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. 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.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.