Miss Simpson and Miss Pigott go orienteering in the Polish countryside

I want you to think of rain - huge slabs of sheeting rain. Think of it thundering onto the roof of your third-world cabin which has come complete with bedbugs and mould and not much else, and getting up in the morning to stand under the drip line of the gazebo to spoon ersatzt muesli down your throat before mounting a sodden silver fox and retracing 6 kms of now muddy sandy wet puddly gravel back to the main road to make a left and head for another god-forsaken camp ground.

Well, that's the scene. Head down, rain jacket on, rain teeming all around, and I miss the first turn at the 14 km mark. Fortunately Katherine Pigott is with me, as it is more enjoyable I find to wander aimlessly round the Polish countryside sans map, sans compass, in company. Especially Miss Pigott, with whom I have been enjoying a Tour de France type commentary pretty much from day 1. As she pointed out when I forced half a Snickers bar and a plum down her throat, I was only keeping her alive so as I could beat her mercilessly in future stages.

We stopped motorists - oh, I forgot to mention, neither of us speaks Polish either apart from 'hello' and 'thankyou' - to ask for directions and pen in paper in hand, one man with perfectly odious halitosis wrote the name of every village in Poland it seemed in my notebook. It turned out he was on the money as some hours and villages later we were reunited with the distinctive orange flagging tape that is put out each morning as a navigational aid for us.

Not long after, we saw two bedraggled figures pedalling along. It was the older chaps - a Dutchman and a Canadian German (you can take the man out of Germany but you can't take the German out of the man, if you get my drift). Lost too, we decided to stick together and on turning a corner found a veritable oasis. A wedding reception cum banquet hall.

We parked the bikes,used the WCs and were graciously shown into a terrazzo tiled ballroom and to our table of white clothed chairs where we dined on hot hot soup, pigfat on bread with pickles - also delicious even though it sounds disgusting - Rudi said his mother used to make it when he was a kid - and baked trout with salad. The hi fi was playing 30s jazz, I couldn't resist a short waltz on the floor,then it was back on our bikes again to head for paradise in the form of a bush camp with a toilet block that had not been cleaned since it was erected some time in the early 1960s. Yellow painted plaster flaked off the walls, only one lightglobe worked, mosquitoes were so big that three pairs of my knickers that I hung out to dry were carried off in the night, dogs howled and barked and a screech owl kept screeching. Delightful, as you can imagine. I don't know which guide book TDA uses to source these perfectly horrible camping places, but when I find out I'm intending to purchase every copy and burn them so no other human has to suffer such indignity.

Our idyllic Soviet-style campground

There was a happy ending though: at 100km we phoned and at 110km the truck loomed into sight and picked us up. We were only meant to cycle 110 anyway, and the thought of a further 40 km in the driving head wind was more than I could countenance. On arrival in camp, George and Bill helped me put my tent up - lovely chaps, and we had a jolly good laugh about TDA and its ability to advertise three star accommodation yet provide places that even financially straitened asylum seekers would never use.

We're in Warsaw today and I think I will do the bus/walking tour as I know so little about this city and its people. Dinner in the old town last night - romantic setting and it is even getting dark now at a respectable hour.

Poverty seems to be grinding in rural Poland. Little villages dot the landscape with house cows, chooks and so on. No young people around -the villages are the province of the elderly and infirm it would seem. But churches - that is something money has been spent on. In even the muddiest and poorest of community, some well-constructed edifice to god rises on the skyline. I hope the people enjoy the space when they kneel on Sundays to pay homage. Also, huge statues of the Polish pope are dotted here and there - I thought there was only meant to be one god and no idols but I could have got that wrong.

We have ridden through many woods of pine, birch,oak and mixed trees where the gloom is palpable. One could half expect to see Little Red Riding Hood trotting along. The most I have seen though is another red squirrel which darted across the road in front of me then sat up to look at such a sight - drenched pink-clad bike rider. And of course we have had the talent concert - a hugely funny evening spent in a campground restaurant as the rain fell outside. I loved Professor Rick's take on erratic boulders which some how turned into erotic racks and as I have ridden in front of him on many occasions, I am not sure what to make of such a performance.

Three more days and then a double rest day in Krakow. I am tired. We are half way though today and I seem to have cycled 1787kms so far.

The measurements if you're interested:
26 July to Seirijai: 133 km, 6hr 22 min, 20.8 average - cool day, no head winds and once out of Vilnius a great day's cycling
27 July to Augustow: 88km, 4hr 19min, 20.3average - arrived into village and sat around as our camp was another out of the way place with nothing happening. When I did arrive after a torrential down pour I had to tell some Polish holiday makers to get fucked as they wanted to argue with me about where to put my tent!
28 July to Nowagrod: 131km, 6hr 50mins, 18.3 average, rough, gravel
29 July to Puttusk: lost day 110km, 5hr 30 min, 18.9 average - very damp
30 July to Warsaw: 69 km, 3hr 28 min, 19.6 average - very industrial last 16 kms with poor roads, even poorer footpaths along which we cycled most of the time, and busy busy traffic.

News from the Baltic - Issue 2

Today, Sunday, I am in Vilnius, the capital of  Lithuania. We will cross the border into Poland on Tuesday around lunchtime for the following 11 days. Vilnius is a cobbled old city with picture postcard buildings, twenty squillion churches and shops full of amber, linen and gorgeous hand-knitted socks. Squares are abundant and full of the ubiquitous coloured umbrellas that signify comfortable chairs and perhaps a cold beer. I am pleased to say refrigeration is working more effectively in this country but it still leaves room for improvement.

As you may know, we are in the grip of a heatwave, riding in temperatures of 34 degrees plus, yesterday getting to 40. Unseasonable but better than rain. Thunderstorms have threatened, but beyond a few drops we have been dry on the outside of not on the inside of our tents which drip with condensation every morning. Not to mention the litres and litres of water that is passing through us.

Camp life is high on camaraderie and low on facilities but at least we have had lakes to jump into at the end of our day's riding. I am a little tired of the stinking drop toilet and the lack of any place to purchase a drink or snack as we usually camp miles from nowhere in particular.

Yesterday we had our first taste of hills with 120km of rolling countryside. There are lots of woods, forests and tree-lined sections of the road as well as meadows, crops and villages. Locals seem to like a beer for breakfast and the place we stopped in before 8 yesterday morning thankfully served coffee as well, and we were able to take pictures of ourselves with the stuffed fox and hedgehog as we danced around the bar in time to some Lithuanian hoe-down tunes.

Stork and cow enjoying rich pasture

We have also come to the land of the cow, a rare sighing in Russia, Estonia or Latvia. Here however cows abound and it is lovely to see them being milked first thing - in the paddock - by the woman of the house. Also goats, dogs of course although they are getting smaller as we go, geese, chooks and cats. Harvest is earlier than in the other two Baltic countries, as we ride by fields of corn, ripe crops and the onions ready to pull.

The storks are also larger and more abundant than ever. Usually there are one or two chicks in a nest. In a marshy place where frogs must be plentiful we saw four young in a nest tapping their beaks until mum or dad stuffed something in. Two nights ago at the bush camp, Michael described the stork nesting near his tent, when launching into the air as being similar to being taken by a pterodactyl. I know they are a bit behind in Perth but I was stunned to think that they still have pterodactyls. I like my fellow Aussies though, they ride like the wind and are usually at our destination before our tardy group has cleaned their teeth. Michael presented me with a product called 'Silence' when I stumbled up the stairs to my room yesterday, a sweating pulsating lump of flesh demanding shower, beer and food in that order. It is a cunning spray that is meant to suppress snoring. I was touched.

For the linguistically interested, 'achoo' means thankyou and 'labas' is a universal greeting. Despite how the ladies feel at the end of a riding day, it does not refer to certain parts of the anatomy which may or may not be lacerated from hours in the saddle under a sweltering sun.

There was a religious pilgrimage that culminated in this city last night. When our group rode in over the bridge trying not to get chain grease on the bride's dress as she and her husband locked a padlock to the ironwork and threw the keys into the river, we noted much clapping and cheering. Of course we imagined it was a welcoming party for the participants in the Tour de Lithuania, but instead it was mainly pimply faced buck-toothed youths who were beside themselves in ecstasy after having walked 260kms. As Rick from North Carolina said, try doing 1200 on a bike and at our age and see how willing you are to jump up and down and sing! I did get blessed twice on the forehead though as we pushed through a hymn singing crowd on the way to the supermarket to stock up on water.

There is a very funny local brochure for this city which describes restaurants as overpriced and under value, drivers as drunk and dangerous, and the small change in the currency as 'weightless, worthless and useless'. Obviously there is room for young spin doctors, or marketing graduates, to really try underselling the city.

Also as it is Sunday there is no laundry and no internet cafes open so I am using the terminal courtesy of the Ramada Inn. We are not staying here, the organisers instead preferring yet another bloody convent up the hill where there is no room to swing a cat between the beds which must have been constructed for mini nuns, not huge Lithuanians or for that matter, most normal-sized people. I hate to think how the chaps are faring - their legs must be hanging over the edge. And of course because we're in cheapskate accommodation, there is none of the luxuries I have been relying on to restock my toiletries. A few rumbles about the food - tasty and colourful although it is, it is devoid of solid cereal, juice and protein.

So until Poland, I will leave with lies, damned lies and statistics.

22nd  July to Birzai: 105km, 5hr 40min TITS, 18.3 average. Hot but okayish
23 July to Anyksciai: 118 km, 6hr 40min TITS, 17.6 average. Hot, gravel, especially the last 5km which was a killer - this is FU gravel as opposed to B Gravel, our own system of classification, where B = benign
24 July - Catherine's 38th birthday - to Vilnius: 123km, 7hrs TITS, average 17.1 - hot, hills, gravel, dust, pollen, a sick peloton member, vicious traffic, a potentially great ride spoilt the last 20km by asinine routing

News from the Baltic - Issue 1

We are now in Latvia, Estonia passing by in a flurry of pine forests, blonde hair and rosy round cheeks. Yellow is a popular colour for farm houses in Estonia - it was blue in Russia - probably to make them stand out in the snow. I have been reliably informed it is also a bear's least favourite colour, and it seems to work, as we have not as yet seen any bears. Nor have we seen moose, deer, fox, beaver or any of the other animals that are meant to be lurking in the woods.

On crossing the border I converted my Kroones to chocolate and local liqueur. The chocolate's gone but I am still to share the grog with my fellow stout hearted riders in the 'Back Nine', as we are known. A formidable bunch including Kendy and Rick from North Carolina, Catherine from Ontario, Stewart from Poole, Bill from New York, Don from Echuca and Sally and Stella from Vancouver. The expertise includes a doctor of palaeontology, a professor in IT, a social research data analysis, a community worker, a nutritionist and a welder, so it's a wonder that we can agree on anything as simple as the route but so far we are managing. We have also begun to ride in a paceline which has helped drag all the newer riders along and helped us make okay times in the awful surface conditions and weather.

Stewart's always a good target

Stewart's stitches are out and his arm is in good shape. We have had no further drive by shootings.

Riga, like Tallin, sports an old city with quintessentially cute buildings, some brightly coloured and others decorated in a variety of styles including Baroque, Classical, Art Deco and original medieval, which surround a market square. In Riga there are amber sellers in abundance as well as the knitted and crocheted goods and it is quaint to see the stall holders while waiting for trade, ply their craft. At noon we went to an organ recital of Handel and Bach in Riga Cathedral. Very peaceful, as well as cool. The streets are cobbled and narrow, few cars allowed into the centre. I keep seeing reference to blackamoors and have discovered that in Riga, also a Hansa city, the Blackheads - a group of young unmarried merchants and sea captains - took as their patron saint a mythical moor, St Mauritius. The Hanseatic League was an economic alliance of trading cities which established a trading monopoly from the 13th through to the 17th centuries, according to Wikipedia.

I struck up a conversation today with two young men, one of whom is a graphic designer and the other a painter of Trompe d'Oeill throughout Europe on contract to the rich and famous. Both said living in Latvia was good now but could barely recall pre-1991, and relied on their parents' stories about the hardships endured under the USSR.

Our camp grounds have been very pleasant surprises, grassy and treed, even one with a swimming pool. Showers have been adequate, although the principle of temperature always dogs the last in: cold showers and warm beer. I chose a room and a beer on one evening - only $20AUD including a beer - and was very glad I did as it poured with rain as the lightning flashed. Dinner that evening was spent huddled under a picnic shelter.

The country rolls by in grassy splendour and sometimes we ride through birch or oak or pine forests. There is an abundance of water in Latvia in the form of lakes and streams - I stood and watched a young chap fly fishing in a lily filled stream the other morning. I have seen only one small mob of sheep, a couple of herds of cows and little else in the way of animals. I have smelt pigs and that lovely scent of silage on more than one occasion. Lots of hay has been made and awaits carting. Each house has its veggies and fruit trees and all look very healthy and lush. Flowers bloom in abundance and every house has a couple of pots of marigolds or petunias or the like at its entrance. Window boxes spill more flowers and then there are the beds filled with delphiniums, liliums, zinnias, roses and ground cover. As this area is covered in thick snow come winter they must work like the devil to have such splendid gardens.

Food - lots of pickled herrings, bland cheeses, mayonnaise salads, cold beetroot soup as well as hot borscht. I guess the tourist trade makes it hard to work out what is traditional food and what isn't but the supermarkets give some indication in their smallgoods and delicatessen sections. This morning for breakfast in the hotel I ate grated beetroot salad, a cabbage salad, cheese, egg salad, scrambled eggs, fried potatoes as well as tea and toast. I could have also had tomato, cucumber, little boys, cereal and sticky jams and pastries. Along the way we have been stopping to buy water and for those who prefer, ice cream and soft drinks. Coffee shops are hard to come by although we did find a gem right on the beach yesterday although getting stung by a wasp spoilt it a little.

There have been hundreds of stork sightings in Latvia. One even flew before us for two or three kilometres the other day, stopping every now and then as if leading us. They are nesting on chimneys, electricity poles, sunning themselves on hay bales and roofs and foraging in marshy ground to pick up the odd frog I suppose.

And so tomorrow we cross the border into Lithuania. I have too many Lats to convert to chocolate this time.

Statistics for those who are interested in such detail
17 July to Luhtre Talu: 94km, 19.2 average, 4hrs 50mins - hot and humid and relieved by a dip in the pool on arrival
18 July to Metsakula: 117km, 18.5 average, 6hrs 17mins hot and 35kms of dirt, gravel and sand
19 July to Limbazi: 120 km, 18.1 average, 6hrs 35mins hot and more dirt, corrugations, gravel and sand
20 July to Riga: 85km, 18.2 average, 4hrs 40mins of not so hot, busy busy roads after a pleasant dirt and gravel beginning

Grinning Like a Shot Fox

Before I begin, those with animals may know of the tendency to anthropomorphise their pet into part of their family. As far as I know there is no word to describe a further step, that is making an inanimate object such as a bicycle into an animal. Therefore I have invented a new word: 'mammaliamorphise' which describes how my Trek 7.7 got to be the Silver Fox. Which brings me to the title of this post.

Day 1 - we are riding through Russia on the way to our bush/rough camp in the lee of a centuries old crumbling stone fort. It is hot, humid and heavily trafficked. I hear a loud noise - like no other I have heard before on a bike - but put it down to a car exhaust as I have just been overtaken by a dusty beaten up old Lada. Some time up the road I wait for the remainder of the 9 strong peloton I am riding with to catch up, and am amazed when Stewart rides up and says, 'I've been shot!'. There is a bandage around his left arm. Yes, folks, shot!

He seeks medical attention from Nini, a cycling psychiatrist, when we get to camp and the next day after we cross the border to Estonia he goes to hospital and is operated on to remove a ball bearing from his arm where it has lodged deep between bones.

Round about the same time I discover a bullet wound in the Fox, which, if the lunatics bearing arms had better aim, would have got me in the leg, knee or possibly lower abdomen. I consider myself very lucky. I am not sure how lucky the Silver Fox feels, now bearing a Russian dent for life.

As you can imagine we were all pretty pleased to leave Russia for one reason or another.

Estonian arcadian bliss

Estonia is more peaceful, agricultural and friendly. There is all the usual abandoned farm collectives we have come to expect from former USSR countries, but in this country the peasant farmers are not so poor or peasanty as their Russian cousins just across the border. Farm houses are neat and tidy surrounded by well-ordered wood stacks, pretty flower gardens and vegie plots. Chooks, ducks, Guinea fowl - you know the sort of thing - roam free clucking and grubbing on the verges. Broad acre farming is evident in abundance with canola, barley, oats and some wheat. No animals much although we have smelt penned pigs, not surprising as pork is meant to be the national dish.

Our camp grounds have been pleasant enough, all being beside water, so I can now say that I have swum in the Gulf of Finland, the Baltic and a lake somewhere in Estonia. My fellow riders are good fun in the main - lots of Canadians, a few Amercans and four Australians.The March flies, or horse flies, are vicious and most of us are covered in red welts from where they have feasted on us. Not attractive and very itchy.

Tallin sports a beautiful old city, colourful, cobbled and full of opportunities to spend up big on Baltic amber and the like. I am about to go on a bike tour of the city to find out more, apart from knowing that it is a Hansa city - refer to history for this one.

A boy indulges in pond fishing

Another rest day, another laundry. This time we are right on the money doing bulk delivery and pick up and next rest stop someone else will do it for me. My room mate complains that I snore, but what can I do? Beers are good, especially the local beer the colour of a red squirrel, one of which ran in front of me yesterday.

So here's the technicals:

11 July: 110km, 16.5 average, hot, shot and slow
12 July at Laagna: 100 km, 18.7 average, hot - not shot, and a lovely lake to swim in
13 July at Saka: 57 km, 18 average and the Gulf of Finland to swim in
14 July at Kasmu Bay: 110 km, 19 average, hot, rolling and fun

15 July at Tallin: 99 km, 18.7 average, hot with an almighty thunderstorm in sight of our hotel but not near enough to avoid a drenching which was pleasant relief against the heat.

From Russia with Love

...well, did you really expect any other title for this post?

St Petersburg is the most diverse European city I've ever visited. The plazas are grand, the facades grander and the people fiercely dour. That is until you try and say something haltingly in Russian, which for me is pretty easy as I only picked up four words, then their faces break into a smile that puts the heart at ease.

We rode today around some of the main sights taking in the grandeur and the colour. The city mimics Paris, London, Vienna, Munich, Prague and so on with decorative attention to architectural detail. The prospekts, or boulevards, are wide and tree-lined. There are grassy squares everywhere and blocks and blocks of apartments all cunningly designed around central courtyards. There seems to be a striking similarity between Tsars, Communists and oligarchs if building huge edifices is anything to go by.

Hot. The weather we have had has broken a 40 year record. I have almost expected to see bananas growing especially after seeing the performing monkeys. But the love affair with animals does not stop there: there are dogs of all shapes and sizes, but the best I have seen so far is the cat who came to the restaurant in its own carry basket a la Paris Hilton's dog, its cool young owners cooing over it endlessly.

Lots of Russian babes; lots of Baboushkas; lots of cigarettes and skinny malnourished people; heaps of money; why settle for a Merc when you can have a roll-top Rolls?

The River Nevsky, St Isaacs in the background

Tomorrow we pedal off for five days of camping before our rest day in Tallin. Apparently we will quickly pass from the cosmopolitan city to the rustic country side which Henry Gold (Tour d'Afrique owner) described as one of the poorest parts of modern Europe.