I’m heading for Riga, which is about 200 km from where I camped. From there I’m off to Estonia up the coast road. Chip and Ken came down that way and told me the view wasn’t great. The road is close to the coast, but not close enough to actually see the sea. Just forest.

So, with time on my hands I decided I’d take the coast road to Riga. It adds about 250km to the journey, but it’s such a great day I don’t care. The costal road to Riga is…..

Just like the one Chip and Ken described! Not quite close enough to see the sea, but you do get a tantalising glimpse now and then! Occasionally there’s a turn off to the sea, so I took one for a look.

It’s beautiful! Sandy beaches, petty much deserted and there for my sole enjoyment. If only I was more of a beach person! 5 minutes is about enough, but I do appreciate it. Onwards and upwards, I pushed ahead towards Riga.

Latvia pulled out a cracking day for me. One of those crisp autumn days where the sky is blue and the air is cold! The leaves are yellowing and starting to fall, it’s pretty chilly on the bike but so beautiful I don’t care. I’ve got my heated vest on and life is good!

So good that I don’t notice the police radar at the roadside. Oh dear! After flagging me down, Mr. Plod takes a good look at my bike, especially the licence plate, before he speaks. He’s probably decided I’m not worth the paperwork, so he simply says (in perfect English)…

“We have speed limits here. 50. OK?”

OK I say. Sorry.

He says “OK, Go. But slowly!”

And away I went. Thinking about it, I was bimbling along quite slowly anyway. Cold air means a bitter chill at higher speeds, so I was running at 80kph most of the day. I’d just turned onto the main road and was accelerating, so I’d guess on 60 through the radar. Not a great deal over the limit.

He was probably looking for people going the other way, coming from the 90 zone into the 50 without slowing down. Easy targets.

Anyway, it’s all good. All of the police I’ve encountered so far have been very reasonable. Even Kazakhstan, though Chip and Ken may say otherwise. Then again, I’m not 19 any more and generally not doing anything dangerous!

I passed through Liepaja, which like most of the towns was tiny. The sign was petty though, so I stopped for a photo. Cracking day!

After an eventful day dealing with people, I wild camped in the woods to get away from the world. The road I’m on runs roughly up the coast, so I knew the sea would be somewhere nearby. I walked West through the woods for about 500 metres, down the sandy track that I wasn’t comfortable riding any further.

I found a deserted sandy beach, sat down and watched the sunset. Magic!

The road between Kaliningrad and Klaipeda is located on a natural strip on land creating a lagoon. In my mind I’d imagined a built up road going over the ocean, but it’s quite wide. In fact wide enough that you can’t see the water on either side, unless you park up and walk half a Km or so.

I would have done that but I had a problem at the border, which took me over 3 hours to cross – so I wasn’t in the mood for stopping again so soon. But back to the border for a moment….

The sniffer dog found something it liked in my pannier. I’d made myself a salami sandwich for lunch, but no meat is allowed to be brought into Europe. The guard wasn’t impressed and wanted me to throw it in the bin. It was lunchtime so I said I’d eat it there and then. He said there wasn’t time, there was a queue and I had to leave immediately. He was quite animated.

OK I said, but you given me back my paperwork yet. He went back to the cabin where his female colleague was checking everything. They both came back and told me my bike registration had expired! I’d been using the same document everywhere and this is the first time anyone had noticed!!

My bike is registered of course, and I had the current registration document. It knew was in my pannier so I wasn’t too concerned. The guy was looking uber serious. “Give me papers, give me”.

OK I said, I’ll just finish my sandwich.

It didn’t go down well. (The comment that is. The sandwich was delicious ;-).

Anyway, I finally made it into Lithuania unscathed. Just past Klaipeda there’s a river with no bridge. You need to take the ferry across, which I quite enjoy. Just after I’d taken this photo, the guy came round to collect the money. At this point I realised I didn’t have any Litas left. (Lithuania won’t adopt the euro until 01/01/2015).

Do you take Euros? No.
Do you take Rubles? No.
Tegreg? No.
Won? No.
Stirling? No.
US Dollars? No.
Visa? No.

I just smiled and shrugged. He decided I wasn’t worth the effort and just walked off. It’s been quite a day really!!

Just before the border we stopped in a very exclusive resort. It’s on the sea front but in a much quieter location. Inga wanted to show me the hotel she used to own with her ex. She’d told me earlier that she didn’t work, and I did wonder how the bikes, cars and lifestyle were funded – but I didn’t like to ask.

Once again a I have effectively dumped myself on a stranger, with only a word in advance from a club member. Despite this I’ve had a guided tour of the city, the monuments, the seaside, the pub (including dinner) and an escort to the border. It’s been fantastic, thank you Inga & family!

In the morning I got packed up and fuelled the bike. Russian petrol is good and cheap. I didn’t need any between Moscow and Kaliningrad, but Chip and Ken told me it’s expensive in Europe. I figured I might as well fuel up now.

Inga was going to come out on her bike to escort me to the border. The pink ninja today, as the pink Goldwing is in Moscow. (Does that make it a pinkwing? I’ve only just thought of that). However, the bike had a flat battery.

I followed her land cruiser through the woods, where we stopped in a random spot. There are wild pigs in the woods that have become semi-tame. The locals sometimes feed them, so when a car stops they come and see what’s for dinner. A bit like the ducks on your average duck pond.

They were quite a size and fairly forceful. I had my gloves nipped even though I had no food in my hands. Interesting to see though, and it means I can add pigs to the list of animals I’ve seen. Bonus!

There’s an English pub in Kaliningrad. In fact there are two, this one and the London bar. After I’d freshened up back at the hostel, Inga and her ex husband picked me up and took me for a beer. Inside was decorated in typical English style, compete with a huge TV showing the Liverpool/Villa match. Great!

So, I spent my last night in Kaliningrad in an English pub watching English football. Fish and chips plus a pint of Kilkenny, marvellous!

It wasn’t a late night as Valve was with us, but that’s a good thing! I didn’t want a heavy session, I’ve had enough of those for a while! I tried to pick up the tab, but in typical Russian style I wasn’t allowed to pay for anything. So generous, thank you!

After the match we went to the seaside. Much like the British seaside, there were people paddling, ice cream stands and posh hotels. It could have been anywhere on the coast at home.

It was quite a moment, as the last sea I saw was the sea of Japan. That’s over 6000 miles away in a straight line! It doesn’t seem like much on a day to day basis, but it finally sunk home that I’ve managed to travel across an entire continent in my bike. I almost felt proud!

Of course, I’m still a long way from home and not counting my chickens just yet! Tomorrow I plan to take the road that spans the Baltic sea from Kaliningrad to Klaipeda, Lithuania. It looks very interesting, I’ll be sure to have my camera handy!

In case (like me) you didn’t know, Immanuel Kant was an influential philosopher from the 1700s. If you Google and read his work ‘The Critique of Pure Reason’, you probably won’t understand it either.

Anyway, I bring this up because he lived and is now buried in Kaliningrad. The house where he lived was bombed during the war, but has subsequently been restored. What a fine piece of restoration work it is too.

I’ve had my picture taken a lot today, Inga is quite a camera fan. I didn’t take many pictures myself, but here’s one of Inga outside Immanuel Kant’s house and grave.

Shortly afterwards we collected her son and took him to a football match. He’s only 13 but a nice lad who’s learning English at school. Like all 13 year olds he was a but shy about taking to me in English. (Just like me learning French when I was at school). But Inga was keen for us to talk, so we did.