We  were warned… Leaving Russia is like being pushed through a door and having it slam shut behind you.  In this case it’s an oven door, and we’re on the inside, staring out though the glass back at mother Russia.  You can’t go back, the only way is forward, and the only option is the semi derelict, comical road leading off from the border towards Atyrau.  Deep breath, pack your pants carefully and go.  The road is just complete bollocks for miles and miles.  It’s low 40s and I’m sweating my tits off.  There is sweet FA out here except camels, heat and potholes.  After about 300km we stop for fuel.  It’s so fecking hot out here that they have people pumps next to the petrol pumps.  You stand there while the attendant sticks the pump into your mouth and pulls the handle in .. the numbers spin round until you’re rehydrated and the pump cuts out.  I took 20 litres .. not bad …

Into the shit we go again .. lots of lorries crawling about through the mess, clouded in dust, spitting and howling in low gears and pumping out dense cancer clouds.  Overtaking these things is a test of faith.  You’ve no bloody idea what they can see and you’re completely and utterly blind.. just the feel of the wheels crashing and sliding about underneath you as you open the throttle and hope.  You can chew the air as you pass, crunching the sand between your teeth.

We’ve seen nothing for miles and miles.  You begin to think you’ve missed a turn to ‘humanity’ and you’re heading off into hell.  Then a building appears in the distance.. its a truck stop of sorts.. a small cafe where people can get out of the sun.  Ride across the powder sand and into the sanctuary of the building.  i think the over timer went off ages ago and I’m well overcooked ..

Get some eggs and bread and as much liquid as they can carry from the kitchen.

There are a couple of the truck drivers sitting at another table and one of them is trying to talk to us.  Or rather he’s just trying to talk .. it’s proving quite difficult for him due to the fact he is absolutely shit faced.  He’s so drunk he forgets to swallow when he drinks so when he opens his mouth, all the liquid he just poured in comes running out and down his chin on to the table. He’s a fucking mess.  Him and his mate get up, walk out, fire up, drive off.  We’ll be trying to overtake him in a few minutes ..

Get to Atyrau and its stupid hot now.. about 46 .. and my sweat glands are all wide open and gasping like coy carp being fed. Come to some lights. Sit. Wait. Watch the bars climbing… the bike was running like a bitch on the way in and it’s really unhappy.  Do I switch it off or not?  I’m in a big queue .. pushing it in this heat will be bad .. eventually I chicken out and turn it off.  The lights go green.. turn the switch .. hit the button … “fuck off” is the replay from the engine bay … Horns are blasting behind me.. people are squeezing past rushing to beat the lights .. 3 more changes of light later .. try again .. same answer .. fuck you bitch…

I wait 10 minutes .. try again and it starts.  I’m taking no prisoners and I spend the next 10 minutes punishing the bike in the heat.  Making it scream.  Making it suffer.  I get to the hotel and its hot again so I just get a couple of water bottles, fill them up with stinking water and pour them over the engine.  The whole lot fizzes and hisses like a cat in a cage, bad smelling steam filling my nostrils.  I take the panels off – it’s losing water but it’s not obvious from where.  All I can do is refill it and hope it shows itself one way or the other… something to fill my mind with as we head across the barren wilderness ..

Next morning we know it’s a long hall across blank lands.  Running the gauntlet between shadows 100s of miles apart. Someone left the oven on overnight too and it’s roasting.  Go to the petrol station, take my fuel can off and go to get it filled… “Niet” .. sod off mate, just fill this up .. I’m not in the mood for arguing .. I’m in the mood for watching a human torch run the 100m in 5.5 seconds to that river over there  … “Niet”.. WANKER!!!!!!!  As luck would have it a police car pulls on to the forecourt and I grab the copper as he rushes for the air conditioned sanctuary of the shop.  Show him the can, point at the ‘benzine’ stamped in it .. and he tells the attendant to just do it and stop fucking about ..   As we’re filling up there is a huge smash on the road outside as 3 cars play metal origami.  I award the prize to the white Lada whose front end now resembles The Shard.  As if by magic, out rushes the policeman .. perhaps they have Minority Report out here .. he was just waiting for that to happen.

Out we go.  As usual the wind is playing in the emptiness that starts as soon as you leave town.  Running around in circles, rushing from one side to the other, breathing in and breathing out, playing blow motorcyclist and trying to score points by putting you in a ditch.

It’s hotter than yesterday.. my nose is burned 5 layers deep and feels like a thick piece of cardboard.  Whose bloody idea was this?  Jesus..

Get petrol .. on a 1 to 1 ratio with water .. sit in the shade and feel my tongue return to normal size as it sucks up liquid like a sponge.  Watch a fat bloke go into the shop .. I think he was looking for a recharge too  – he’s bigger coming out than he was going in ..

It’s the middle of the day and the sun seems to be sitting about 100m off the ground.. we can see a cafe … one two three .. go .. like running across baking tarmac in bare feet .. oohhh ahhhh ooooh ah ah ah ooooooo … and we in .. safe for now..  get to the sinks .. get half naked .. run my shirt under the tap and put it back on .. nothing like a bit of thermal shock to get your heart pumping ..

Even out here in the absolutely middle of bum fuck nowhere we meet friendly english speaking locals keen to cross their lives with ours for a few minutes… crossing tracks as we make our separate ways across the planet. We get talking to a Tajik oil worker making his way back from Aktau on the Black Sea coast.  He gives his number .. ‘any problems just call me’.. You’re unlikely to get that on the M4 services ..

We’re heading to Beyneu near the border to Uzbekistan.  Someone has been along the route with a humanity hoover and removed all signs of life, then you get a small congregation of buildings where they have emptied the bag..

The heat is getting almost unbearable now, and humid too.  We’re stopping as often as we can.. which is every couple of hours out here.  We’re still at least two hours out.   Just counting the Ks.. reeling it it .. making all sorts of promises to mind and body if it can just keep it’s shit together until we get there.

‘There’ is a small hotel amongst the collection of random buildings that is Bayneu.  Looks ok.  There are 3 French GSs (what else..) outside, looking used .. and abused.  Fuck me.. it NEVER fails to amaze me how some people pack .. OK.. I’m going on a long trip .. best get onto the Touratwat website, tick the ‘select all’ button and throw as much unnecessary shit at the bike I as can, attach it to wherever there are spare nuts and bolts to hold it on.  And I’m going to camp.. so what I need is a 3 ring circus tent, a 15 person gas barbecue and cutlery for 3 peice place settings .. and see these massive panniers, they have a lovely flat space on top.. a place to stash my dinner jacket, 15 pairs of shoes and as much other unnecessary shit as will fill this oversized bag that arrived from that other overland website .. in fact 2 of them turned up so I can pack my paddling pool too .. and pillion .. I’m not carrying a pillion am I .. seems a shame to waste that space .. I’ll put another fucking great body bag up there to rest my back on .. and then I’ll strap a pair of tyres on the front .. just enough room for me .. perfect ..

Yea.. perfect.. that’s why you’ve tuned up here on a 6 month old GS with a pogo stick for a rear shock mate .. that’s why you’ve had to crawl the last few 1000K feeling like you’re in open sea on a small boat ..   Anyway.. enough ranting .. now .. the French bit..

I haven’t got a problem with the French per se, but this lot are a bunch of arrogant wankers that pretend not to speak English and just reply in monosyllables, and they treat the hotel staff like low life and I do not like that at all .. Most bikers you meet on trips like this are friendly and keen to swap experiences, share knowledge and just enjoy being alive but this lot have all taken C@*T exams and passed with flying colours.  It’s not often I meet such a complete bunch of twats ..

So we check in and the lady gives us a room downstairs. It’s fine.. the AC is noisy but who cares.  Then she comes in all apologetic and says she has got a better room upstairs so we move up there,  We’re going out to get some provisions .. where is my wallet?   Shit… I’m starting low on the panic scale .. holding it at level 1 .. it’s here somewhere .. it has to be .. when was the last time I had it .. 2 hours ago .. level 3 .. 2 hours in 46 degrees away .. in a truck-stop .. am I really sure it isn’t here?  Ask the hotel lady if she has seen it .. nope .. level 6 … I have a spare card on the bike but no spare driving licence .. 7 .. FUCK IT.. I’m going to have to ride back 2 hours and see if I left it ..in 46 degrees .. and then back.. I get on the bike, ride down to the shop and buy a load of liquid .. get on .. head out .. level 8 …

As I’m hankering down.. looking at the long black like heading out into the wilderness I feel a buzz in my pocket .. they’ve found it..  When we moved rooms it had fallen out of my pocket and gone under a couch.  One of the hotel ladies had crawled about looking for it and found it .. Hallelulia ..I instantly release the panic pressure valve and I’m down to a 0 .. go back to the hotel, grab the cleaner lady.. give her a big kiss and a cuddle, have a giggle .. thank the goodness of human nature .. and hate the Frenchmen even more for treating these lovely ladies like dirt ..

We go for a wander round the town.  Christ.. what future do these people have out here, trapped in a small prison of a town surrounded by sand.

Next morning we’re up early.  We’ve a long way to go and a border in between.  I go down in the dark and see 2 of the hotel women asleep. They sleep under table in the dining room with a big sheet over the top to turn it into a tent.  Fuck sake … their smiles are instantly on though as they make me a breakfast of eggs and sleepy dust ..

Today is 500km to Nukus .. 499km of which is almost totally uninhabited.  I need extra fuel, I’m going to put some in my pockets .. some in my wallet .. and I’m going to literally fill my boots..

Get to  the fuel station.  They’re used to this.  People stocking up for the long journey.  They don’t care what you put fuel in so I fill a few water bottles and my can and strap them to the back then head out of town towards the Uzbek border.  The signs aren’t good.. a sand road leads out into the desert . but as if by magic it turns into a brand new spanking smooth band of blackness.  Get to the border, the road stops and its back into the sand to ride past the queues of trucks waiting patiently.  Get to the front and the border looks shut… time to fuel up ..

The gates open and we’re let through and out of Kazakhstan in an instant. Only to join a huge queue into Uzbekistan.   The traffic is tunnelled into a narrow concrete channel and it’s full to bursting with cars waiting patiently in the ever growing heat.  In Italy this would be a horn fest, in other places this would be a fight, but here its just quiet.  People get out there cars and usher us to the front, squeezing past with microns to spare.  We’re like animals in a cage and women money changers patrol up and down with shopping bags full of cash .. yes really .. low denomination notes mean you can’t carry Uzbek currency in a wallet, you have to wear a rucksack.  We get to the front and go inside.  Uzbeks are like the Kazaks, super keen to encourage foreigners so we’re pushed to the front again but we refuse and let the ladies in front go first.  I am British after all …

Hand over an inch of currency for some insurance.  This place feels like the desert equivalent of the Restaurant at the end of the Universe, full of weird creatures all waiting for .. who knows what ..

When the planet designers were planning this area they just thought bugger  it… nobody will want to live in this hell hole.. we won’t waste any time, effort or resources on it, we’ll just leave it to scorch under the blazing son.  Shadows are too precious so we’ll allocate … none ..

Riding out here you just begin to wonder.. mostly you wonder if you’re going to die.  It’s so hot here you fully expect to see Beelzebub stretched out on a towel by the side of the road.. glass of warm blood in his hand.. soaking up the rays .. keeping his lovely red tan topped up..

There is nothing here.. absolutely nothing.  I’ve ridden in some hostile places before but this is special.  It’s blank, flat, featureless and its waiting to kill you.  There is absolutely no relief at all.. anywhere.  I’m wearing my leathers.. and I’m spending all my time convincing myself that there must be an end to this.  I’m genuinely trying not to panic, to hold my nerve and just ride into the wobbly mirage in front of me.  All I’ve seen is a dot on a map, a symbol on a screen, and I have to trust that’s the truth.. that there is an end to this nightmare road.

I’m getting really fidgety and my tongue is filling my mouth.  I’m having real trouble concentrating.  I’m a MASSIVE idiot and don’t ever carry enough liquid with me . .ever. .despite being told by everyone I ever ride with.  My riding buddy has a camel pack and gets through gallons a day.. I sometimes have a 500ml bottle of juice with me, but today that’s in the past .. that was hours ago .. the road from the border is a bastard for the first 100km so it’s been slow going, and now I’m so thirsty I would drink my own piss .. if I could piss that is .. but then something appears on the horizon.  Something that isn’t just sand. It’s a semi derelict building.. with some trucks outside.. its the loveliest thing I have ever seen in my life.

Park under a cover.. and the heat is immediately reduced.  I take a look at my temp gauge, probably only about 30 here out of the sun

Ummm .. nope.  Get inside.. past the inevitable Globe Busters stickers .. and into a room of fat sweaty bodies and flies.  Whatever .. who cares.. there is a fridge promising cold drinks .. at 45 degrees .. so I buy the bottom shelf and start pouring.  I just sit .. I’m a fly landing strip .. I don’t care.  They’re walking about all chatting to each other .. comparing shit .. complementing each other on their bad breath .. I just cannot be bothered.. I can feel the first 10 glasses going straight to my ankles.. then my knees, and by the time I get to my 3rd gallon I’m beginning to feel human again.  That was hard.  That was really hard.  But it’s not getting easier any time soon.  I’m feeling like a water ballon with legs as I waddle outside to sit in the shade with the other mentalists stupid enough to be here.

Leave the sanctuary and run from the sun towards Nukus.  Still no fuel.  The problem is that 90% of the cars in Uzbek run on natural gas so proper fuel stations are very few and very far between out here.  By the time we get to Nukus my buddy on his GSA is reading 1 mile range.  Nukus is the end of the world if you’re going west but it’s the door to civilisation the way we’re going.  Shops .. milk even .. a decent resturant and hot showers ..

Next morning, the usual in a new country, go find an ATM.  I find an ATM, then I find another, and another.  None of them work for me.  Uzbek ATMs only work for people with local bank cards.  This was a public service anouncement . You need to find an international ATM, usually in a big hotel.  A kindly local directs us to one and we press in some big number and stand back .. you know those card tricks where they send hundreds of cards flying in the air out their hands .. exactly…

We’re headed for Bukhara today.  550km.. easy peasy.. we’ve done the hard bit now.  I bet there are Starbucks every 10ft from now on .. Fact is, these towns have grown up around oases and once you leave you’re quickly watching civilisation dissappear like end credits in your wing mirrors.  Back to the desert and and the relentless heat again.  And in public service anouncement No2… never ride past a petrol station out this way.. or you could very easily be in trouble.  I went past one .. then hit a new concrete dual carrageway.  Ahhhhh ‘new’ will mean proper services and regular fuel .. I’ll just carry on .. I’ll be fine .. I tell you what .. the people that built this road must have bought a very very big bag of sandwiches and a 100 gallon thermos with them.. bloody thing goes on for 150 miles with nothing… NOTHING .. then a LPG station .. then NOTHING again. Nothing but heat and scrub desert.

By the time we get to Bukhara the Bitch is back in to binary mode again.  On or off… fast or stop .. shit or bust..  our hotel is hidden down an alley off an alley off a smaller alley somewhere.  I’m bursting the bitch and she’s tearing a strip off all the walls with her noise, look in the mirrors and it’s all dust and falling masonry.  Good job there is nothing important round here .. Get the hotel and we’re told to bring them through to the inner courtyard as even the flies will take off with stuff from your bike round here.  Then 2 minutes walk out to the square

I’ve always wanted to come here.  Anticipation is often one thing, and the reality is another but not here.  Go for a walk back in time .. way way back ..

Amazing place.  Just amazing…

I need a shave .. and I’m sweating .. there is a droplet on the end of each follicle on my face.. I look like a dandelion covered in dew .. so I go hunting for a barber .. looking in the shadows .. looking through windows and doors .. looking for someone tooled up with a cut throat razor  .. I see a little white shed with a chair in it .. and a man in white.. that’s a good sign.. no blood .. unless he puts a new shirt on after every shave.  Fuck it.. my feet are sore, my bollocks are picked in sweat and I’d rather risk my life than walk another foot in this heat.  Go ahead mate, do your worst.

Here we go.. lather/fly food first.  Give me a good covering and let the flies come and play all over my face like little kids in mud.  They’re having a great time while it’s taking me all my time not to twitch as the blade blade slowly skims my jugular.   I think the bastard adds something to the lather to keep the flies on his clients rather than on himself… clever man .. still… I don’t have any of the near death experiences I had with the Nigerian and leave with a face like tight silk hugging a warm breast.  I like it here .. I like it a lot.

From Buhara its a short hop down to Samarkand.

This time the hotel is a hostel down some sort of urban assault course, open drains and ditches, tight tight .. bugger me this is tight alleyways.  Get to the hostel and somebody has bought a tank, loaded it with BoHo shit, parked in the courtyard and spent two days firing at every wall and crevice.  Apparently they hit the fusebox too .. no electric.  46 degrees again and no AC.  Just before the hostel as we rode in I noticed a pool of water in a small square.  Possible a fountain.. possibly a pond .. definitely water based, and definitely my next destination. Dump the bike, walk down the road.. climb in … oh fuck me yes …

So I’m sitting in the pond .. clothes on .. as you do.. and some small kids see me and decide they’ll jump in too.  They’re in.. they’re out .. they’re drinking enough of it to give me the shits for the rest of time ..  then there comes some shouting from down the street .. the kids stop .. then jump out and run for it as the noise gets louder and louder until a bloke with a raised fist and spittle dripping down his chin comes into view.  I’m guessing this is his pond I’m cooling my testicles in .. and bathing isn’t allowed .. OOOOOOOkkkkkkkkkk.. He looks at me.  You can see the decisions going round in his head.. I look at him .. stop pissing in the pool immediately .. and smile .. he just looks .. turns .. leaves .. another win for international relations.

I squelch back to the hotel, change and go and feet my eyes on some more sights ..

A quick breakfast surrounded by youthful women.. never a chore .. then head out towards Tajikistan.  It’s complete unknown to me.  I’m expecting it to be … interesting..

Armenia has some proper history and it’s a shame we can’t see it.  It’s one of the oldest countries on the planet.  I’ll come back here again, I’ll leave it for next time.  The country runs away to the south but we want to exit to the north tomorrow so we ask our host for some recommendations and head south to Khor Virap monastery overlooking Mt Ararat where Noah supposedly disembarked.

Getting out of Yerevan we go to get fuel.  Little place by the side of a main road.  More like a kiosk than a petrol station.  This bloke put the hose in the bike, pulled the handle, lit a fag.  Amazing..

Out at Khor Virap its a beautiful place but a bitch of a climb up in leathers and 40 odd degrees.  By the time I get to the top I can just about see a blurry Ararat through my sweaty eyeballs.  Can’t see any lamas though.. or hippos.. or push-me-pull-yous.  Its a bloody long walk to Africa from here.. especially with those little hippo legs …

Nothing gets wasted out here.  If horses could be powered by natural gas they would go round with LPG canisters strapped to their backs too.

From Khor Virap we ride round to Noravank. Another monastery hidden in the mountains.  The roads are surprisingly good and pretty empty too.  Loads of trucks pushing out smoke like they’re vaping with liquorice.  Greta Thunberg would have a shit fit out here ..

Tonight’s bed is at a ‘resort’ on the lake at Sevan.  We find the place and ride along the beach.  I think it’s a weight watchers retreat .. no food and a fucking long walk to anywhere .. we eventually track down a cafe with a very short menu .. bread … cheese ..

We’re heading north and out towards Tbilisi, passing through little towns.  Taking it really slowly to avoid being pulled.  If you stop for a few minutes you’ll see the same policeman go up… down.. up… down

I spot an open door out the corner of my eye so I turn around… see the same policeman ..again.. and see an old bloke sitting in a chair in a small room,  just looking out watching the world go by.  I go up and ask if I can take his picture.. he doesn’t move .. I think he’s dead ..a display model .. but he slowly raises his hand in assent and I take a few pics.  Go to shake his hand.. very carefully.  It’s like holding a piece of balsa wood, it’s almost weightless.  I think somebody just opens his door in the morning and he sits there all day.. he’s probably still there.  I hope so anyway.

We have 2 borders to choose from, so we choose the one with the wiggly line.  Get to the border and we’re the only ones here again, what are the odds?  Get through the border and we see why we’re the only ones there.  The road is an award winning shitter of a road, all under dark trees, big deep muddy puddles, rocks and holes, sand and gravel.. all good practice.

Get to Tbilisi in good time and go for a wander.  Nice place.  Stupid hot though and I have to rest the Bitch for a while before launching an assault up the hills to the hotel.

Our hotel is in the old town.  All stupid narrow and stupid steep streets. Even with the lungs of the Bitch she can’t do a hill start here, the road is too steep and too slippery.  I’m following a Grade A twat up the hill and he’s doing 1mph.  I’m shouting and screaming expletives and blowing my horn but he’s oblivious, unlike the surrounding people who are listening to my swearathon in stunned silence – a couple of them hold up 10s… Scooter riders have to get off half way up this hill and push it’s that steep.  There are as many cars going backwards as forwards, lining up for another go.

I go for a walk round the slightly less steep streets, I’m looking about at the buildings .. WTF?  All the buildings are slowly loosing a fight against gravity and falling down the hill towards the river.  The windows and doors are all to cock and have they have huge cracks running all through them.  They look close to collapse to me and I’m buggered if I’d go inside one.

So.. I go inside one for a massage… go into a cubicle and walk in to get undressed and nearly fall down a fucking great hole in the floor where something has just given way.  And I mean a FUCKING great hole .. The masseuse comes in and starts .. and cannot do my left leg .. because they can’t stand on the floor by my left leg.. because there is a FUCKING great hole in the floor .. then I smack my head on the way out because the door frame is all to cock ..

So I go looking for a shave.  I’ve walked for miles and can’t find anywhere then I see a little hole in the wall, see mirrors, walk in.  There is a large Nigerian lady inside and a little boy playing on the floor.  I ask if they do shaves and she points to the chair.  So far so good…

She calls her husband in.  He goes to the drawer and gets out a safety razor. ‘Nope – I want a cut throat razor please’.. they both look at each other.. “a cut throat” ..”you’ve only ever done one of those before..and that didn’t go well…what was it .. 60 stitches?” .. “but we need the money” .. “well, he looks like he has a tough neck .. give it a go.. you’re a fast runner” .. “Ohhh K’ then”…

He dabs some foam on and starts picking away at my face.. I can smell piss .. it might be me .. at my age weeing isn’t always voluntary.. but I think it’s him.. I think he’s scared he’s going to kill me .. and I agree.  He’s just taking small  dabs at me from a distance .. like someone petting a dangerous dog ..  By the time he’s ‘finished’ it looks like I’ve just had a bag of rats put over my head and they’ve had a feeding frenzy.  I don’t care.. I’m just happy to get out of there with only 40 stitches ..

North, up through the gorgeous Georgian mountains. People had told me Georgia was a beautiful place, and here it is. Beauty by the bucket load.. big buckets too ..

Get to the Russian border in the mountains.  Get to the guard, takes our passports .. and doesn’t give them back.. “wait over there”..  2 hours later and he comes back to us .. “interview.. come this way”.. we’re taken to a little room along with a couple of small Thai girls.. hello .. what’s going on .. is this some sort of “welcome to Russia” gift?  No, of course it isn’t.  We are all being interviewed separately to state our intentions in Russia.. and have our phone IDs recorded.. This is a sensitive area and we were warned when we were getting our visas.  Following directly east to west we would go through Chechnya but we’ve decided to loop over to the north instead to spend a few more days here.  Interviews over we’re sent outside to wait..again.. 4 hours after arriving we’re through, insured, and on our way in to Vladikavkaz.

Vladikavkaz is like stepping back in time, and it’s all the better for it.  Ride down a few miles of dual carriageway on the way in and there are big statues every 100m.. no traffic at all .. the only things I overtake are a herd of cows.  It sees to be a really sleepy little town.  Get to the Hotel Vladikavkaz – any hotel in Russia that is named after the place it’s in is always in the very centre – a fact to amaze your friends with – and this is right on the river.

Did I say sleepy .. well they apparently don’t sleep in Vladikavkaz… or they sleep in the day.  The road outside the hotel doubles as a drag strip by night and all the local spend until 3am ragging the tits of their metal steeds.  They’ve got to get their kicks somehow I guess.

From Vladikavkaz we trek up to Rostov-On-Don.  Why Rostov?  I’m beginning to wonder after the 5th hour of blank flat land roads, heat and wind.  Perhaps the local famouses thought the same thing.  Read any Chekov, Pushkin or Tolstoy and your laughing muscles are unlikely to get any exercise .. Russia is the same all over .. nothing..  nothing .. bugger all .. wilderness .. BLOODY GREAT CITY … repeat until border ..

Rostov to Volgograd .. see above .. but Volgograd is a lot lot nicer.

Take a wander down to the river in the sunshine among the beautiful people.

Next morning we’re on our way out of town to visit Mother Russia.  When in Rome and all that . We’re riding out of town in the morning rush, dodging and weaving through the traffic on the dual carriageway.  My travel buddy is riding behind a old twin axle transit van.. looking to skip through.  Suddenly there is bang and the left rear axle just collapses.  The outside wheel comes off and starts racing through the traffic alone, the inside wheel jams in the wheel arch and sends the van slewing over the road until it hits the central reservation.  Russians are used to this and they just skip round it without looking.  We ride skip through and ride alongside the speeding wheel until it bounces onto the pavement looking for someone to kill..

You can see statue from a distance but you can’t really get an idea of scale.  Drive up, park, walk.. and … omg .. just Oh my Actual GOD.. That status absolutely fecking massive.  It’s covered in scaffold and the air is thick with the sounds of workmen tending to her gently…with hammers.  I bought the drone up, I want to give it a fly but I’m concerned I’m going to be arrested.  Truth is .. nobody cares .. excellent..

Go in and see the eternal flame and the list of the fallen.. its a long list .. its a very very very long list.

Out of Volgograd and its bleak and cold and raining and I’m happy just to let my pores close for a while and give my sweat glands a break.

The relief is short lived though and the heat returns with a vengeance as we get closer to Astrakhan.  It’s secret location of a huge Russian tottie factory.  I think the boardwalk in front our hotel is at the end of the protection line….   amazing ..

Nice city too.  Big Kremlin .. big square .. girls on horseback .. I’m thinking of staying..  We go for dinner at a place by the square, there is a woman there with her husband and a couple of small kids.  I’m guessing by the she  way she slowly and gracefully stretches her long leg out and points at the menu with the tip of her outstretched toe that she is a ballet dancer… not that I’m studying her you understand.  Her husband looks like he punches through walls and makes sandwiches with the bricks…

Its a shame we’re leaving Russia, but where we’re going is Russia by proxy anyway.   We ride out towards the border, towards a door, a door I’ve not been through before.  I know it’s shit on the other side.. but I’m going to open it anyway ..

Turkey.  I’ve not spent much time here.. I’m searching for pastures new … I’ve still got the mojo no-go feeling .. I need a kick in the eyeballs .. a stiff new scent up the nose .. something to grab my attention.. but right now I just need to stay alive.  We get to Istanbul and head for the old city.  This place seems to be about 300% over populated .. the thermometer has gone into the comedy zone and my bladder is on lockdown to stop me loosing any more fluid.  The Bitch is unhappy again and I don’t blame her.. tiny tight streets that it’s impossible to filter through.. creeping and crawling … sweating and swearing through the maze.  I don’t stall it this time but it’s feeling nasty .. like it’s running on 3 cylinders .. yes .. I know … thanks

The Hotel is right next to the Blue Mosque and the calls to prayer are going out as we arrive… drawing the faithful out from the cool sanctuary of the shadows.  We follow the crowd .. follow the call .. follow the sunset ..

We walk down to the water and look across the Bosporus .. look at Asia.. look at our future..

“Shit loads of history round here” .. I’m sure that’s how they start all the bus tours.. everyone and his wife has been through here and left something to be remembered by.  A nice atmosphere and a real melting pot of people.  The only downside is the constant pestering.. the length of my temper is directly opposite to the air temperature. I just give up at the first hurdle .. the first restaurant .. the first place I can find cold liquid and try to replace the 50% of my bodyweight I lost on the way in.   The 50% that is currently dipping out of my leathers and making the hotel room smell like a gym changing room..

This trip is a lot earlier in the year than I would normally go as I need to get back in time for my baby girl’s wedding.  Consequently its a LOT hotter than usual.  I’m happy with the cold.  I’m never happier than when I’m covered in goose pimples, my tummy banana has run away and hidden in its cave and my nipples could pierce armour plating.  The heat is different, especially as its now pushing 40 degrees.   I’d much rather sweat than bleed though so I’ll just have to get used to it.  I’ve done it before but it takes a while to get used to it.  Milk is the secret.  Milk is the secret to everything..  and I can still find it here.. on the black market .. I just have to check it’s not camels .. or horse.

We have a rest day here but the next day is a long one so my buddy buggers off to Ankara to split it in two.  I haven’t shaved in a week and my whiskers are in danger of getting tangled in the wheels.  I’ve promised myself a shave at a proper Turkish barbers so I hunt one down, dragging my beard along the pavement behind me.  These blokes know what they’re doing .. I think the average Turk’s face is like the Forth Road Bridge .. they have to shave them in teams .. one barber at a time is not enough and they just end up chasing bristles across their face..only to find another wave of stubble where they shaved 2 minutes ago.  I’m a one man job though .. an easy job .. he could probably do it with his eyes shut .. perhaps not though .. not this time .. I’m not quite ready to die..

He spends more time rubbing cream into my face than I usually spend on the whole deal .. this would cost a fortune back at home, I’d have had to sign a dozen wavers, he would be wearing high vis and safely goggles and the walls would be covered in small signs from B&Q with pictures of decapitated bodies and blood .. but out here he just puts in a blade and goes straight for the jugular.  My face is super smooth.. it feels like cling film .. almost slippery smooth .. but he’s not happy so back out with the cream for round 2 .. and then the wax.  I don’t think he’ll be happy until he sees my skull.  Wax all over my ears and under my eyes… then he gets 2 ear buds dips them in the bowl and sticks them up my nose .. JEEEEEEEEESSUS …

For years now my hair follicles have been emigrating from my head and relocating in my nostrils .. so pulling them out involved him putting his feet on my cheeks and yanking with all his strength.. the result.. well I won’t scare you by showing you what they looked like .. he just took them into the kitchen and put them in a cup of hot water and gave me this .. maybe they’re all made this way ..

These 2 were clean shaven when I came in 20 minutes ago ..

Next day I go for a walk round the city.  A lot of the pleasure of these trips comes from taking pictures.  Today it’s not working.. you can’t force it .. I get really frustrated .. and lost.  I like getting lost though. I don’t get lost enough.. even though lots of people tell me I should ..

Out of Istanbul.. across the bridge .. and into Asia ..

and… and  nothing .. I’m really surprised how sparsely populated Turkey is .. and blank .. get out the city and just you and the tarmac.. and nothing..  except the wind. Turkey likes it’s flags.. the bigger the better.. and the wind enjoys playing with them.

No matter how hard I think I cannot remember anything about the ride that day .. nothing .. my mind obviously didn’t see anything worth wasting memory on .. not until the sun stated falling and the landscape was brushed with soft yellow light ..

I was really low on fuel, out on an A road and there was just nothing and nobody about anywhere.  I hoped the GPS was lying to me.. or I was going to be walking.. I’m going over a new bridge and I see what looks like an abandoned fuel station off the road with no obvious path to it.   I’m not in a position to pass up any opportunity so I get off the road, ride through a small abandoned village and under the bridge .. just follow my nose.  Get to the station and there is a light on.  Someone appears and looks at me like he hasn’t seen a human for weeks.  The pump is working though .. the fuel is probably 40 years old .. and leaded .. but who cares..   I go to put my helmet back on but he gestures to me .. would I like a drink?  Why not .. I follow him out through a derelict shop to a small kitchen where he makes me some tea..  we go back to the sofas and just sit in silence for 20 minutes watching a film on a grainy TV set.. I think he just wants company.. I think he’s the only person for miles around .. its times like this that makes trips for me.  Nice tea too ..

We shake hands and nod .. smile and wave .. and off into towards the setting sun

I’m meeting my mate in Cappadocia, the place with the caves and the balloons.  It’s well hidden though and you don’t see it until you’re right on top of it.

Looks like a bad case of rock worm to me… Cappadocia though is tourist central as you can imagine.  I meet up with my mate and he drags me to his cave .. I like what he’s done with the place ..

We’re taking a day off here to have a ride around the different locations. I’ve been on the bike 1 minute.. I get to the bottom of the road and turn right.. something felt weird .. something isn’t right .. so I stop.  I see shit and happens .. or the Fuckall brothers .. running away and falling over themselves laughing .. Oh… brilliant… 

The day the Ktm designer decided where to put the ignition switch he obviously left his brain in a bin.  The switch is in the yolk in front of the bars.. so when you move the bars .. if you’ve got anything other than a single key in the ignition.. like a keyring for example (what WAS I thinking) with another key on .. then .. if you’re luckily enough to be carrying the Fuckall brothers .. things can get wedged like a shove penny machine and just snap the top of the key off .. which is nice.  Bloody hell, I’ve only been away a bloody week ..  I CAN start the bike with the stub and some pliers as long as I hold the fob close to the ignition .. I really fancy doing that for the next 6/7 weeks .. out with the spare… when I get hold of shit and happens ..

So .. off we go .. again .. there are houses built into the rocks, there are houses built right on the tops of rocks, and someone recently discovered a set of underground caves 6 storeys deep too.  I went to level 1 and freaked out .. it was like running about in someones bowel.. all dark and tight and smelly.. impressive though

We wanted to go up in a balloon but the wind is still blowing hard and looks like it will be for the next few days so we take a Turkish bath instead.  You have a quick sauna then you’re taken into a big room where a health and safety inspector would run out of ink in 10 seconds flat.  The room is about 200 degrees for a start, full of fat blokes in skirts .. singing.  That’s a health and safety issue right there.  In the centre is a raised square area where soap is liberally applied by aforementioned fat hairy singing blokes.  The whole place is tiled, it’s all sharp square edges, and the it’s awash with soap bubbles.  It takes all my concentration to walk 2 meters to my allocated fat bloke without my legs going all ‘baby giraffe’ on me…  once you reach the safety of the table you can just relax .. listen to the singing .. look up at the amazing tiled ceiling with the suns rays casting tunnels of bright light through the steam .. and get liberally soaped by a fat bloke .. go on .. you know you want too.. then into a big communal bubbling bath for a while where you can fart with impunity.  Lastly you can be beaten and stretched and tortured for an hour by very angry man who has sharpened his elbows on an angle grinder and just loves making people scream.  I’d recommend it.

Get up and out.. into the blankness.  The camera isn’t interested.. it’s just not worth trying when it’s in this mood.. We’re heading north to the black sea coast and we’ve a way to go.  Going to take a while.  What we really need is a delay.. seems shit and happens are riding with my mate today .. christ they’ve been busy ..

We get stopped by the police at a checkpoint.  We’re all legal and stuff .. insured .. international licences .. should be absolutely no problem.  I’m first .. I’m through .. I look round and the policeman is on the phone .. that’s not a good sign.  Problem 1 .. someone has entered his plate as a O not a 0.  This happens all the time.  I have a 1.. and it’s often an I on the documents.. Problem 2 is they have his number plate down as a car.  Maybe they only saw it from behind .. it’s an easy mistake to make .. anyway, this causes mucho problemo..

About an hour and 50 phone calls to various official offices later, the details have been updated and we’re on our way again.  Time to get some squiggles on my helmet ..

OMG this is dull… sooo soo soooo dull .. I’m riding with one eye open to save the other from the pain of looking at it .. we get stopped for speeding .. just to relieve the boredom ..

You have to have these null days .. you have to have the yin and the yang.  I’m a spoiled twat right?  Yes I am.. I know I am .. but it doesn’t help. We get to a petrol station.. running late.  There are a load of old men sitting having a chat and a fag. One of them speaks really good English.  He’s a dentist and specialises in teeth tourists.  We’ve been looking at the map and decided we have time to skip into Armenia but there are no border crossings from Turkey.  I ask him why … he talks a big intake of breath and off he goes .. full rant .. I wish I’d taken more notice in history lessons .. then I’d have kept my mouth shut.  10 minutes later .. I wish I’d never asked … 30 minutes later .. I really really really wish I had been born without any ears ..

By the time we get to the coast its getting dark.  The town we’re at is built on a 60% angle.. I think it was originally built on the level then tilted .. all the roads are at hideous lean angles, regardless of their direction.  Come to a turning and the left peg is nearly touching the road, but put your right foot down and you’ll be lucky to touch tarmac.  Scares the shit out of me.

I’m feeling really restless and I don’t know what I want.  I get like this sometimes on these trips .. just passing the days .. head in a spin .. like an addict looking for a fix .. and Turkey isn’t doing it for me.   

Follow the coast road east.  I’ve no doubt I’ve not seen the best of Turkey but I’ll really not miss it.   Just time for a few more squiggles and we’re out

Get into Georgia and it’s immediately a different world.. and a much better one.  The second we’re through we’re set on by the hawkers.. insurance .. yes .. you .. random bloke .. yep .. I’ll just hand you my passport and V5 and some dollars and you can disappear into a random hole somewhere round the corner and sort it out for me while I sit in the shade and drink.  You .. you look trustworthy .. change this funny money into your funny money will you .. I should really check it .. but my bothered-ometer just isn’t working in this heat.  Luckily my documents come back to me 15 minutes later together with some pink paper covered in writing I don’t understand.  Perfect.

We get up the coast a bit and stop at the first beach for lunch.

And I take a quick dip in the Black Sea to cool off .. ahhhhhhhhhhhhh .that’s better..

One of my riding buddies mates has recommended a route across the south of Georgia towards Armenia so we head into the mountains to Khulo looking for some relief from the heat.  Take the a nice twisty road up to Khulo and look for a bed.  The place is dead but we’re still told the hotels are full.  It has quite an unfriendly atmosphere about it.. strange stares and quiet when we walk past .. but I like that.  Gives some of my 6th, 7th and 8th senses some exercise.. we end up down the road out of town in hostel perched on the mountainside.

Take a wander about and look for something to eat.  Go into a shop that looks like the last delivery was sometime in 1940.

The only place we could find with stuff not past it’s sell by date was the off licence

We’re off to Armenia.. the road up to Khulo was as good as advertised .. I’m looking forward to more. The second we leave the town the road turns to proper shit and stays that way for the next 2 hours.  Very steep and very loose .. like my bowels.  It’s Georgia FFS, what did I expect.  Still, nice views when I can take my eyes off the road.

By the time we get to tarmac the bikes are really tired .. time for a little lie down ..

Get into town and go for breakfast and the feeling is the same as in Khulo.. but if you persist long enough you’ll get a smile .. sort of ..

We’re heading for the Armenia border.  Looks like there are 3 to choose from, but we go for the closest.  The road is up. We perch on a thin strip of tarmac as we try to go against the trucks.. the BMW gets its bum fondled by a trailer and nearly goes over the edge …

Get up to the Armenia border.  Is it open?  We were prepared for queues but we’re the only ones here.  Not another bugger in sight.  Go in and bang on a window.. wake up the guard.. get a sleepy stamp in my passport then go for some insurance.  They’re all sat around eating their dinner.  I rub my stomach .. 2 hands pop out through the glass .. one has my insurance .. the other has a sandwich.. that’s a first:)

We’re headed down to Yerevan, one of the worlds continuously inhabited cities .. bet you didn’t know that.. I didn’t ..  We’re only just a few minutes inside, always the most dangerous time, and we’re pulled for speeding.  The locals are living in poverty with fences made from crashed cars but the police can still afford radar and video.  It’s a nice clip to be fair .. some good fast overtaking .. I wonder if I could buy it off him for my blog .. he starts by showing us the chart of the fines and we’re at the top.  This is where he would usually smile and get his buddy to sit in the back so I could put the money in the slot and we could be on our way .. usually..

This bloke is different.. he really wants the money.  I wasn’t expecting that.  He’s getting quite wound up about it .. and me offering him £20 hasn’t helped.  We haven’t got any more cash so he phones up someone at headquarters and get an earful.  We’re threatened with the removal of our driving licences until we pay .. we need to respect the law .. even though there are locals driving past us with their feet to the floor and smoke pouring out the back like a challenger tank.  We go to plan B,  just go quiet.  He’s really pissed though and starts shouting down the phone and getting all red in the face.  His little mate has to take over before he explodes.  We explain that this is all the money we have, and we’re leaving tomorrow, and eventually they take the £20 I offered him in the first place .. and get no ticket .. WTF was that all about .. proper good cop bad cop ..

First big town and it’s been proper pissing down. The roads are awash.  There are huge 6ft x 4ft open metal grills in the road taking the floodwater, and bikes if you’re not careful or you approach them at the wrong angle.  Where is that health and safety bloke .. .  I’m pulling away from some lights and a huge dog comes running out from the side of the road.  It’s times like this that can finish the trip in an instant.  It’s not just playing, it wants a piece of me.  I brake hard and hit the back of it and it lets out a big yelp and stumbles straight into the path of a oncoming car .. game over ..

Get to Yerevan and into the city centre.  Nice city, and a complete contrast to the countryside.  We’re staying in an old ground floor apartment block.  The landlord tells us not to leave things within reach of open windows as they’re likely to go missing.  No chance of bringing the bikes inside so they have to take their chances chained up outside. It doesn’t feel at all threatening and the locals are really friendly. We take a wander round the square in the evening amongst all the locals.  Feels a lot like Russia, everyone out for a walk and a chat.  I like the feeling round here.

I’m up early, just in case I have to start filling in a stolen bike police report but they’re still there.  Stretching and yawning in the early morning sun.