Tuesday 29 March 2016

Blog 7. 8 & 9
The fire, the parties, the hardship.

Tuesday 29th July
Last night, we decided to take time out today in order to work out our best option for crossing this river. 
We woke late to a glorious, fresh morning with a continental holiday feel about it….the air, not the place, which is basic at best.
After breakfast, Gary went into town with Victor as the phone credit he bought yesterday hadn't yet been applied.
I took this opportunity to see if it was the displaced choke cable again causing the bike not to idle. It was as suspected so a few minutes sorted the problem, just as Victor returned to collect Kev and I to join Gary in the local hospital.
Victor had arranged for the three of us to get very welcome massages in their physio dept.
Denis made another call to bridge security, where he’d worked 5 years previously but no go. They might stop the train at an unscheduled stop 16 kms past the bridge. Well, it’s better than 80 kms.
Today’s been a lazy day. We recorded some footage with the quadcopter and went to view it on my tablet, only to find the screen broken. There goes tablet no. 2. Damn.
During the afternoon, the sky turned dark, the thunder and rain returned. As we lay on our beds dozing, there was an explosion and a flash of red light. Kev and I jumped to our feet. It was simultaneous thunder and lightning and the red was the flash coming through my closed eyelids. It must have been right above us. It was the loudest and brightest I’ve ever encountered.
Weather here varies more than at home and everything is more extreme.

Wed 30th. July.
After an early night, we rose at 5.30 for 6 a.m. breakfast, loaded up and headed to meet Denis at the train station at 7.



Everybody there helped us hoist the bikes onto a flat open carriage. We were off.
Denis had arranged for the train to stop just after the bridge for us to disembark. Would you get that flexibility on CIE?
Gary stayed on board as his knees were proving too much of a hindrance on the trails. He’d continue the trip with us but only ride when we got to easier trails.
We disembarking on the other side of the bridge, loaded our gear and were idling and about to ride away when some of the railway workers pointed to my bike. With no Russian, I somehow decided they were pointing at my luggage and talking about fire.
I gestured that…no, my luggage isn’t too close to the exhaust.
They persisted.
I gestured that if there was something drawing their attention, it must be steam from damp luggage.
They persisted.
I looked down and there were flames coming from under my seat.
I jumped off and blew to put out the flames. A worker threw water at the seat. Kev moved his bike to safety. Once extinguished, I removed my luggage and seat to find that it was the excess wire for the sat nav mount that was the problem. Either constant friction, my removing and replacing the seat yesterday or more likely a combination, must have caused a short.

Me, putting the luggage back on after the fire.

Anyway, wire removed, seat and luggage back on board, we headed for more tough terrain, mainly puddles filled with the last two days heavy rain. With tyres now 90% worn, we were travelling at 20 to 30 kph where we would normally be doing 50 to 60.
While trying to cross a fallen tree, my front slipped away and the bike ended up on my left leg. My knee was twisted in one direction, my ankle the other. Kev lifted the bike to relieve pretty significant pain.
No harm done but the knee and ankle were tender and painful for the next few days.
At 10.30, we came to a dead end where a bridge had once been. A hut/house and a separate kitchen under canvas were built on this now disused trail offshoot. There was also a caterpillar track tank-like personnel carrier and a half-built building on the site.
It transpired that this was home to two forestry rangers and the half-built building was a bania under construction.



We were told to sit down, given tea and biscuits and offered the now familiar Russian tradition. FFS, it’s only 10.30 in the morning. The two guys were among those who helped us load the bikes earlier and were among Gary’s audience on the train so they knew all about our story.
Rejecting the vodka, we carried on over the railway bridge.
At 11.30, we were stopped on the trail by more members of Gary’s audience and indulged in more tea and biscuits, again rejecting the late morning vodka.



We are travelling through the Taiga, a woodland area of some significance and bigger than all of Europe apparently.
Later, we arrived at a river where the only crossing was again a railway bridge. Rail workers helped with the extremely difficult climb up and we effectively slid the bikes down the gravel descent on the other side, on their sides.
As we came close to Dugda, we came on two Asian kids with a partially dismantled bike on the side of the trail. We stopped, feeling that we had to return some of the goodwill shown us to date.




They hurriedly reassembled the bike and tall Kev on the tall KTM towed the two small Asians on their low bike. From behind, it looked like baby ducks waddling after Daddy Duck. Their rushed reassembly meant that the exhaust soon fell, unnoticed by them, off their bike. I picked it up and when I caught up with the others, the lads had fallen off in a puddle and been dragged by Kev through it. Not very duck like but we laughed. They didn’t.
As we entered Dugda, Gary arrived in a van that would make Commer vans from the 70s look modern.
He’d arranged that we could stay at a facility for Bam workers. The party started shortly afterwards, vodka, food, vodka, food, chat, guitar and singing until….who knows.


Anyone for raw fish. Kev passed on this.

I do know that at 8.30, there were 5 empty bottles of vodka on the table that about 10 of us were sitting around and somebody was sent to the shop. 30 mins later, another shop run.
One guy fried up some liver from a deer he’d killed a week previously with onions and it was delicious and demolished.
Nobody knows when we went to bed or how the table and it’s contents got overturned but, then, that’s teenagers for you.

Thur 31st. July
We arose late, at 10 a.m., partly due to last night but also as we expected a fairly easy day ahead.
Many of the guys from last night were coming and going, including one guy with his young daughter, who was there yesterday evening also. He tucked into a breakfast of fat and vodka. They value the fat, that we would reject at home, highly here for it’s energy value. Vodka because it’s like tea to the Irish.
My knee and ankle were stiff and sore but nothing debilitating.
The trail started easily and after 20 or 30 kms, we came across a slightly tricky stream that none of us with good tyres would do more than slow down for in normal circumstances.
However, with our tyres as they are and Gary nervous of his knees, he entered it with trepidation and unbalanced, again twisting his knee and causing major pain.

Gary, reluctantly accepting that his knees weren't able for the trails.
Gary, heading back to Dugda, to party further and follow us by train.

It was decided that he’d return and travel by train until we got to proper road. He ended up staying in the same place as last night, entertaining a new group of workers.
One of my front wheel bearings fell apart around late morning. They were brand new before we left. I’d brought the old ones, just in case. I then decided that, though better than nothing, relying on removed bearings might not be wise and the last thing I did before leaving Cork was buy another set. However, we could only find two bearings. We quickly replaced the destroyed bearing, hoping that the other would be ok and we’d still have a spare.
The trail was mainly enjoyable up to lunch time. We stopped in a village and did as usual. The village shops are small, usually on the bottom floor of a flats building and found only by locals directing us to a small sign outside.
In basic Russian, if Kev’s asking, and in sign language if it’s me, we ask for coffee. We then gesture for a cup and then for hot water. Initially baffled, they eventually grasp that these strange visitors, like aliens, want something different and hot coffee emerges, often followed by free biscuits on the shop steps with interrogation from curious locals. This, with processed meat, cheese and once fresh bread constitutes our mid day meal.
The trails got tougher after Gary left us and got worse as the day went on.
Our hopes, probably over-optimistic anyway, that the second bearing was ok, were dashed shortly after lunch. We stopped on a bridge and set about the quick change-over.
If only. The second bearing was welded in and there was no gap between it and the ridge on the hub to allow it to be pushed from the other side.

Trying to get the bearing out through metal contraction.

Kev sat on that bridge, hammering with anything we could find to McGyver a solution. On one of my multi-tools was a small claw hammer. We destroyed this in trying to create a hint of a gap behind the bearing so that we could drive it out with something more solid. Eventually, 3 hours later, the bearing was out and replaced, just as we heard something heavy approach.
We’d encountered no traffic all day and about 15 minutes sooner than ideal, a tank-like personnel carrier, like the one described earlier bared down on us and we hurriedly put the wheel back on, grabbed tools etc and moved everything off the bridge.
We needn’t have panicked. The hunters disembarked, curious as to what was happening and chatted for a short while. However, grasping essential tools from the ground in the path a tank that you can only hope will stop, does cause some anxiety.
It’s also a measure of where we are when the only vehicle we see all day has caterpillar tracks for traction. We left shortly after them, yet were unable to catch up.
It is also a measure of Kev as a friend, when he sat, without frustration or complaint, chipping away at someone else’s bike, at what seemed like a hopeless task for three hours. I know there was little option but it was his demeanor that I appreciated.
We continued and the puddles just got worse and worse. The afternoon and evening were spent pulling, dragging and lifting.
As darkness closed in, we came through a very deep puddle. I got stuck towards the end of it. Kev, thinking I was so close to exiting and therefore fine, went to investigate a large building on the other side of the track. I stood in deep water for about 15 minutes. When we got the bike out, it wouldn’t start, so I set about draining the carburetor bowl. It still wouldn’t start, it was now dark and the battery died. Luckily, the 640 has a kickstart but this also failed to get it going.
We decided to hide it among the trees and come back to it tomorrow. One last bear-like kick from Kev, just in case, and it started. We rode through the woods, dragged the bikes up a grassy incline and over the tracks to the disused building. We were tired, disillusioned and chat was minimal as we gathered wood and lit a fire to get some drying done.
Kev decided to sleep in the building. The smell of damp and the sound of dripping water sent me out to set up tent.

Kev's luxurious accommodation

Mine, among the wildlife.

Shortly after settling into my abode, I heard something, definitely bigger than a dog moving around. Human, deer, bear? I’ve no idea but Kev also heard it from inside the concrete building. This is bear country so who knows!
Having been dry while setting up the tent, it rained all night, then stopped before we rose, which is fine but it’s inflating the puddles that we now despise.

Fri 1st. Aug.
We got up early, both feeling better after a surprisingly good nights sleep, despite flat airbeds.
We decided to avoid the puddles for a while by travelling along the sleepers. We came off the track for a while as, while we make good progress, it’s hard on the bikes and the bodies.
Soon later, we were back on the track, Kev leading.
Avoiding the points (remember our earlier run in with the law), I dropped a gear, rolled off the sleepers onto the gravel and the clutch cable snapped. Again a new part fitted just before we left but it had been having a hard time as a result of the bracket being broken at the start of the journey.
Kev disappeared into the distance. Riding as quickly as you can on 18 inch wide sleepers, looking in your mirrors means stopping and that’s to be avoided if at all possible.
I managed to get the bike going by turning over the starter with the bike in gear. Yeehaw.
A few kms later, the supervisor of a group of workers on the tracks stopped me. I didn’t want to stop but had no option. He lectured me for being on the tracks, then let me on.
However, my earlier trick didn’t work this time. The workers took pity and pushed me.
Further on again, I slowed to glance in my mirrors and stalled the bike. I tried to start it on the starter again but to no avail.
The only thing I could think of now was to rev the engine and slam it into 1st. The chance of this working were negligible and if it did, I’d probably wheelie and end up jumping the rail or heading down the gravel incline.
I couldn’t park it here and as a train would in time definitely come along, dragging it down the gravel was probably inevitable anyway so there was nothing to lose.
Amazingly, it worked. I don’t think the front lifted but if it did, it was minimal and I was away in a straight line. If I'd been offering odds on that working, I'd have said 10/1 or worse.
I passed Kev walking back to me and passed him shouting “Broken Clutch Cable”
I arrived at another set of points and in trying to ride around them on the gravel, stalled again.
This time, there was space to pull off the track and I availed of it, having decided to replace the cable, knowing that Kev was now behind me with the tools.
I also spotted that exactly opposite where I’d stopped, there was a wide open trail. Kev investigated, while I replaced the cable.
Once done, we headed away from the rails, along this track and into Oguron. There was no road into Oguron, just wide expanses of mud, some covered with layers of wooden offcuts from the sawmill on the edge of town.
Images of the old Alaskan based tv series from the early 90s, “Northern Exposure” where the start featured an elk walking down the main street, came to mind.
We were directed to the usual hidden shop, arranged the coffee and this time some hotpots as well.
Kev asked about benzine and was told there was none.
As we were eating our hotpots, Kev rang Gary who, as it turned out was in the drivers cab of a train 5 minutes from Oguron.



The driver and others said that Oguron to the next stop was impossible and we’d be mad to try to ride it. This was the last train before the weekend. The next would be on Monday.
So, no petrol and mad to continue! Train available in 5 minutes! Make your minds up, lads. Feck, feck, feck.

  • No petrol. We’ve been told that before and got some, though that was usually with Gary’s language and persuasive skills.
  • Mad! Hey, where’s the news in that.
  • Impassable! We’ve been told that before and still gotten this far.
  • 5 minutes to choose. It’d been a horrible two days and we were fed up. That said, we’re as determined as ever to complete the Eastern Bam, all of it that still exists.
Things happen for a reason! We reluctantly decided that our only real option was the train but it didn't sit easily.
It was hard as we passed some lovely trails initially. Then people were pointing out impassable water and we were going…."well, yeah, but.... we've crossed tough stuff already", then the trail did seem to disappear, as we got closer to Verkhnezeysk.
This is a town on one side of the railway bridge that crosses a huge reservoir that it would take days to ride around.
The train driver offered that we stay in the railway staff quarters over the weekend. We brought the bikes out back and were approached by the station/regional manager, Vladimir (Vova for short) who offered that we bring the bikes over to a garage nearby. Leave our bags at the back door. We can bring them in later.
We said there was no need to garage the bikes but he insisted. We arrived at the garage to find 6 guys waiting for us.



Brandy was presented, a guitar emerged and the party began. While it’s acknowledged that the Russians have a problem with the volume they drink, one element of their drinking makes sense. Every drink is followed by a little food.
Some time later, bags at back door forgotten, we were brought to the beach to continue the party. It was beginning to get dark but Kev and Gary flew the quadcopter. This frustrated Vova’s dog and when the pilot’s alcohol induced inability to control the copter resulted in two crashes, I had to race the dog to it, in case he damaged or ran off with it. The lads called me Lassie. Hey, at least I can run.

Kev (wearing the dog's blanket) at the beach with Vova, our fantastic host.

We returned to our quarters to find our bags had been taken inside. As we went to our room, we were met by guys walking quietly up and down corridors, mostly in identical pyjamas.
The question of lunatics (us) in an asylum sprang to mind again.

Sat 2nd Aug.
Late rise, good breakfast, called over to garage at 11.45.
The brandy’s out and Gary’s playing the guitar.

11.45 a.m., the brandy's out and Gary's already got a dancing audience.

Early in the afternoon, we were brought back to the beach where our guests set up a proper picnic with tablecloth, smoked salmon, other snacks and beers, all calmly consumed in beautiful sunshine which led to a lovely relaxed day.




We were brought out onto the reservoir on a speedboat the lads had in the garage. I went for a swim, as I’d done last night to exclamations of “lovely warm water” as the other two wimps chickened out.


Me, heading for a swim in the "lovely warm water"

Later, we were brought to the dacha belonging one of the lads. He produced vegetables from the garden and others brought meat to bbq, this being from a recently killed pig that the group had a friend rear, kill and prepare.

Enjoying the gracious hospitality.


This was more to Kev's liking than the raw fish, clearly.

The chat was interesting. The lads come from different parts, including the Ukraine. Nobody cares. One of the guys is Jewish, Vova if I remember correctly, the only one in the village. Nobody cares. Religion is stronger among the youth than among the old.
Gary sang “Raggle, Taggle, Gypsy” and one of the lads suggested a catchy new chorus that will be Gary’s signature from now on.
The Bam Railway is celebrating 40 years since it was finished this year and this village is having a concert on Sunday night. We have been scheduled to perform. Not wise as anybody who's heard me sing knows.

Sunday 3rd Aug.
Another relaxed day.
Thankfully, we weren’t called to the garage today. Sunday appears to be a family day.
We went to the beach on the bikes with the quadcopter to record some clips of us riding along the waters edge.
I noticed that my front wheel bearings were going again. If we had chosen on Friday to continue on the trail, we wouldn't have gotten much further. 
In the evening, we were collected for the concert. Gary (not us) performed to a great response, especially to the new version of “Raggle, Taggle, Gypsy”.

A pre-concert beer to calm Gary's nerves (as if it was needed)

 Gary, performing at the concert to celebrate the 40th anniversary 
of the completion of the BAM Railway.

From there, we went to the dacha we were in last night, where the bania was lit so, in between food, vodka, beer, we went into and out of the bania (sauna). 



We had to convince them to reluctantly bring us home at 1 a.m. as we had to be up early tomorrow.



Blog 8.
It's nearly done!

Mon 4th Aug
5.30 alarm to be ready for the 7.30 train.
Vova called, opened the garage and we loaded up.
He, who’d organized all our entertainment and accommodation all weekend, insisted that we pay not even the small fee we’d agreed to on Friday evening. He even gave us a bag of food and a bottle of brandy left over from last night.

All along the railway, we’ve been fed, housed, helped on and off trains and induced to drink and everybody’s refused to allow us pay at almost every point. We are hugely grateful to Vova and all his colleagues, all along the railway.

Given that Gary wasn’t going to ride his bike and my bearings were on the way out, I rode Gary’s bike today.
We were brought across the reservoir by train and dropped a few kms on the other side, where there was access to the trail.
We rode casually along some beautiful trails amid some beautiful countryside on a lovely warm day.

Me, walking it before entering it.

Then, after riding through only a few minor puddles such as the one below, Gary’s, (mine today) bike died exiting one.


It was a dry day so, instead of stripping it, we waited but it didn't seem to dry out. Kev towed me to see if it’d start but no. We were only 15kms from Dipcun and the trail was easy so we decided to tow it there.
As we started to work on the bike, the local police officer took interest, noted our documents and insisted we go to a local mechanic. In pigeon English and Russian, we said we knew what the problem was and didn't need to. Kev got concerned that we were, for some unknown reason, in trouble and when an onlooker crossed his wrists, he thought we were going to be handcuffed.
I think the gesture, somehow, meant “no problem”. The police officer was trying to help the verbally disabled visitors, maybe with a little too much conviction.
Anyway, she got the message, left and tension diminished. It transpired that the problem was a fuel tap allowing fuel from the auxiliary front tanks to the original rear tank. It was OFF. My bike has only one tank so needs none of this arrangement. Although Kev’s bike does have the auxiliary tanks, it doesn’t have the fuel tap so neither of us thought of this.
Anyway, problem sorted, we went to shop for lunch. While there, Kev asked for benzine and after a few phone calls, a guy arrived and we followed him to his house on the edge of town, where 20 litres was bought.
As Kev filled the bikes, this guy’s father grabbed me by the arm and, with huge pride, brought me on a tour of his vegetable garden and his chicken hatches, insisting on pulling vegetables and even trying to give me some eggs. My protests merely managed to limit the gifts to one bag of mixed fresh vegetables. Then a bottle of vodka was squeezed into my luggage.

The source of our benzine, with the over generous grandfather, third from left.

After photos, bear warnings and thanks, we left and went back to the shop to pay for the benzine.
As Gary would be coming into town shortly, though not joining us, we decided to wait a while and help take the bike and luggage off the train.
The guy we’d bought the benzine from arrived to collect goods from the train and was surprised to see we hadn’t yet left town. We explained that we were waiting for Gary and that he would be staying in town overnight. Grand, he said, he can stay with the grandfather we’d just met.
Gary arrived and a railway guy came up to us as we were leaving. Vova had rung ahead to arrange for Gary to stay in the station house.
Thinking the first option would be more sociable, Gary headed back to the house we’d already been to.

We continued along pleasant trails for the rest of the day.






We arrived around 10 p.m. in Mareviy and asked four teenage girls if there was a Gastonista in town.
After a phone call, we were told yes and instructed to follow the girls to the town square. 15 minutes later, a couple arrived, asking about our journey. Then he went up the town hall steps, opened the door and Kev and I rode the bikes up the steps and inside.
It turned out, the first girl was the mayor’s daughter and it was he who let us in. We were shown to bedrooms upstairs, next to his office, while our bikes stood inside downstairs.

With the Mayor in his office.

Our bikes downstairs in the main town hall foyer.

With the Mayor in front of a recently commissioned fountain.

He then, at 10.30 p.m, rang the local shopkeeper who opened up for us. As we left, the shopkeeper gave us free energy drinks.

With the mayor and shopkeeper in the shop opened just for us, at the mayor's request at 10.30 p.m.

As we passed back by the mayors house, his wife ran indoors and reemerged with hot and cold food for us. Simply amazing hospitality.

Tue 5th. Aug.
We moved the bikes outside shortly after 8 a.m. and were joined for breakfast by the mayor. His secretary arrived shortly afterwards with a camera. Photos were taken of us inside, outside and beside the newly commissioned town fountain, a very simple structure but one he was very proud of.
As the staff arrived, we were brought into a small but very interesting museum outlining the history of the town, followed by more photos with all the staff.



We didn’t have far to go today to Tynda. The trail was easy and picturesque and, as a result, we stopped and took photos far more frequently than on any other day, where we were focused on getting through the obstacles to our destination.

It was an easy ride until Gary’s/my bike started acting up. It wouldn't run smoothly and if stopped needed to be towed to restart.

 Heading for the finish.

We would have given anything for bridges like these over the last few weeks! 

Getting easy.......at long last.

If you look closely, you'll see Kev looking at the river. 



Getting nearer urbanisation, the roads and bridges improving.

Looks new.....we must be nearly in Tynda.

Kev dancing on the bike on the last few kms into Tynda, 
EASTERN BAM CONQUERED!!!!!!!!

 It stuttered it’s way into Tynda, as Kev rode by, dancing on the pegs, celebrating our achievement. J
To our knowledge, we are the only non Russians to have completed the Eastern Bam by motorbike, one other guy, Luke Perry Gore having done it by bicycle. J

Big grin, meeting Gary in Tynda, having completed the Eastern BAM.

We arrived in Tynda around 2.30, two hours after Gary, booked into the hotel and put the bikes into a locked and fenced area behind it. We went straight to a place Kev was familiar with from being here two years ago to get bearings for my front wheel. Not available. Sasha, a mechanic next door who’d sorted Kev out last time, drove us around every possible hardware store but we failed to find them anywhere. He brought us to Max, who made a phone call and sourced them 600/800 kms away. Sasha’s girlfriend there picked them up. The only problem is…she won’t be back in town until Thursday. Damn.
We headed back to the hotel. Not long afterwards, Max and his girlfriend called, collected us and brought us to the Twin Kitchen bar / restaurant / night club. Max has quite good English and he certainly doesn't lack self confidence. That said, he’s sorting us out with the bearings. Actually, over the next few days, we decided he’s pretty well meaning but is one of those guys who you’d describe as “not doing himself any favours” in the way he talks to people.
We were joined by other bikers, some of whom Kev knew from two years ago, and their girlfriends. We saw quite a bit of Sergei and Slava, more than the others, over the next few days and we got on particularly well with them.
They all left after the food. We decided we’d a major achievement to celebrate so retired to the bar, bought some expensive vodka and justifiably slapped each other on the back. We were joined, towards the end of the night by the club owner’s wife and were dropped back to the hotel after closing time on her way home by the club bouncer.

Wednesday 6th. Aug.
We got up at a lazy hour and Eva (I think) from reception showed us to a place where we could get crepes for brunch.
We did very little all day other than get a haircut. I needed to lose the “Doc from Back to the Future” look.
Around 8, the lads from last night called and brought us to Sergei’s mother’s house where we had a bbq and a singsong, a little beer and vodka too. Slava plays guitar well and has a lovely voice. He sang a song, half English, half Russian, that he’d written for his beautiful girlfriend which we were all hugely impressed by.
We spoke of people’s impressions of Russia abroad and how our experiences contradicted any preconceptions we may have had. The saying of the night was “It’s better to see once than hear 100 times” How apt!

 Sasha, with brown jacket.

 Slava, playing guitar

Gary, absorbed and in full flow  

 Slava, Sergei and Gary

 Max, enthralled or bored, I'm not sure and his girlfriend.

Anastasia, Slava, Sergei, Sergei's mother, whose garden we were partying in.

Lovely Russian smile 

Me after a value for money haircut. 



Thursday 7th Aug.
Another lazy morning.
Kev went to Sasha’s garage and reattached and rewired what’s left of his number plate / light cluster. We took out and cleaned Gary’s injector. A blast of carb cleaner dislodged a sliver of something that could only be described as resembling a small finger nail clipping. Very strange but problem solved.
It turns out the bearings won’t now arrive until tomorrow. Feck.
Sergei and Slava called to bring us for food but we’d already eaten. We just went for a few quiet pints instead. Sergei was still suffering after last night.

Fri 8th Aug.
Another day wasted hanging around. The bearings arrived around 5.30 p.m. We put them straight in. They only cost around €1.40 each and, to look at, weren’t confidence inspiring. These weren’t sealed bearings.  Again, we replaced the one showing signs of wear and kept the other as a spare.
Once fitted, we noticed Kev’s tent on the ground, definitely not where it should have been. A quick glance confirmed that all the luggage had been searched but there was nothing of value for anybody to find. It still wasn't a nice experience after so many good ones.
That evening, the lads brought us to a municipal bania, booked from 9 to 11. It was decided that we’d have no drink tonight, then Gary suggested a compromise of only one bottle of vodka at the Twin Kitchen. We ended up dancing in the adjacent night club. Best laid plans etc. J

Sat 9th. Aug.
We arose 2 hours later than intended and packed up. Sergei and Slava led us out of town to where Sasha and his girlfriend joined us to say good bye.

Saying good bye to our newest Russian friends, leaving Tynda.

We were glad to be back on the road but these are a great group of people and we enjoyed our few days with them thoroughly.
The first 100 kms were dust roads and roadworks. Though you couldn't see a truck ahead, you’d know that you were coming up behind one by the dust cloud. The problem was…if you approach too slowly, you’ll never pass him but if you approach at even a modest speed, it may still be too fast as you’d only see the truck tail lights when less than 10 metres from it.
Eventually, we ended up on lovely fresh, smooth tarmac. Well, it was lovely until the thunderstorm arrived.



We donned our wet gear and I headed off with Gary following. In Riga, the only visor he could get was fully tinted. This, with the darkness of the sky, meant that he had to follow my tail light as it was the only thing he could see. We joked later that this would have been a good time to release a flare.
I was doing a steady 85 kph on the wet shiny road, then thought…it’s a very straight road with virtually no traffic, I’ll pick up the pace a little. As soon as I twisted the throttle, the rear slid a couple of inches to both left and right a few times. I reduced my speed to 70 to 80 kph, rather than the intended 100 to 120 kph.
We arrived at the only “hotel” for 100s of kms. It was a kip and cost an exorbitant €15 per person. The only washing facility was in a separate building and, next morning, that was locked.

The bedding we got in this kip, costing an exorbitant (for what it was) €15.

We had no option. We’d been warned not to camp around here.
A check on my bearings showed wear. Kev’s bike had been showing up an error message. He googled it and found a possible solution.

Sun 10th Aug.
We arose as planned at 7 a.m. but it was raining heavily. We eventually got up at 9 and replaced my bearing. Kev ran a lead from the battery to the coil which sorted his problem. Breakfast, fuel, away.
More rain, another wheel slide, this time at a steady pace, travelling in a straight line. Yikes.
The only thing keeping me smiling was the image of Gary taking off like a greyhound past me after a mischieviously misdirected flare, with wheels spinning like a pup on wet lino.
The weather improved in the afternoon, as did the scenery. We had moved from forestry into vast plains with mountains in the distance. This new road had many signed side roads but they extended only about 10 metres from the main road into open countryside. A strange sort of forward planning!
Later, Kev ran out of fuel. We stopped to siphon from my bike and noticed Gary’s lop-sided luggage and found his drybag burning on his exhaust. His melted tent drew only sympathy from Kev and I. We certainly didn’t laugh. J



As it happened, Gary didn’t like the tent, was fed up with camping and we certainly weren’t going to be camping around here. The warning I mentioned earlier refers to the fact that we were entering the Chita region. The people are, apparently “different” around here. Camping tourists have been viciously stabbed to death for their belongings.
Some time later, it was Gary's turn to roll to a halt. His chain had snapped. I’d a soft link and we were soon back on the road.
As we got closer to Chita city, we noticed my engine was slightly noisy. We topped the oil up but it took very little. Unrelated but shortly afterwards, my wheel bearings collapsed again. They’d only lasted about 1000 kms.

The failed bearing, with only 1000 kms covered. 

We rolled slowly into town to a hotel which was full. I waited while the lads went in search of another.
A young guy, Misha, on a ZZR1100 arrived and offered a bike clubhouse to house both us and the bikes.
Kev returned to advise that they’d booked us into an hotel and been invited into a party. Misha followed us to the other hotel. On the street outside the hotel restaurant, 75% of the guests at a 55th. birthday party were attempting to drag us into the party. Misha and these partygoers disagreed over who had the greater right to entertain us.
Each asked us to choose. We shrugged. They discussed. Though awkward, we felt like celebrities. A compromise was reached where Misha would watch the bikes for a bit while we’d be fed and watered inside.
Both Kev and I had problems starting our bikes while travelling between the two hotels but we weren't going to get time to address this now.

We left the party briefly, followed Misha and met his pals. We decided not to avail of their clubhouse offer, though genuinely appreciated and returned to the hotel, cleaned up a bit, changed and returned to the party.




They insisted we didn't leave these behind when the party was over.

Blog 9. 
Casualties.

Mon 11th. Aug
Got up, took the bearings out of my bike. While doing so, Kev discovered why his bike wouldn’t start last night. He found a loose connection behind the ignition.
We went from motor factors to engineering shop to bearing shop by taxi, a barely running Lada and eventually found the right size bearings. These, at 100 roubles (€2) are sealed bearings and far more substantial looking than the ones we’d removed that had done 1000 kms, so I bought 6, to be sure, to be sure. J
Kev towed me and we got the bike to start but it wouldn’t idle. I did the usual check of the choke cable but all was ok. I took the carb out and found a layer of mud in the bottom of the bowl.
It was mid afternoon and our hosts from last night’s party arrived to bring us to a food tasting event. I let the lads go, cleaned the carb as completely as I could and put everything back together. It started on the kickstart and idled for a while.
I found a loose chain cover bracket and hoped that this might have been the source of yesterdays rattle, though I wasn't fully convinced. It’s not a quiet engine at the best of times and I wondered if I was I imagining it being noisier than usual.
The minimal non bike clothes I’d brought were, by now, embarrassing so I took the opportunity to go buy some replacements and dumped the originals.
We later met Misha, who we hadn’t partied with last night, in Harat’s Irish bar. His friend is a bar tender there and we indulged a little.

A long way from there.

Tue 12th Aug. & Wed 13th. Aug
We awoke to a morning, nicer outside than in our heads. We had breakfast, loaded up and headed on our way.
Kev gave me a tow and by the time we’d left town the bike was idling perfectly and the battery was charged. I still wasn’t comfortable with the engine sound. It was full of oil and water, so there was little I could do.
As we covered some distance, it was definitely getting worse. Our plan was to ride to Irkutsk, through Ulan Ude. We changed to plan to riding to Ulan Ude and getting the bike on a train.
The wobble from work wheel bearings was also starting to reappear.
When Kev ran out of petrol a little later, I said that I didn’t think the bike would make it to Ulan Ude. It was decided that we’d ride 3 kms to the next petrol station and approach a truck driver. The bearings I was worrying about were fine. My front tyre was punctured. With only 3 kms to go, we decided not to fix the puncture. I was, therefore, riding slowly when the back wheel locked up, 300 metres before the petrol station. End of the Russian road for the 640. L






By the time Kev had towed me to the petrol station, Gary had convinced a truck driver, Sasha, to take me and the bike.



Once loaded, he told us he wouldn’t be leaving for 2 hours. He was waiting for a friend and minding a trailer for him. No problem.
We discussed dumping the bike but…..
  1. It’ll be worth close enough to the cost of getting it back.
  2. It’s temporarily imported and if not removed from the country, attracts huge import duty, which would be payable if I was ever to return.
  3. It’s one of the only bikes in the world to have completed the Eastern BamJ
Sasha has no English and I’ve about 4 words of Russian. He didn’t seem to care. His friend arrived 5 ½ hours later and it was decided not to travel. We went into the adjoining café to eat and, naturally, a bottle of vodka was produced. Sasha insisted on paying for my food, even though he was doing me the favour.
I slept that night in a Daf 95 belonging to another guy, Sania, as it has 2 bunks. In the morning, we headed off, 12 hours later than initially planned.
The roads aren’t great and Sasha’s truck is an ancient American Freighliner bull nosed truck. We definitely spent more time in 1st gear than in top. How did Gary pick the slowest truck in the country. For my added comfort, somebody had bolted on an aftermarket ashtray right where my left knee was bouncing like a kangaroo, due to the ancient suspension.
There followed two days of such luxury in near silence. I dozed much of the time. When we stopped to eat the next day, I insisted on paying by credit card as I had almost no cash. The terminal recorded “invalid pin”. I definitely put in the correct pin the second time but the same message came up. It was decided not to pin-lock the card by trying it a third time. Sasha paid again. Slightly embarrassing! I said “Bankomat ?” which is Russian for ATM. That’s one of my 4 words.
I rang AIB credit card centre to be told my card was fine, carry on.
Later, Sasha stopped outside a shop where there were 2 bankomats. One was plugged out. One gave me back my card and when I went to try again, the guy next to me stopped me. I don’t know what was on the screen but I took his advice. Now, how the hell do I explain in sign language that my card’s ok but the 2 bankomats aren’t. Getting more embarrassing. Sasha paid for food later.
While the cars and houses are improving as we move West, with fewer old Ladas, some European brands and even a few Mercs, this is still a divided country. Travelling through villages, there were tables outside houses with a head of cabbage or a bucket of sprouts for sale. As it started to get dark, I spotted an elderly lady sitting alone outside her house with a bucket of berries of some sort in front of her. A saddening sight.
I had plenty of time to notice such things. I also noticed a long fissure in the ground not too far from the road outside Ulan Ude. It was about 10 to 20 metres wide, had sharp edges and I can only assume it was the result of an earthquake.
That evening, the trucks separated and Sania in the Daf and I ate together. This café didn’t accept cards so Sania had to buy my food. Most of the staff and customers looked Asian. I asked and we’re, apparently, only about 1500 kms from the Chinese border around here.
I spent my second night luxuriating in hotel Daf, while the lads, having reached Irkutsk, were slumming it in the Marriott. Hmmm.
I learned by text that, on the way from Ulan Ude to Irkutsk, Kev had avoided a diesel spill but watched in his mirror as Gary, not having seen it, slid off the bike at 80 kph. The bike slid towards a car coming in the opposite direction. The driver took avoiding action and, as a result found himself heading towards Gary on the ground, who had to roll out of the way to avoid being rolled over. Phew. He and the bike were fine and they continued on, unscathed but, I’m sure, a little shaken.

Thur 14th Aug.
The next day, the trucks rejoined and we had breakfast together. I went to pay and the card was refused again. Sasha brought me to the shop area of the same place and I bought a 40 cent chewing gum successfully on the card.
While it would appear to the suspicious among us (everybody) that he wanted to reassure himself that I wasn’t lying and taking advantage, I know from his demeanour that he wanted me to know that I wasn’t going to be stuck. From watching him chat with the others and the way he’d point stuff out to me, I know he’s a good natured, positive guy.
We got to Irkutsk around 3 p.m. and took my bike to a pre-arranged shipping company, before heading to the hotel.
A standard hotel room with a standard bathroom, this was luxury by comparison with where we’d stayed and washed to date. I commandeered the bath for a long soak. Half the deep brown tan I’d acquired during the trip ended up forming a line around the edge of the bath, once drained.
I again had problems with my Visa card and, initially unhelpful, AIB Credit Card Centre, were eventually coerced into sending emergency cash by Western Union overnight.  
We celebrated nearing the end of our adventure in Harat’s Irish pub (yes, another) until the early hours, the sensible among us going home at 2 a.m., the singer among us regaling until 5 a.m.

Fri 15th. Aug
The next morning I went to collect my emergency cash. While there, the lads would bring their bikes to the shipping company. While processing the paperwork, I got a call from Kev. My cash wasn’t the only emergency.
While bringing the bikes from the underground hotel carpark into the bright light, the less bright Gary saw the barrier late as his eye adjusted to the changed light conditions. Heavy braking, dusty sand and he hit the deck hard, the bike landing and twisting on his left leg.
I arrived to find him, almost in tears, writhing is serious agony in our room, waiting on an ambulance.

Gary, in agony, torn ligaments, broken ankle, broken leg and broken wrist.

 He’d badly broken his left ankle, torn the ligaments in the ankle and broken his right wrist. It turns out he’d also broken another bone in his left leg but that wasn’t found until he got to Tallaght Hospital in Dublin.
Kev and I brought the bikes to the shipping company while Gary was in hospital. They offered to operate in the hospital but he wasn’t impressed so opted to be plastered up and have the work done when he got home.

Gary, on his return to the hotel from the hospital.

You can’t keep a bad man down. Though still in significant pain, the end of the trip had to be marked. We returned to Harat’s but the pain got to Gary and he opted to go home early at 2 a.m. this time leaving us to entertain the locals until 5.
Having worked in the past with the Irish Wheelchair Assoc, I offered to use my skills to wheel Gary out to a taxi. It’s been a while and my coordination may have been slightly impaired but, on wheeling him down some steps, the wheelchair unbalanced and Gary ended up dumped out of it onto the pavement. Oops, I’m hoping that’s not where the previously undetected extra break came from.

Sat 16th Aug.
We arose after 2 ½ hours sleep for breakfast and on to the airport to face 3 flights over 20 hours before we arrive in Dublin at 10.30 p.m.
Gary’s pain grew as his leg swelled in flight. We cut some of the cast to relieve the pressure. We befriended Olga, a Russian lady, married and living in Germany who was delighted to practice her English. She, in turn, used her Russian to get Gary the easiest possible passage through the airports.

We made it home with no further drama, except to find that our bags were still in Moscow but, then, you’d have been surprised if it were otherwise. J


On our return to Dublin Airport.
Five and a half weeks ago, five bikes and five riders left, seeking fun and adventure.
Two and a half bikes and two and a half riders completed the trip, 
having fully achieved both objectives! 

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