In the lap of luxury

I never set out to do a speed trial across Russia, but that’s the way it’s turned out. It isn’t that the countryside has been boring or monotonous; rather that it’s been slow to change and lacking in inspiration. Riding through broad expanses of nothing is soothing, even though the driving habits of the average driver enforce constant vigilance. With hardly a bend in sight the riding takes on a different dimension, for hours each day I point the bike east and keep the throttle open. This was the miles have passed continuously with little to distract me from the task at hand. I had envisaged taking my time crossing one of the largest countries on our planet, it just hasn’t happened that way. The number of coincidental meetings has failed to present Russians with any command of the English language, and my efforts to tackle their language, have been non-existent. I haven’t the inclination, nor the energy to take on board this difficult language. Road signs and menus are all in the Cyrillic alphabet, an indecipherable mix of random symbols that don’t represent anything in my experience of reading. St Cyril, the culprit of this bizarre alternative to the Roman alphabet, should be shot rather than canonized. Surely a common alphabet would have aided international understanding a great deal better than inventing a wholly new set of symbols. I only wish he had grown out of his childish habit of fabricating secret codes to baffle the unwary. (Photo: Steppes - Omsk to Novosibirsk, Russia)

The people I encounter remain approachable and genuinely friendly, the fact that I speak nor understand a word they say does not perturb their efforts to communicate. Without fail the sight of my bike raises eyebrows and gets a big thumbs up, passing motorists hoot their horns and give an encouraging wave. I’m even flagged down for people to express their delight, and as I draw ever closer the question, “Mongolia?” issues from every mouth. The distance across this vast country has been under estimated, which realisation has driven me onwards at a rate I never dreamt of achieving. Despite the enormous acreage given over to grain production the area of natural grassland still pushing it into insignificance, and signs of human habitation are few are far between. In the initial days in Russia a list of cities would be drawn up every day or so, crossing them off steadily. As I’ve progressed ever eastward it takes more than a day between each staging point, over 400 miles between cities makes for a very long day on single carriageway roads. Kursk, Voronezh, Saratov, Samara, Ufa, Chelyabinsk, Kurgan, Omsk and finally Novosibirsk. I was warned that the roads would steadily worsen, especially after Chelyabinsk; they don’t appear to have gotten worse, if anything they seem less busy and in better condition. (Photo: Rail Station and river - Novosibirsk centre, Russia)

The short route to Omsk would have taken me through Kazakhstan, I preferred to take a longer route and save the precious entries on my visa until I leave Russia for good, which is after Mongolia. It meant a two hour detour, which I believe in the long run saved me time, the border crossings into and back out of Kazakhstan would surely have taken much more time. Over running my proposed route saw me turn up at the border anyway, and nearly made me change my mind. But no, I did an about turn and hightailed it out of there. That day I set a sizzling pace, with the throttle cracked wide open I rode almost flat out at 90 mph for hours. Only once have I managed to break 500 miles in one day, that particular time I arose early and was on the road by 8.30. What a difference that makes, normally I lazily prepare for the day’s ride, having a leisurely breakfast and mount up by about 10.30. Generally I ride until about 6pm, covering 300 or so miles. Every day or so I lose an hour or two, which adds to the confusion of the body clock, necessitating regular checks on the local time zone. Sometimes I’ve had a two hour adjustment to make, I can only assume it’s because I’ve been unaware of one change and get hit with a double whammy. It isn’t anything new to cover much higher mileage than planned expected, I get sucked into ethos of not wasting time, many times on travels I’ve had to curtail this habit of mile munching. At present I don’t mind, it’s Lake Baikal and Mongolia I’ve got my sight set on. (Photo: Perfect solution to inner city pollution - Novosibirsk, Russia)

How grateful I am to have made the decision to buy a new bike for the journey, I can’t fault the new acquisition, it’s handled everything I’ve thrown at it so far, in good style. I adored my KLR650, and wouldn’t begrudge the wonderful times we had together. It didn’t handle jousting with tractors well, but the BMW probably wouldn’t either. Whilst comparable the two bikes are quite different beasts, the Kawasaki is rougher round the edges and more fun with it. The BMW has a better build quality, is more economical, more comfortable and a steadier machine. It soaks up the bumps with ease, which is of vital importance on Russian roads. Hitting the biggest potholes, the deepest gouges and most irregular surfaces fail to cause any problems. I gain more confidence every day, which I need to do, I have a feeling Mongolia will be a severe challenge to my riding skills. Do I worry about this? Why for sure, but I’m not about to let it put me off! I can get to feeling quite nervous about what lies ahead at times, but I try and concentrate on the here and now, the adversities I must deal with at any given time. Riding these roads I need my whits about me at all times, it doesn’t do to let my concentration slip. And that is what makes the hours of riding so very tiring. (Photo: Not such pleasant inner city housing - Novosibirsk, Russia)

So what of the physical effects? Only two and a half years ago it seemed set that I’d be a virtual cripple, how’s my body taking the strain? For myself I must keep this in mind, it’s no good disabling myself through sheer pig-headedness. Despite a huge supply of good painkillers, I’d rather not rely on numbing the pain. So if it hurts I know and take appropriate action, depending on how much it hurts. Well I’m pleased to say my left arm hasn’t given the slightest sign of stress, it’s proving very resilient to the strain it’s being put under. Unfortunately my right forearm isn’t doing so well, but it’s endurable. To be honest, I think it will need further intervention at some point, but it’ll do for now. I’ve not resorted to using that supply of painkillers yet, so it can’t be too bad. And my legs? They’d be better if I practiced what I preached, I really must set a routine of stretching and exercise for them. My hamstrings are proving uncooperative, cramping up and waking me in the middle of the night. I do stretch out quite often whilst riding, but it isn’t enough. I guess if they become too much of a problem I’ll be forced to pay them more attention. I don’t want to be blasé about my injuries, they were my biggest concern when planning this journey, it scared me at times how I’d cope. But we can’t run our lives on fear, otherwise we’d never break free and do anything with our lives. (Photo: Sunset over the city - Novosibirsk, Russia)

And so I come to my present location, the plushest hotel in Novosibirsk, in the lap of luxury. Why go for the expensive option? Because it was the one that presented itself, because I can! Try going into any city without any road signs (or any you can read) and find a hotel, any hotel. Locating the city centre is probably the best bet, and that in itself is not as easy as you think, not without direction. So I stopped at gas stations, at the side of the road, anywhere, and asked which way was the city centre. Gradually, over two hours, I eventually made it to the central area. Up to that point no-one had been able to give any indication as to the whereabouts of any hotels, only that there were such things in the centre. Traffic was horrendous, at a standstill virtually the whole way in, now and again I’d stop to let the bike and myself cool down. A couple of young guys I approached were pleased to practice their English, not knowing of any hotels in the immediate vicinity could at least give directions to the Railway station, the perfect place to find a hotel close by. At a final stop, as I climbed off the bike, stood in front of me was a bike shop. They may have understood no English, but they found a hotel for me on an Internet map, and wrote down roads and places, landmarks to find the way. Then all I had to do was stop and show a piece of paper to someone and shrug my shoulders. Ten minutes later I arrived as a huge 23 storey international hotel, I didn’t even flinch when they said the price, though did only book in for two, rather than three, nights. When things begin to fall in place, go with the flow! (Photo: Countless squalid tenement blocks - Novosibirsk, Russia)