I’m headed for Frombork in northern Poland today, about 350 miles. Poland has been busy laying down smooth €100 notes in the form of new toll roads and I’m soon on autopilot again.
Today I’m really wondering why I’m doing this again. Trying to work out my motivation. I guess the truth is that as I get older I’m increasing feeling like my soul is staring out the windows of a rapidly dilapidating, almost derelict house. The thatch has all fallen out, the front garden hasn’t been mown for years, the paintwork is all worn, the ceilings are saggy, the front door doesn’t close properly any more and the plumbing is all shot to fuck. I need to do the things I want before it’s condemned and demolished. And I want to do the thing I’m trying to do this time. It’s been an itch for a very long time. There is a famous Dutch woman world motorcyclist called Itchy Boots, well I’m the old English equivalent, Itchy knackers, and it’s time they were scratched.
Back to reality, my stomach is making emergency calls to my head so I head into the nearest big town. I walk about 200m from the bike and someone taps me on the arm. I told you I was a world weirdo magnet right? Well I turn round and there a some scruffy individual looking at me and wanting to shake my hand. I thought he was a motorcyclist because he’s all dressed in dark clothes but he says not. He says he’s a member of the ‘black’ something. Anything that begins with ‘black’ isn’t likely to be collecting money for small children with cancer. I ask him about his arms. They’re covered in tattoos but it looks like both have been tightly wrapped in wire then had a current passed through them. It’s a mass of cut scars from top to bottom. “Ah” he says. “Prison”. Ok then…. Time to say goodbye I think.
It’s a really pretty town though with a big square, a river and lots of beautiful people.
Eventually the road narrows to a 20 mile avenue of trees up to the town on the coast. A beautiful ride. A sinuous slinky ride. A ride so good that The Bitch has decided to sing
Frombork is a tiny place on a big lagoon. It has a huge fuck off cathedral on the hill so God can look down on you and make sure you’re praying. I’ve got this praying thing down to a fine art now. I pray that my hair won’t suddenly grow and I won’t suddenly wake up like Paul Michael Glaser from Starsky and Hutch. I pray that my tummy banana won’t go on a sudden growth spurt and burst forth like a baby’s arm holding an apple, and I pray that Billie Piper won’t beat down my bathroom door and run into the shower with a new bar of Wrights cold tar soap. Well, the last one did actually happen to be fair but she bought Pears instead of Wrights so I had to turn her away. Anyway, I have 100% success rate with praying.
That’s why I’m a believer
Check into the hotel. I know it’s the one for me, it has a motorcycle in the dining room.
Go out for a saunter. It’s a really tiny place. It would almost fit in my pocket. Yet another secluded spot on the planet for souls to congregate.
I’m about 20 minutes from the Russian border with Kaliningrad here. I wonder what tomorrow will bring…
Well today didn’t exactly go to plan. Woke up early, had breakfast, pontificated, dithered, because I didn’t want to get to Kalingrad to early. The border is only 20 mins up the road.
Rode slowly towards the border, through a small town, overtook a nun on her way to work, watched a bird of prey grab its breakfast from a field, and arrived at the border. It was empty, except for someone in a hut that came out to tell me it was closed and I had to use the one further south. Excellent.
Turn round and immediately nearly stuck my helmet up a stalk’s chuff as it took off from the roadside with a mouthful of nest. Bloody hell those things are HUGE. I had to duck out the way of it’s undercarriage.
Get to the other border at 9:30. There is quite a queue. Single file. No pushing in. Wait your turn.
Two hours later. You can’t see the difference can you.
4 hours later. I’ve moved about 300 yards
5 and a half hours later… 400 yards. It’s 3pm and they seem to be letting 8 cars through every 1 .5 to 2 hours. I calculate I have about another 5-6 hours wait, plus 2 hours to get through, then an hours ride. The total calculation comes in as “fuck this” so I decide to leave. It’s a shame but I was only going to be in for one day and by the looks of it it’s taking just as long to get out. My schedule doesn’t allow for that. Kaliningrad is just a side show and I have to concentrate on the main event.
I remember last time I came out. A 12 hour epic. I was talking to someone then that said it can take days to cross from Latvia but I didn’t believe him.. until now. Plans have to be flexible and I’m skipping to plan B. Get to the Latvia/Russia border ASAP, pack loads of food and drink, and wait. I can go to Kaliningrad on the way back.
So 3 pm, 250 miles of A roads and a time zone change gets me to Kaunas in Lithuania around 10pm. Knackered and fucked off, mojo on the low low, mood as dark as the cool night sky.
