The Mongolia Bike Challenge Photo Epic
When I first set foot in the Chinggis Khaan International Airport in Ulaanbaatar the idea of travelling to Mongolia had only been a reality for roughly fourteen days. I had agreed to photograph the Mongolia Bike Challenge at the encouragement of my travel partner and Videographer, Darcy Turenne, after exchanging only a handful of Facebook messages with the Race Director, Willy Mulonia. I had no idea what to expect, but knowing that I didn't need any vaccinations to enter the country somehow made me feel surprisingly confident about the trip. I had also received advice from those who had gone before us; photographers and videographers who have all documented the race previously were sure to tell us about everything they experienced from the flash floods to the lack of toilet paper, and especially to beware of the fermented horse milk – it is for sipping, not chugging. The most valuable piece of advice, however, came from Aaron Larocque who said, "if you want the experience of a lifetime, you should go."
Darcy and I barely knew each other when she first mentioned this adventure, but intuition told us that we shared the ability to roll with the punches and a contentment to go without running water. We also share a fear of snakes, but we found that out later.
After only a night in Ulaanbaatar our buses rolled out of the city and headed for the countryside. We had taken our last showers, posted our last Instagrams, and – as two of the only ten women along for the race – said goodbye to the ability to freely look around our surroundings without seeing a penis.
There was a calmness to our first morning; we breathed in the fresh air and watched the sunrise over the hills. Our first night in a yurt had left us feeling well rested and eager for the race to start. We loaded ourselves and our gear into our dedicated ‘Media’ Kombi bus and met our driver, Senna. The only English he spoke was “stop, stop” and “go, go." Sometimes when we needed to go quickly, like that time the camel was chasing us, we threw in a third ‘go’; “go, go, go!”
When the race started, Senna managed to hit speeds of 100km an hour through open fields as we competed with other buses to get in front of the peloton. It was at that moment that we realized we were on a real adventure. Our travel between camps felt like we had been dropped into a paint mixer that occasionally stopped for us to hop out and get a shot before getting back to the shaking. Inexperienced and unprepared on the first leg of the race, our gear, our things, and ourselves all mixed to a perfect shade of green in the back of the bus. But despite our lack of helmets, seat belts, roads, or speed limits, we valued the the many moments over the week that we never would have experienced otherwise. We would often speed ahead of the racers and wait for them, sitting in wide open fields where the crickets were so loud you couldn't hear yourself think, or standing in the middle of a herd of horses, or watching yaks nuzzle their babies, or talking to goat herders – the only word we shared was 'vodka,’ – or seeing the look on the faces of the local children when the pack of racers rode by in a place where it can be weeks before they see a new person.
We took the opportunity to visit some of the families inhabiting the remote yurts, always prepared to welcome strangers they would have cheese, bread, and tea laid out for us by the time we crossed from the van to their doorway. The warm and slightly salty yak milk tea that was heated over a dung fire, was soothing for our carsickness, but the hard and sour cheese, carved off the aging block next to the bed, was more of an acquired taste. Like little kids with vegetables, we often hid the thoughtfully offered treats in our pockets to dispose of later, so as not to appear rude.
Back at camp at the end of each day over a hundred relative strangers from all over the world were forming a community, new friendships were being forged, and encouragement offered. When you are in the middle of nowhere, with no outside distractions, you have little choice but to get to know the people around you. We were all becoming more comfortable; Darcy and I were less discerning about the size of bushes we peed behind and the men were less concerned about wearing pants. It all made for good conversation and light-hearted joking.
The feats achieved by the racers who attend the Mongolia Bike Challenge have little to do with actually turning the pedals on your bike and everything to do with an adventurous spirit, incredible mental perseverance, and a want to have stories to tell in life. The shear distances covered, let alone the mountain passes, that these racers conquered is something to be admired. But it is the small things for each individual that makes a trip like this leave a lasting impression, and some may say that it even changes their lives.
As someone who only lived vicariously through the riders while racing alongside them in our Kombi, bracing myself so that my head didn’t make contact with the roof again, I can say that this trip changed my view of the world. It sparked a want for travel, an understanding of just how strong I am, and gave me the knowledge that I need very little in life, other than a warmer sleeping bag.
Most importantly it allowed me to see a temporary but strong community come together. No one organizes a race to get rich; it is purely driven by passion and by the look on the faces of the participants when they cross the finish line at the end of the week. Sitting around the campfire on our last night of the event, everyone involved, from racers, to organizers, to support crew like us, felt an accomplishment and felt connected to each other through our shared experience. The Mongolia Bike Challenge is a journey more than it is a race, and no matter how your cross the finish line, you will have gained from it.
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dv65 0.046133
Thanks for the race coverage. It does look like an amazing location for a race.