In the evening in Surgut, a neighbour moved in my double hotel room. Formally it was ok — I was staying in a double room for the price of a single. But usually hotels let the clients stay alone until they run out of other empty rooms. Not that hotel though. It was evident they have at least 3 similar empty rooms but they decided to put that guy in my room. Did they want to cut their expenses on cleaning or what?

Yet the real problem discovered itself later. As night fell, it turned out the lad snored sooooo freaking loudly. No way I could sleep with such sound effects. So I went to negotiate with the administration to be relocated to the other room, one of those empty ones. But administration whipped me off. I tried different tactics, ended up even arguing and quarrelling with them. Zero effect. Returned to the room. I tried to accept my fate, to reconcile, to sleep somehow — succeeded in none of the above. So, after an hour or so I got up, collected my luggage and at 3 o'clock in the morning started out to Khanty-Mansiysk.

There was something romantic and soothing in riding at night through a deserted city and empty highways. Part of me still wished I could catch a piece of warming sunrise... But instead I got the standard program: 6°C and raining. Well, never mind, seemed I finally got used to it.

By 9 AM I was already in Khanty-Mansiysk. Spent the day walking around the city centre and… well... less favourable areas. The latter attracted me more that day. The photos might be gloomy, although the city centre itself is nice, well maintained, has some interesting sights. The museum of nature and man is one of those...

That night I slept in a spacious clean room on a huge bed. Was lucky to catch a discounted offer on booking. Otherwise, wouldn’t afford such luxurious conditions.

Next day was marked by a 891 km run, the longest day ride in the entire trip. And, finally, it was sunny! For the first time in a week I was looking at a clear blue sky and kept taking warm clothes off, instead of putting it on. For the first time the temperature rose up to 20°C.

The road "Ugra", that laid to the West from Khanty-Mansiysk, turned out to be beautiful and calm. Very few cars, good tarmac almost the whole way. Charming northern nature, without this feeling of hostility spread in the air as it was in the Yamalo-Nenets Autonomous District. One of the most beautiful roads I’d been during this trip.

"Ugra" road became a kind of bridge for me. Bridge from the new and not always hospitable world of the Siberian North to the long-familiar and dear Urals.

Just as the mountainous nature of the Urals came to replace the northern swamps, rivers and moss, so the northern part of the trip internally ended for me. And it ended with a notable challenge.

I was headed to a recreation base in a remote taiga area. The last 50 km to the destination I was driving while being pretty tired: by that time I’ve spent 15 hours on the road. It was very late and a total darkness was all around me. Of course, no street lights in taiga forest. The route twisted through the woodlands sometimes jumping out to the field with a small village of 10-20 houses. The road changed all types of surfaces: broken asphalt, concrete plates, gravel, clay. My eyes ached from the tension — looking out for pits, stones, tree branches, as it suddenly plunged into the beam of front lamp. What was there, at the end of another descent diving into the void of unfamiliar darkness...

But it was 100% worth all the effort. Night taiga forest, located far away from the main roads and cities, smells astoundingly. I arrived at the destination base half dead, but fully pleased: both with taiga and myself.

The next few days I spent without any communication to outer world, without a motorcycle, meeting only a few people. It was time to breathe out, listen to the chant of the forest, to the serenades of birds and the music of the river. An opportunity to give myself time and space to integrate the previous experiences. A time to have a good rest.

Three days passed in a blink of an eye. It was the 27th day since I left Moscow. And again the path was calling to explore what laid ahead.

I woke up and packed before dawn. Crispy and fresh morning welcomed me with 0.5°C outside. How’s that for 14th of August? Morning mist, thick cold air and wild animals running along the road. By the afternoon the air warmed up to +21°C. That’s 20°C leap in just 5 hours!

Spent the night in a hostel in Perm.

On the 28th day I drove 651 km, crossed 2 time zones and 3 republics: Udmurt, Tatarstan, Mari El.

The only surface I didn’t ride over in the past month was sand. Well, this day I got my full house. 15 km of sandy suffering to get to the pontoon bridge. In general, almost all day I drove secondary roads in terrible conditions. But thanks to this, I saw an authentic rural Udmurtia. Fields, barns, tractors. People who barely speak Russian. Would it have survived in such a bright and authentic form if it was more accessible to the world?

Spent the night in Yoshkar-Ola. Impressed. Didn’t expect such an intense day.

Next morning I lazily strolled around Yoshkar-Ola embankment…

I was very relaxed, rode 90 km to Cheboksary without any hurry. Met with moto cases producers. Walked around the city. Ate all kinds of local berries at the market. Met sunset in the central park near the water. Sat and listened to Linkin Park, Nirvana and Depeche Mode performed by two locals on a guitar.

A beautiful girl asked if I would ride her on a motorcycle. I said no, because the passenger seat was occupied by a gas canister. Oh, fool. Could have removed the canister. And the evening might have become even more interesting.

The end of the trip was getting nearer. Next night I expected to be back home in Moscow.

***

When I was leaving Moscow on the M5 highway almost a month before, I saw various moto-travelers on the road. In my head, I symbolically divided them into two types.

The first type was “Tony Stark”.

Shiny new motorcycles without a single scratch. Expensive branded equipment. They rush past at the speed of 150 km/h.

The second type was “Indiana Jones”.

Motorcycles covered with a road dust and the drop markings were visible here and there. Worn out clothes. Driving speed was within 100 km/h. I couldn’t help wondering where they were riding from... Kazakhstan? Pamir? Mongolia?

Both types are beautiful in their own way. Yet, in this dichotomy, I wanted more to belong to the second type. Experience, calmness and depth in the eyes of such people have always attracted me more than expensive motorcycles. And at that moment of the trip, as I looked at myself and the motorcycle from aside... Well, judging by the dustiness, it seems I was on the right track…