In Chelyabinsk there was a memorial park for the second world war. It was very pretty, with a good playground for children and clean toilets. As usual the grass was 3 feet tall, which is a real shame. I didn’t care though as there was a long line of tanks on display!!

Unfortunately none were for sale, but while taking pictures I heard music and wandered off for a look. Someone was obviously making a professional music video, sitting with their guitar on top of a tank whilst being filmed. Sitting on a tank is obviously fair game, so I had to get my photo!

I asked the next passer by if they would mind taking my photo. A guy of about 50 took my phone without saying a word. I motioned him to stand back whereupon he fell over backwards. At that point I realised he was completely pissed! It took me by surprise as it was only 11am. He wouldn’t give back my phone and motioned me to get on the tank.

OK. He’s not going to run off with my phone and I’m not going to get a good photo – but I’ll play along. I realise then that I just can’t get on the tank, it’s too high! After a couple of failed attempts I kind of sensed that someone was behind me. I looked round and there was a tiny babushka, complete with head scarf and moustache – just staring at me.

I was about to say something when she bent forward and cupped her hands, as if to give me a boost up. I gave her a look, as if to say “are you serious old woman?”. She got the meaning and started shouting at me.

I AM A STRONG WOMAN! YOU ARE A SMALL MAN!

OK, OK, I’ll play along. I put my boot in her cupped hands and she boosted me up a treat, grinning from ear to ear. Drunk man could hardly stand up, but he took my photo and this is the result. It’s a petty good picture considering!!

Chelyabinsk is somewhere I’d been looking forward to for a long, long time. Originally when I planned my trip I intended to travel with a bike and sidecar, which meant I’d be able to get through China. The route would have been roughly Singapore, Malaysia, Laos, China, Kazakhstan, Russia, Europe. After leaving Kazakhstan, the first place I’d come to in Russia would be Chelyabinsk.

Of all these places Russia always held the most attraction for me, so I’ve spent a lot of time looking at Chelly on the map.

A welcoming sign was a good start, to what’s essentially a mid sized grey city – full of former soviet era big buildings. The kind I’ve seen in so many other places, I’d almost call it a typical Russian city.

Despite this there was no disappointment. I’m in Chelyabinsk! After all this time and effort just being able to say that makes it all worthwhile.

After the fight we left the hospital via different doors. We didn’t speak in the morning. I’m kidding of course! Ken has had enough of his rear shock and wants to bomb it straight to Moscow. I can understand as I know what it’s like riding with no dampening. Horrible!

I didn’t want to ride 8 hours a day for 3 days solid and miss some of things along the way. So, the guys are blasting for Moscow while I’m cruising the longer way round. I expect to catch up with them in a week or so. Hopefully Ken will have seen the last of his suspension problems by then!

Good luck finding a replacement shock, or getting yours rebuilt Ken. Moscow is a big place and as the saying goes, you never know your luck in a big city!

No dermist! Next to that tank was a guy selling stuff out of his Lada. It’s quite common in Russia to see cars parked at the side of the road with people selling their wares from them. Mostly it’s home grown produce like potatoes, watermelons, onions etc.. Sometimes мёд or home made juice.

At the top end of the scale, full stalls are laid out, painted in bright colours and they look beautiful. At the other end is a knackered Lada with a bucket of spuds on the bonnet. This guy had something completely different. He was a taxidermist, and petty good at it too. He’d got a small sample for sale, along with some handmade sheath knives. Very tempting, but as I explained I don’t have the space. (I also have poor Yorick, who’s amazingly been allowed to cross 3 borders so far!).

He was a nice bloke but I didn’t catch his name. Good luck selling your stuff mate, it’s very good!

Unfortunately…

I don’t know the exact half way point by road, for the route I’m taking. However, time wise I have reached my half way point. Not because I’ve got half way through my available time, it’s more a case of crossing time zones.

I started my voyage in a distant land at GMT+10. As I head west I cross timezones going towards GMT. (Usually an hour at a time, sometimes 30 minutes). As we entered Kazakhstan yesterday the clocks went back, making local time GMT+5. Half way home!

It’s a good feeling, though it’s also a reminder of how big the world is. At this rate I should be home in 5 hours. (Sort of!)

Just before Omsk we stopped at a motel, around the same time as an Africa Twin pulled in. The rider was French and also looking for a room.

Within minutes we were sharing a room for 4 for a very reasonable price. Taking over dinner, Claude has been on the road for 3 months. He’s a police motorcyclist in France, on his long service leave for 4 months. Lucky chap!

He’s been through southern Europe, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Kazakhstan, Turkey, Mongolia and is now working his way home through Russia. He didn’t think going to Kazakhstan was a good idea, nothing to recommend it!

What I found surprising was that I really struggled to speak French with him. I used to be OK with French, but having spoken Russian for so long my recall of French was no good!

It wasn’t a real problem, we got on OK and saw him on his way in the morning. Bon Voyage Claude!

This is a bootleg photo, apologies if it’s not clear. I took it at the border crossing from Kazakhstan back to Russia. I liked the fact that even at the border there’s a sign that says “Good luck”.

If you’re wondering why we were back at the border so quickly, we got stopped by the police just before Petraplovosk. I’d heard stories about travelers being stopped all the time by the police, having to pay bribes before continuing.

In fact I’d heard a lot of stories about KZ from people we’ve met, none of them good! But I didn’t want to form any pre-conceptions. Let’s give the place a fair crack, right?

So the cops are checking documents and asked for insurance. Our Russian insurance didn’t cover us so we had a problem. I said we’d just pay the fine and buy some, but it’s Sunday and nowhere is open. It’s also a bank holiday tomorrow, so we’d have an enforced 3 day layover.

I wasn’t too bothered about that, a bigger problem was that we couldn’t move the bikes until then. We weren’t in a good spot and I was dubious about whether we’d see them again, if we left them there for 3 days!

After a lot of negotiation and haggling, we came to an arrangement. The police would escort us directly out of the country, provided we didn’t stop anywhere. The bonus was we’d cross where we intended, so no back tracking was involved. Sorted!

The police escort was good fun, if a little expensive. I would have liked to at least spent the night there, but from the very little I saw and the great deal I’ve heard – I don’t feel like I’ve missed much!

We arrived at Kazakhstan for the usual border shenanigans. The Russian side was efficient as usual, we got out in no time. No-man’s land was short so up to the Kazakhstan side we went.

Chip had done something to upset the
guard, who wouldn’t stamp his vehicle pass. He wanted 3000 rubles but I haggled him down to 1000. I wasn’t happy and was going to tell the immigration guy inside the building. There was a long queue and we were in there a long time.

I think the guard outside was getting worried about being busted for accepting a bribe. He knew that I knew enough Russian to make the point, so he came inside and asked me to step outside. Returning the money he made out it was a big joke.

It was more like a pain in the bum, but it got Chip his money back. Welcome to Kazakhstan!

There wasn’t a queue to get in, but I took this photo of the queue to get out. Hmm, interesting!