Moscow to
Kiev, Ukraine
To take you through all of the machinations
of the next three days it took to get
permission to start to get the bike out of
Customs would be both tedious and boring.
However, it is interesting to note that
customs for the train station we arrived at
is located in at least three different
buildings in three very different parts of
Moscow. It is further interesting to note
that no one seems to know the procedure or
documents necessary for release. They know
only their job but not how it relates to the
process of customs clearance. Further, many
of the customs people either didn’t know or
intentionally gave us false information.
I am known for my penchant for embellishment
if not for outright exaggeration at times,
but in this instance I am trying to remain
completely objective for in this case I have
nothing to gain from overstatement. We
asked the customs agents at the baggage
claim area how to get the bike and would
get, if lucky, a shrug but more often we
were simply ignored. In one case, we were
sent to a building that had nothing to do
with customs as a ploy to get rid of us. We
were asked for the documents and told that
we needed more but were never told what
documents we needed or where to get them.
After three days of persistence we arrived
at the west customs building and found a
woman who assured us that the document she
prepared would guarantee the release of the
bike when presented to the customs officials
at the Yaraslovsky train station and that
the expiration date of for the bike to
remain in Russia would coincide with the
expiration date of our visa. Since it was
the 29th of September and our
visas were to expire on the 4th
of October, getting the bike now would mean
that we would have to ship it out of the
country, get a new visa and then ship it
back. NO WAY! We decided to take the
weekend off, find a hotel and do some
sightseeing at the weekend, then leave
Russia on a visa run, return and then get
the bike.
We found Visa to Russia, the company we had
gotten the last two Letters of Invitation
from and arranged to go to Riga, Latvia for
our new Russian visa. We found the Arena
Hotel, an inexpensive place ($80.00/night)
in central Moscow so we were set. Tomorrow
we could take the day, visit Red Square and
St Basil’s Cathedral. Now it seemed as
though we were on the trip.
Saturday,
September 30, 2006
Dimitri
had arranged for a cab to take us to the
Kremlin on Saturday morning and the driver
met us on time and left us at the entrance
to Red Square. I didn’t realize it at the
time but there is a difference between the
word kremlin and the Kremlin. The word
kremlin actually means any fortress or
citadel in any Russian city while The
Kremlin is the most famous fortress in
Moscow.
Janet surveyed the large square filling with
vendors, visitors and tourists and blew my
mind when she turned to me and said “I can’t
believe it, I’m in fucking Moscow!” I guess
I had forgotten the thrill of being in a far
off destination or exotic location for the
first time. My international travels while
working for companies that wanted to extend
markets or take advantage of sales
opportunities have somehow lessened the
impact of attaining what was once thought as
being inconceivable.
In the early 60s when I was in college I was
very much attuned to the conflict in Viet
Nam and the threat posed by countries behind
the Iron Curtain. I can remember seeing
Nikita Khrushchev, along with other members
of the Presidium standing high, atop the
walls of the Kremlin reviewing Russia’s
military might as it marched past, in
parade, the viewing area in Red Square. To
be here as a tourist, walking in an area
that was once thought to be the center of
all things evil was incredible.
Once past the gate of the large building
that hid Red Square from the street, the
imposing façade of St Basil’s Cathedral, now
a museum, with its famous onion domed
turrets and towers. Construction of the
cathedral was begun in 1555 to celebrate the
military conquests of Russian Tsar Ivan the
Terrible and contains ten chapels that are
now open to the public.
Walking through St Basil’s was at times like
my first visit to the Hagia Sophia in
Istanbul. I was impressed by the fact that
some of the brick in the original floors
were so worn from the thousands of steps
taken throughout history as to make
depressions between the harder mortar
joints.
I can’t even begin to imagine the splendor
of the cathedral when originally finished in
1679 as I viewed some of the art and
artistry that remains. One piece in
particular is a large gold icon but with the
mosaic pieces removed.  Whether stolen or removed for
safety sake I don’t know but it must have
been a stunning piece.
Walls painted in geometric patterns are
interspersed with painted panels depicting
religious scenes, small twisting staircases
lead to hidden halls that open into small
quiet chapels. Even with the whispers of
adults, the chatter of children, the
footfalls of high heel shoes, the general
exclamations of wonder and the constant
sound of camera shutters there is a peaceful
quiet that pervades the museum. The only
places where this quiet is broken is in the
kitschy souvenir shops at the top of large
winding staircases.
Armed with a good video camera, tripod and
good microphone that sits on top of the
camera and extends like a boom, I decided to
try for a shot of Janet with one of the
security guards. If I were lucky, I would
be able to get him to let Janet wear his
typically Russian, high front hat. I set up
the camera while Janet motioned that she
would like him to pose with her. “Het”
(English spelling ‘nyet’, English
translation ‘no’). Then he pointed to the
camera and said, “Not allowed.” I was
confused, no cameras allowed? Then he
pointed to the tripod and repeated “Not
allowed.”
I typically do not pay too much attention to
these kinds of remarks and still try to get
the shot, or talk my way into or out of
something. But then a well dressed young
man in a black leather jacket approached and
in reasonable English said, “You cannot use
a tripod here and the microphone must be
removed.” There was no mistaking the
authority with which the man spoke. I
immediately removed the mike and tucked the
tripod back into the camera case. Russian
Secret Police, KGB, who knows but it is fun
to imagine.
 Later in the afternoon, Janet and
I stopped for lunch at a sidewalk café
sitting right on Red Square where we could
watch groups of tourists rushing to keep up
with bored tour leaders, newly weds who were
celebrating their nuptials with loud cheers
and bottles of Champaign when people began
to rush to the center of the square. The
show was about to start! First came the
military drill team replete with dress
uniforms and ceremonial rifles, then the
cavalry who, for the next hour, performed
their tattoo.
Meanwhile, a camera crew had set up at an
adjacent table to where Janet was sitting
filming what she interpreted as a
commercial. The professional camera mounted
on a professional tripod with professional
microphones to capture all the nuances of
sound and the lady who was the center of
attention was lit by large silver reflectors
held by professionals.
It did not take long before our young friend
in the black leather jacket to appear and
tell the crew that tripods and external
microphones were not allowed. The director
protested and showed papers, presumably
giving permission to shoot the commercial
but to no avail. The camera was
unceremoniously removed from the tripod, all
microphones removed and packed as a furious
director stormed away. I was glad I had
complied and not tried to sneak another shot
later.
Harley
Davidson Party
Our driver was to return at 4:00 pm to take
us back to the hotel. While we were
waiting, Dimitri called and asked if we
wanted to go to a ‘close of the riding
season’ party put on by Harley Davidson.
“Absolutely” I replied. We were to wait for
about an hour until Ganady could come to
meet us.
The same company that sells Lamborghini,
Ferrari, Lotus and other very expensive cars
also has the Harley Davidson distributorship
in Moscow and as the story goes, many of the
bikes they sell are delivered to companies
and homes to be used as display
pieces—shameful!
  We arrived early and seats were
plentiful in the large parking area that
formed the venue for the party. Two large,
opposing walls were erected at both sides of
the area and decorated with Large Harley
logos. Off to the right was a long row of
food vendors selling BBQed meat, sausages,
chicken and vegetables. There were vendors
selling soft drinks, beer and one selling
hard liquor. Opposite our table was a
display of new bikes. The center of the
parking lot was cordoned off with metal
barriers forming a long, narrow area that
could only be used for riding. On the left
was a large, covered bleacher set up for the
First Moscow Chapter of Harley Davidson
Motorcycle Club. And then there was the
stage where the live music would come from
later in the evening.
 Then the thunder started as the
parade of Harleys came down the street that
fronts the parking lot. There were plenty
of standard models but there were also
customized choppers as well as one
three-wheel ride or trike that was more
modified automobile than anything else.
Then there were the characters that are
typically associated with Harley and Harley
gatherings.
Because of the language barrier, we met
fewer people that we would have if
communication were easier but the people we
did meet were awesome; Bikers who have
ridden throughout Russia, Europe, South
America. We met some who envied our trip
and were surprised at our age. But we were
welcomed. One man insisted that we share
his scotch, others who wanted to show us
around Moscow. As the evening wore on, the
music got louder, the wheelie riders
demonstrated bike power and riding skill;
the fire-eaters appeared and put on an
incredible show. And then it was time to
go. Ganady dropped us off at the hotel.
Altogether one of the best days of the trip
Dimitri 2 (Dmirty
Khitrov) as Janet and I called him turned
out to be our very best friend in Russia.
He carted me around from customs location to
customs location, took us to meet other
bikers in Moscow and in general took care of
us with such generosity that it was hard for
us to accept all that was offered. He is a
real long distance rider having ridden in
South America, Europe and in November will
go to New Zealand for a month. He is the
owner of
www.ruriders.com.
He plans to come to the US some time in
2007 and if possible we plan to meet; that
would be so cool.
Riga,
Latvia
Another train trip, it seems like we can’t
get away from them. Locked in an iron cage
for fifteen hours; this time with a
roommate—a big Russian man who immediately
pulled several cans of beer from his bag. I
thought bad thoughts but again I was wrong
in my assumption based on first
impressions. First, he was an engineer and
married to a university professor and he
spoke English; a rare ability in Russia!
“Please, have a beer,” he offered and while
I really didn’t want a beer I took one to be
polite.
 When I woke the next morning, our
friend had gone and Janet and I were left
alone in the compartment. We had passed
through the border with no problems, either
from the Russian or Latvian border guards.
The information desk at the train station
provided us with a map and directions to the
taxi stand and we were off to the hotel.
Unfortunately the trip to Riga had taken
longer than we had planned and our late
arrival precluded our visiting the Russian
Embassy on Monday. However, the next day we
did apply for the visa and were assured that
it would be ready at 3:00 pm Wednesday.
Riga is expensive, maybe as expensive as
Moscow. If it hadn’t been for an
afternoon’s excursion into the old city,
Riga would be totally forgettable. The
people are generally unfriendly, service in
restaurants absent, and too many old people
begging in the streets. I was happy to be
leaving so we could continue our attempt to
get Max out of customs.
Moscow
and Russian Customs
When you mention Russian Customs to a native
they generally shrug, smile and say, “Its
Russian Customs.” Unless one has
experienced the ordeal there is no
explanation that can suffice. We were sent
to wrong locations, given wrong forms and
bad information; all while dealing with low
paid clerks, officials and others that just
didn’t care. Once we had the appropriate
form, properly signed by no less than three
bureau chiefs, that would release the bike
from the Customs area at the train station,
we discovered that it had to be taken, under
secure escort to the south customs building
where it would be released after more forms
and fees were to be paid (altogether about
$1,000.00, including bribes, trucking and
escort fees).
Altogether, we spent from September 27 to
October 12 dealing with Customs in one way
or another. But we got the bike delivered
to Motoxayc, (pronounced Motohouse in
English and Russian), Dimitri’s repair
service where we would try to assess the
clutch/transmission problem and devise a
fix.
Motohouse
 Janet and I went to Dimitri’s shop and Max
was on the hydraulic lift being disassembled
so the transmission could be removed.
Vladimir Tchaykovskiy, the AS manager for
BMW Russia was to arrive later to help
determine the source of the problem.
The transmission was removed and the gears
inspected. The clutch pressure plate was
removed and found to have failed again (all
six rivets holding lining material to the
steel plate had sheared allowing the plate to
freely rotate) and this was supposed to be
the production unit that had been improved
over the prototype that was originally
installed. Both Vladimir and Dimitri
examined the  engine housing, the
transmission case and gears.
They think that the problem is with the
transmission housing somehow being off
center with engine. Again, this is one of
those one of a kind problems that has been
plaguing us all along the trip.
We had also discovered that the front forks
were badly damaged (probably from some of
the large potholes in Mongolia) and that
there was almost no travel left in them.
Vladimir called and said he had found a new
set of Earles forks that would lend
themselves better to the sidecar and did I
want them. Yes, I wanted anything
reasonable that would ensure a more reliable
bike capable of making the rest of the trip.
I also opted for five new Russian tires and
tubes. These are of a much higher quality
than the Chinese tires that we started
with.
MotoReview
MotoReview is one of two large motorcycle
magazines in Russia and on Thursday, October
19, 2006, one of their journalists called
and asked if he could interview us for the
January 2007 issue. Evidentially he had
talked to Vladimir and herd about the
Dragin’ Run and all the problems we have
been having. We spent the afternoon with
Vladimir, the journalist, a freelance writer
and their photographer talking about the
trip, bikes and Russian humor. Altogether a
very pleasant afternoon.
Bottom line is that we think this fix will
work and that we will be able to make the
rest of The Dragin’ Run with Max. Total
bill for the work done was 44,300 Rubles or
$1605 USD. The only real issue facing us
now is the weather. Last night at 8:00 pm
it was -10C and we aren’t
equipped for cold weather riding.
Right now we plan to leave Moscow tomorrow,
October 21st and head south to
Kiev in the Ukraine and hopefully be in
Istanbul on or before November 1st.
To Kiev
Vladimir showed up at the hotel just as we
were packing the bike and offered to lead us
to the M3 otherwise known as the road to
Kiev. Max started right up and sounded
healthier than ever. My spirits soared
despite the cold and drizzle that seems to
be a part of Moscow. Within a few
kilometers Vladimir waved good bye and we
were finally riding again.
The landscape is generally flat with low
rolling hills and like most places we have
been so far, the further away from the city
we get, the poorer the people are who live
in the countryside. It is not uncommon to
see old men and women with horse and wagon
moving along dirt pathways through recently
harvested or newly planted fields.
We stopped in Bransk after traveling just
over 400 km and made a call to one of
Dimitri’s friends, Doctor, a member of the
Brotherhood (a support motorcycle club for
the newly formed Moscow chapter of the
Hell’s Angels). Doctor came to find us on
the road leading to town, found us a hotel
for the evening, even arranging secure
parking for Max, and with some urging had
dinner with us. A really sweet man, who,
during the day is a general surgeon on staff
of a 400 bed hospital.
While it grew a few degrees warmer as we
traveled south towards Kiev we still had to
battle the wet and wind which was strong
enough at times to slow the bike. It became
more and more difficult to maintain a
reasonable speed. In fact the right carb
was now a problem—again so it was drive a
while, adjust the carb, drive some more and
adjust the carb…
I had to stop for gas and while we were
filling up, the attendant noticed that the
left shock on my new Earles fork was
broken. I called Vladimir and complained
but he countered that the fix was easy and
in fact it was but only because I was close
to an auto parts store and café where the
owners helped me to compress the spring.
We stopped for the night after going only
250 km due to problems. I was really angry
again. I had spent $1,000 on repairs in
Moscow and Jim had graciously offered
another $500 to help us out. A total of
$1,500 in repairs and I had more problems
than before. The next morning we pushed on.
Then, here it was, the dreaded
Russian/Ukraine border. With all of the
trouble we had with customs I knew we were
in for a hassle and a considerable delay.
As I approached the first gate I was
directed to a small building. I shut Max
down and entered. A heavy-set woman
demanded our passports and began to collect
forms for us to fill out. I apologized for
not speaking Russian when she spoke to me.
Then she reached for a calculator and
entered 800 rubles. I had 140 in my pocket
(we planned much better this time, in the
past we have left a country with too much of
their money) so I passed her a $100 bill.
She protested but I countered that it was
all I had.
Frustrated, she returned all the forms to
their original location and pointed to a
building further on. I started the bike and
moved forward, we showed our passports and
were directed to the inspection station
where several uniformed men stood looking
incredulously at Janet, Max and me. We were
waved forward. More guards came to look,
blow the little horn and joke with us. In a
matter of about a half hour we were waved
through, we had crossed out of Russia.
It was almost the same with entering the
Ukraine except there was much more laughing
when we told the guards that we were riding
to America. One thing that really caught
everyone’s attention was our Chinese
Registration. It was passed from one person
to another, always with the same
reaction—more laughter.
At one point, a truck driver was called over
because he spoke English. It was necessary
for the guards to know what our exit point
was going to be. Handshakes all around and
we were off. But the bike began to run
rougher and rougher as we headed south.
Finally we passed a café and decided a cup
of tea was in order.
Just as we were getting ready to leave we
saw a large truck pull to a stop and the
driver from Ukrainian customs greeted us.
“You know, I have an empty truck and can
drop you off in Kiev.” I could have kissed
him because I didn’t think Max would make it
to Kiev.
As luck would have it there was a truck
terminal close where we might find a loading
ramp but when we arrived we found no ramp.
Then the terminal manager had an idea. He
had some long planks and could fashion a
ramp. In the truck, there were several
hundred bags of some material that had been
loaded close to the rear doors; these had to
be moved to make room for Max. For $10 a
crew appeared that moved enough of the bags
that we could fit Max in. Now loaded, we
were off to Kiev in the comfort of a large
truck (like an American 18 wheeler).
All I needed now was to get closer to Kiev
so I could call the BMW contacts Vladimir
had given me in Moscow and see what was
wrong with Max
Jack and Janet
On the road. |
