Let's talk food. On day four, I developed a very sud-
den and severe aversion to the local diet, which con-
sisted largely of mutton and was usually washed down
with milk, or airag, fermented mare's milk.
My body had suddenly decided I couldn't eat the mut-
ton, couldn't look at it, couldn't even think about it.
I subsisted for about two days on whatever scraps of
bread I could find.
Day five was another scorcher, and my group had
pushed ourselves to hit four stations, rolling into our
final stop 15 minutes before the cutoff. I hobbled into
the family's ger, dreading the mutton that most like-
ly awaited me, and was elated when I found, yes, mut-
ton, but also a bottle of ketchup. Cutting open the hot
pocket-like pastries encasing the mutton, I scraped it
out, slathered the pastries with ketchup and scarfed
them down.
Day five was also when I hooked up with Christine from
the U.S. and Eion from New Zealand for good. We had
all ridden intermittently together before, but now we'd
stick together and ride across the finish line together.
