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After two months on the land we should have known better. But when a Kazakh cowboy with his wife and son, pitchfork and scythe, all mounted on a Honda 125, told us about a shortcut, we took it.

The roadbd was eroded down to bedrock and loose stones. It was so steep that we would take a step, plant both feet in small fotholds like a rock climber, push the heavily laden bikes up like doing a horizontal bench press, lock the brakes, take another step, and so on. After two months on the land, it was just another day at the office.

When we got to the top of the pass, a Kazakh jeep was grinding up the other side, strips of old, red, worn-out underwear tied on to make it look jaunty. We stared at the driver. The driver leaned his chin on the steering wheel and stared at us. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" No, who are YOU and what are YOU doing here?"

Then we dropped down into the desert grassland. The river was a muddy muck of cow-shit soup and I was mentally prepared for a thirsty night with 3/4 of a liter of water. But another Kazakh motorcycle driver showed us a pure fresh spring gurgling out from beneath a yellow, lichen stained rock outcrop.

It was our last night on the land. From here the mountain road leads into Mongolia, and Noey and I are committed to continuing our circumnavigation of the Altai next year.

We took the night bus to Urumqi, a noisy city of over a million. Now we'll take care of some business and get on the jet plane. We're heading home. This is the LAST POST. Tune in next year for round two.



Dated: 08/21/2006