Odessa

So part 2 of the story so far, I met up with a guy I had been in contact with during the endless months of winter research, he was on his way back from Russia on the same model bike as me, so the last 10 days have been constant company, adding an other dimension to the journey. I keep hearing about the corrupt cops who will pull you over and relive you of you money. They are everywhere and despite the on coming vehicles flashing there lights in warning, getting pulled is inevitable. I have turned my mugging wallet into a corruption wallet which basically means taking out most of the money and putting in a driving licence, not a moment too soon either cus as we leave a wet and smelly nondescript city we are overtaken and flagged down by a cop car. The fat one stays in the dry while his ‘bitch’ gets out to show us a video he has of us doing an unrealistically high speed. It’s a nice little video of us riding side by side, but he not here to be congratulated on his photographic skills. We are ushered into the car one by one ad then when the rain gets heavier we both sit in there and are told of out outrageous deeds and how reports have to be made and fines of 800 have to be paid, to put this in perspective beer is 5 so 800 is out of the question, after much frowning and flaunting of there authority suddenly it occurs to them that for a small gift the whole incident could be over looked and out came the corruption wallet and I empty the entire 180 on the dashboard and by passport is returned with big smiles and the game is over. We didn’t have a goo d hand to play but with gritted teeth to keep the dummy in, we got away as lightly and ya can hope to. Andy is into his camping, I can deal with that it will be good to break the hotel habit, so we stop to get some supplies as we pass through yet another tiny village. As we walk into the little shop the young girl visibly jumps, well yeah I suppose we don’t look like ya average shopper. Lots of pointing and laughing and a bit of miming and we are sorted for e numbers and whizz off but first a little beer in the sun. The shed next to the shop is full of sewing machines with miserable people operating them. I m looking through the door and thinking how lucky I am to be out here by my bike with a cold beer in my hand and not slaving away in a sweat shop. Even when the minibus comes to pick up the workers at the end of there shift there seems to be no sign of relief on there faces no chatter or interaction they are just sewing machines in the material world. When it comes to riding capabilities and bike maintained me and Andy are on similar levels but once the camping stove comes out I’m out of my element where I have a pannier dedicated to hair care products he has one for food and all sorts of spices and condiments appear. I decide I can either watch and learn or drink and daydream; I opt for the latter and spray some red ken in my hair. Frogs croak out side my tent all night and although it is sagging with dew in the morning the sun dries it off as I eat my sausage sandwich. Its such a perfect morning the shadows cross the road to shade us as the sun rises high in the solstice sky,there is no traffic no cops no worries just a vague destination and to bikes heading for it. problem is said destination is actually the other direction so once my head comes round to the practicalities of navigation over the appreciation of the day we turn around and ride on the sunny side of the street towards Maldivia. The way to deal with passing the constant speed traps is to always find something to look at as ya pass the cops, a glance at a part of the bike, a study of the map on the tank bag of a turn of the head to take in the scenery, anything but eye contact cus if your eyes lock and the baton is raised you are now either going to be robbed or become a futurtive. The best thing is to keep behind a truck so the cops don’t see you till the last minute. Of course the obvious answer would be to actually do the speed limit but that is a dangerous option. No one does the speed limit so all you get is constantly overtaken and cut up. Some time this is only done to hoot and wave the foreign plates and spare tyres scream excitement and adventure to the enthusiastic and revenue to the law. So there was this river on the map it sort of lead in the direction of Odessa so it seemed like a good idea to head for the river. The river of divided and undecided boarders we knew it was in Moldavia no problem just another boarder, or so we thought. The land begins to undulate, if ya can’t have mountains an undulation will do nicely. Then the river appears and we sit at a tiny boarder stop and our documents and scrutinized whilst the sniffer dog sits in the shade. We wait with the excited passenger who have all come from market with there rolls of Ukrainian wall paper to decorate there Maldivian houses, its seems to be a popular export, the crossing takes about 10minutes and that is followed by 3 hours of bureaucratic hell on the other side, with insurance purchased and papers stamped we enter Moldavia. All I know about the country is that iron maiden sing about it in the song ‘Alexandria the great’ and I want to play it on my iPod, I like to play relevant songs, I played going to Montana buy frank zappa when I was going to Montana and on the train to Bangkok by rush when.... well ya get the idea, so I was keen to hear Bruce Dickenson scream ‘totally defeated the armies of Moldavia’ and get my history lesson from heavy metal. In a statement that is rapidly becoming a catch phrase we realize that ‘I don’t think we are where we think we are’ as we are surrounded by villagers and then lead to the main road by the first of many speeding Ladas that willingly lead us to out of the situation we have got ourselves into. The people here are noticeably different in their clothing and manor. They show their emotions here much more, the Ukraine stares have been replaced but smiles and waves even the truckers hoot and wave. And I love to wave, best of all they use the Roman alphabet and I can read the signs again. But we still can’t seem to find the road to follow the river. And when we do we have to cross a confounded bridge that takes us through more boarders. Where the hell are we? I though we were in Moldavia, but now what are we crossing into? Its taking hours, anal bureaucratic authoritarians are thoroughly filling in forms and asking for yet more money we have to give exact routs we will be taking and places we will be staying, which is a bit tricky when ya don’t even know what country your in.. We finally clear the hurdles and then ride into the dusk finding no where to stay or to camp. We end up in some dormitory type thing and i finally get to play my ipod, he says Macedonia no Moldavia so even that was bloody wrong. Next morning I go to a supermarket for supplies they don’t accept the money I changed yesterday or the Ukraine money I have, am I in some parallel universe? Where the hell are we? I have to go to a bank with in the supermarket to change money again whilst the Saturday shoppers stare at the freak who had been up and down the isles with his basket and biker boots singing along out loud to ‘ too much love will kill you ‘ by queen as its pumped put over the supermarket PA. And then as we head to Odessa another bloody boarder, I don’t think we are where we think we are. And now the officials are really corrupt. And our passports are stamped differently , the discrepancy is of great concern to the officials and we have to deal with a double act of nice corrupt cop and high ranking nasty ‘you must go back to the last boarder and get the right stamp in your passport ‘ nasty cop. ‘But boss’ pleads the nice cop’ let them go, please boss, let them go’ ‘ speak to my boss give him present’ they don’t need a present they need a fuckin Oscar , but we give em $20 and are free to go. What a bloody waste of time that trip across the boarder was, what bloody county were we in anyway? Turns out Moldavia has had some sort of revolution and has a republic with in a country. Ill know more when iron maiden release their next album. Unless there there is an invasion by America in which case ill get my rhyming report from roger waters. So into Odessa trying to find a room a guy in a car stops us at the lights, ya here for the bike show?’ what bike show? Follow me, and we spend the next 2 days camping at a bike show with thundering music and right next to the sea, meeting lots of friendly people the now obligatory beautiful women and drinking 50p beers to the point on utter dehydration and loss of balance on the 3rd day which resulted in a day in Butlins type room drinking water and eating salt. And on we go. People thinking we are brothers, turning heads and making friends, having lots of laughs and living the dream, nothing else i would rather be doing,now it feel less like a bike trip and more like travelling with a bike, we don’t pass through we stop and take it in, our bikes attract so much attention and conversation, we get our motor running get out on the hi way looking for adventure in what ever come our way, previously a cliché lyric now a way of life, and I never really considered it. When I was riding a Honda ss50 round Colchester in the early 80’s doing my star rider bike test, I never imagined it would lead to this, we pass the occasional backpacker and i appreciate our independence e. I no longer have any desire to do the local train and bus thing and despite the hassles of locking up the bike every time we walk away from it. I much prefer it to dragging a pack around a county being held hostage at every guest house bus station. So we are told of a place Sudak in the Crimea where there is a biker bar on the beach, we ride a windy cliff top road ruined by pissing rain soaked through on road deep in water that hides the gaping potholes, but next day we dry out our gear and find the bar. Then we are waved in and ride our bikes inside and as I dismount a Russian patch club chick runs up and hugs me I met her at the bike show last week. I think I’m going to like it here. But it’s nearly time to part ways and once again I am heading east this time to Russia and I’m scared and excited all over again. Monklet has left his pillion position and now sits upfront on the handle bars, when the police are corrupt he smiles, when the toilets stink, and there is only bread to eat he smiles, when you are simultaneously drenched by a downpour with the sun in your eyes he smiles, and when he is scrubbed hard and hung out to dry Monklet still smiles and so do I Love Flid