March 11, 2017
Back in UB!
After a terrible sleep in a Bayankhongor hotel, we packed up early and left for the long drive back to Ulan Bator - nearly 12 hours on a paved but pot-holed winding road.
While biking this week, I had felt so small and insignificant in the big spaces of the Gobi. Now, in a town with Internet and stop lights and real beds, I felt a different kind of uncomfortable, the feeling that I always get at the end of any adventure to a wild or remote place: a longing to go back.
After I guided my first trip to the South Pole in 2008, as soon as I got back to our base camp Patriot Hills after 45 days of skiing, I volunteered to go back out and guide a 'Last Degree' expedition. While I was exhausted and tired, I immediately missed the single-minded focus of expedition life. Everything you do has a direct impact on your ability to live and survive. There are no filters. Of course, I didn't go back out on the ice, but that feeling hung over me for several weeks as I finished the season and traveled back to the states.
It's a hard balance for me. Being out in the gobi for roughly 10 days is taxing on my family life. When I'm gone, Maria is a single mom. She runs her own PR and marketing business so having a full time job, shuttling kids to ski lessons and swing sets is no cake walk. I miss her and my two young kids so much at times that it hurts deep and unrelenting.
But I love expeditions too and these types of adventures are integral to who I am as a person. Part of these trips are simply a form of self-expression. After that, I don't have the answers to my seesaw dilemma. There is no real balance actually.
I lay awake in my bed in Bayankhongor trying to fall asleep, but I couldn't. The street noise outside was like fingernails on chalkboard compared to the unending silence of nighttime in the Gobi. I was tired, but my mind was racing - processing all the sights and sounds from our bike adventure. Then, planning for a bigger expedition next year... Going through the logistics of getting home and then packing up more Granite Gear duffels for Svalbard where I will guide a 'Last Degree' North Pole expedition in two weeks, photoshoots, blah, blah, blah... (or Bob Loblaw as Ryan I and I regularly say on expeditions.)
In our MSR tent each evening, Tim and I would listen to a podcast as we waited for the water to boil for dinner. We didn't talk much during those times - perhaps we'd make a random comment about what we heard. We'd eat our freeze-dried meals in quiet reflection, then maybe some chocolate, brush our teeth and climb into our sleeping bags. Once sorted and zipped in, I would lay on my back for a few minutes and feel the weight of my body press comfortably into the two Ridge Rest sleeping pads (I use two in cold weather for better insulation).
It feels good to sleep in a tent in really cold weather in the middle of nowhere. It feels good have Maria and my kids in my life.
The drive to UB was brutal, there's no other way to describe it. Long and arduous, we constantly veered around snow drifts, horses, sheep, cows, cars and a variety of other obstacles. At one point, it was snowing so hard that it was a white out. Other times, the road was perfectly clear. It was dark by the time we reached the main city and we unloaded our duffels and Trek bikes quickly at the our hotel. In the bright lobby lights looking at our dust covered clothes and gear, we realized that the Gobi would be with us for a long time.
Image: Camping near the Flaming Cliffs on Day 1.
While biking this week, I had felt so small and insignificant in the big spaces of the Gobi. Now, in a town with Internet and stop lights and real beds, I felt a different kind of uncomfortable, the feeling that I always get at the end of any adventure to a wild or remote place: a longing to go back.
After I guided my first trip to the South Pole in 2008, as soon as I got back to our base camp Patriot Hills after 45 days of skiing, I volunteered to go back out and guide a 'Last Degree' expedition. While I was exhausted and tired, I immediately missed the single-minded focus of expedition life. Everything you do has a direct impact on your ability to live and survive. There are no filters. Of course, I didn't go back out on the ice, but that feeling hung over me for several weeks as I finished the season and traveled back to the states.
It's a hard balance for me. Being out in the gobi for roughly 10 days is taxing on my family life. When I'm gone, Maria is a single mom. She runs her own PR and marketing business so having a full time job, shuttling kids to ski lessons and swing sets is no cake walk. I miss her and my two young kids so much at times that it hurts deep and unrelenting.
But I love expeditions too and these types of adventures are integral to who I am as a person. Part of these trips are simply a form of self-expression. After that, I don't have the answers to my seesaw dilemma. There is no real balance actually.
I lay awake in my bed in Bayankhongor trying to fall asleep, but I couldn't. The street noise outside was like fingernails on chalkboard compared to the unending silence of nighttime in the Gobi. I was tired, but my mind was racing - processing all the sights and sounds from our bike adventure. Then, planning for a bigger expedition next year... Going through the logistics of getting home and then packing up more Granite Gear duffels for Svalbard where I will guide a 'Last Degree' North Pole expedition in two weeks, photoshoots, blah, blah, blah... (or Bob Loblaw as Ryan I and I regularly say on expeditions.)
In our MSR tent each evening, Tim and I would listen to a podcast as we waited for the water to boil for dinner. We didn't talk much during those times - perhaps we'd make a random comment about what we heard. We'd eat our freeze-dried meals in quiet reflection, then maybe some chocolate, brush our teeth and climb into our sleeping bags. Once sorted and zipped in, I would lay on my back for a few minutes and feel the weight of my body press comfortably into the two Ridge Rest sleeping pads (I use two in cold weather for better insulation).
It feels good to sleep in a tent in really cold weather in the middle of nowhere. It feels good have Maria and my kids in my life.
The drive to UB was brutal, there's no other way to describe it. Long and arduous, we constantly veered around snow drifts, horses, sheep, cows, cars and a variety of other obstacles. At one point, it was snowing so hard that it was a white out. Other times, the road was perfectly clear. It was dark by the time we reached the main city and we unloaded our duffels and Trek bikes quickly at the our hotel. In the bright lobby lights looking at our dust covered clothes and gear, we realized that the Gobi would be with us for a long time.
Image: Camping near the Flaming Cliffs on Day 1.