Hunted by wild dogs

(Photos of the diary entry can be found at the end of the text).

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To find out why my battery consumption is about 15% higher than Tanja’s, we swap trailers today. “I can’t imagine that Ajacis and his trailer weigh so much more than the technical box, but who knows. We’ll know after the first 30 km at the latest,” I say. As soon as we have left the village behind us, we climb up to 1,100 m. Because we want to give our dog some exercise, he is allowed to run alongside us. A dangerous undertaking because of the traffic. Ajaci is not yet used to always walking to the right of the bike and occasionally wants to jump onto the side of the road. “No!!!” we shout in horror. I brake the heavy bike and order him to run on the right side. It takes a lot of concentration to keep an eye on the dog and the cars whizzing past and to steer a train of bicycles over the potholed, sometimes completely destroyed asphalt. After two kilometers I give up. “We need a different solution. It’s just too dangerous. I should try the hip belt,” I think. “I hope Ajaci doesn’t pull you off your bike,” warns Tanja. “It’ll be fine,” I say with conviction, unpack the hip belt, put it on and click Ajaci’s leash onto one of the eyelets. The harness has been specially designed so that you can take your dog for a walk without having to hold the lead in your hand all the time. “If it works on the walk, then it will certainly work on the bike too,” I say confidently and get on the saddle. “Let’s go Ajaci,” I give the command and start pedaling. Ajaci sprints off immediately and runs alongside me. Because of the leash, he is no longer able to get to the side of the road or run in front of my tire. “It works perfectly,” I say happily until Ajaci spots the first cattle and almost pulls me off my bike as he is about to chase them. “Are you crazy?” I shout, startled. Then everything goes well again until he thinks about having a poo and therefore also runs off to the right into the countryside. “He has to pee!” warns Tanja, whereupon I pull the brakes and he can do his business. Ajaci is allowed to run alongside the bike for about eight kilometers for the first time. “You did well,” we praise him and pack him back into his trailer. “It works, but it’s still dangerous. In the long term, we need a different solution,” I say thoughtfully. “There is a good system that attaches to the seat post. We could have it sent to Ulan Bator by our friends,” Tanja ponders.

Although I’m riding the equipment box today, my battery is already empty after 20 km because of the steep incline and the dog training, while Tanja still has juice in her battery. “No wonder. Your trailer was empty for eight kilometers. Ajaci was running alongside the bike. If we want a proper result, the dog has to be in the trailer,” I say. Shortly before we reach our destination for the day, Tanja’s battery is now drained after another 30 kilometers, while I still have power for another five kilometers. “So it is. It’s the weight of the trailer. Ajacis is obviously much heavier than the equipment box,” I think about it and calculate the weight again out loud. “The bag on the roof rack must weigh 20 kg. Ajaci approx. 33 kg. The trailer itself with conversion approx. 16 kg. The Goal Zero battery, the Bosch battery and dog food approx. 10 kg and the three Nomad 20 solar panels approx. 3.5 kg. All in all, around 80 kg. That’s a lot. I think the box has a good 20 to 25 kg less. That means my bike technique is definitely okay and I haven’t pedaled any less than you,” I tease Tanja and am pleased to have eliminated a supposed source of error.

With 30 degrees in the shade and the many mountains up to over 1,100 m above sea level, it is a hot and exhausting day. We take a short break at the top of a pass, at Ovol. Many cars and trucks roar past. These include 20 vintage cars from France, which are on their way from Paris to Hong Kong with a tow truck and a service vehicle. Almost all the co-drivers at the classic car rally stick their cameras out of the window to photograph and film our bicycle road trains. We wave to them and get back on the saddles to let our bikes hurtle down into the wide valley. I am just following Tanja when two huge, aggressive dogs come charging over an embankment towards us, barking loudly. As we’re rolling down the hill at around 35 km/h, I’m not worried about being caught by them. But far from it, because they are approaching me frighteningly fast. As Tanja is driving directly in front of me and obviously doesn’t notice the approaching danger, I can’t accelerate. “Step on the gas! Faster! For God’s sake, drive faster!” I shout at the top of my lungs against the wind as one of the beasts is about to bite my calf. Tanja reacts in a flash and accelerates her vehicle to 50 km/h. I follow suit, pedaling wildly and in gear 14. We immediately gain distance from the two hunters who are obviously having fun attacking defenceless cyclists. As Tanja was bitten twice by dogs during our last Mongolia expedition and we had a lot of experience with Mongolian herding dogs during our stay in the country, we know that such attacks can be very serious. I’m really glad that the four-legged friends attacked us when we were going downhill and I don’t even want to think about it when such bastards attack us during an uphill ride.

Late in the afternoon we reach the large sign on the main road which invites us to take a short break in luxurious conditions. We also stopped here during our last cycle tour through Mongolia. However, it was already very cold back then in mid-October. We were completely frozen and exhausted from the effort. Our stay at the resort, which is about six kilometers from the road, was unforgettable for us, which is why we have been looking forward to relaxing here again for days. “We’d better give them a call. Who knows, maybe they’re fully booked or the prices have doubled. I don’t fancy driving six kilometers up the gravel road just to find out they’re fully booked,” I say. “The room costs 210,000 Tugrik”, (93,- €) moments later we are speechless as such an overnight price is beyond our budget. When I ask several times if there are other rooms and the girl doesn’t understand what I mean, she abruptly ends our conversation. “She just hung up on me,” I say angrily. “If you want, we can drive on,” Tanja suggests. “As far as I remember, the next accommodation isn’t for another 40 or 50 kilometers,” I reply wearily. “I’m sure they have cheaper rooms too. If we could afford it last time, it’ll work this time too,” Tanja convinces me, whereupon we steer our bikes onto the rough gravel and dirt road and ride up the mountain to 1,280.

It was actually due to the communication problems, because we get a beautiful large yurt with four beds for 90,000 Tugrik (€38) a night. Although this is still a high price, it is justified by the fantastic ambience in which the resort is located. We are just pushing our bikes across a lush meadow to the yurt when Ajaci’s trailer crashes to the side again. I put my buck on the stand and race to Tanja’s aid. “It just tipped over. I can’t help it,” she defends herself immediately. “Yes, yes. I believe you. If Ajaci isn’t sitting in it, he’s top-heavy because of the heavy bag on the roof rack,” I say. “Well, we were lucky that the trailer tipped over here in the meadow. Imagine if that had happened in traffic while Ajaci was running alongside your bike,” she says. My hair stands on end just thinking about it. “Without a doubt, we really were very lucky. I didn’t think the trailer would tip over so easily. All it takes is a small stone to throw it on its side,” I think as I try to get the bent mudguard back into shape. “If Ajaci walks next to you in future, the bag has to be loaded from the roof rack into the trailer,” Tanja suggests. “Yes, I think that will work,” I agree with her.

In the evening we sit in front of our yurt and throw a few balls for Ajaci, who chases after them with great joy to catch them. We enjoy the view of the wide valley. Herds of cattle and sheep graze peacefully on the lush green pastures. Camels pass by just a few hundred meters away from us. Scattered yurts stretch their white roofs like mushrooms out of the endless greenery. The tops of the distant mountains are crowned by a small group of feathery cumulus clouds. A white shaman is enthroned on the hill directly behind our Mongolian dwelling, about to beat his sacred drum while gazing up into the blue sky to consult his ancestors, the gods and spirits. The large statue seems to be watching over us and my thoughts instantly fly back to the past when we experienced shamanic ceremonies with the reindeer nomads in the Arctic taiga. “Do dong! Do dong! Do dong!”, the drum sounded incessantly at the time. The dancing shaman writhed, his body bending forwards and backwards. His head seemed to disappear into the drum. “Uhuu! Uhuu!” his cry suddenly rang out. On the other side of the small dark wooden hut sat four or five women. From time to time they spoke excitedly. “Who are these women?” I asked the shaman Saintsetseg, who was sitting next to me. “They are relatives of ours. They came all the way here yesterday for the ritual. Gamba is holding this ceremony for them,” she explained. “And why do they sometimes speak so excitedly?” I asked. “They ask the spirit that the shaman has just come into contact with.” “And they get answers?” “Of course they do. The spirit speaks through Gamba’s mouth,” I heard in amazement.

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