Water Day

It’s time to leave our hosts’ hut. The distance ahead of us is great. Above all, we don’t know what to expect. It’s only just under 2,000 kilometers to the Mongolian border, but almost every day we are warned about the mountains, the bad roads ahead, the extremely short summer and the horrible mosquitoes. “In August, the nice weather is already over again. It mostly rains continuously. Fog and low-lying clouds don’t exactly make cycling a pleasure. Above all, the thermometer drops below zero degrees at night,” Andrej told us.

Due to some minor adjustments to our bikes and packing, we don’t set off until 12:30. No problem, as the sun doesn’t set until 22:20 in the Siberian summer. So we have enough time to put a few kilometers on the speedometer.

Because Luba is not at home, we drop the house key in the letterbox as agreed. Then it’s off through the not particularly attractive city in bright sunshine. “Denis, we have to watch out for the children! They’re throwing water bombs at the cars and motorcyclists today,” Tanja warns me. “Why is that?” I ask. “I don’t know, but I’ve seen it and I’ve been warned about it. Today is the day of the water” “Hm, so it’s the day of the water cannon,” I say, looking carefully from left to right to avoid suddenly taking an involuntary dip.

We reach the outskirts of the city without getting wet. We are immediately greeted by another climb. Our legs and circulation work hard. The blood is pumped through the veins to supply the hard-working muscles. Tanja and I often think about what equipment we can send home, what we don’t really need and what has proved to be superfluous ballast over time. So instead of three cycling shirts, we decide to continue with just two. We can also squeeze four pairs of socks onto three. The water filter is also not absolutely necessary here. It has been shown that, as a rule, we can always get hold of usable drinking water. Over time, you become more modest on a trip like this, especially when you have to move all your belongings under your own steam. Of course, it is important to remember that it is easier to be out and about in summer. In the fall and early winter, the situation looks completely different again. Sometimes we need every part. This is mainly because sweating makes your clothes soaking wet and they have no chance to dry in the damp tent. So last late fall we were glad for every piece of clothing. Nevertheless, a middle way is required and we have decided to slim down further. The only thing we can’t do to save weight is the technology and spare parts for the bikes. Unfortunately, that is also the hardest part. The laptop and Satphone alone weigh a good 10 kilograms. We may be able to change something on the next stage. Storage space is getting cheaper and cheaper and some devices have not only become more robust but also lighter over the past few years. But who can afford to buy new technology all the time?

“Denis, let’s take a short break,” Tanja suggests as we pass a roadside café. We leave the potholed asphalt strip and turn off over dust and gravel to the simple location. There is a washbasin inside to wash the dust off your hands and face. However, almost all street cafés have no running water and if there is a tap over such a basin, only warm air comes out. This is annoying if I have already soaped my hands beforehand. But this time I’m smarter and turn the tap first. “I thought so,” I think to myself as just one lost drop prepares to fall out of the old tube. “Do you have water to wash your hands?” I ask a Dewuschka (woman) in a friendly manner. She immediately brings me a small pot with a liter of the precious liquid. Then I order borscht (national dish ? cabbage soup with meat) because Tanja is a vegetarian, without meat for her. “A bit of protein can’t hurt with all this effort,” I say and look forward to a delicious Russian home-style soup. “What’s that thing in your soup?” asks Tanja with amusement. “Apparently it’s the meat”, I argue, looking at the large swirl of beef sticking out of my plate like a tower from an old city wall. “Should also become a vegetarian,” I say, throwing the disgusting-looking neck vertebra of a cow to the emaciated dog, who is apparently eagerly awaiting this tasty morsel.

In relatively strong winds, we now sit under broken parasols on the terrace of the run-down restaurant. Dust and gravel all around us. When a car arrives, it blows a heavy layer of dust over our food. If it weren’t for the eternal taiga with its impressive nature and the nice people, I would wonder what we were doing here at all. “What’s that man doing there?” Tanja asks as a very poor-looking Siberian sets down a large sack and shuffles into the café. A little later he reappears, shoulders his heavy bag and heads for the bus stop on the other side of the road. “Did you see that? Even his wellies were patched all over,” I say. “Yes, it’s terrible how poor some of the people here are. With the swirl in your soup, you must have lost your appetite for meat for the time being?” asks Tanja. “Actually, I did. Why?” “You got the tin of beef as a present from Anja’s father. What do you say we give it to the man there?” “That’s a good idea. I’m sure he’ll be delighted,” I reply and take the tin out of the trailer. Tanja immediately crosses to the other side of the street and hands the man the food. “And what did he say?” I want to know when Tanja returns. “He was delighted and gave me a few leaves of wild wild garlic in return. His sack is full of them. I think he goes from street cafe to street cafe to sell the wild garlic.” “So he’s an herb collector,” I say, wondering how people survive here.

The master reports back

The wind gets stronger and stronger as we continue our journey. It blows towards us from the east. I can only explain its strong presence because it gets relatively hot over the country in the Siberian summer. This creates low-pressure areas and the air from the colder adjacent seas flows towards the continent. In winter, areas of high pressure develop over the continents and the winds blow towards the warmer oceans. So from a wind point of view it would be better to head east in winter, but there would be another even bigger obstacle, the extreme cold of minus 40° to 60° Celsius. “Will the wind now turn against us in addition to the eternal mountains?” I ask aloud. On the last stage of our Trans-East expedition, we cycled 3,000 kilometers through the steppes of Kazakhstan. The biggest challenge there was the eternal wind that soon blew towards us incessantly. Probably a phenomenon that affects every cyclist. But it was no longer fun in Kazakhstan. Due to the enormous effort demanded of us by the wind, we made much slower progress than planned and had a major challenge with our water supply. It was only with cunning and tactics that we overcame the steppe and above all the wind. One of our tricks, for example, was to stop calling the wind by its name. Because whenever we talked about him, he didn’t have to wait long to almost blow us off our bikes. That’s why we simply called him the master. That confused him, because from then on he no longer knew how to find us. Of course we made a joke of it. It was a game with the natural element and yet at times we weren’t sure whether the wind, i.e. the master, could really be confused. However. He disappeared completely in Siberia. Too much forest slows down the wind. Now, however, the master can’t even be slowed down by the taiga. We now cycle up and down the eternal hills and when the wind is blowing straight into our faces.

“We should go back to the old tactic and stop calling him wind,” I say, rather amused at my idea. “You’re right. It’s the constant inclines,” Tanja replies, which is why we’ll only be talking about the master from now on. At least when we’re outside. We make an exception in tents and houses, because he can’t see us there. “I wonder if this tactic also helps in the mountains,” Tanja puffs her luggage on wheels, pedaling up another incline. “That would be nice. But the mountains remain, whether we talk about them or not. They don’t need to find us, because we’ve found them,” I reply, amused.

The taiga seems to become more deserted and uninhabited with every kilometer. Only a few villages still plant their wooden huts to the left and right of the grey ribbon of civilization. The traffic has become a little less. Sometimes, however, it seems as if a large, indeterminate hand has pushed open a gate to let out a whole armful of tin monsters. Traffic is still heavier than we would have expected in this remote part of Mother Earth. From time to time we cross the Trans-Siberian Railway line. We have to wait in front of lowered barriers until long freight trains have passed. “What’s coming out of the ground?” asks Tanja as two iron plates rise out of the road after the barrier is lowered until they come to a halt at a 45 degree angle. “Should a driver actually break through the barrier, he will simply get stuck on the steel plates. The train is therefore 100% protected,” I think. We look after the iron snake, whose wagons are loaded with sturdy tree trunks smelling of resin. “They’re removing the beautiful taiga here,” I say, while at the same time thinking about how we can strengthen our commitment to our tree planting campaign in order to counteract the overexploitation of global deforestation at least a little.

In the late afternoon, we pass another typical roadside village. I clicked the video camera onto the handlebar tripod to film the people and their wooden dwellings. Suddenly a girl comes running towards me, screeching, so that I almost fall off my bike in shock. When I notice that she is about to swing a ten-liter bucket of water through the air to drown me in the wetness, I yell “Njet! (No) Nyet! (No) Camera! Camera!” At the same time, I pedal hard, swerve to the right and hold my left hand in front of the video camera to protect it. The entire scene takes place in a fraction of a second. The girl is also startled by my loud outburst and tries to slow down the heavy bucket in its cruel momentum, but the gravity is too great once it has developed. The water inevitably leaves the bucket and, luckily for me, only spills over the trailer’s Zargesbox. “Phew! Lucky me,” I breathe a sigh of relief as the danger behind us giggles loudly. “If I were you, I’d pack the video now,” advises Tanja, because you never know behind which shed another horde of jokers will be standing, pouring their buckets over harmless passers-by, or even worse, throwing so-called water bombs at you.

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