Posted from York, England, United Kingdom.

I’ve just spent the last two Sundays near Thirsk brushing up my (pretty poor) off road skills with those friendly guys at the i2i Motorcycle Academy.  They provided me with all the kit and a lovely KTM to ride.  I have to say I had two great days and learned loads about skids, slides, hazards and jumps, and falling off. Just a few times I might add.  (Read: about 20)

The jump skills won’t be a lot of use to me as, frankly, I’m not sure there’s any way on earth I’d get a fully loaded XT125 more than six inches off the ground, unless I’ve ridden it off a cliff.

The instructor, Tom, was excellent, although he admitted he didn’t know the first thing about yak avoidance techniques.  Never mind all that rubbish, I’m still relying on the La Cucaracha airhorns to see them off if they get anywhere close.

Posted from Shirley, England, United Kingdom.

Suffering in the cause (read: the possibility of having to trot off to find a doctor in some remote area of Kazakhstan because I’m frothing at the mouth has little appeal), I’ve had a few more vaccinations and boosters today.  So far I’ve had:-

• Hepatitis A
• Hepatitis B
• Typhoid
• Polio
• Diptheria
• Tetanus
• Japanese Encepahilitis
• Tick Borne Enchephalitis
• Rabies

If you want to feel like a pincushion (and have a wrecked wallet), I can recommend no better way of going about it.  This exercise is sure to be a waste of time as you can guarantee I’ll catch some other obscure disease like Bubonic Plague or Yellow Fever anyway!  And who has ever come across a rabid yak, come to think of it?

Posted from Shirley, England, United Kingdom.

Funny things, phrasebooks.  I remember at school I had a French one that contained the most bizarre expressions imaginable.  Sadly the book has long gone, but I can still recall two, even after all these years.  The first was in the section on Sport, and read, “L’âcre odeur du mêlée”, which translates as “the acrid odour of the scrum.”  The second was in the Transportation section, and went, “De l’avion il ne restait que quelques debris épars and des corps carbonisés.”  (Of the plane there only remained scattered wreckage and charred bodies.)

Now I know it’s always useful to have a bon mot or two at your fingertips, but the chance to ever use these chaps has never materialised.  I don’t play rugby (although when I lived in London, the Tube on a hot summer evening came quite close) and, fortunately, I’ve never happened across a crashed plane.

I became a specialist valuer.  A world apart from foreign travel, I know, but I’ve always enjoyed language, and quietly hankered after a job (in retirement, maybe), writing phrasebooks where I could let my imagination run riot and produce the most obscure expressions, all purely for my own amusement.

So what about travel phrasebooks?  A little like a lifevest on an aircraft, or a first aid kit in a car, I feel.  Comforting to have close by, but probably not a lot of use in an emergency.  There’s all that furious turning of pages with never quite the right expression or piece of vocabulary to hand.  Oh, and that dawning realisation that a 1-year language course at evening class might have been slightly more productive than the lazy man’s way to communicate with Johnny Foreigner.

And what’s this got to do with the Mongol Rally?  Well on Saturday I was out in Leamington Spa with the wife and daughter, and while they went off girly shopping, I had a mooch around Waterstones bookshop.  I thought a Russian phrasebook might be useful for the trip, given that many of the countries we’ll be travelling through still speak Russian, even as a second language.  So I grabbed one off the shelf and paid for it.  The daughter started reading it to me in the car on the way home.  I realised I should perhaps have been a bit more careful in my choice when she started on the Social section and asked me loudly how much use I’d be finding for expressions such as “Трогай меня здесь!” or “Язьɪком”.  These, apparently, are Russian imperatives to “Touch me here” and “Use your tongue”.  Jesus Christ, whatever happened, I ask myself, to (the clearly less useful) “Where is the Town Hall?” and “I would like a room for two nights, please”?

With thanks (or maybe not) to Lonely Planet

Posted from Birmingham, England, United Kingdom.

I don’t know about anyone else, but it suddenly hit me last week that if I’m going to be spending seven weeks in the saddle I’d better be a bit fitter than I am at present (read: a lot fitter).  That means converting an overweight, middle-aged git into a lithe, svelte Adonis in a little over three months.  A tall order for those that know me, especially given my predilection for anything edible, although happily I don’t consume a lot of alcohol.  That’ll change on the trip, for sure!

So reluctantly I hauled myself off to the local gym (Carrefour at the Maypole, if you must know) and signed up to a course of physical torture.  Alfie’s given me a two-week basic regime to start me off, then he’ll let me loose on the spin bike and other instruments of torment.  I’ve been three times now and the pain is frankly getting worse, not better.  Fortunately though, I don’t need much of an incentive to keep me going.

Posted from York, England, United Kingdom.

Well it wasn’t quite love at first sight.  More love at first hiccup if you really want to know.  So what’s all this about?  Well, I was up at Kevin’s at the weekend, ostensibly to sort out the next round of the seemingly interminable Mongol Rally paperwork, but more importantly I would get to meet my bike for the first time.

And meet her I did.  She was waiting outside Kevin’s showroom, polished and ready for our first date.  My big fear was that she would be uncomfortable and awkward to ride.  Thank goodness, she was neither of these.  Not the easiest of bikes to start from cold, hiccupping and clattering as she warmed up, but I’ll soon get the hang of that, I’m sure.  And woefully underpowered too, as I discovered when we went out on our first run.  Worryingly, she was unladen at the time, so your guess is as good as mine as to what effect a further 75 kilos of fuel and assorted fripperies will have on the sub-60mph top speed I managed to achieve.

But we did get to go offroad as well, and she handled tidily and predictably, even with the road tyres she’s currently wearing.  She gave me confidence, and I have no doubt from our initial encounter that she’ll get me to Ulaan Baatar as long as I treat her kindly.

Verdict?  Small but perfectly formed, just like the wife really.  So a big thumbs up from me.  And a well done to Kevin for introducing us.

And the picture below?  Just Kevin and I practising how to carry out repairs to the bikes on the move.  But he’s banned from eating yak vindaloo en route, otherwise he can fix his own bloody bike!

Picture courtesy of the BBC and Ray Collister

Posted from Shirley, England, United Kingdom.

Well who’d have thought it?  My last post certainly caused a stir – quite a few emails landed in my inbox as a result!  Thank you all for your generous comments.  Bus advertising must be a much better idea than I originally imagined.

I’m sure I won’t catch any of you out again: There’s an old saying in Ulaan Baatar – I know it is in Cockermouth, probably in Ulaan Baatar – that says, “Fool a yak once, shame on you. You can’t fool a yak twice ‘cos it’s probably wandered off.”

Posted from Birmingham, England, United Kingdom.

We’ve blown the marketing budget, but at least we’ll be seen about town.  Keep an eye out for us if you’re around and about in the West Midlands!

Posted from Birmingham, England, United Kingdom.

They’re sort of applied for.  Well the Turkmenistan ones are, at least.  We should have started on them a couple of weeks ago, but we didn’t, of course, as there’s always something better to do.  Like have a drink down the pub.  Or test your shiny new spork out on your dinner.

In the rush to sort the (eleven) visas out at the last minute, wrong buttons were pushed online, credit cards were rejected and mayhem ensued.  So watch this space.  Whatever, it’s definitely the easiest way to lighten your pocket of the thick end of £1,000.  Per person.  Just trusting the Visa Machine will come up with the goods…

Posted from England, United Kingdom.

I’m a sucker for gadgets.  Well show me a man who isn’t?

I read the various postings from guys on previous Rallies who’d used this Spot Tracker and GPS Messenger, and I decided we needed one too.  It’s a neat bit of kit which cost us around £200 with a year’s subscription, so your mates can see your location pretty well anywhere, all live on the net.  It arrived yesterday.

It works too well.  Tried it out this morning: the wife gave a me a bollocking when I got home as she’d followed me on the computer sneaking down the biscuit aisle in Tesco.