Freezy Rider

I ’m riding a Royal Enfield and sidecar across a frozen lake in Mongolia, it’s -40C, and I’m wearing a pair of sparkly tights. I’m sure there’s a rational explanation for all this, but at the moment I can’t think what it is. At least I can explain the sparkly tights. I wore them for a fancy dress party (it’s a long story), and when I mentioned the trip to a friend, he said he always wore tights on work trips to the Arctic to stay warm. And since he was in the SAS, do feel free to question his masculinity. See you in A&E. The tights don’t have to be sparkly, by the way. They were just the only ones Tesco had in my size. And in my defence, the equipment list for the trip included, and I quote, hot pantyhose. And anti-cracking cream. For the ice, presumably. As for the motorbikes, I’ve a long association with Royal Enfields, dating back to when Paddy Minne and I rode two from Delhi to Belfast in 1998 in temperatures which hit 51C in the Baluchistan Desert. So if nothing else, I’d end up as a Royal Enfield world record temperature extremes holder. Or dead.

Luggage-thieving Klingons

On the plane from Moscow to Ulan Bator, Pete the strapping Kiwi sitting next to me was on his way to take part in the Mongol 100 Rat Race, in which 28 competitors walked, ran, skated or cycled across Khövsgöl Lake. “Aha, same lake as we’ll be riding the Enfields on. See you there,” I said as the pilot announced