Further than we thought!

Over the course of the days, we realized that the wind actually has something to do with warmth and cold. It usually subsides at night. The next morning, it begins with the sun gaining strength and increases accordingly as the daytime temperatures rise. That’s the reason why we get up at 5:00 a.m. today. In fact, there is virtually no wind. At 6:10 am we are in the saddle and lo and behold, we are cycling along without any wind. At 7:00 a.m. it’s already blowing again and at 8:00 a.m. we think we’re going to hit another impenetrable wall. Once again we reach one of the few but important steppe rest stops. We get our bortsch, a few slices of the white bread on offer and a cup of tea. “Why don’t you stay the night? You can rest here,” the owner invites us. “We want to be in Aktöbe tomorrow,” we decline with thanks. “Oh what Aktöbe. The way there is exhausting and very hot. It’s fine here. Look! My yurt is over there. You can sleep there and then you can continue tomorrow,” he tries to convince me. “It’s a great offer, but we’d still like to continue,” I reply in a friendly manner. He opens his third bottle of beer shortly after 8:00 in the morning. Then he orders his hard-working wife around, who cooks for the truck drivers, serves them, clears the dishes and even collects the money. She seems to be a friendly soul and smiles good-naturedly at us. “Don’t let this offer pass you by. The river here is very rich in fish. At least take a look at it. I’ll take you around in my dinghy for just 10 minutes. We’re sure to catch a fish in that short time. Then you can still decide whether you want to stay,” the owner tries to convince me to stay again. “Come on, at least take a photo of my yurt,” he asks me. When I grab the camera to capture the inside of the yurt, he is convinced that he has convinced me and prepares his dinghy in the meantime. The inside of the yurt is homely, but there are the remains of a boozy party everywhere. I step back into the blazing sun as the man waves for me to get into his boat. A movie suddenly plays in my mind’s eye. I can see myself getting into the boat and the 10 minutes turn into half a day. I can see myself being fried by the sun while we don’t catch a single fish. To get over the frustration of the hapless angler, the man takes a bottle of vodka from his canvas bag and invites me to drink. Rejection is impossible in this case. Out of kindness, I take a sip, then another and another, until the bottle is empty and we’re both drunk. In the meantime, Tanja is waiting for me at the rest stop. As I’m no longer feeling well, we stay the night. The next day I have a squad. In the afternoon, the owner unpacks his vodka again and encourages me to do something about my headache. I take a sip, then another and so on. The bottle is empty again, after which the second bottle is decapitated. Again, we don’t get any further the next day. After half a year I have a beard that has grown up to my nipples. Tanja has flown home in the meantime, the bikes are stolen and I’m an alcoholic. Vodka, which I would now like to have, is no longer free. I see how I earn my money as a broken man at a run-down rest stop in the Kazakh steppe by patching big old truck tires just to be able to afford the vodka. What prospects? Oh horror! “Come on, then! Just 10 minutes. Your wife should rest in the shade for the time being!” he calls out and when I notice how he puts a large plastic bag with suspicious contents into the dinghy instead of the canvas bag, I say: “Uh, thank you very much. But the sun is getting stronger. We really must get going!” The man gets out of his rubber boat, visibly annoyed, and comes towards me. “All right then. Then I wish you a safe journey. But I’ll give you a tip. No matter where you are. One of you must always keep an eye on your bikes. Even when you’re eating. Don’t forget that. One of you must always sit facing the bikes. Otherwise they’ll be gone,” he advises and the story I’ve just lived through suddenly becomes even more real than I can believe.

The hills get longer and higher, now sometimes with a gradient of 12% up to over 400 meters. A driver brakes his truck so that it rolls alongside us. He calls out to us through the open side window. “What are you doing there? It’s way too hot out there! And the mountains! Load your bikes onto the loading area. I’ll drive you into town!” “No thanks! We want to make it with our own muscle power!” we reply. He shakes his head. “Come on! You can’t be serious! I’ll give you a lift!” “No thanks,” we reply again, whereupon he shifts into second gear and drives off shaking his head.

“There’s a suitable place to camp over there!” I shout to Tanja as I spot a nice row of trees that promises shade. “I don’t know. Let’s drive a bit further,” she replies. Although I think the course is good and we have actually reached our daily quota of 40 kilometers in the hilly landscape, I give in and pedal my steed further up the mountain. Once we reach the top, our gaze falls on a large city that lies in a wide basin. “That’s Aktöbe!” I exclaim, surprised to see the town so early. “What do you think? Should we still drive to the city today?” I ask, charged with new energy. “I think it’s a good idea,” Tanja replies, also motivated by the sight of the large settlement. We stop at a run-down bus stop to fortify ourselves with a snack for the last 25 kilometers. As all the walls are missing except for the back and the force four wind blows the dust from the road around our ears, we attach a foil to the wind side. “So now we can eat dust-free,” I say contentedly. Using the Zargesbox as a table, we place our tomatoes, mandarins, fresh white bread, mayonnaise, cheese spread and tin of fish on it. I’m just about to bite into my sandwich when a car comes roaring along, slams on the brakes and covers us and the food in an avalanche of dust. Two young men get out and greet us euphorically. “Have you got a drink of water for me?” one of them asks me, “Uh, water?” “Yes, water,” he repeats. “Sorry, we have to carry everything we have with our muscle power. We need every drop of it. Where do you actually come from?” I explain and ask. “Oh, we come from the village down there,” he replies and points to a settlement just two kilometers away from here. “Do you have water there?” “Sure.” “Well, then it would be very nice if you could get it from there,” I explain in a friendly manner, to which he nods his head in understanding. After we have answered all the questions again, they get into their Audi and speed off, leaving a fountain of dust in their wake. “Phew,” I sigh and finally take a bite of my bread.

“Do you smell that too?” I ask moments later. “Yes, smells like human excrement.” “That’s right. You only notice it through the slipstream we’ve built for ourselves. I wonder why people so often use bus stops as toilets? We should have found somewhere else to eat,” I say with another sigh.

Do angels really exist?

At 17:00 we tackle the last few kilometers and pedal against a strong easterly wind. When we reach the outskirts of the city, we stop for a few moments to get our bearings. “Where are they coming from? Where are they going? Can I help them?” asks a smartly dressed gentleman in polished shoes. “Ah, you’re looking for a hotel? Over there. Do you see? There’s one there. But if you like, I’ll drive ahead and show you the way,” he offers. Tanja and I can hardly believe our luck. The same thing happens here as in the town of Uralsk when the twins Maxim and Roman also took us to accommodation. “Quite idiosyncratic. You could actually believe that someone is waiting for the exact moment we arrive at a certain point just to help us. Are there really angels paving the way for us?” I wonder as we follow the Audi A6 through the city.

We are greeted with honking and shouting. Some drivers roll down their windows to ask us their questions. They don’t care if they are blocking traffic. Even the police wave to us. We follow the expensive car until we come to a halt in front of a large and genuine hotel block in the middle of the city center. “This is your hotel,” says the Kazakh, shakes my hand and gets back into his Audi. “Really amazing,” says Tanja with a smile. We lean our road trains against the hotel wall when we are approached by a German. “A German! It’s nice to meet a fellow countryman again,” I say happily. “My name is Benn. Where are you from?” We explain our itinerary. “Well, I’ve never met anything like that here. I’ve been here for five years, but that’s really crazy,” he says. “Five years?” “Yes, I work here for a big company as a geologist. I’m here for a month and at home for a month. Can I help you?” “We’ve been on the road for 13 hours today and have only managed 76 kilometers because of the crazy wind and the mountains. You could help us carry the equipment,” I reply. “Sure,” says the nice geologist and helps us check in and carry all our equipment. We are allowed to put our bikes in the conference room and get a deluxe apartment for 11,000 tenge (approx. 60 ?). Bedroom and study with air conditioning incl. Breakfast and dinner. Although this is a lot of money for us as long-term travelers, we are very satisfied with the price, because the price-performance ratio is exceptionally good.

“What kind of GPS are you working with?” Benn wants to know during this. I explain that I no longer have any maps loaded in the GPS from Aktöbe onwards. “I forgot that in the hectic rush of preparation,” I say. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I have all the maps for the region. If you want, I can transfer them to your device right now.” “You’re not serious? That’s unbelievable. Heaven sent you,” I reply again, amazed. “But we have to do it straight away because I have an appointment in an hour and I’m flying to the Altai Mountains tomorrow to go climbing,” he replies, which is why the perfect timing of the help we receive leaves us almost speechless.

The director

We talk to Benn for a while and very much regret not being able to talk to this interesting man for the next few days. By 9 p.m. we are sitting in the hotel restaurant, freshly showered and ready to down our throats with a cold beer. Before the liquid reaches the stomach, it has already evaporated. “The beer is from the hotel manager,” says the waitress and places a second one on the table. “From the director?” we ask as if from the same mouth. “Yes,” she says, pointing to a table behind us. A man with white hair waves to us in a friendly manner. We wave back with thanks. Then he invites us to join him at the table. Although we actually want to relax after a hard day, we accept his offer. Suddenly the man stands up. “May I?” he says, asking Tanja to dance. “Gladly,” she replies and now has to dance with the director. “I’m glad I’m not a woman,” I think to myself, because my thighs are dead tired. “May I?” I am startled by a woman’s voice behind me. I turn around and see a young Asian woman of about 35 with dark hair. “I’d love to,” I say, trying not to let the muscle pain show. It turns out that the lady is the hotel’s doctor. After a song, the two dancers lead us back to the table. The director seems to have had something to drink because he keeps grabbing Tanja’s arm. Then she has to dance again. But this time on physical contact. Tanja discreetly pushes the director away to maintain the necessary distance. He laughs. “Oh, how beautiful the Kazakh women are,” he says, pointing to his staff. “Are you actually married?” “Yes, we’ve been a couple for twenty years,” I reply, placing my two index fingers next to each other to reinforce my statement. The director misunderstands this, forms a circle with his left index finger and thumb and strikes it with the flat of his right hand. “20 years of sex!” he laughs. “Oh, Kazakh women are beautiful,” he says again and asks if we have children. “What, no kids?” he says, looking at me as if there’s something wrong with me. Then he orders vodka. We drink the first glass. As soon as the first one has burned down our parched throats, the second is on the table. “I can’t. We had a tough day on the bike,” Tanja tries to defend herself. “Come on,” says the director and asks us to drink the second one too. We do so in good grace as the third one lands on the table. In the meantime, thank God, the director’s daughter and grandson are sitting at the table with us. Unlike her dad, the woman speaks very good English and German. Tanja discreetly asks the woman how she can get out of the affair without offending her father. But she doesn’t give her the answer and so we have to drink the third vodka. We can now credibly convey to the director that we are dead tired and have to go to bed. He accepts, wishes us a pleasant night and disappears with his daughter and grandson. We meet him again the next morning. This time he hardly seems to know us. He greets us only briefly and walks past without shaking our hands.

We enjoy our days at the hotel. We use the time for our paperwork, sorting the pictures and washing the equipment. It requires several full baths to scrub the heavy dirt from our bodies and takes days for our bodies to regenerate.

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