Thunderstorm escape

When I look out of the window, I see dense, low-lying fog. Just the day before yesterday we were sizzling in 61 degrees in the sun and 33 degrees in the shade and now the thermometer is at 21 degrees. What a change in the weather. Something like this was actually only predicted for August. Is this the end of the Siberian summer? “This can’t be happening, can it?” I think, praying that I won’t have to cycle through a soup of rain and fog every day. Fortunately, at 10:00 a.m. the sun begins to shine through the wall of fog and it doesn’t take long for the gray veil to disappear completely.

While pumping up all eight tires on our bikes and trailers, I notice that my rear tire has lost a surprising amount of air. “Looks like a flat tire,” I say. “Do you have to mend it now?” asks Tanja. “If there’s a hole in there, it’s a very small one. I can fix it another day,” I reply. We leave Tulun under a slightly cloudy sky. We work our way up one mountain range after another and are happy to be rewarded with pleasant descents. With every hour that passes, more and more storm clouds gather. Deep thunder and bright flashes of lightning behind us make us spin the cranks faster. “Maybe we’ll manage to escape the storm!” I shout to Tanja. Looking back again and again, we now ride at 15 to 18 km/h through a flat depression. Two different storm fronts are now tackling us from behind. One comes from the left and the other from the right. They are closing in on us faster and faster, pushing towards the southeast like arrowheads to cut us off. As the first drops fall, we stop to take off our rain jackets. “Take a look at this. A massive rain front is coming towards us. Hurry, hurry, or it’ll hit us with full force!” I shout, startled by the sight of the rapidly approaching water roller. The trees are already bending in the rising wind. “Come on now!” I shout again to Tanja, who is in a hurry to change the lenses on her cycling glasses. Too late. The first gusts of wind hit us in the back at around 50 km/h to 60 km/h and even before we are back in the saddle, the cold wall of rain rolls over us. Within a few seconds, we find ourselves in the middle of a horrible laundry room. Back on the trestles, the gusts of wind drive us at 30 km/h over the barely visible asphalt. The road has turned into a river. Cars come towards us at walking pace and with their lights on. And suddenly, as if the whole scenario was just a haunting, it stops again. I turn around and can hardly believe my eyes. Just a few meters behind our flying bikes, the water continues to rush from the sky as if it were falling from a high cliff. Again and again I turn in the saddle to watch this spectacle that I have never seen before. Slowly but steadily, the squalls of the rolling clouds blow us out of the action. The waterfall following us can’t keep up with our speed and can’t harm us as long as we keep pedaling and the wind blows behind us. We are still speeding along at 27 to 30 km/h and are happy about the ever-increasing distance. “Fantastic! We just drove away from the rain!” I shout and feel the cold water running out of my shoes.

In the village of Kujtun we are told about a gastiniza. We are looking forward to getting our wet clothes off and enjoying a hot shower, but as we park our bikes in front of the venerable purple-colored wooden house, we know that at least a hot shower is out of the question. On the second floor we get a small room for 600 roubles (13.60 euros), which can just about accommodate a table and two beds. On the first floor there is an opportunity to wash in a basin. The outhouse is located in the courtyard. The special feature is the two holes next to each other. During busy periods, two people can sit over a hole at the same time and, as we have already experienced in China, discuss the latest events of the day while doing their business.

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