press our entire body weight against the handlebars to gain any elevation at all. The mosquitoes are getting worse by the second because of the fading sun and seem to want to suck us alive down to the last drop. “Come quickly! We have to put on our long pants and windbreakers,” I say. We immediately get the clothes out of our saddlebags. Finally, we slip a mosquito net over our helmets. Better protected from the insects, the work of pushing the bikes up the incline is even more sweaty than before, but at least we’re no longer getting stung on almost every part of our bodies. So this is Siberia. We were warned about this. “You’ll see, winter and the cold are more pleasant than our stinging insects,” said Katja. Now we know what she meant. It’s strange that you first have to experience almost everything in life yourself in order to know what reality is like. That is the difference between faith and knowledge. I now know that the Siberian summer can be cruel. “And how many kilometers are there to Baikal?” asks Tanja, visibly annoyed by the situation. “700 km from here,” I reply, at a loss for words, looking for a place to stay for the night. “What does it look like there?” asks Tanja, panting and pointing to a patch of meadow behind a strip of forest. “Not good,” I reply after scouting out the place. “It’s in a swampy area. The mosquitoes will give us the rest there,” I say and push on.

We have already experienced a lot on the Trans-East Expedition. Mostly beautiful and sometimes not so beautiful. At this moment, we find ourselves in the center of the non-beautiful. We would both like to flee, but there is no fleeing here. Here, the moment is stark reality. We can’t lock a door, hide or run away. We have to take this moment as it is. It demands our full attention. Doesn’t leave a second to think about anything else. No, we are there and we have to get out again. Getting angry, arguing and giving up won’t help. My eyes wander through my tarnished, sweat-stained sunglasses. The view is very blurred as a result. But stop and clean your glasses? Am I crazy? No, I don’t do the mosquitoes any favors.

Maybe there’s a possibility up there,” I say at 8 p.m., seeing two lanes of cars leading away from the gravel road. After 55 hard-earned kilometers, we let our bikes roll off the embankment full of hope and push them back up the other side. It works. Now we walk through waist-high grass. Always thinking of the ticks that can sit on any stalk to attack us. But even this thought has lost its meaning at this moment. We are just tired. Done with this horror. Who came up with the idea of exploring Siberia by bike? Then I discover a small clearing. We push our bikes onto it. I kick down the tall grass and check the ground to see if it is suitable for sleeping on. Some surfaces in the taiga are so humpy that you don’t want to think about using them as a place to sleep. “Fits,” I mean. We unload the bikes in no time at all, lay a large tarpaulin on the trampled down grass and erect our tent. Tanja immediately hands me one Ortlieb saddlebag after another into the apsis. Opening and closing the mosquito net again and again. In this way, we reduce the number of mosquitoes in the small awning. Then Tanja slips in while I go back out and lock up our bikes. Just in case a crazy Siberian comes by to steal one of the valuable wire horses. We have found that even in the remote camps here in Siberia we meet mushroom pickers, shepherds, road workers and other people. So it’s not an exaggerated precaution. After pulling a thin green tarpaulin over the bikes, I soon slip into the vestibule, screaming from the inferno outside, and catch my breath for a few minutes.

Although we rarely lose our sense of humor in almost any situation, there is none left at this point. Hundreds of small black flies have also made their way into the vestibule and are buzzing back and forth like madmen in the tent sky. But since this variety does not sting, we don’t care much. When we have rested for a while, Tanja takes bread, the last sesame sauce from Rapunzel, a tomato and a cucumber from the kitchen bag. I devour my food with relish and ravenous hunger while Tanja is exhausted and not hungry. “That’s awful buzzing out there,” I say, listening to the bright, unpleasant sound of the ravenous mosquitoes outside the tent. “It’s fantastic that such a thin fabric keeps this flying army at bay,” Tanja replies.

Then we get ready to slip into the sleeping chamber of the tent. While I inflate the sleeping mats, Tanja hands me the laptop, cameras and other technology I need to archive today’s photos. Then, when Tanja is already sleeping the sleep of the exhausted, I type my notes into the laptop until 1:00 a.m. and archive pictures. Without the will to persevere and the confidence that it will be easier again, it is almost impossible to cope with such work after such a day. I finally close the overheated computer and ask myself how I’m going to manage to go out there again to pee. “Never mind, it has to be done,” I say to myself, unzip the zipper and rush outside. As soon as I’m in the defenseless position, I can literally feel a second flexible skin forming on my body. There are thousands and thousands of mosquitoes, almost simultaneously digging their proboscises into my flesh. “Aaaaahhhhhh!” I scream, flail my arms wildly, pull my pants back up and save myself with another leap into the tent. Without a doubt. Whatever I thought before. Long live progress and civilization.

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