Mongolia wasn’t anywhere near my list of easy places to start a habit of Naseby-winter-avoiding bikepacking. Japan was top of that list, but I could hardly turn down the opportunity to visit Mongolia when Rachel suggested we start out trip a month earlier by flying to Ulaanbaatar. Ian was more easily convinced to join us, the three of us landing at Ulaanbatar airport early July.
Plenty of the expected big open spaces apparent on approach, we’d find later that the fences were an exception to the norm.
UBN – bigger than I was expecting.
First bicycle sighted?
The hostel we were staying at had sent a van to collect us and our three large bike boxes. In a sea of Japanese vehicles, I was pleased to spot a more unusual (to me) vehicle – a Russian UAZ van, nicknamed due to its resemblance to a loaf of bread.
Our ride to the city.
Three bike boxes fitted in here, thankfully, with a little thought.
Ian keeping an eye on things as we venture into the traffic, note the plush ceiling covering. Unfortunately the suspension was not so.
Big empty highway most of the way into the city.
Alas, it was not to last – extensive roadworks had snarled up the inner city traffic and we sat slowly cooking in the van for a couple of hours. Never mind, a new city to look at – with only mildly chaotic driving.
Few big coal power plants in the city contributing to the notorious air pollution in the winter. At least they also pump hot water around the city.
Should have brought a bigger wallet. About two thousand togrogs to a New Zealand dollar.
Over a bit more than a day we assembled our bikes, sorted what gear to take, bought a few things we couldn’t or had forgotten to bring, packed our gear, explored the city a bit and ate. All this was done by walking strangely elaborate, but now in various states of decay, paving. I’d been warned that Mongolian food was well below par, but in the city we mostly found good options from around Asia – Korean particularly, but also Japanese and Pakistani stand out. I expected a larger Soviet influence in the city than the small pockets we found.
The timing of an official visit from Japan seemed serendipitous.
Wedding party.
Walking back streets through tower blocks looking for a map store.
Annoyingly, the map store was no longer where it was marked on Maps.
Found it eventually – very near to our hostel. Through the language barrier, some paper maps of where we were intending to ride were purchased.
That done, eager to get riding, we were left with final preparations for the drive over the following two days to northern Mongolia.
Cape Kidnappers from the end of my street.
Guess I won’t be downtown for
Those three houses always catch my eye from afar.
Looking back towards my little corner of the hill.
There’s still a little bit of work for these tugs…
The cliffs I was on top of last week above the container ship.
Go get it!
Got it.
Over Ahuriri fuel storage, the estuary, and Poraiti towards the Kaweka Ranges.
Those cliffs.
A touch of the old sawtooth warehouses.
Indeed.
Proper decent rope swings; it was not easy jumping off makeshift platforms onto the ropes – great fun but.
We wound our way downtown, pausing briefly to check out some murals and numerous eels slithering around another stream.
Down to the coastal pathway, near the infamous Wind Wand – this is about the only thing I remember about New Plymouth from my university holiday job in South Taranaki – it was the topic of much conversation in the smoko room.
Jacqui, Dan, Adele and James just before heading west on the pathway.
Passing the port, we rode up towards the base of Paritutu Rock.
Atop, we looked out over Sugar Loaf Islands and could just spot some offshore platforms.
East we looked along the coast, past the port and a disused power station.
Floating roof tanks! Oh, and the city. I rankled a little bit at the industry-is-ugly comments.
Hidden in the cloud was Mt Taranaki.
A little further west we enjoyed a bit of beachside riding – my legs were at least still good for cycling and some nasty little grassy pinch climbs.
Back towards Paritutu, note the sax player adding a touch of class to our seaside meal.
The slight detour back into town was unsuccessful in obtaining cronuts, alas; but this building is striking.
This striking bridge is even more so when the mountain behind us is not shrouded in cloud.
Most of the public events centre around Marine Parade and the sound shell – opposite the wonderful Masonic, where many gathered.
Cars weren’t the only historic vehicles out and about.
Saturday afternoon’s vintage car parade was well attended by umbrellas. The Bentley club was in town from all over, impressive.
Beautiful cars, and many of them – those in open-topped ones looked decidedly damp.
There was plenty of opportunity to admire the vehicles afterwards.
This number plate caught my eye.
A few of the cars were originally from Napier.
Bikes even got a look in.
More Bentleys.
OK, there may have been more looking at cars.
I bumped into many people from work over the weekend – this time an American visitor, Jody, who I managed to get this photo (and the better ones in this post) from.
Yes, more cars – particularly struck by the body work on this one.
This was probably the oldest car around.
I did manage to get another photo of myself from an obliging passerby.
The Gatsby Picnic got moved off the soggy lawn it is always on, most picnicers went down the main street of town – this couple set up near Tom Parker Fountain and seemed to spend more time posing for photos than eating.