Friday 2 October 2009

Irkutsk-Svobodniy

When you're in Irkutsk you feel you're close to Vladivostok. Nevertheless, it's still 5000 kilometers, with a fifth of the stretch on gravel roads, and sometimes just paths. Still 5000 kilometers is not too bad when you got a good bike that was modern less than 60 years ago, and you're one of the best long-haul Nimbusriders in the world, being unemployed and consider the road as the holiest shrine.

My frame broke at an earlier stage but I have not mentioned it before, due to a couple of circumstances. First, it’s embarrassing for me when it happens something with the bike. It’s just like if I get sick, I get embarrassed by being weak. Second, frames that break leads to unqualified speculations in public by people that should realize their place are in the sewerage. This cracked frame was to cause some worries on this leg, but it all went well due to some acquaintance we made on the road.

Things went smooth from Irkutsk to Chita. It's about 1100 kilometers, but the road is decent. Around the Baikal is known to be an inverted hell, which means it's very beautiful and cold. In the nights it was usually frost, and we normally slept in the nylon palace with the highway on one side, and the Trans-Siberian railroad on the other side. Every time the trains passed, the ground would shake but you really don't notice that when you been riding all day, and feel like you been running a marathon backwards with a huge hangover. You sleep well anyway.

Around Chita it was time to replace oil again, but to find oil was easier said than done. I swear to the single grade 30 in this temperature, and not the multigrades so full of additives that it's an environmental hazard for the environment in the clutch house. We didn't find any oil we desired, but instead we found a Baskin Robbins ice cream parlor. Baskin Robbins was introduced in Russia to give foreigners a chance to drink with Russians and still be able to get flashbacks from the drinking session when waking up, instead of a complete blackout. Just have a half liter of thick shake, and you'll cope fine with the alcohol poisoning.

We had a big and way too expensive strawberry milkshake in case we should meet some thirsty Russians (which we luckily never met the next days), bought some cans of baked beans and headed outta civilization. From Chita to Khabarovsk it's about 2000 kilometers and they say it's one of the most/last lawless stretches on the highway traversing Russia, as well as about half of it is gravel and partly filled with pot holes, though pot holes in the negative meaning. This area is also sparsely populated, and inhabited by a lot wild animals.

Things came along fine, for a long time. We didn't move to fast as the roads were partly were bad, but still we did ok kilometers per day. In the nights we took off the road and hided in the forest where we put up the tent. The camping went very smooth until one night. We got attacked by wild animals. You might be prepared for attacks by road police, but when it come wild animals in the middle of the night, you're stuck in your sleeping bag, and in the deepest REM sleep it's totally different.

I heard something around the tent, and the fabric was shaking. Something was hitting the wall. After a short while I hear something in the hall of the nylon palace. Immediately I get out of the sleeping bag and grab my killer-knife from Bundeswehr. I'm scared to death and shakes while I open the door out to the hall. My veins run even colder when my eyes see what's going on. It's a mouse, which might sound harmless, but in this case it was a killer mouse, I'm not bullshitting you. It was ready to finish you any time, if you can read a mammals eyes and face like I can this was very clear. While the mouse was building a nest in Klaus packsack, to lay eggs and make more killer mice, I started to shout "Ha dæ vækk, din støgge faen, du ska itj plag ainner" in a very scary ancient Norwegian dialect called Trøndersk (hear an example here, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EP3qwWYqT7g). It didn't make any sign on leaving, before I shouted louder and flashed it with my torch. I had saved us for this time, but at same time we a realized there's certainly involved risk in what we're doing.

A bit shaken but not disturbed we moved on in the morning. Now I realized that my frame had broken again (for those who want to see pictures of this forget it, I got them but they will not get published, but I can tell, the crack was 8 meters long, and 2 centimeters wide and full of rust. It was probably cracked already in 1936 when the steel bar the frame is made of was at the steel mill, or maybe even it was cracked in the mine the steel came from) , but it was still ok to drive it if we took it veeeery easy.

It turned out it was actually a very long way to next town with a good welder. But we were still lucky as we suddenly met somebody that could give us good intelligence, just like we hadn't enough of that.

We saw this cloud of dust and out came three kangaroos, Australians with Ish and Ural bikes (http://wrongwayround.com.au/), accompanied by The Professor, the President of Siberian Legionnaires in Tomsk. They were riding from Vladivostok to Tomsk, and had bought bikes locally. However, they had spent three weeks wrenching before departure, so they would probably just reach Irkutsk. The Professor, that was indeed not mad, nor evil, put us up with contacts all the way to Vlad, including a very good mechanic that could fix the frame in Svobodniy.

After a touching goodbye were everybody cried we were curious if we would make it to Svodoniy, as it was still 600 km to go and a lot of gravel. Moving slowly we made it in three days, with my frame and pride still intact, and everybody agreed that it had been a nice ride.

Når du er i Irkutsk, føles det som at være tæt på Vladivostok. Ikke desto mindre er der 5000 km dertil, heraf de 1000 på grusvej. Men 5000 km er stadig ikke så slemt når du 1) er på en motorcykel, der var moderne for kun 60 år siden, 2) er en af verdens bedste langdistance-Nimbuskørere, 3) er arbejdsfri og 4) landevejen er dit tempel.


Mit stel knækkede tidligere, men jeg nævnte det af forskellige årsager ikke. For det første føles det pinligt for mig når noget sker med maskinen, ligesom når jeg er syg og føler det pinligt at være svag. For det andet afstedkommer stelbrud ukvalificerede offentlige spekulationer blandt folk der burde kende deres plads i kloakken. De knækkede stel gav anledning til bekymring, men alt gik alligevel godt takket være nogle bekendte vi fik os undervejs.


Alting gik fint fra Irkutsk til Chita. Der er ca. 1100 km, men vejen er fin nok. Området omkring Baikalsøen er kendt for at være en slags omvendt helvede, i den betydning at der er meget smukt og meget koldt. Der var som regel frost om natten, og vi sov som regel i nylonpaladset, med landevejen på den ene side og den Transsibiriske Jernbane på den anden. Jorden rystede hver gang togene kørte forbi, men det bemærker man egentlig ikke efter en hel dag i sadlen, og man føler det som om man har løbet et marathon baglæns og med monster-tømmermænd: Man sover sødt alligevel.


Nær Chita var det tid til olieskift igen, men at finde olie var nemmere sagt end gjort. Jeg sværger til singlegrade 30W ved denne temperatur, frem for multigrade olier, som er er en miljøfare for miljøet i koblingshuset. Vi fandt ikke den olie vi ville have, men i stedet fandt vi så en 'Baskin Robbin' isbar. Baskin Robbin blev startet op i Rusland for at give udlændinge en chance for at drikke med russere, og stadig få flashbacks fra drikkelaget når de vågner op næste morgen, i stedet for et totalt blackout. Bare en halv liter af deres milkshake, og så kan du klare alkoholforgiftningen.


Vi fik os en stor og alt for dyr jordbær milkshake, bare for det tilfælde vi skulle rende ind i nogle tørstige russere (hvilket heldigvis ikke skete de næste dage), købte nogle dåser bagte bønner og forlod civilisationen igen. Fra Chita til Khabarovsk er der ca. 200 km, og det siges at være et af de mest lovløse stræk på landevejen tværs over Rusland. Og halvdelen af strækket er grusvej med store huller. Der bor ikke mange mennesker her, men der er et rigt dyreliv.


Sådan gik det ellers fint et godt stykke tid. Pga. af de delvis elendige veje kom vi ikke så hurtigt frem, men fik alligevel tilbagelagt tiltrækkeligt mange km pr. dag. Ved nattetide kørte vi fra vejen ind i skoven og slog telt op dér. Camperingen gik udmærket indtil den skønne nat vi blev overfaldet af et vildt dyr. Man kan forberede sig mod angreb fra færdselspolitiet, men når der dukker vilde dyr midt om natten, og du ligger dér fanget i din sovepose midt i den dybeste REM søvn, er det noget helt andet.


Jeg hørte noget ved teltet og nylonstoffet bevægede sig. Så ramte noget væggen. Kort efter hørte jeg lyde fra nylonpaladsets entre. Straks kom jeg ud af soveposen, og greb min Bundeswehr kniv. Jeg er skræmt halvt til døde og ryster over hele kroppen da jeg åbner døren ud til forhallen – og mit blod fryser til is, da jeg ser hvad der sker. Der er en mus, hvilket måske lyder harmløst - men dette er en dræbermus. Jeg tager ikke pis på dig; den er klar til at nakke dig på stedet, hvilket jeg tydeligt kan læse i dens øjne.


Mens musen er i gang med at bygge rede i Klaus' rygsæk, for at lægge æg dér og avle endu flere dræbermus, råber jeg "Ha dæ vækk, din støgge faen, du ska itj plag ainner" på en skræmmende oldnorsk dialekt (Trøndersk – hør et eksempel her på http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EP3qwWYqT7g). Musen syntes ikke at have travlt med at forlade stedet før jeg råbte endnu højere og lyste på den med lommelygten. Jeg havde reddet os for denne gang, men nu var jeg mig meget mere bevidst om at der virkelig er risici forbundet med de ting vi fortog os.


Rystede, men dog fattede, kørte vi videre næste morgen. Her opdagede jeg at stellet på den blå Nimbus var knækket igen (og for dem der vil se billeder; glem det.... Jeg har dem, men de bliver ikke offentliggjort. Jeg kan dog fortælle at revnen var otte meter lang, to centimeter dyb og fyldt med rust. Stellet var antagelig revnet dér allerede i 1936 da jernet, som stellet blev lavet af, lå på valseværket. Eller måske var det endda revnet allerede nede i minen hvor det blev udvundet). Men det var stadig til at køre med hvis vi tog det meeeget gelinde.


Der viste sig at være meget langt til den næste by med en god svejser. Men vi var så heldige pludselig at møde nogen der kunne komme med gode råd (som om vi ikke allerede havde fået nok af disse.)


Vi så denne støvsky og ud af den trådte tre kænguruer; australiere med Ish og Ural motorcykler (http;//wrongwayaround.com.au/), samt Professoren, der var prez for De Sibiriske Legionærer i Tomsk, Sibirien. De var på vej fra Vladivostok til Tomsk, og havde købt motorcyklerne lokalt. De havde dog brugt tre uger på at skrue før afgang, og ville antagelig kun nå til Itkursk. Professoren, der faktisk hverken var gal eller ond, rystede op med gode kontakter herfra og til Vladivostok, inklusive en god mekaniker i Svobodniy som ville kunne fikse stellet.


Efter en rørende afsked hvor alle græd, var vi meget spændte på at se om vi kunne nå dertil, for der var stadig 600 km og en masse grusvej foran os. Ganske langsomt og forsigtigt klarede vi det på tre dage, med både stel og stolthed intakt, og alle var enige om at det havde været en fin tur.


Andrei, Irkutsk' master of motorcycle mechanics. This is the man when you're in deep shit with your bike. The best mechanic I've seen in Russia. To the right the ever helpful Stanislav, hard to find better people.
Andrei, Irkutsks mester blandt motorcykelmekanikere. Det er manden, hvis man sidder i l*** til halsen med mc-problemer. Den bedste mekaniker jeg har mødt i Rusland. Til højre står Stanislav - det er svært at finde bedre folk end dem.

The very spot where we were attacked by the local wildlife. Unpleasant is an understatement.
Lige dér hvor vi blev angrebet af et vildt dyr. At det var ubehageligt er en underdrivelse.

Lake Baikal

Our neighbour to the campsite by Baikals shoreline.
Vores nabo til campingpladsen ved Baikalsøens bred.

Frost again, but as a Norwegian you really can't bother, it would be too un-Norwegian.
Frost igen, men som nordmænd kan man ikke tage sig af det, da det ville være alt for u-norsk.

The forest of antennas, very beautiful.
En meget smuk antenneskov.

When the Russians build roads they're taking it seriously. In a couple of years you can traverse Russia on tarmac.
Når russerne bygger veje tager de det alvorligt. Om et par år kan man krydse Rusland på asfalt.

However, today this is more like the truth, or pravda as they say. Anyway, less than 1000 kilometers to go and the entire thing is fixed.
Men altså, i dagens Rusland er dette nærmere sandheden, eller 'pravda' som de siger her. Nå, mindre end 1000 km at køre og det hele kan fixes.


The kangaroos, Jump Around! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DwQbPgouUYo
Kænguruerne, hop omkring!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DwQbPgouUYo

The Professor and his daughter, big thanks to the Prof!
Professoren og han datter, en stor tak til Prof!

From dust to dawn.

Sieg Heil, Kriegsmarine!

End of bad road.
Slut på den dårlige vej.

The rest of the road to Vlad is decent.
Resten af vejen til Vladivostok er rimelig.

1 Comments:

Blogger Guzzisue said...

love the Blog, keep the posts coming please :-)

2 October 2009 at 19:11  

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