Thanks for all the healing thoughts from everyone! We just reached Ulaangom, after another welding of Tyler's trailer in a coal mining town. It is now reinforced with extra steel and looks very frankensteinish.
The road we took to Ulaangom went over one pass at 2800m, which the book described as requiring "yeti lungs" to complete. It was grueling, and was also in a hail storm for part of it. On the top of the passes are ovoos, shamanistic offerings, piles of stones with sacred scarves and incense, horse skulls, money, food, and always lots of empty vodka bottles. After placing your rock, or offering, on the stone pile, you make a wish and walk around the pile 3 times. It feels pretty cool, to be in these remote places, with blue scarves blowing in the wind, surrounded by an immense landscape. Sometimes a car or truck comes by, people offer fermented mares milk, to us as well, then get back in their car and drive off, blaring their Asian pop music.
The landscape we rode through was some of the most stunning i have ever seen. So massive. We camped by one lake that was huge, surrounded by 3000m peaks, and in this huge valley. The whole evening and morning we were there we saw 2 vehicles far off in the distance. We squinted, trying to discern if that was in fact the road we planned to be on. We rode up these amazing valleys, stayed with some herders, drank tea with others, and saw some ancient burial mounds and rocks carved in the shapes of people! Sometimes, you could just look around and not see anything except for grass mountains and valleys stretched out before you. We even saw Bactrian camels!
Camera issues continue. Lesson learned- bring 2 cameras on a big trip.
Onward, next big stop, Moron. Really.
Love to all, Adrianne and Tyler
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
mongol rally
I suppose for every adventure to really be an adventure there are the unknowns. That is what makes them worthwhile. All life has these unknowns, but most of the time people try to pretend
they don't exist. Placing oneself out of the comfort zone is often
where the magic happens. That is what makes one feel really alive. And that is the addiction that drives many people to do things that otherwise seem crazy.
Alas, with the highs of adventure, there are also the lows. One can prepare for the difficulties as much as possible and therefore be better equipped and able to deal when things do go wrong, but at some point, all you can do is cross your fingers and hope for the best. Hope the weather holds out, hope your equipment holds out, hope the body holds out, just hope. Yet, sometimes there is an Achilles heel that is found, the armor is pierced, and it is usually something for which one wasn't prepared or couldn't prepare.
This past week, things got really hard.
A few days before arriving in Mongolia, while in the gorgeous Altai Region of Russia, full of stunning mountains, cliffs, and rivers, Tyler's BOB trailer cracked and broke. As luck would have it, we were in a tiny village, but managed to find Ivan the Welder, and within two hours we were back on the road. This area of the Altai follows a few rivers upstream, and with each 100 km further along the road, the landscape became more and more striking. The green hills, turned to mountains, the quaint Russian looking villages with little gardens, gave way to Kazakh looking villages of grey logs and stone walls and surrounding land brown from livestock. We were climbing to a plateau, with passes around 2500m, that were supposedly a desert climate, but which rained on us for 15 days in a row. The plateau is surrounded by 4000m peaks, still holding snow, and there are no trees, only brown and red and light green with grasses.
We had met up with a French couple, Tiben and Pauline, also planning to cycle across Mongolia, so for 6 days the 4 of us pedaled and camped together. It was relieving and fun to have companions for a few days.
We all rode into Mongolia on August 17th, and just as everyone said, the pavement ended. It literally went from a paved road in great condition, to dirt, at the gate. It felt like the end of the road, not the beginning. The town at the border was all grey, and nothing taller than one story. Many buildings have flat roofs, and there was dung drying on the roofs, to use as fuel in the winter, I suppose.
We quickly came upon a herd of yaks grazing by the road, and soon saw more gers scattered in the hills. It was gorgeous and pretty much what I had imagined of Mongolia. That night we camped by a lake, and the next morning it was 2 degrees Celsius, and the sky looked like snow. We pedaled 15 km into town, bundled up in all our clothes, weaving our way through the washboard of the dirt road. There is not just one dirt road though, so when one got really rough to ride, we would switch onto another dirt and try that for awhile. We saw people just drive anywhere through the grass and make their own road.
We arrived in a tiny village, which felt more like a frontier camp, and met a man who wanted to show us a map of the area because there was a problem with the road we planned on taking. We followed him to his house, were invited in for tea, looked at maps, and when we went to take a picture, realized the camera, as well as a leatherman knife were missing. We had them when we left camp, and we no longer had them. Tyler went back to our camp to look for the camera, but to no avail. All of our photos are gone. It makes me feel sick, and so sad. The camera is replaceable, but those pictures...
We rode away from that house, and I have never felt more vulnerable and more exposed. Dark clouds loomed overhead, the road was rough, there was no place to camp that was sheltered, and it felt like we were on another planet. We camped that night in a hailstorm and watched as the white piles grew around the tent. The next morning, while packing up camp, my back went out. I didn't know if I could even ride my bike. All hail Vitamin I!
As I watched Tyler pedal up the pass, after also riding my bike up the pass, it was one of the grandest views ever. I thought, what a great picture! It looked like he was riding on the edge of the world, with these huge peaks, white with new snow, draped behind him. More like someone had pulled a screen of a 'mountain scene' on the wall behind him.
Amazingly enough, here in Mongolia, we found a perfect road down from the pass into town! Not only did I ride, but we cruised 35 km down to town, going about 30km/hr! It was incredible. And the landscape equally so. I have not been so relieved to make it to town in a long while. Now, we are enjoying the first day of sun in about 15, looking for a new camera, resting my back, and praying our bicycle tour can continue.
Things like this really make me question everything about myself and my life, and its hard to not try and look for some reason all this is happening. Maybe some day it will seem really clear, and maybe "strange things just happen". Maybe it is to remind me about what is really most important. And perhaps that is the greatest lesson that any adventure teaches anyway; that we are blessed with this breathe, this life, the relationships we have, the love we share, and each moment we are given.
Blessings, adrianne and tyler
Alas, with the highs of adventure, there are also the lows. One can prepare for the difficulties as much as possible and therefore be better equipped and able to deal when things do go wrong, but at some point, all you can do is cross your fingers and hope for the best. Hope the weather holds out, hope your equipment holds out, hope the body holds out, just hope. Yet, sometimes there is an Achilles heel that is found, the armor is pierced, and it is usually something for which one wasn't prepared or couldn't prepare.
This past week, things got really hard.
A few days before arriving in Mongolia, while in the gorgeous Altai Region of Russia, full of stunning mountains, cliffs, and rivers, Tyler's BOB trailer cracked and broke. As luck would have it, we were in a tiny village, but managed to find Ivan the Welder, and within two hours we were back on the road. This area of the Altai follows a few rivers upstream, and with each 100 km further along the road, the landscape became more and more striking. The green hills, turned to mountains, the quaint Russian looking villages with little gardens, gave way to Kazakh looking villages of grey logs and stone walls and surrounding land brown from livestock. We were climbing to a plateau, with passes around 2500m, that were supposedly a desert climate, but which rained on us for 15 days in a row. The plateau is surrounded by 4000m peaks, still holding snow, and there are no trees, only brown and red and light green with grasses.
We had met up with a French couple, Tiben and Pauline, also planning to cycle across Mongolia, so for 6 days the 4 of us pedaled and camped together. It was relieving and fun to have companions for a few days.
We all rode into Mongolia on August 17th, and just as everyone said, the pavement ended. It literally went from a paved road in great condition, to dirt, at the gate. It felt like the end of the road, not the beginning. The town at the border was all grey, and nothing taller than one story. Many buildings have flat roofs, and there was dung drying on the roofs, to use as fuel in the winter, I suppose.
We quickly came upon a herd of yaks grazing by the road, and soon saw more gers scattered in the hills. It was gorgeous and pretty much what I had imagined of Mongolia. That night we camped by a lake, and the next morning it was 2 degrees Celsius, and the sky looked like snow. We pedaled 15 km into town, bundled up in all our clothes, weaving our way through the washboard of the dirt road. There is not just one dirt road though, so when one got really rough to ride, we would switch onto another dirt and try that for awhile. We saw people just drive anywhere through the grass and make their own road.
We arrived in a tiny village, which felt more like a frontier camp, and met a man who wanted to show us a map of the area because there was a problem with the road we planned on taking. We followed him to his house, were invited in for tea, looked at maps, and when we went to take a picture, realized the camera, as well as a leatherman knife were missing. We had them when we left camp, and we no longer had them. Tyler went back to our camp to look for the camera, but to no avail. All of our photos are gone. It makes me feel sick, and so sad. The camera is replaceable, but those pictures...
We rode away from that house, and I have never felt more vulnerable and more exposed. Dark clouds loomed overhead, the road was rough, there was no place to camp that was sheltered, and it felt like we were on another planet. We camped that night in a hailstorm and watched as the white piles grew around the tent. The next morning, while packing up camp, my back went out. I didn't know if I could even ride my bike. All hail Vitamin I!
As I watched Tyler pedal up the pass, after also riding my bike up the pass, it was one of the grandest views ever. I thought, what a great picture! It looked like he was riding on the edge of the world, with these huge peaks, white with new snow, draped behind him. More like someone had pulled a screen of a 'mountain scene' on the wall behind him.
Amazingly enough, here in Mongolia, we found a perfect road down from the pass into town! Not only did I ride, but we cruised 35 km down to town, going about 30km/hr! It was incredible. And the landscape equally so. I have not been so relieved to make it to town in a long while. Now, we are enjoying the first day of sun in about 15, looking for a new camera, resting my back, and praying our bicycle tour can continue.
Things like this really make me question everything about myself and my life, and its hard to not try and look for some reason all this is happening. Maybe some day it will seem really clear, and maybe "strange things just happen". Maybe it is to remind me about what is really most important. And perhaps that is the greatest lesson that any adventure teaches anyway; that we are blessed with this breathe, this life, the relationships we have, the love we share, and each moment we are given.
Blessings, adrianne and tyler
Monday, August 19, 2013
"Houze yer trip?"
Hunkered, hunched, and shivering, the mind retraces the steps that led this body here. Seeking maximal weather protection from a minimal motorcycle, I watch the tormented clouds drag a curtain of cold and wet across the plain between us and the small village where everything changed so quickly.
Waiting is not easy, so the arrival of a second motorcycle and a second and third brother and a pump is a welcome sight for rain-pelted eyes. Acting quickly, air once again fills the tire, but all is not well because the chain has been damaged. The kinked links are straightened after a few swift knocks with a fist-sized rock, and two motorcycles and four people race back through the rain to the village, where their family and my friends await our return.
Why is anyone out in this weather? In hopes of retrieving an item smaller than a stick of gum.
The camera, and the tiny SD card, and the thousands of photos of nearly three months of travel through some of the most amazing landscapes and skyscapes we have ever seen are gone. And the feeling that you now have after reading that sentence has been our companion for the last few days.
We will never be able to share with you the photos of Song Kol, of the people we have met, of incredible places where we set up our tent, of really crazy places we have slept because we are cycling and sometimes that means you just have to stop, and sleep where you are, and sometimes that place is behind a gas station, or buried in some bushes, or on top of the world.
There is the picture of the bob trailer's wheel so caked with sticky mud that it no longer turns, socks covered in barbs that require pliers to remove, morels discovered while kicking clear a spot for the tent, pushing our bikes through snow, our faces after 130km with lots of hills, the three year-old Uzbek boy wearing my sunglasses, a rainbow emerging from the head of a Lenin statue, the one of... I can barely write because my stomach hurts to think of the images that are gone. Look at this one, it is amazing. This one would be great to accompany an article we could write for a magazine. I can't wait for the slideshows during which we share these incredible experiences with all of our friends and family...
What is the lesson? Maybe I shouldn't think so much about what will happen in the future, and I should be present here in these amazing places with the wonderful people here. And one in particular. Small circles. One breath.
We rode into Mongolia on August 17th. I don't know that I have ever been anyplace where the actual so closely matches the imagined. Leaving Russia, the customs guard told us, "In Mongolia, no asphalt." Western Mongolia and the vastness these words conjure are accurate. Mountains and hills of grass and no asphalt. The sky continued its fickle trend of the past month threatening rain. Fifteen days of rain, four days of sun, fifteen days of rain.
On August 19th, we stood atop a pass with all of our flags snapping in the strong breeze. A "Mongol Rally" car rolled up alongside, and some non-Mongolian faces who had spent the last five weeks driving from London greeted us from within. The Australian driver asked, "Houze yer trip?"
What do you say?
Well, as you can see from your comfortable seat there within that car, it is a whole lot different than yours. It is one of the most difficult things I have ever done. We have been ill, we have had a trailer break, we have had flat tires, we have frozen, we have melted, we have been told that people will slit our throats and steal our money, invited warmly into people's homes, then asked to pay for the mutton noodles that we did not want but which we ate in order to be polite, we have been unable to communicate, we have been chased by dogs, run off the road by crazy drivers, harassed by drunks, swarmed by biting bugs...and yesterday our camera was probably stolen, and this morning...
"Good, and yours?"
On that high pass, was a pretty low point, but as so often happens, something remarkable happened after they drove away. We began our bumpy descent. Choosing whichever dirt track appeared to have the smoothest rough surface we headed towards the town of Olgii. Before too long, we saw a path that looked very smooth.
Pavement. A ribbon of smooth new asphalt laid down as if by seraphs in safety vests. 30km downhill on smooth pavement with tailwinds and no traffic through the most spectacular mountain scenery; popping because of the clouds and sun lighting the valleys and summits. And with each kilometer passing, perspective gained. The list of people and things for which to be thankful is always so much longer than the list of things for which one might gripe. And the list starts with this one breath. This moment is the only one we ever have, so we might as well enjoy it.
We hope you are enjoying yours.
Take care and have fun-
Thank you-
Tyler and Adrianne
PS- Healing thoughts.
Waiting is not easy, so the arrival of a second motorcycle and a second and third brother and a pump is a welcome sight for rain-pelted eyes. Acting quickly, air once again fills the tire, but all is not well because the chain has been damaged. The kinked links are straightened after a few swift knocks with a fist-sized rock, and two motorcycles and four people race back through the rain to the village, where their family and my friends await our return.
Why is anyone out in this weather? In hopes of retrieving an item smaller than a stick of gum.
The camera, and the tiny SD card, and the thousands of photos of nearly three months of travel through some of the most amazing landscapes and skyscapes we have ever seen are gone. And the feeling that you now have after reading that sentence has been our companion for the last few days.
We will never be able to share with you the photos of Song Kol, of the people we have met, of incredible places where we set up our tent, of really crazy places we have slept because we are cycling and sometimes that means you just have to stop, and sleep where you are, and sometimes that place is behind a gas station, or buried in some bushes, or on top of the world.
There is the picture of the bob trailer's wheel so caked with sticky mud that it no longer turns, socks covered in barbs that require pliers to remove, morels discovered while kicking clear a spot for the tent, pushing our bikes through snow, our faces after 130km with lots of hills, the three year-old Uzbek boy wearing my sunglasses, a rainbow emerging from the head of a Lenin statue, the one of... I can barely write because my stomach hurts to think of the images that are gone. Look at this one, it is amazing. This one would be great to accompany an article we could write for a magazine. I can't wait for the slideshows during which we share these incredible experiences with all of our friends and family...
What is the lesson? Maybe I shouldn't think so much about what will happen in the future, and I should be present here in these amazing places with the wonderful people here. And one in particular. Small circles. One breath.
We rode into Mongolia on August 17th. I don't know that I have ever been anyplace where the actual so closely matches the imagined. Leaving Russia, the customs guard told us, "In Mongolia, no asphalt." Western Mongolia and the vastness these words conjure are accurate. Mountains and hills of grass and no asphalt. The sky continued its fickle trend of the past month threatening rain. Fifteen days of rain, four days of sun, fifteen days of rain.
On August 19th, we stood atop a pass with all of our flags snapping in the strong breeze. A "Mongol Rally" car rolled up alongside, and some non-Mongolian faces who had spent the last five weeks driving from London greeted us from within. The Australian driver asked, "Houze yer trip?"
What do you say?
Well, as you can see from your comfortable seat there within that car, it is a whole lot different than yours. It is one of the most difficult things I have ever done. We have been ill, we have had a trailer break, we have had flat tires, we have frozen, we have melted, we have been told that people will slit our throats and steal our money, invited warmly into people's homes, then asked to pay for the mutton noodles that we did not want but which we ate in order to be polite, we have been unable to communicate, we have been chased by dogs, run off the road by crazy drivers, harassed by drunks, swarmed by biting bugs...and yesterday our camera was probably stolen, and this morning...
"Good, and yours?"
On that high pass, was a pretty low point, but as so often happens, something remarkable happened after they drove away. We began our bumpy descent. Choosing whichever dirt track appeared to have the smoothest rough surface we headed towards the town of Olgii. Before too long, we saw a path that looked very smooth.
Pavement. A ribbon of smooth new asphalt laid down as if by seraphs in safety vests. 30km downhill on smooth pavement with tailwinds and no traffic through the most spectacular mountain scenery; popping because of the clouds and sun lighting the valleys and summits. And with each kilometer passing, perspective gained. The list of people and things for which to be thankful is always so much longer than the list of things for which one might gripe. And the list starts with this one breath. This moment is the only one we ever have, so we might as well enjoy it.
We hope you are enjoying yours.
Take care and have fun-
Thank you-
Tyler and Adrianne
PS- Healing thoughts.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Comments
We changed the settings so it should be easier to leave a comment if you feel inspired to do so.
-Our wak of mayhem widens and lengthens. You should have seen the post office after we finished with them.-
Take care and have fun-
Tyler and Adrianne
-Our wak of mayhem widens and lengthens. You should have seen the post office after we finished with them.-
Take care and have fun-
Tyler and Adrianne
Monday, August 5, 2013
"Sweet Dreams"....ZZZZZ
Greetings, Friends-
They let us in.
As two young Americans raised in the "Red Dawn" era, it is quite thrilling to be infiltrating the enemy's stronghold and spreading Sherman-esque disarray in our path across the motherland.
It began on our first day in country. Our Kazakh send-off was made after riding one of the most awful stretches of road we have yet encountered in our trip. The motor vehicles using the same road would often show us their full side-view while presumably making progress in our direction. The holes and mud pits in the road were so daunting that westbound cars were frequently south, south, north, south, north, north, west, south bound. Although it had rained plenty before our arrival, we were fortunate to not be riding that bit of road in the rain.
We were welcomed to Russia under sunny skies, and found much smoother pavement on the other side of the border. After exchanging some money, lunching in the park-while airing out sleeping bags and looking appropriately gypsy- we headed out of Gornyak, and on towards Barnaul.
After all the excitement of the challenging road, the big border crossing, and the gifts received at the grocery store, we were pretty tired, and decided it was not necessary to cover 100km that day.
There was a spot on our map where it appeared that a few kilometers up a side road there was a river crossing. Alongside rivers one can sometimes find nice flat camping sites, so we turned of the main route and pedaled a little ways up a dirt road. Hmmm. There was a river, and there was flatness, but the flatness was separated from the river by impenetrable vegetation...except for right under the bridge.
Deciding not to sleep under the bridge where the local youth undoubtedly party, we pushed our bikes a good distance from the road and the bridge and access to the river, and found a good flat spot on the floodplain where we would be bothered by nobody but the mosquitoes.
And boy howdy the bugs showed up. We set up the tent/mosquito refuge, and cooked and ate dinner in our full rain gear because despite the lack of rain, there certainly was no lack of straw-mouthed flying things looking for human flesh to suck.
Quickly, quickly, we dove into the tent, zipped it up and did our best to rid the sanctuary of invaders.
Phew. Well, at least we will sleep well on this pleasant evening on this flat ground far from anywhere that normal people would wish to venture....
"Do you hear something?"
"You mean something other than the drone of billions of mosquitos trying to get into the tent?
"Voices. Human voices."
And wouldn\t you know it, through the tall grass, out of the darkening (sunset and clouds of mosquito caused) evening, came four Russian teen-aged boys who were quite as surprised to stumble upon our campsite as we were by their stumbling.
"Preevyet?"
"Preevyet."
Then followed one of the more strange exchanges we have had so far on the trip.
The tee-shirt clad lads who had come down to the floodplain after sunset to drink with their friends must have been made of different material, because certainly no humans made of flesh and blood could have withstood the punishment they endured while they chatted with us for the next forty minutes.
We were very bad hosts, or guests- difficult to know who was which- because we did not leave the tent to greet them. We did not leave the tent to assist them in their attempts to start a fire a few feet from the vestibule, -a brief mission quickly abondened, thankfully- we did not leave the tent at all. We pretty much kept the force-field intact and chatted with the lads until they grew tired of our inability to understand Russian.
"Sweet dreams!" zzzzzzz
We have continued to spread mayhem in our path, and the Russians (most of them-not the people working in a field to whom we offered half a watermelon-but that is a whole other story) have continued to treat us with kindness.
This evening, we are on our way to Yadveega's apartment, where we will be spending the night. We first made her aquaintence at the pharmacy where she was working when we decided to restock our contact lens solution and soap and such.
Take care and have fun-
Tyler and Adrianne
They let us in.
As two young Americans raised in the "Red Dawn" era, it is quite thrilling to be infiltrating the enemy's stronghold and spreading Sherman-esque disarray in our path across the motherland.
It began on our first day in country. Our Kazakh send-off was made after riding one of the most awful stretches of road we have yet encountered in our trip. The motor vehicles using the same road would often show us their full side-view while presumably making progress in our direction. The holes and mud pits in the road were so daunting that westbound cars were frequently south, south, north, south, north, north, west, south bound. Although it had rained plenty before our arrival, we were fortunate to not be riding that bit of road in the rain.
We were welcomed to Russia under sunny skies, and found much smoother pavement on the other side of the border. After exchanging some money, lunching in the park-while airing out sleeping bags and looking appropriately gypsy- we headed out of Gornyak, and on towards Barnaul.
After all the excitement of the challenging road, the big border crossing, and the gifts received at the grocery store, we were pretty tired, and decided it was not necessary to cover 100km that day.
There was a spot on our map where it appeared that a few kilometers up a side road there was a river crossing. Alongside rivers one can sometimes find nice flat camping sites, so we turned of the main route and pedaled a little ways up a dirt road. Hmmm. There was a river, and there was flatness, but the flatness was separated from the river by impenetrable vegetation...except for right under the bridge.
Deciding not to sleep under the bridge where the local youth undoubtedly party, we pushed our bikes a good distance from the road and the bridge and access to the river, and found a good flat spot on the floodplain where we would be bothered by nobody but the mosquitoes.
And boy howdy the bugs showed up. We set up the tent/mosquito refuge, and cooked and ate dinner in our full rain gear because despite the lack of rain, there certainly was no lack of straw-mouthed flying things looking for human flesh to suck.
Quickly, quickly, we dove into the tent, zipped it up and did our best to rid the sanctuary of invaders.
Phew. Well, at least we will sleep well on this pleasant evening on this flat ground far from anywhere that normal people would wish to venture....
"Do you hear something?"
"You mean something other than the drone of billions of mosquitos trying to get into the tent?
"Voices. Human voices."
And wouldn\t you know it, through the tall grass, out of the darkening (sunset and clouds of mosquito caused) evening, came four Russian teen-aged boys who were quite as surprised to stumble upon our campsite as we were by their stumbling.
"Preevyet?"
"Preevyet."
Then followed one of the more strange exchanges we have had so far on the trip.
The tee-shirt clad lads who had come down to the floodplain after sunset to drink with their friends must have been made of different material, because certainly no humans made of flesh and blood could have withstood the punishment they endured while they chatted with us for the next forty minutes.
We were very bad hosts, or guests- difficult to know who was which- because we did not leave the tent to greet them. We did not leave the tent to assist them in their attempts to start a fire a few feet from the vestibule, -a brief mission quickly abondened, thankfully- we did not leave the tent at all. We pretty much kept the force-field intact and chatted with the lads until they grew tired of our inability to understand Russian.
"Sweet dreams!" zzzzzzz
We have continued to spread mayhem in our path, and the Russians (most of them-not the people working in a field to whom we offered half a watermelon-but that is a whole other story) have continued to treat us with kindness.
This evening, we are on our way to Yadveega's apartment, where we will be spending the night. We first made her aquaintence at the pharmacy where she was working when we decided to restock our contact lens solution and soap and such.
Take care and have fun-
Tyler and Adrianne
The Society
Ziplocks. Specifically: blue quart size freezer bags with the "yellow and blue make green seal"- my favorite. Nalgene containers: 4 oz, 8 oz, 16 oz- love them.
I don't know when it happened, but I somehow developed this neurosis for plastic containers. I am definitely a member of 'The Society of People who put Bags inside of Bags inside of Bags'. If you've never backpacked, or bicycled toured, or done any number of other outdoor pursuits, then perhaps you've never heard of it. This term was first coined in my mind by Daniel 'the Cormorant', a thru-hiker I met while on the Continental Divide Trail in 2000. It cracked me up, and yet was utterly perfect. Let's say I buy a box of noodles. I can't carry a box into the woods- for one, it weighs more, it also takes up more space, and then I have to carry the box around for days, until I find a trash. So, i put the noodles in a ziplock bag and throw the box away before i leave town. Now, they are smaller, weigh less, and i can still reuse the ziplock. Brilliant. Then, the ziplock of noodles goes in the food bag which goes in the BOB trailer bag! Bag in a bag in a bag. It gets kind of ridiculous.
Being in Central Asia is not helping my condition, it is only strengthening the container demon because... there are no ziplocks! Worse yet, there are no plastic containers with resealable lids! Now, i get to add hoarding to the neurosis. There are drinks and sodas with lids that are resealable, but somehow this technology has not transferred to wide mouth plastic containers. This is a problem for people who care about weight, size, breakability, and compactibility when empty. Think about honey and butter; two things I love, but which do not travel well in a bag.
Now, as I bike along, past the honey sellers on the road, i stare intently on their wares and try to see what their containers look like. Have they figured it out? I thought maybe the Kazakhs would be more advanced than the Kyrgyz and would possess this new age technology. Maybe the Russians have it dialed? The jury is still out.
Enter the nalgene container with a wide mouth screw top lid. Perfect. This has become one of my essential travel items. Forget about the whistle as one of the Top 10 necessary pieces of survival gear. The nalgene functions as smash-proof water-tight storage, a bowl, re-hydrator, cutting board, and measuring cup. I don't know what I would do without it. I had to buy one for Tyler before we left, as he was not yet a believer.
So, next time you close your jar of peanut butter, do so with a little gratitude, and thank god you live in such a great country, that not only has peanut butter, but has such an array of plastic containers.
I don't know when it happened, but I somehow developed this neurosis for plastic containers. I am definitely a member of 'The Society of People who put Bags inside of Bags inside of Bags'. If you've never backpacked, or bicycled toured, or done any number of other outdoor pursuits, then perhaps you've never heard of it. This term was first coined in my mind by Daniel 'the Cormorant', a thru-hiker I met while on the Continental Divide Trail in 2000. It cracked me up, and yet was utterly perfect. Let's say I buy a box of noodles. I can't carry a box into the woods- for one, it weighs more, it also takes up more space, and then I have to carry the box around for days, until I find a trash. So, i put the noodles in a ziplock bag and throw the box away before i leave town. Now, they are smaller, weigh less, and i can still reuse the ziplock. Brilliant. Then, the ziplock of noodles goes in the food bag which goes in the BOB trailer bag! Bag in a bag in a bag. It gets kind of ridiculous.
Being in Central Asia is not helping my condition, it is only strengthening the container demon because... there are no ziplocks! Worse yet, there are no plastic containers with resealable lids! Now, i get to add hoarding to the neurosis. There are drinks and sodas with lids that are resealable, but somehow this technology has not transferred to wide mouth plastic containers. This is a problem for people who care about weight, size, breakability, and compactibility when empty. Think about honey and butter; two things I love, but which do not travel well in a bag.
Now, as I bike along, past the honey sellers on the road, i stare intently on their wares and try to see what their containers look like. Have they figured it out? I thought maybe the Kazakhs would be more advanced than the Kyrgyz and would possess this new age technology. Maybe the Russians have it dialed? The jury is still out.
Enter the nalgene container with a wide mouth screw top lid. Perfect. This has become one of my essential travel items. Forget about the whistle as one of the Top 10 necessary pieces of survival gear. The nalgene functions as smash-proof water-tight storage, a bowl, re-hydrator, cutting board, and measuring cup. I don't know what I would do without it. I had to buy one for Tyler before we left, as he was not yet a believer.
So, next time you close your jar of peanut butter, do so with a little gratitude, and thank god you live in such a great country, that not only has peanut butter, but has such an array of plastic containers.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
A Few Thousand Words
Greetings, Friends-
Here are a few images that say way more than we could with pages of words.
What you can't see in the pictures is the conversation that took place with the young security guard at this hostel on this computer using google translate in order to figure out how to get the photos from the camera to your eyes. It is often really fun to be on the road in other countries, but it is pretty much never easy.
The view from one of our first campsites at a small ski area outside Bishkek.
Yurts are everywhere.
If you tell someone you visited Kyrgyzstan, they will probably ask if you have been to Issyk Kol. It was quite nice.
Not sure if we will be able to post any Kazakh or Russian photos, but there are some pretty good ones. And rest assured, even the boring ones have a good story.
Take care, and have fun-
Tyler and Adrianne.
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