Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Several lakes dotted the valleys like blue gems and on their shores sleepy little vil-
lages looked as timeless as the hills themselves.
Two hundred kilometres from Ekaterinburg, we awoke to the patter of light
snowflakes falling onto the tent, as soft as ash from a distant forest fire. It had gone
from thirty degrees to below zero overnight. It was like the good old times, warm-
ing the toes by the fire and shivering violently as we rolled down the first hill. I
wondered whether this unseasonal weather was a sign of things to come in Siberia.
Later that day, I found myself lagging far behind Chris. The return of cold
weather had sapped my energy and the
pryaniki
had disappeared at a frightening
rate. Chris was having a good day and for some reason decided to stop for lunch
fifteen kilometres further than our agreed location. I suspected that it was the usual
build-up of energy that boosted him as he neared Internet access. By the time we
met again, I was ready to strangle him but didn't have the strength.
In the afternoon I stopped at a village for a good feed. The evenings were my
strong point and often, when Chris stopped for camp, I felt that I could keep going
for another couple of hours. With ample energy, I pushed on. My legs felt strong
and they were finally losing their skinny chicken look.
After about fifty kilometres, I began to look out for the flag that indicated where
we would be camping for the night. I still felt strongly that rather than flagging
the location, it would be prudent if the person in front waited; usually the second
person wasn't more than fifteen minutes behind. When I was in front it was my
preferred method. It boiled down to this: what I called caution, Chris called pess-
imism.
After I had covered sixty kilometres, Chris was still nowhere to be seen. I must
have taken my eyes off the road for a while, because when I looked up, there was a
bearded man waving me down. I hadn't even seen his car stop. I thought fleetingly
about riding straight past him but he seemed harmless enough.
'Hello, where are you coming from!' he boomed, as two more men stepped from
the car. His name was Sergei, too.
It wasn't long before they invited me to their holiday house on a nearby lake.
The words
banya
, vodka and 'lots of fish' were enough to raise my spirits to the
point of near ecstasy. 'Great! It's just that I have to ask my friend Chris. He is rid-
ing somewhere ahead,' I said.
They took off to look for him in a fluster of excitement. Not far down the road, I
stopped at a police checkpoint to ask whether they had seen a traveller on a similar
bike. The answer was no.
