I woke up at 6:00 a.m. intending to get ready, but the alcohol was still in my body, and I decided to delay my departure. Since the hotel charges per 24-hour stay rather than per night, I went to the reception to extend my check-out time because I was supposed to leave at 7:00 a.m.

After climbing back up the stairs to my room, I suddenly felt sick and threw up. Hoping this would help me sleep better, I lay back down. Unfortunately, after two hours of tossing and turning, I still couldn’t rest. Nevertheless, my head felt clearer, and by 9:00 a.m., I finally set off.

A long ride with no place to stay

The road was long but the asphalt was in good condition. I stopped in Taraz, Shu, and Burubaimal to refuel, following the same route I had taken in the opposite direction. Planning my coffee breaks was easy as I knew where the gas stations were. By nightfall, I arrived in Saryshagan and started looking for a place to stay.

My GPS showed me several hotels in Priozersk, but I didn’t want to backtrack and decided to try my luck locally. The one hotel that was supposed to exist in Saryshagan was nothing more than a locked door at the back of a building, accessible only via a flight of stairs. With no other options, I decided to push on for the remaining 140 km to Balkhash, heading directly to the hostel Margaux had recommended.

A cold night in Balkhash

I arrived at the hotel by 10:00 p.m. The night cost me 12,000 tenge (€24), having the the bathroom outside and no breakfast service. I spent quite a while with the receptionist trying to get the heating to work, but neither of the two rooms I had been given had a functioning heater. Before continuing with a third room, she brought me an electric one, and I finally managed to warm it up a little.

It had been an exhausting 13-hour ride covering 908 km. Quite a long journey with several close calls due to reckless overtaking by local drivers. It was time to get some rest.

Back on the road to Karaganda

The next morning, I left the hotel at 9:00 a.m. The road ahead was monotonous, but it felt different from what I remembered. In just 10 days, the roadworks had progressed. I arrived safely in Karaganda, except for a brief detour while trying to find the entrance to a gas station near Akshatau. A newly built station wasn’t operational yet, and I missed the only open access, forcing me to double back.

During my previous time in Kazakhstan, I had some run-ins with the police, which made me more vigilant on the road. Reckless overtaking, speeding, and general disregard for traffic laws were common among local drivers, and I had already learned my lesson the hard way.

This time, I was lucky. The police presence wasn’t as strong, and I managed to avoid any trouble. Still, I stayed cautious, making sure to ride within the limits and not take unnecessary risks.

Help from the biker community

Boris was waiting for me in Karaganda. When I changed the oil in Shymkent, Kirill told me the part operating the clutch from below was broken. We weren’t sure exactly when or how it happened, but it was barely holding together. Three days ago, I contacted Almas, who relayed the message to Shukhrat. I had considered taking the part from his bike and buying him a replacement, as the riding season in this region was coming to an end. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t work for him so he passed my request to the biker community instead, and Boris responded.

Boris was not only a mechanic but also a Vulcan 2000 owner. When I arrived at his place, I saw two bikes parked in the garage. Apart from his own, he had one belonging to Artiëm, a biker I had exchanged messages with over the years. Boris’s first gesture was to give me a pair of leg covers to help protect me from the cold for the rest of my trip.

He left my bike in his garage and took me for a meal before dropping me off at the hotel so I could rest for an hour. The hotel was slightly over my budget, but I needed a good night’s sleep. The shower had strong water pressure, and the WiFi worked. Those were small luxuries that made a big difference.

Repairing the bike

At around 5:30 p.m., Boris picked me up again. At the workshop, he told me he had replaced my rear light bulb, which was broken again after three days. In addition, he had greased the clutch cable, which had become stiff from all the dust and dirt collected in Mongolia. He asked if there was anything else that needed fixing to be certain that I could continue my journey.

Boris had meticulously examined the aluminum part. After Shukhrat’s denial, I believed I could use Boris’s and buy him a new one, but he decided fixing mine was the better option. Unfortunately, we required some specific equipment, and the person who could do it was now traveling from Astana to Karaganda. In the meantime, he dropped me back at the hotel while he was attending her daughter’s birthday.

At around 9:30 p.m., Boris returned and took me to Andrei’s workshop, the master welder. After an hour of welding and reshaping, the part was as good as new, and Andrei refused to take any payment for the job.

A late-night meal and some rest

We returned to the garage to reinstall the part. On the way back to the hotel, I didn’t see any open restaurant so I stopped by a small shop to grab some noodles. Since it was already late, I had to order through a window, making things complicated as I couldn’t see what they had. Exhausted from the day, I finally settled in for some much-needed rest.