Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Despite the change we were not yet free of the legacy of winter. Perhaps worse
than metres of snow and ice was the viscous mud left over after the snow melted.
The unsealed road became more like the path of a mudslide. In some villages stag-
nant pools had risen above the base of houses, giving the impression that they were
sinking.
Once again, we spent more time pushing than actually riding. The mud was so
thick in places that trucks had become irretrievably bogged up to the axle. It be-
came obvious why winter is the traditional season for travel in Russia. At least then
the earth is hard and the layers of snow and ice render river, forest and swamp nav-
igable.
Not far from the border of the small forested republic of Udmirtskaya the road
inexplicably turned into smooth bitumen. The melting snow had drained away
leaving a surface that seemed just too good to be true.
'Can you believe this, Chris? That's it, from here on riding is going to be a joy!'
I turned to him as he clicked into top gear and shot off down the hill. I followed,
roaring down, leaning into the corners. Above the forest, the sky even appeared
hazy. We rode abreast, hogging the road and falling in and out of conversation and
moments of contemplation.
By the time my senses were reawoken by hunger, we had covered fifty kilo-
metres. And yet I could remember almost nothing of the landscape. Was I finally
beginning to understand Chris's love of cycling? It struck me that the recumbent
was perfectly designed to promote thought. With my legs broken in, all we had to
do was fill up on food now and then and keep going.
That evening I clambered up a treetrunk with the axe, in pursuit of a dead pine
branch. Once among the branches, I decided to drop the axe to the ground and hang
off the silvery grey limb until it snapped.
'Look out, Chris!' I shouted, as a loud crack echoed through the forest and I
dropped to earth with a thud.
Later, as I was chopping the wood, I happened to stroke my ear in a bid to ease
a slight itch. My fingernail came across a hard lump that felt like a scab. I tried to
peel the scab away but it stuck hard to my skin. I dug my fingernails in until it hurt.
Finally, it came free with a small gush of blood. Inspecting my finger, I noticed
what appeared to be a tiny bug with claw-like legs.
'Chris, what do ticks look like?' I asked, calmly.
'I'm not sure. I think they're small and round with flecks of red,' he replied, not
taking much notice.
