Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
'Hey you, come here!' someone yelled, as I took off down the other side of the
hill. As hospitable as Russians were, I'd had enough of drunkards.
The orange glow shrank to a strip on the horizon, and I knew with a sense of
dread that it was time to make camp. It was in the dark that I was most taunted by
my fears. It must have been around 11 p.m. Now that we were nearing the start of
summer, the daylight hours had increased dramatically.
After finding some muddy water in a roadside puddle, I pedalled to an island of
birch trees. I hadn't stopped for lunch, and in a pathetic gesture to my stomach, I
gulped down a bit of pig fat before crawling into my tangled fly-net.
The following morning I greeted the sunrise with a sigh of relief. Throughout
the night I had been keen and alert. Now, in the bright morning sunshine, even the
darkest corners of the land seemed friendly. After breakfast I was back on the bike.
There was pleasure in the certainty that there was a whole day's riding ahead of
me.
Another village came into sight just as my legs were warming up. My pryaniki
biscuits and bread supplies desperately needed restocking. Water from a village
well would also make a nice change.
The village ran along the track, with two single rows of wooden homes. Al-
though it boasted a population of less than 300, it was probably half a kilometre
long. The main street was just as rough as the one I had seen the day before. Water
had gathered in stagnant pools at the bottom of deep trenches, forming a river
between the rows of houses.
I rode until I spied a hand-painted sign with magazin , shop, written across it.
It seemed that my arrival had gone unnoticed but for a couple of boys who were
riding at a safe distance behind me, whispering excitedly. Perhaps the heat that fell
heavy and damp had lulled everyone into a doze. Certainly the few dogs I passed
barely bothered to glance up. By the time I rested the bike against a fence, the boys
were taking turns to show off with skids, before racing off again.
The shop was stacked with canned fish, vodka, biscuits and confectionery. Other
than that, a few enormous sacks of sugar, macaroni and flour were plonked on the
floor behind the counter. In one glass cabinet you could choose between a tooth-
brush, bra and a tin of shoe polish. The shop owner, a short middle-aged woman,
came rushing out wearing the standard blue, white-bordered apron. 'Yes, what
would you like, young man?' I could tell she was trying to suppress a giggle. Her
hair sprang up in tight bushy curls, and thick pink lipstick contrasted starkly with
Search WWH ::




Custom Search