Who Knows Why the Wind Blows?

 

              There’s an orange and white cat on the seat next to me. I am drinking “three-in-one.” Instant coffee with fake creamer and too much sugar never tasted so good. Three young men enter the cafe. Working men. Dirty work clothes. They go straight to the sink to scrub their hands, each in turn ladling water for the other to rinse, meanwhile discussing their order. I find it interesting that here people order food by the course. “For the first, borscht. For the second, macaroni and cutlet.”  So civilized for such grubbily-clad yokels.

                I made the right decision taking the day off today. I wouldn’t have hesitated, except that it means two days off. The Lonely Planet guidebook was again inaccurate by reporting that this nearby border with Mongolia is open 7 days a week. Good thing I found out while still here in Kosh Agach, because the frontier town of Tashanta offers little. Here I can post to my blog and resupply, in addition to the usual hotel activities of shower, do laundry, eat and sleep. Bigger town often means more purchasing opportunities. I scored some dried apricots and “tropical fruit muesli.” Still, I was considering making a dash for the border today- an early start, 50 kms to the post,  up to two hours of paperwork processing, hitching a ride the 17 kms that they won’t let me ride through the no man’s land, and 25 more kms to officially enter Mongolia. Seemed like too much work after yesterday’s challenge of the will.

Cyclists all have a “my headwind was worse than your headwind” story. But here’s mine anyway.

               Earlier I had been wondering why the wind was coming directly at me. I thought some things were reliable: hot air rises, meaning the climb comes with a tailwind, and the earth rotates west to east,  defining the prevailing winds, which is why it always takes longer to fly to Seattle than to Boston. So why was I going uphill and to the east with such an unwelcome companion?  It was Alexander who explained it to me. He was fishing when I met him, and throwing back  his very small catches. His wife managed to get a dozen of little herring-sized fish, enough for a nice meal. I think they were in it more for the relaxing, shared activity than the dinner. They both were pensioners. Alex and Luda have been married 35 years. I met them on the banks of my chosen night’s camping river. They met each other in the hospital. They both had survived spinal cord injuries sustained on the job. I understood her job had something to do with coal, but my language skills couldn’t quite make out what happened. A mining accident is what I surmised. He fished from his non-motorized chair; she through the open door of the passenger side of the car where she was seated. Their electric chairs are at home. He refitted his car so it’s all manually controlled, and explained that he has an attached garage with a ramp so he can get right into her house. In many ways I wish I had accepted her invitation to spend the night with them.

                Why didn’t I? first, he didn’t seem thrilled with the idea. While she repeated the invitation several times, he merely said to his wife that I had a planned route that I was following. (I finally got the cat purring.) Second, it was 15 kilometers back in the wrong direction. Third, I knew it would mean a late start the next day, since everything they do takes extra time. It was impressive to watch him hoist himself into the river’s seat, and then through the open door, dismantle his chair and stow each of the three segments in the back seat. Fourth, I thought I might get going earlier, and not repeat the 15 kms, in order to get farther down the road before the wind picked up. Finally, I liked the idea that I would soon reach Mongolia- I got caught up in the excitement of the completion of the first stage of my trip. As we  now know, I will be getting to Mongolia later- entering on July 5^th.  (a side note here: back in March, when I was sketching out my plan for this trip, I guestimated I would enter Mongolia on July 5^th. I really am that good with time.)

                The fact that I am in this bleak and dusty town instead of in one of those numerous, incredibly, perfectly beautiful campsites that appear all along the route is a bit mystifying. I always want to make sense of everything. But I am also trying to just accept what is. It is a gift to be able to have an internet connection (although I am writing this on my netbook and will use the flash drive to post it at the Post Office computers Before they close at 4pm). It’s also prudent for me to take a rest day. I worked  so hard these past few days. Which is what I was talking about in the first place.

                Alex explained that when there was high pressure over the Gobi, the wind pours down from Mongolia. Why couldn’t I ride with a simple headwind instead of a disheartening Gobi gale? Builds character.

                I am acutely aware that this is a big holiday weekend at home. I guess I’m a bit homesick. Not that I’m in a hurry to get back to my predictable life. I am thoroughly enjoying this time to consolidate so many trips and thoughts, to get a year’s worth of exercise, making up for the long, sedentary days in Boston (not all the days of course, but too many of them). But I do find myself thinking about how nice it will be to have my own house again. With all my food and things and comforts and the cat and the car and my friends and my napping couch and the conveniences of America. Conveniently I am forgetting the mail, the bills, the deadline the obligations and other trappings of that life. I am blessed to be able to live both.

                I will close with Lyudmila’s wisdom. “We are alive. A lot of people with this injury aren‘t”