After we replaced the windshield and drove to the border, we were in for a usual long wait. First, we had to go through the ordinary "your passport, your passport and show me the car, your passport and your car ownership, your passport and show me what is in your car, and finally, your passport and get out" stations in Russia and then something similar in Mongolia. Then we purchased the Mongolian car insurance and drove into our first gravel road in Mongolia.
I guess there will be a time when they pave over all the gravel and I think it will be a sad day. The driving on the gravel has that small sense of adventure and beauty to it that the asphalt can never give you. Forget the dust all over your car and in your air filter, the sand and dust in your eyes and between your teeth, for me it is almost always a pleasure to drive on a gravel road. I drove or raced on the gravel roads in Alberta, BC, Ontario and Quebec, in Alaska, Yukon and Northwest Territories, in Nevada, California and Baja peninsula and I do not think I found a gravel road I did not like. So now, we were driving the gravel roads of Mongolia.
Our first objective was to find someone who could store our spare engine as we wanted to lighten the load on the back springs of the car. As I mentioned before, the rear leaf spring was a bit old and tired and thus the car was overloading easily. In order to drive on the gravel roads, we wanted to lift the back of the car a bit in order to protect it from the bumps on the roads. We drove to Olgiy, a town full of Kazakhs who emigrated there in the 1840's. And we did find someone to store our engine. Or, better yet, he found us. He knew how long it takes to get from the border to the town and he was cruising the main street, looking for the cars of foreigners. He has his offer of accommodation, food and potential car repair services in at least four languages and gave it to us to read. Since he did not look as an axe murderer, we went with him (fully aware that each of the axe murderers is always considered a nice and quiet guy by his neighbors). We made a deal with him to keep our engine for about ten days, slept there one night and enjoyed some traditional Kazakh meal.
The next day we were to test whether our Trabant can sustain an atrocious punishment by the Mongolian side roads meant only for the cars with the proud name of Gazik (Russian equivalent of a Jeep). And I was to find out whether I still like the broken down gravel roads full of rocks. Maybe I still do; but in our forty years car with 2 cylinders and 24 HP?
I guess there will be a time when they pave over all the gravel and I think it will be a sad day. The driving on the gravel has that small sense of adventure and beauty to it that the asphalt can never give you. Forget the dust all over your car and in your air filter, the sand and dust in your eyes and between your teeth, for me it is almost always a pleasure to drive on a gravel road. I drove or raced on the gravel roads in Alberta, BC, Ontario and Quebec, in Alaska, Yukon and Northwest Territories, in Nevada, California and Baja peninsula and I do not think I found a gravel road I did not like. So now, we were driving the gravel roads of Mongolia.
Our first objective was to find someone who could store our spare engine as we wanted to lighten the load on the back springs of the car. As I mentioned before, the rear leaf spring was a bit old and tired and thus the car was overloading easily. In order to drive on the gravel roads, we wanted to lift the back of the car a bit in order to protect it from the bumps on the roads. We drove to Olgiy, a town full of Kazakhs who emigrated there in the 1840's. And we did find someone to store our engine. Or, better yet, he found us. He knew how long it takes to get from the border to the town and he was cruising the main street, looking for the cars of foreigners. He has his offer of accommodation, food and potential car repair services in at least four languages and gave it to us to read. Since he did not look as an axe murderer, we went with him (fully aware that each of the axe murderers is always considered a nice and quiet guy by his neighbors). We made a deal with him to keep our engine for about ten days, slept there one night and enjoyed some traditional Kazakh meal.
The next day we were to test whether our Trabant can sustain an atrocious punishment by the Mongolian side roads meant only for the cars with the proud name of Gazik (Russian equivalent of a Jeep). And I was to find out whether I still like the broken down gravel roads full of rocks. Maybe I still do; but in our forty years car with 2 cylinders and 24 HP?