(Photo: Industrial Russia - Saratov, Russia)And so I come to the point where I must confess indulging in my own hypocrisy. It’s very well taking the moral high ground, especially when you’re in the right; not so easy when you’re in the wrong and must squirm your way out of trouble. What a complete idiot I can be! Leaving Saratov I got pulled by the ANC (traffic police) for overtaking on a solid white line. They were parked in the best place for it, with a video camera to capture offenders, and I ran straight into it. Wam Bam, $150, thank you Mam. I was well and truly fleeced, due to my own impatience and recklessness. I’ve been getting worse and worse for hastening my progress, not riding at daft speeds, just overtaking regardless of where and when, in a typically Russian way. It’s all been due to eagerness, not wanting to dally amongst the riff-raff and their atrocious driving, so I guess I let myself become as bad, if not worse.
I gave the officer my IDP, so could have left it with him and got away without paying, replacing it easy enough. But I didn’t think quick enough, it would have been difficult as I need it to get into China, only after did I think that Mum could have bought me another with my spare license and sent them both over. I’ll do that anyway, then have a spare photo license and IDP. They tried screwing me for $200, after checking I wasn’t travelling on a diplomatic passport, but I had $150 conveniently in an envelope and said that was all I had. And, not looking a gift horse in the mouth, that's precisely how much they took. I now carry $100 in that envelope, and a separate $30 in my wallet, just in case! (Photo: Urals lake - Nr Kurgan, Russia)Since then I’ve curtailed my impatience, I have barely crossed another solid white line, and only by mistake. The quality of driving around me hasn’t improved, they really take the biscuit here, they bully and intimidate. It can be frightening, how there are not more accidents I don’t know.
There isn’t a vast network of usable roads, so the one’s there are tend to be really busy with long and frequent tailbacks behind convoys of trucks.It makes people take suicidal dashes in an attempt at getting past, how some of them manage to avoid the impending collision with oncoming traffic I don’t know. I’d rather be the one making the dash past, I trust myself, know my limits, and I’m in control, I can also squeeze past easier. One day I only made 40 miles before an overturned truck blocked the road completely, all traffic both ways was brought to a standstill. I waited for a while, but it wasn’t going to be cleared any time soon, they hadn’t even extracted the dead bodies. Cars were making detours down a steep embankment and along the edge of a field to get round the obstacle. 
I approached it, dithered while looking at the deep muddy drop and bottled out, deciding to try and find another way round by road. As I went up a side road I met a small bus who asked what the problem was, so I gesticulated my response, to which he immediately set off across the field. It was now or never, if a half pint bus can do it so could I, so I held my breath and set off across country. And you know what? It was ok, the bike felt fine and I handled myself OK too. It was wet, it was muddy but the BMW was as steady as a rock, At the point I had to rejoin the road there was a deep, wet muddy section. I went for it anyway, the rear end slid and slewed to the side, but all went well and I was back on the road again in good style. Deep sand and slippery mud are my nightmares, that quick muddy sojourn done wonders for my confidence. (Photos: 1] Truck versus rotavator - Chelyabinsk, Russia; 2] Forest waterway - Urals, Russia)What a mixed bag of salts Monday was, the day started off in the most horrendous way. As is my way I made friends with two dogs on Sunday night when arriving at a hotel, someway south of Samara.
One was a bit timid but excitable and very friendly, the other was patient and happy to get what attention I gave it. Next morning an older male turned up as well, forthright but not pushy, again very friendly and playful with the young timid one. I made a fuss of them all, not one of them showed anything but playfulness and affection. Minutes later I sat drinking my coffee, the older male come round the corner and started to approach me again, but stopped when it saw the owner of the hotel glaring at him. It was obvious there was friction between them! I can’t say I took to the owner from the start, pale blue shell suit, gold teeth, pot belly and balding. He obviously ruled the roost, everyone else ran around doing all the work whilst he sauntered about giving orders and drinking with his mates. His skivvy was busy getting a fire pit going and stocking up the wood supply, on seeing the dog the gold-toothed shithead barked a command and the employer coaxed the dog to him and proceeded to tie him up. 
I thought little of it, except to think there was no need to secure him, he was lovely, if a bit muddy, and very welcoming to customers. It seemed a good relationship between the guy who worked there and the dogs, his manner with them suggested he was the one who cared for them. The next thing I know he was caving in the dogs skull with the blunt end of an axe, one, two, three, four blows, and all the dog did in response was to yelp as he was battered to death. I was stunned to see it happen, stunned into inaction, it was so unreal. As I turned round the bastard in his shell suit looked on in grim approval, only then did my whits return, and I launched a barrage of questions at the hotel owner. The only way I can describe his reaction was that he nodded his head as if to say, “it’s done, I’m happy,” and walked off. I was livid and let out the loudest, foulest stream of expletives I could think of, and he paid not the slightest bit of notice as he strolled back into the hotel. 
How can I emphasis have furious I felt? I could have ripped him apart. I was left with a his wife to vent my anger upon, and all she could communicate was that the dog had bitten someone. My supposition was that it had been the twat who owned the place, and to be honest, I’d have bitten him too. I rode like the fury for many miles trying to put the image out of my head, but to no avial. Little wonder I took full advantage of an offer to get slaughtered that night, I also had my first cigarette for over a week. (Photos: 1] Steppes cowboy; 2] Breeding ground for bloodsuckers; 3] Motorcycle graveyard - On the way to Omsk, Russia)It would be harsh judging a nation of people by the barbaric actions of only a few, but it does tend to taint your perception of them. When you see how easy such actions come to the few, and how easy it is for their fellow countrymen to accept those actions, the barriers to feeling affinity for the nation are tough ones to break.
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