Kazakhstan: The Final Frontier...
These are the voyages of Close but no Bataar. Our ongoing mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life-forms and new civilizations; to boldly go where no team has gone before.
Ok, so we don't have ourselves down as the next Columbus or Shackleton but Kazakhstan really has taken this trip to a whole different level. We got a bit carried away with the last blog and by the time we had finished it was too late to set off so we decided to stay in Atyrau another night and head off early the next morning. True to form we had failed to recognise how much easier it is to navigate your way across a country the size of Europe when you have a map. This was exacerbated by the fact that the signs are not only in a different language but use a completely different alphabet.
Softened by the relative comfort of the previous 36 hours we were soon re-acquanited with those familiar feelings of dread and uncertainlty. We stopped off at a garage to re-tyre a wheel and to our suprise and delight we bumped into the Pimp from 2 nights before. We explained our chronic inability to get out of the city and he asked if we wanted to follow him to the road we needed. We were embarrassed to accept his offer but he told us that we could be driving around Atyrau for the rest of the day without his help. Reluctantly we followed the good samaritan/pimp for 20 minutes until he pulled into a supermarket carpark and pointed the way forward. This wasn't before he warned us of how bad the road ahead was and suggested an alternative route... In hindsight perhaps we should have heeded his advice!
For 50 miles we ploughed ahead berating the over-cautious pimp for his uneccessary warning. The road seemed fine and as we approached the town of Magot we were convinced we could make it to Aktobe, 600 kilmetres away, in the next 24 hours. We're sure you have realised by now that as soon as we make an ill informed assumption something inevitably goes wrong and this was no exception! We drove around Magot for the best part of an hour but could not find where the road to Aktobe continued. Several times we were directed towards the gas refinary that lay at the northern tip of the town but the road seemed to finish at the adjacent gas fields. The thought fleetingly crossed our minds that perhaps we needed to drive through the gas field to get to Aktobe but within 100 metres of drifting uncontrollably across the tracks in the sand we concluded that idea was ludicrous. Unfortunately for us and for Dilly the road to Aktobe did indeed continue on the other side of the gas field and so we embarked on a 20 mile drive across what can only be described as a series of dirt tracks across sand dunes in a car inequipped to deal with the rigours of what we now consider to be the tarmaced oasis that is Birmingham!
We drove around the gas field for what seemed like an eternity beaching the car on thick sand on more than one occasion finding ourselves frantically shovelling sand from under the car as night fell, eventually requiring a tow from a kind Kazakh family just as we thought all hope was lost. Once we finally emerged from the purgatory that was Magot we decided to camp up for the night and counted our blessings for emerging (relatively) unscathed.
Progress was slow the next day as we traversed the potholes that lay in front of us. It is hard to describe just how bad this road was but to give you an idea other motorists had decided in favour of driving through the dusty fields on either side rather than take their chances with the suspect Kazakh infrastructure. That morning we covered a mere 40 or 50 miles in 3 hours struggling to keep going. Despite our best efforts disaster has never been far from our doorstep. The car soon started to cough and splutter but we equated this to the on-going problems we had with the distributer condenser coming loose. We were loosing power by this time and so decided to pull to the side of the road to survey the engine. As we opened up the engine cover, which had itself been shook loose from it's hinges, we saw that the engine was covered in sand. We were suprised and concerned to find that the distributor seemed to be in good order meaning that something else might be wrong with the car. As we sat at the roadside confused, bemused and uncertain what to do, the first car to pass us by in an hour stopped to see if he could he help. We gestured that we thought that there must be something wrong with the distributor and he took out his tool kit, looking like he knew exactly what he was doing. He pulled out the distributor tightened some screws and adjusted a wire that had come loose. He reattached the distributor and told us to try the engine. We held our breath and hoped that he had fixed the problem but alas we were not that lucky! He offered to tow us to the next town and we gladly accepted. Unfortunately the roads were putting serious pressure on the tow rope and after 5 kilometres or so the rope pulled the towing eye clean off the front of our car. We managed to re-attach the tow rope to the chassi of the car but our breaks were the next thing to give out making the journey even more treacherous. We decided to let the Kazakh man continue on his way rather than inflicting our continuing misfortune on anyone else.
We soon began to berate this decision as the blistering sun rose in the sky. The temperature was nearing 50 degrees celcius and we were down to our last bottle of water. The nearest town was at least 30 kilometres away in either direction and we couldn't remember the last time another car had passed us by.
With vultures circling overhead and short on options we had no choice but to return to the engine compartment and fix the car ourselves. Scratching our heads, we were clean out of ideas. Preparing for the worst and considering abandoning the flagging car on the side of the potted Kazakh highway as if by divine intervention we were interupted for the second time in our journey by the sound of a car horn. We looked around in anticipation and to our absolute surprise and relief it was another rally team. Travelling in the opposite direction on one of the parallel dirt tracks and confused about the direction our static steed was facing, Theo and Luke pulled up in a great dust cloud to offer their assistance. After we explained our predicament, the lads from Winchester gave the car a 'once over' and narrowed our symptoms down to an issue with the air filter explaining the importance of regularly cleaning it in the desert-like road conditions. This minor problem could be fixed by simply cleaning the air filter. Unfortunately the friendly Kazakh who had tried to help had in fact worsened our problems. When he removed the distributor he managed to knock out our timing and so it seemed our run of bad luck was set to continue.
The lads offered to tow us to the next decent sized town where hopefully we could find a mechanic who could re-set our timing. As the light began to fade we pulled into a Kazakh 'service station' to see if we could eat for the first time in nearly 24 hours. We decided to stick to the 2 course menu that evening. Our starter was a perfectly seasoned bowl of mutton soup followed by a delicious platter of horse and onions! We wolfed it down gratefully and set up camp for the night. We got stuck into a couple of bottles of vodka we had bought in Russia and all four us fell asleep under the clear night sky.
The journey the next morning was interesting to say the least. The tow rope had broken so many times that it was now down to a mere 4 feet long. Being towed at speeds of 70 mph on the worst roads imaginable gave us 0.375 seconds to react to Luke and Theo's braking which was unpredicatable at best. This continued for 2 hours until we reached the next 'service station' where we had breakfast. Breakfast involved half a swiss roll, a bottle of fanta and what Odhran described as a liver doughnut. As far as we can decipher this consisted of minced liver incased in some kind of sweet pastry that passes for a Kazakh delicasy and do you know what? At that moment it tasted pretty damn good!
Eventually we made it to the town of Shubar-Kuduk and found a garage to look at the car. Our hearts sank as the mechanic almost instantly gestured that Dilly was beyond repair. As the mechanic tended to a hole in the exhaust that Theo and Luke had picked up the previous day we set about fixing the problem ourselves, stubbornly refusing that our journey would end here.
At this point we probably need to mention that there has been a 4th team member who has had as much, if not more, of a role to play in the success of the trip than anyone else. Our friend Bert Moriarty has been on call 25 hours a day, 8 days a week for any mechanical advice we have needed. To the members of Close but no Bataar Bert is the fourth emergency service! Bert talked us through how we could re-set the timing but even under his expert supervision it was highly unlikely we would succeed without the correct equipment. Whether it was by chance or sheer perseverance we somehow managed to re-set the timing. It took both of us, Bert, Theo and Luke over 4 hours to do it but when we finally got Dilly going it was worth every oil drenched minute.
We drove out of that garage feeling invincible, excited about driving to Almaty with our new found friends...
