Notes From The Road Vol III: Notes From The Road, #3
()
About this ebook
NOTES FROM THE ROAD VOL. III
This book, the prequel to Vol IV, is a retrospective of Mansfield’s journey to Mongolia from London and return.
It takes place in 2012 before Russia invaded Ukraine.
The Russian Federation and Siberia were joyful, the people still happy and not fearful; Central Asia was relatively peaceful, the population approachable and friendly.
But his experience was also coloured by encounters with gangsters, corruption, mechanical failures and the breaking of bones.
Taking all of this in his stride, he was humbled by the help and assistance readily given and ultimately grateful that he survived.
The story is told with rich good humour, the survivalist’s ever-present antidote to the vicissitudes of true adventure.
Praise For Volume IV
Spiced by self-deprecating humour and ironic wit, lucid descriptions of the sights, sounds, tastes and smells; an experience close to riding on the journey; war-torn areas, land mines; societies in political turmoil, corruption; seething ethnic conflicts barely attenuated. Yet, Mansfield finds beauty, freedom and fellowship within the chaos.
Jim Cowgill, ADVMoto
I loved it, one of the best written books I’ve read; humorous, adventurous, informative. Exquisite writing, amazing.
Nathan Millward. The Postie
I learned, laughed, sympathised and was
surprised. It’s very easy to give five stars.
Sam Manicom, Under Asian Skies
Just occasionally a book arrives that is different, brave and definitely intriguing; an observational classic, the acerbic wit pin sharp.
Paddy Tyson. Overland Magazine
A refreshing, sometimes unnervingly different approach; a ‘why-you-should-do-it’ inspirational book.
Colin Overland, Ride Magazine
47,000 words
Related to Notes From The Road Vol III
Titles in the series (2)
Notes From The Road Vol III: Notes From The Road, #3 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsNotes From The Road Volume IV: Notes From The Road, #4 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
Related ebooks
Voyages to Serendip: My Search for a Better Place Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsNotes From The Road Volume IV: Notes From The Road, #4 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThreepenny Plum Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsMalachite: A Journey in Africa Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsGadfly in Russia: A Story of Travel, History, People, and Places Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Speaking of Trains Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsRiding with Strangers: A Hitchhiker's Journey Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A Million Miles from Home Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsMan of the World: Book 1 of The Odyssey Expedition Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsNick Sanders: The Extraordinary Life of an Ordinary Man: Vol 1 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA Cluster of Grapes Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsPedal and Path - Across the Continent Aweel and Afoot Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsDreams and Nightmares Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsIn Deep Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Bonadventure A Random Journal of an Atlantic Holiday Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The Well at the World’s End Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Mr. Dide, His Vacation in Colorado Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsStories of Daring Journeys by Women Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsUnder a Storm-Swept Sky Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsOut of the Light Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsWriting on The Road: Campervan Love and the Joy of Solitude Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsNo Fixed Address: Six Continents, Sixteen Years, Sixty-Six Countries Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsSigns of Life: A Doctor's Journey to the Ends Of The Earth Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Across the Plains Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Road to Innamincka Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Seven Years Bikes Babes, Booze and Boats Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsAcross the Plains, with Other Memories and Essays Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsLampLight: Volume 7 Issue 1 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Well at the World's End: One Man's Epic Cross-Continental Quest for the Fountain of Youth Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsNo Graven Image: A Novel Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5
Europe Travel For You
My Family and Other Animals Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Learn Spanish : How To Learn Spanish Fast In Just 168 Hours (7 Days) Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Four Seasons in Rome: On Twins, Insomnia, and the Biggest Funeral in the History of the World Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Notes from a Small Island Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5From Scratch: A Memoir of Love, Sicily, and Finding Home Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5North: How to Live Scandinavian Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Corfu Trilogy: My Family and Other Animals; Birds, Beasts and Relatives; and The Garden of the Gods Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Everything Travel Guide to Ireland: From Dublin to Galway and Cork to Donegal - a complete guide to the Emerald Isle Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsHuckleberry Finn Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Mastering Spanish Words: Increase Your Vocabulary with Over 3000 Spanish Words in Context Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Frommer's Athens and the Greek Islands Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsFodor's Bucket List Europe: From the Epic to the Eccentric, 500+ Ultimate Experiences Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsUnlocking Spanish with Paul Noble Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Lysistrata Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Forest Walking: Discovering the Trees and Woodlands of North America Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Funny Feckin' Irish Jokes: Humorous Jokes About Everything Irish...sure tis great craic! Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Nordic Theory of Everything: In Search of a Better Life Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Easy Learning French Conversation: Trusted support for learning Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Year of Living Danishly: Uncovering the Secrets of the World's Happiest Country Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Conversational French Quick and Easy: The Most Innovative Technique to Learn the French Language. Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Paris Letters: A Travel Memoir about Art, Writing, and Finding Love in Paris Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I Hate Men Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Easy Learning Italian Conversation: Trusted support for learning Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Cottage Gardens Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsScottish Miscellany: Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Scotland the Brave Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5
Reviews for Notes From The Road Vol III
0 ratings0 reviews
Book preview
Notes From The Road Vol III - Derek Mansfield
Praise For Volume IV
Spiced by self-deprecating humour and ironic wit, lucid descriptions of the sights, sounds, tastes and smells; an experience close to riding on the journey; war-torn areas, land mines; societies in political turmoil, corruption; seething ethnic conflicts barely attenuated. Yet, Mansfield finds beauty, freedom and fellowship within the chaos.
Jim Cowgill, ADVMoto
I loved it, one of the best written books I’ve read; humorous, adventurous, informative. Exquisite writing, amazing.
Nathan Millward. The Postie
I learned, laughed, sympathised and was
surprised. It’s very easy to give five stars.
Sam Manicom, Under Asian Skies
Just occasionally a book arrives that is different, brave and definitely intriguing; an observational classic, the acerbic wit pin sharp.
Paddy Tyson. Overland Magazine
A refreshing, sometimes unnervingly different approach; a ‘why-you-should-do-it’ inspirational book.
Colin Overland, Ride Magazine
NOTES FROM THE ROAD VOLUME III
DEREK MANSFIELD
HOMBRE PRESS
First published by Hombre Press England, September 2017
Copyright © Derek Mansfield 2017
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First Printing, 2017
ISBN 978-0-9957454-9-0
Edited by Several People
Designed by Olga Popova
Printed by Zenith Media
Veritas Me Dirigit
TRUTH DIRECTS ME
Here’s a truth that I’ve discovered. When you’ve seen sufficient oceans, and marvelled at the mountains, when you’ve walked the city streets and ridden enough of the steppe... it’s the people you meet that are the most remembered.
They’re the reason for the journey.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my grand-children, Luke & Rosabella.
May they grow ever more clever and strong and explore this wonderful world for themselves.
Contents
Praise For Volume IV
Veritas Me Dirigit
Dedication
The Journey Map
Foreword
Prologue
And Off
Onward To The East
Technically Equipped
Zabreze To Kyiv, Almost
And Then It Rained
The Bikers Of Kyiv
Of Gangsters
Karma Of The Road
Riding The Russian Night
Dope In The Dark
Recommended By Hookers
The Trans Siberian Highway
Sleeping In A Nightclub
Siberia Begins
Capital Of Oil
Rocket Army
Dead Centre
Change Of Plan
Into The Valley
The Border Town
Daunted
Heading West
A Russian Biker Party
Karlag
Night Of The Bong
Maintenance
Building Blocks
The Café In Nowhere
Who The Hell Are You
The Buran
In Uralsk
Return To Russia
Centuries Of Blood
Epilogue
Addendum
Before The Off
A Parallel Universe
Changing Gear
A Digression On Bribes
Acknowledgements.
Further Reading
About The Author
The Journey Map
This is my journey from London to Mongolia and back via Kazakhstan; approximately 18,000 kilometres door to door
There are improved images of this map and illustrative photographs here.
http://derekmansfield.com
Foreword
Iam lucky to have completed this book.
I have three illnesses, any one of which is terminal, but I’m still upright and breathing today.
Certain names, places and times have been changed to protect people from consequential retribution as they helped me on my journey.
Gangsters are woven into the story and they still live. Others, friends, were involved in small but illegal acts against some Nation States
But I made it there, and I made it back.
Thank you for the love, each and every one of you.
Prologue
The much-feared Buran wind stirs into life in the north of Siberia, gathers pace on the Mongolian Steppe, and crashes into Kazakhstan. In winter, it is ice laden. In summer, in the now, on broken roads, it whips sand and soil into deadly dust storms.
Because I have no choice I ride half blinded over a hill; a burly SUV overtakes and throws more dust into my eyes. The deep sand is not gentle with the front wheel under full brake.
To the road bed, pain shooting through my body from ribs broken five weeks earlier. Breathing is stilted; a few short gasps and new pain blossoms from my ankle trapped under a quarter tonne of motorcycle.
I turn my head and see the wheels of a giant Kamaz truck sliding towards me. Dear God,
I beg, beam me up.
And Off
It’s the drugs that take up the space.
There was a time, employed as I was as an ambassador of an august international newspaper, coloured pink, when I was provided with an expense account with which to entertain clients.
The entertainment was supposedly to persuade the clients to spend their corporate funds on advertising in said organ. Many of the advertisers were bankers in the City of London.
Some of the more corpulent entertainees actually and audibly smacked their lips over food and wine thus freely provided, and told stories that the hills in the vineyard that made this wine faced south, or north or somewhere, therefore improving the wine beyond human capacity of description, adjectives or judgement. Thick lips, smack smack, guzzle guzzle, glug glug.
I never heard a geographic or geological discussion over the merits of marijuana or cocaine or other recreational drugs. But then I may not have been listening; I lived for a couple of decades with more than my share of blackouts.
No matter the provenance, my sole interest in fine or any kind of wine, alcohol or other recreational stimuli was always the same. More. Now.
But personally, no lips were smacked.
Drugs needed for recreation can be purchased almost anywhere on the road; but the maximum allowable prescribed drugs needed to keep me alive for four months take up a great deal of room. In the days of the brown glass bottle it was much easier to pack, but today the pills are divided by paper, card and plastic the easier to forget and administer in the wrong order. Or time.
I’d packed most things two days ago. Clothes, tools, tent and cooking kit. Plus, because I’d read about it, duct tape and nylon ties.
The hard-plastic luggage and top-box were brimming and jammed tight.
And last night at exactly midnight with nerves hammering and fear enveloping I had emptied and repacked everything. Twice.
Here and now in the morning, my wife and I discuss my toilet habits. She has years of experience taking children on journeys and toileting them before the off.
But I’m wondering, smart in my red wax jacket, about two related things. Did I realise that I looked like a Mountie, Canadian RCMP? And would a Mountie’s wife say in a sweet Canadian drawl, to her man high up on his horse, Hey Honey, have you been to the toilet for a wee?
No answer comes. To answer my wife I nod my head, a final kiss and loving hug and I’m ready to mount up too.
Normally the prospect of a long ride and new horizons fills me with excitement; any biker knows that too few hours on the road creates a craving for wind in the face, but this time I am somewhat beset by nerves.
Is it because the bike is still new to me? The Stelvio is a very large machine, I am physically small, and still learning to ride it with confidence.
Or maybe it’s because I have spoken to other riders who have ridden through Mongolia and the thought of riding over trackless deserts on my own is just a little daunting.
But here we are, early on this bright and shiny blue skied morning, birdsong at high volume, and I’m ready to leave.
Helmet on, gloves on. Gloves off, helmet secured, gloves on. In fitted black jeans with kevlar cladding, my leg is swung over the saddle and then sitting tall with the nerves yammering and fear in the pit of the stomach.
A final contrived smile to hide the stretching of the fear and rolling off the drive onto the road. Nerves quieting, fear leaving, and, with the acceleration, the thrill of adventure beginning.
To Dover, and brief nauticalia. I was a sailor, and indeed a nuclear submariner, in our good Queen’s Navy almost fifty years ago. So, I prefer the tradition, and sometimes for cost, to cross the English Channel by ship.
There is an anticipation and a finality about leaving my Island; crossing the sea, disembarking to touch the soil of a new country and knowing, unmistakably, that I’m finally abroad.
For once I’d got the time right for the Ferry with the wait just thirty minutes; motorcycles are no longer at the front of the queue for the off which is a shame but, well, the advantage was only ever minimal.
Boarding. Up the scary clanking metal ramp into this gigantic steel space painted white, blue, and yellow, the occasional patch of rust, and sailors ready to hook up and strap down my motorcycle with me thanking anyone who’d listen that it was dry with no skidding on the deck. It’s the mid-morning ferry from Dover to Calais in France.
Sunshine still abounds, blue sky but a bit of a chill and bluster introduced with the ship rocking lightly in the wind.
And usually, at the front on landing, for fear of looking like a laggard or a fool, I ride off at speed. Invariably in the wrong direction.
In fact, the ride to Dortmund was short, about four hundred kilometres, and although I rode through three languages the journey in the countryside was marked only by the general lack of features, other than complying with Continental law by riding on the wrong side of the road.
I wasn’t arrested in France for not wearing a DayGlo jacket.
Nor, dammit, was I arrested and asked for a breath test with the breathalyser and spare light bulbs in a packet. Dammit because I had panic purchased them, just in case, on the Net three days ago.
There was musical interlude, briefly, in Belgium. The motorcycle was flashing its little yellow dashboard light in such an endearing way that I knew more petrol was required. Into a petrol station, with people, which in Belgium is passingly strange. The previous year I’d found Belgian petrol stations that served petrol, air, oil, coffee, hot croissants and umbrellas with nary a human in sight. Full service; but only slots for cards or cash.
So here I am, card outstretched and the dark haired Belgian girl behind the till asking, in a voice not dissimilar to Ms. Bette Midler, if I want to dance in the moonlight. I am taken aback by such a friendly attitude especially as it is daylight outside and the girl is now singing at the top of her voice. I pay, smile and as I leave the store realise Ms. Midler is also singing at the top of her voice, but inside my helmet. And can be heard, for the accompaniment and joining in, on the outside too. A wave from the till and I smile, riding away, as the ‘Wind beneath my wings’ begins to play over the engine noise.
The cities rolled by too; from the road, the architecture mainly glass and steel with little attempt to uphold and identify with centuries of previous culture.
It may be the wrong side of the road but the wheels are spinning nicely and away from the cities and back in the countryside I’m inhaling bucolic cow, pig, and chicken manure smells that fill the air and are seemingly richer and longer lasting than those in Surrey. No wonder, I thought, we Brits import so much meat and dairy products; viewed up close, Le Continent is just one enormous farm.
The motorways streamed by, the language changes but so far understandable. No crowds to wave at, or to commune with; the weather now dull and grey so I guess the crowds are indoors watching the daytime TV.
So, all’s well. Except. And it is quite a big exception. NDrive, my phone mounted Satnav software is more than ever completely crazed. It runs for ten minutes and retires hurt, thence crashing the phone in pique.
I had decided, this journey, to avoid the expense of maps and trust ever more firmly in technology. I hadn’t even bothered to print some Google maps. Except one, on one page of A4, delineating, in very small scale, a route from London to Vladivostok.
The advantage being that it fits in the tank bag folder, the distance doesn’t look that far, and it didn’t seem to matter that Vladivostok was not the desired destination. Bing.com seems to be a better mapping tool than Google incidentally – Bing takes you across borders, whilst Google adds hundreds of kilometres by finding a route around.
Being map-less hasn’t been a problem previously. I stayed on roads going vaguely in the direction I wanted and put up my tent or found a hotel when I got tired.
Besides, I was looking forward to meeting new friends.
New friends are made at the side of the road when problems dump you there. No problems, no meetings. And, as you’ve maybe realised, I’m not a dealership tourist.
I’m a couch-surfing tourist. With friends, friends of friends and new friends yet to be met to include those from Couchsurfing, dot com, too.
This Friday, June 1st, I was to stay with Birgit, a talented photographic artist and producer whose work adorns the interweb and several galleries here in her native Germany.
I had arranged to meet Birgit about seven in the evening, calculated as a four- hundred-kilometre ride starting at an hour past noon. But I hadn’t put NDrive into the frame and was summarily, and accordingly, punished.
I dialled in the address in Calais; off to the motorway and NDrive collapsed, phone crashed, and, like the sole participant in a TV quiz show I ask myself, Which motorway?
I stopped the bike, powered the phone down to reboot, redial in the address.
Through and past Bruges and Ghent and Antwerp and then Essen, heading on for Duisburg
Said process of rebooting NDrive repeats interminably as I rode across flat lands where people spoke in different