Samara-Kasakhstan

Etter å ha fått badet litt I Volga og siklet på Olga i Samara staket vi ut ny kompasskurs via Ufa og over Uralfjellene, videre til Chelyabinsk og Kurgan før vi kjørte inn i Kasakhstan mot Samara. Fra Samara og frem til grensen var det en 150-200 mil så vi la tilbake strekningen på 3 dager med litt hard kjøring.

De eneste problemene var i og for seg en punktering, et sidevognsfjærfeste som kollapset og et par trusler om ”schtraf” og ”protocol”. Vi blir normalt stoppet ganske ofte av politiet som stort sett er ganske hyggelige og bare vil se syklene. Imidlertid hender det at de begynner å snakke ”schtraf” og ”protocol”, og det er ikke så hyggelig, derimot er det hysterisk morsomt og man må virkelig ta seg sammen for å ikke bryte sammen i latter. De finner da en eller annen mindre forbrytelse du har gjort og prøver febrilsk å forklare det på russisk som vi ikke skjønner noe av. Da de innser at vi smiler og ler og ikke forstår får de et svært alvorlig ansiktsuttrykk og sier de magiske ordene ”schtraf”, ”protocol”, med et stemmeleie som tilsier at det er barn de prøver å skremme, eller at de får skikkelig ståkukk av å si det. Vi fortsetter å smile og da gir de som regel opp og sier ”Davai” og ber oss dra videre. Det siste tilfellet vi hadde var rett og slett at vi hadde kjørt uten lys. En halvtime etter at vi hadde reist ble vi forbikjørt av de samme politifolkene i Ladaen sin, uten lys.

Grenseovergangen var i og for seg et eget kapittel. Kontrollen ut av Russland var den mest grundige så langt på turen, og mye kø. Imidlertid var russerne hyggelige og vi kom oss gjennom etter et par timer. På Kasakhstansk side var de også stort sett hyggelige og hjelpsomme, men først gikk det en halvtime på et kontor med en offiser som kjedet seg. Vi måtte sitte og prate med han så han fikk slått i hjel litt tid. Så gikk papirjobben ganske greit, men kontrollen var et helvete. Det første de spurte om var penger og jeg sa selvsagt nei. Da vrengte de hele sidevognskassa mi. De fant en pose med hel svartpepper og lurte på om det kunne røykes. ”Feel free” sa jeg. Så fant de salt og lurte på om det kunne røykes. ”Feel free” sa jeg. Da de var ferdige med å spørre om alt i sidevognskassa kunne røykes spurte de om penger igjen. ”Forget it” sa jeg. Da måtte jeg vrenge alle lommene. Jeg har faktisk aldri vært på en grenseovergang der de så åpenlyst har bedt om bestikkelser, og skal jeg være ærlig virket de som jobbet der mildt sagt under pari.

Hele grensepasseringen tok oss fem timer, så vi rakk ikke å kjøre mer enn en time eller to før mørket kom og vi tok kvelden i en liten by 10 mil sør for grensa og alle var enige om at det hadde vært en fin tur.

After (hopeless, intranslatable Norwegian pun) we set the compass course by way of Ufa, across the Ural Mountains, on to Chelyabinsk and Kurgan, before entering Kazakhstan and heading for Samara. There was 1,100- 1,400 miles from Samara to the border, which a bit of hard riding took us 3 days.

Only real trouble was a flat, a broken sidecar leaf spring and a few threats of 'punnischmant' and harsh words about 'rooles'. The cops stop us pretty often, and they're usually fine guys who just want to see our bikes. The not-so-nice guys are the ones going 'punnischmant' and 'rooles' on us, which more often than not is just plain hilarous, making it hard for us not to crack up laughing.

These cops generally find some minor crime we're committed, and try to explain this to us in Russian. When they realize we're smiling and laughing and just don't 'get' their serious facial expressions and the 'punnischmant' and 'rooles' spoken in a voice as if they're to scare a child. Maybe they just get a hard-on by saying it. Anyway, we just keep smiling and eventually they give up, say 'Davai' and tell us to ride on. The last time the big problem was that we rode without lights. Half an hour later the same cops on their Lada passed us. Without lights.

The border crossing out of Russia was the most thorough of the whole trip so far, but we got through in a couple of hours. The Kazakhs were just as thorough, and helpful too, but we got stuck for half an hour having to talk to some bored officer who needed to kill time. After that the paperwork went smoothly, but customs gave us hell: After refusing to pay a bribe they went through everything in the sidecar. Finding a bag of black pepper, they asked if it could be smoked. ”Feel free” I said. Same thing with the salt and just about everything else they dug out.

Then they asked for money again. ”Forget it”, I said. Doubt I've ever been a a crossing where corruption was so blatant, but then they didn't look like the sharpest knives in the drawer either. All in all it took us 5 hours, leaving 1-2 hours to ride before darkness and a stopover in a village 100 k's further on.

Volga by night

Farewell in Samara, Andrei followed us outta town

Suprisingly we met Irans President in Russia. He loved our bikes and told us he was in Russia to buy some big centrifuges to build the worlds biggest laundry machine, with a capacity to disappear 400 different socks per hour. He said it had been some misunderstandings so some people thougt the centrifuges were for some nuclear program, but as he said "I dun give a fucking shite about that nuclear shite, I just love laundry so they fuckin' cunts and twats can fuck themselves"

Siberian elephant taming cage. The Siberian elephant was bigger than the asian, and for taming them they build a log cabin around it until it got sweet and showing will to cooperate. Today the Siberian elephant is extinct forever as they would say in Singapore Night Safari

Refueling the bikes with crude, always handy to have a drill when things like this appear

Flat wheel again

"I've found the exit, and I can see a highway and a truck. I think I can squeeze through"

"Schtraaaaf!!!"

1: Diagnose the problem. Broken suspension bracket.

2. Don't be angry or sad, it does not help.

3. Go to the nearest forrest and find some spare parts and tools

4. Fit the new parts

5. Strap it on baby

6. Voila, a new and more ecological design on the bike, which makes even the most hard-core environmental-activist girls loving motorcycles

Somewhere in the Ural Mountains, which actually were more like hills and not impressive at all.

It was horses in the mountains, and when I stopped to take some pictures and have a chat with them (I practically speak all the animal languages in the world and most animals deeply respect me and consider me as their protector) they got scared for some strange reason. They ran across the road and a horse-kid was hit by a car. Luckily it all went well with both horse and car.

Klaus is getting a flag as a gift from some Abkhasian people we met on the road. Very friendly people that bought us breakfast.

Sometimes when the road is too good we drive on the shoulder of the road to make the trip more authentic. Maybe we'll even cry in our Davida helmets in a few weeks time (www.davida.co.uk)

Finally in Kazakhstan