TRAVERSE 133
himself. If we made the same ride two decades from now, perhaps the bikes would be electric, the showers more reliable, and the toilets less primitive— but the soul of the place, I suspect, would remain the same.
Ulaanbaatar, the bustling capital, is a city on the rise— quite literally. Skyscrapers pierce the skyline, bankrolled by an influx of Chinese yuan and international influence. But beyond its city limits, the ancient rhythm of nomadic life still pulses through the wide-open steppes. It’ s this Mongolia— the raw, rugged, and resilient— that we came to find.
And find it we did. Our Austrianbuilt machines roared to life as we headed southwest, past UN troops using the plains as training grounds, and into the sands of Elsen Tasarkhai. After a hard day’ s ride, the comforts of a dining ger, a hot shower, and a cold drink were nothing short of bliss. The second day on the road felt like we’ d already been gone a month. Sand dunes beckoned, and so did a curious engine noise that one particularly determined Austrian rider was bent on chasing to the bitter end.
Kharkhorum, once the capital of the Mongol Empire, welcomed us
TRAVERSE 133