Rickety bridge on the way up to the Anzob Pass. The picture above is nothing to do with this chapter. It's just that I didn't get to upload it into the Anzob posting. A bit of luxury in Dushanbe ...
With Bjorn having made arrangements to meet up with a fellow HUBB'er who worked for the American mission in Tajikistan, it was time to go our separate ways and split up from our Polish contingent. After exchanging contact details we hit the road for Dushanbe, Tajikistan's thriving capital, leaving the others to look for a campsite at a nearby lake that was reputed to be something of a beauty spot.
When the two of us went on our way, we saw that the road into the city had all the hallmarks of that crazy new road on the other side of Anzob. Snooker-table smooth and black as night, with perfect freshly painted shiny white stripes along both edges and a 3rd plumb centre, marking the middle of the highway. But in this case the surface was well hardened-off and plenty grippy with no sign of fresh tar. Grippy enough to stretch a young guy who was following us on his Rusky built Ural, a kind of BMW'ish horizontal twin engined motorbike. It was a pleasure to grab a handful of throttle on a good road with little other traffic. With Anzob behind us I felt on a bit of a 'high'. And further was a prospect of meeting Trevor who'd offered for us to stopover with him in his house. A real bed, and a shower ... and as it turned out air-conditioned comfort too.
My heartfelt thanks go out to you and your Missus Trev', as it was a genuine pleasure and was much appreciated to have the luxury of staying with you in your home. After weeks on the road in often meagre accommodation and at the time four consecutive nights of sleeping under the stars, our diet and ablutions were often wanting. So to have access to a fully functioning kitchen and a hot shower ... Ooooh, I can remember the sensation of gently warm-water running over my head and skin after days of .... well, the best previously was that douche in the mountain stream and as nice as it was, was bloody cold. This was blissful warmth and then to get out into the refreshing coolness of air conditioning, and more ... a washing machine to clean our clothes. A big pile of dusty smelly clothing went in, and came out fresh as a daisy an hour or so later. Ah bliss! Oh, and I haven't finished yet. Oh no ... Trev's neighbour had a wireless Internet connection, and while neither me nor Bjorn could get our email accounts up, we could get Skype up and running. To be able to 'phone-home' was a big helping of 'cream' poured lavishly over the top of this treat in Dushanbe.
We were even invited out for Trevor's birthday celebration on the Friday night, which I remember for the vodka toasts accompanied by sometimes lengthy speeches. Clearly out of the Russian tradition I half expected the glasses to be thrown and smashed on the floor. But instead they were kept for more refills. I found I liked this tradition very much, though was to change my rather befuddled mind somewhat the next morning. I was told later that it couldn't possibly have been the vodka. It must have been that one and only beer I drank ...
I also remember Dushanbe for bike maintenance. And if I was to recollect accurately a pretty good deal labour-wise too, bearing in mind the number of hours put in by the mechanic. However one shadow over that memory is that I had failed to follow my instinct, which was to buy some new oil when I first saw it, shining in a nice yellow Shell™ container, as-sold by the sole Shell distributor in Dushanbe. It was only a 10 minute walk away and could have easily returned to buy it, but after chatting with our intrepid mechanic he assured us he can get the same stuff ... that led to my rather optimistic assumption that he'd get the same stuff with a 'trade' discount. Foolish boy! This ain't The West y'know. Ya better learn fast and when you see something you know is Kosher ... even if it's costly, then get yer wallet out, pay the asking top-dollar price, and forget any hoped for discounts.
It was a hot day when we rode off to the garage to begin the much needed oil-change, tyre swap for our new knobbly TKC80's, and in my case new chain and sprockets. The garage turned out to be an oil-stained bit of dirt down a side-street and ah well, hey ho ... we're tough well-travelled-bikers so just get on with it without complaint. And to be honest it was kind of fun getting smeared in gunk n' gunge, but all the while getting stuck into the much needed jobs and in doing so were making some real progress. The sun moved across and with it came the heat. It got hot, then hotter. But we were all blokes together, so could wander about in my shorts without fear of driving any of the Tajik' ladies insane with lust leering at my unclad torso. The afternoon came and one of the last jobs was to refill with new oil. Off went our mechanic and Bjorn and they returned a short while later with what appeared to be the same stuff that I'd looked at in the Shell distributors the day before. Glug, glug, glug ... in it goes. Fire it up to spread it around the engine before letting it settle for the final top-up, and ... it doesn't sound right. Never mind, it's been a busy and hot day and was keen to get finished up and back for a shower and treat of treats ... cold beeeeeeer!
The final few millilitres go in to to get the correct level on the oil-tank sight glass... and that's it, we're finished. Again we fire up and ride off back to Trev's place. And on that return trip just know that somethings wrong. It really doesn't sound right at all. And further the engine is sluggish and doesn't pick up as expected when opening the throttle. This oil sure ain't quality 10-40 as it's running more like 20-50 ... and not only that, 20-50 on a cold day before the engines warmed up. In keeping going I hope against hope it'll 'settle' in. Whatever that means. But well, you can guess that it didn't and these symptoms persisted ... and as it turned out, after taking some advice, is that the most likely scenario is that the oil we'd been supplied which came in that nice bright yellow authentic Shell™ container, was in fact a cheap Chinese fake.
I guess that when I eventually come to it in Kyrgyzstan, will write up the subsequent symptoms with great detail, as an overlong and very dull anecdote. But the long and short of the effect; is that when cold, the oil was like treacle and was so thick it prevented the engine from revving freely. Then when hot, went to 'water'! I know this, because when we finally got to change it one country later and on our way towards the Chinese border, that's exactly how it came out ... like water. To explain further; good oil still maintains some viscosity, even when past it's sell-by-date and jet black, after being hammered inside the engine for thousands of miles. But this stuff we changed after less than 2000 miles and it ... am trying to think of an appropriate simile here, but can only think of; pissed-out into the sump tray. And as further evidence, in rubbing it with your fingers it had no substance to it at all. I shudder to think how much wear went on in our engines while we had that crap in there, and hope that any prospective buyers don't read my BLOG, as they'll no doubt either hot-foot it to anybody else selling a Dakar at the time. Either that or knock the price down by some outrageous amount, 'cos I'd sure do the same if I was buying a used bike and knew it had been run for a couple of thousand Km's with something akin to old chip-oil for lubrication. Come to think of it, old chip-oil would have probably done a better bloody job!
I recall having to drag myself inwardly kicking and screaming from Trevor's place, as it had been a glorious time wallowing in the lap of luxury. It was so tempting to stay for another day, and another ... perhaps just one more teeny weeny day? But the road called and more importantly what could be one of the real highlights for us dyed-in-the-wool, and now after Anzob ... Experienced Enduro riders, The Pamirs. Or to be more politically accurate, the GBAO or Gorno Badakshan Autonomous Region. Try saying that after half a bottle of Tajik' vodka!
And another piccy that belongs in the previous post. This is the dodgy bit of road just after the trial by wet-tar. 'Our' orchard looked similar to the one you can see. It was an island of tranquility in the midst of highway building madness ...
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