“Knock knock. Your breakfast is ready” Best breakfast of the trip by far. This Nana has the cooking gene for sure. And she gives me another slice of her cake too. Jesus, how and why can a piece of bloody cake give me so much pleasure?
Take The Bitch for her breakfast and roll onto the road
It’s Sunday and the road is ours. The Bitch has obviously got an ear-worm she’s heard from the cafe when I was eating. She’s humming “Black Velvet” and slowly swinging her hips. She’s just gliding along in a trance. There was a time when she was younger that she wanted to be ridden hard and fast, drilled mercilessly like a road hammer till she perspired and yelled, but nowadays she’s more often like today. She wants to be ridden slower. She wants the lightest of touches. To be clutched subtly and gently. She wants me to just do as I’m told. I’m holding her hands in the cool sunshine. I can feel her pulse through my thighs. She’s in a happy place. I’m in a happy place. We’re in a happy place.
What I really need after that is some porn. Tool porn. If I could find a place with milk, nana cakes and tools, I’d move in tomorrow.
I need some proper hard core hand cleaner. It seems the EU is sanitising the grit content of our hand cleaners now. Replacing grit with bloody marshmallows or bubbles or some other bollocks. All to protect people mistakingly taking it nto the shower and accidentally skinning their sausages during a particularly vigorous wash. You do get some really stubborn marks on your sausage sometimes after all.
Anyway, the Russians like their sausage raw. Their hand cleaner is made from ground up tanks. Waste not want not
Take the road north to Pstov. A place full of history and with a big old Kremlin on the river. I bag a nice hotel on the water for a change.
Go for dinner and one of the girls wants to chat. She sits down and talks to me as I’m eating. I’m the first English person she’s ever met, poor love. Her English is very impressive indeed and she’s only young. “What do you want to do?” “I want to be a translator”. Rather than piss on her parade I wish her luck. That ship has sailed though. I hope she finds her way somewhere good regardless.
Head out of Pstov feeling a bit sad. I know that from here on I’ll start to feel reality rushing towards me and I’m not ready for that. My adventure quotient is abysmal and I’m almost embarrassed to go back and admit my defeat.
I follow the tree tunnel west until i’m the only one on the road. It feels like I’m coming to the last chapter in the last book in a series I really enjoy. I’m desperately hoping the author will write a sequel, and then I realise that I am the author.
I’ve been through this border back in 2017 but not from this direction. There is nobody here. No one at all. Russians can’t exit out of here. I see a young woman walk to the hut. I motion to the bike but she completely blanks me. Fuck, she looks trouble. This could take a while. I’ve arrived at shift changeover and they need to discuss in detail the bicycle and 3 pedestrians that have crossed in the last 12 hours apparently. I get the kindle out and sit in the shade to wait. There is absolutely no point trying to expedite this process. None at all.
But it turns out I may have miss-Bitched her. Once she’s sat down, booted up her face and logged it in she’s a changed woman. She calls me over, does my forms in about 10 minutes. Comes out and just pokes about in the panniers and sends me to passport control. 15 minutes later I’m out. Free to go Unbelievable. 15 minutes at the Estonia border and I’m left wondering what the hell just happened. Just for shits and giggles I text a to those who shall not be named. They haven’t replied. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.
I’m in shock and I’ve now got all day to waste riding up to Tallin.
I waste the first bit having cake and coffee and considering the infinite nature of the universe where every possible permutation of events is unfolding. Somewhere in the parallel universe I am gently pulling undone the bow on the back of a woman’s dress. I’m sure this is completely normal.
The main road up is quite tedious. Tarmac, trucks and trees. Luckily, when I’m piste off, the satnav can take me off piste. It can throw some curve balls and let me get a wriggle on.
It’s getting really dark and I’m riding on the edge of some woodland when I have a very strange experience that I’ve never had before. At my age that’s very difficult to do, unless I accidentally type “tea bags milk duct tape swarfega” into the dark web that is, allegedly. As I ride I get a couple of super bright flashes of lightning come out through the trees and it’s not even raining yet. Either that or a Terminator has just come through a portal. I’ll have to keep an eye on the news.
And then comes the rain. I hole up in a petrol station and use the cross trainer toilet to pass the time but it’s waiting for me outside. It wants to follow me for the next 90 minutes into Tallin. It’s proper sniper rain too. Big wet bullets stinging and bursting against me soaking me to the skin. The Bitch is quite happy though, running along with her eyes half closed in ecstasy, water streaming off her hot bosoms and slowly down her rock hard bum, keeping her cool. She’s a moody monster some of the time but I can always sense when she’s happy. I know her well enough by now to know exactly what she likes and despite the shit conditions and the almost total water blindness I know I can leave the hard stuff to her and she’ll just take the strain and look after me. It’s like any relationship, it’s all about trust. I couldn’t do any of this without her. People shy away from Ktms thinking they will find themselves abandoned but the complete opposite is true in my experience. The Bitch has a heart and soul. She’s rarely the same two days in a row. She’ll play with your mind like any woman worth her salt will, but she’ll also know when we have to pull together and get out the shit. She and I share memories that nobody else on earth have. I talk to her sometimes. I often pat her shoulder like a horse too. And I always thank her when we arrive somewhere safe. When we’re away we’re all each other has. Together alone.
Get to Tallinn and the hotel feeling like a bloody otter after a swim. Get up to my room and discover I haven’t got the bike key. Back to the bike. Not there. Empty all my pockets, bags, feel the lining of my jacket. Nothing. Gone. I bet it’s those little bastards working through their local contracts. Pissing on me from a distance. Just letting me know they can always reach me. I have a spare but I have absolutely no idea what’s happened.
I’m in Tallinn to meet a mate from work and his family seeings as we’re both in the area He’s the owner of the most dry sense of humour I know and can mercilessly take someone apart without them knowing, until they get up and find they’ve been ripped a new arsehole
I knock on the door and have the odd sensation of seeing a familiar face in an unfamiliar place. His lovely partner and son are there too. She tells me she’s been reading my blog. This is where I really struggle. I struggle because it’s not the physical manifestation of me that writes all this nonsense. It’s my author ego. It’s someone that writes like nobody is reading. When I meet someone that’s actually seen and digested my innermost thoughts, particularly a lady, it’s like being caught with my trousers down. She’s very complimentary and sympathetic about all my woes though. She gives me a “you poor love” and he gives me a “you’re a fucking idiot”. Just as I expected. Sit down, eat and chat, chew the fat. A really lovely evening in good company. A rare occurrence for me.
I’m a very socially awkward soul. I often just cannot be arsed with all the etiquette of dealing with most people. The more I travel the more I feel alone, even at home, ofter feeling separated and out of place. I find my comfort zone has shifted. I now find myself taking comfort in discomfort, taking pleasure in displeasure. Adversity has become a drug and I’m an addict. I’m not sure what the treatment is…
Get to bed, turn out the light, FUCK. I know where that bloody key is. I rush downstairs and out into the car park and there it is. Sticking out the seat lock. I’d removed the seat to get some money out. TWAT. Anyway, it’s cold standing out here. I really should have put some clothes on. Or at least some pants
Jesus. I really feel like I got out the wrong side of bed this morning. Probably due to the fact that when I was startled by the alarm in the pitch darkness, I bolted upright and forgot to engage my “where the fuck am I” RADAR, jumped out the left side of the bed instead of the right and smashed my face straight into a wall.
It’s going to be one of those days. I can feel it already. The face plant has set my mood to dark and my temper to ‘hair trigger’. Everything is going to annoy me today. Even myself. I’m already annoyed that I’m annoyed. Today is a day I’ll have to try and be happy being unhappy.
Get out of Tallinn, stop for fuel, and the pump is an automatic one. That’s annoyed me already. The fucking screen is covered in blood and tears where other people have punched the fucking thing in frustration at it being such a stupid, illogical cunty fuckfest. I give it at least 10 seconds then i can’t take any more. I stick my helmet back on and fuck off up the road. Morons!
Get to the next station, and I’ve left the cap off my auxiliary petrol tank all the way from the last station. I’ve laid a trail of fuel 5 miles long. That’s annoying. Never one to miss an opportunity I do the world a favour, strike a match, light the trail and blow the automated station to fuck. You’re welcome.
I park my bike under a sign that I want to take a picture of when I have a wee. Come back out and some really annoying hells angel type has parked his pile of American pig iron right next to mine, even though there is about 250 acres of space in the car park. I make him bow down and lick my panniers as punishment. He was there for hours. I think he quite enjoyed it.
Stop. Type ‘where the fuck can I get a really shit, weak, luke warm and prohibitively expensive coffee round here’ into Google and follow its recommendation. I want to be annoyed now. I’ll be very annoyed if I’m not. Go to the cafe and order my coffee and an eclair. Sit down and the woman brings me a fucking PINT glass of coffee that she obviously only warmed up by holding it between her knockers for a few seconds. “FFS love. It’s fucking coffee you daft tart, not fucking breast milk. I want it hot, not bloody tit temperature”. I was suitably annoyed by that, but that didn’t make me any happier.
The ride went took me through Estonia, Latvia and into Lithuania. Flat and featureless as the front of my tighty whities. As inspiring as listening to a lecture from Jeremy Corbyn about manhole covers. Exceedingly fucking annoying. Grey, busy, and windy as all fuck. The tops of all the trees were all bent over like a load of pensioners walking down the verge and the leaves all had their backs to me. A sure sign the wind has a right strop on.
Get to my random small grubby town and hunt down the flat I’m staying in. It’s another panic hotel thing with door codes, funny handshakes farting a particular note and holding it for 10 seconds. Took me 3 tries and got me an impressive skid mark. Open the outside door and it looks like I’m going to attacked by drugged up zombies but open the door to the flat and it’s really nice. Absolutely nothing I can complain about.
Which is annoying.
Take a wander about but it’s all pretty dead
I did see this interesting door though. I’ll come back after dark I think. I just need to go and do something really naughty first
