Today is day 14, but let me take you back to leaving Bryansk.

We left the wierd and wonderful ornate luxury hotel in the boiling heat of a summer's afternoon. Richard had a business telephone call to deal with, which prevented us leaving earlier. So, with the later start and a border crossing to manage, we had long day's riding ahead of us. Kiev was more than 500 kms away.

En route, we stopped at the side of the road to take take photos of some memorials and tanks and armoured cars on plinths. However, every car and truck that roared past blew their horn at us in a very unfriendly way - you know how a horn can sound unfriendly? Sort of PAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPP, rather than pip, pip. I managed to take three snaps before losing my nerve.

At the Russian / Ukranian border we were flagged down by a couple of plain clothes guys, and told to buy our green cards. As usual, we couldn't tell if they were officials, or just locals out to rip off the tourists. Actually, it was a bit of both. They took us into a portocabin office and prepared our green cards. The large, loud, harsh Russian woman behind the counter informed us that it would cost us $79 each. As we were fumbling naively for our money, a young Russian chap also on his way through the border, popped his head in and told us that the cost was actually only $40 each. The buffalo behind the counter developed a very guilty look, and after much muttering said that it was $79 for two. Richard was spitting insults at her in English, and I was secretly hoping that she understood every word.

The Russian exit border was fine. At the Ukranian entry border, the young official at passport control, stamped all of our documents, but kept asking for a present. We played dumb, and he eventaully gave up. We then moved on to Ukranian customs - always more tricky than passport control. Here they took the unnerving approach of splitting us up, taking Richard into an office and making me wait outside. I was so nervous, that I took off my jacket, lay on the grass and sunbathed. They could see they were getting to me. It turns out that we had a lucky break. The customs officer was a coin collecter, and Richard perceptively spotting this opportunity, rummaged through his bike trouser pockets, now containg about half a pound of miscellaneous foreign coins, managed to provide him with a couple of English coins that he had been missing. This whizzed us to the front of the queue, and we got our stamps.

While waiting at the next window we saw a horse and cart with an old Russian couple coming through customs. I thought this really showed the flavour of the setting, and decided to capture the moment on camera. Uh oh - big mistake. Border guards were on me like flies. I had to delete the picture in front of the guards and put the camera away. As a result, I was unable to capture the moment when the horse - presumably a bit unsteadied by all the goings on - voided his bowels right in the middle of the customs lane. I'm not sure what I would have done if it were my horse, but the old fellow who did own it, simply scooped it all up in his bare hands and popped it into the cart - hopefully not on his wife's sandwiches.

Entering Ukraine, we were struck at the improvement in road quality. They were still so straight that they disappeared into a heat haze before the horizon, but they were much smoother.

Our first petrol stop in Ukraine highlighted the difference in people's attitudes, too. We have become used to surly, curt refusals when asking to pay by credit card, but here, although the chap couldn't take our plastic, he accepted Euro instead, and gave us change as well. He was very friendly, and it made a nice change.

Entering Kiev we had the usual hassle of finding a hotel. They are not sign-posted like they are in Europe, and not everyone recognises the word 'hotel' when asked. We eventually checked into the Express, and as I was handing over my passport at reception, a couple of Swiss guys approached us and said they were bikers too, and were staying at the hotel.

That night the four of us dined in a Lonely Planet recommened restaurant (no Chicken Kiev!), and then I joined the Swiss guys for a spot of Ukranian clubbing, while Rich got an early night. He didn't miss anything apart from a hangover the next day.

So with sore head, and another long ride - 540 kms - ahead of us, we set off for L'viv. Stopping for our usual lunch of omelette - it's the only word we can recognise in Cyrillic - we chatted about the smooth roads and fast progress. One of us forgot to 'touch wood'.

About 100 kms later I was sitting comfortably in the passenger seat of a police cruiser with a friendly young knight of the road beside me. He explained that they take a dim view of overtaking in a no overtaking zone, and if he were to follow 'protocol' he would forward the details of our heinous crime to the UK for them to endorse our licences. However - here it comes - if we could pay a small fine now, in cash, directly to him, he may be able to let us off just this once, much against his better judgement. (I paraphrase, as this was all said in Ukranian and universal sign language.) I showed him that I only had 100 Ukranian thingys, and Richard only had $10. He wanted 500 Uts. Eventually, I called his bluff and said, fine, 'protocol' it then. He then accepted our cash (approx 16 sterling) and sent us on our way. For the next 100 yards Richard was very careful about his overtaking.

While going through the usual palaver of paying for petrol before filling up at the next petrol station, we felt a bit like travelling heros (Ewan and Charlie?), as locals were staring at the bikes and asking the standard questions: how many cylinders? (2), how fast does it go? (200k), can you do a wheelie? (err no - but I wish I could - it would be so cool . . .).

Next blog coming soon.

Saad