Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Petrozavodsk - Babushkina
Autumn 1999
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Tim
I rolled my shoulder and watched the last heavy bag hit the tarmac with a satisfying
thwack. Our combined gear of backpacks and boxes now stretched along the edge
of the platform. We had just arrived in Petrozavodsk on the overnight train from
Moscow. Sleet was falling from a leaden sky.
The past few days had been plagued with disappointment about failing to reach
the summit of Elbrus. It had left me feeling subdued and pining for the familiar
northern forests of Russia and Finland. More worrying was Chris's sadness about
leaving Nat. He seemed to be wrapped up in his own notion of how the journey
would turn out, his moods distant and hard to gauge.
'Well, Tim, it's time,' Chris proclaimed. He looked surprisingly refreshed and
excited.
'Time for what?' I asked.
'To build the bikes, of course.'
'You what? Here?'
He was already ripping open the box that contained the bicycle parts.
I had never seen a recumbent bicycle before and certainly never ridden one. It
worried me too, that my brief cycling experience amounted to no more than learn-
ing how to patch up tubes and adjusting a seat.
'Tim, can you get me a bolt?' Chris asked, as he worked away at a dizzying
pace.
I peered into a bag packed with an array of shiny metal things.
'Chris, mate, is this long bit or the round screwy bit the bolt?' I enquired, as he
paused in astonishment.
'The long thingy.'
