Moscow 16th-19th August
After we checked into Godzilla’s, which was a hostel of impeccable standards, we lay down for an hour or two, and then took off around the centre of Moscow. I was astounded at how empty the place was, as I had heard that it was on a par with London or New York in terms activity. It was later that I learned most of the city was still elsewhere because only days before it had been under a cloud of smog from nearby fires. True enough, we noticed that everything was still too hazy to take any decent photos and the air quality wasn’t even blackwall tunnel never mind alpine.
We wandered around Red Square, the Kremlin, St Basil’s onion temple, the Duma, Lenin’s mausoleum, and various other places of historical and non-historical significance.
St Basil's in the background
Tourists, us? no.
the railings were allegedly because they were setting up for a big red square U2 concert in front of Mr Lenin's mausoleum. I'm sure his waxiness was enthralled at the prospect. I just hope, for the sake of the Russian people, he doesn't respond to Bono's singing of 'Rise Up', should that feature in their set!
Shane MacGowan on the underground. Let's face it, if I looked like him, I'd want to be kept underground too.
Russian metro
Our bikes were supposed to arrive that evening at 1am at Jaroslawski station, so we managed to stay awake through the day in order to head out there in the evening to be reunited with our machinery. On getting out of the taxi (I was now down a kidney), we messed around at the train station and generally only saw scores of homeless people and wild dogs. We were passed from pillar to post, in and out of warehouses and rooms with largely naked men sleeping in bunks. I think I’ve covered this before earlier in the blog, so I’ll not rehearse it all again. Suffice it to say, the bikes got lost and arrived later than they should’ve done. Better late then never though. We were still faced with the task of how to get mine back from the station. We asked a few guys with trucks, but it soon became apparent that however generous people outside of Moscow were, people inside it were inversely proportionately generous…ie., selfish. Unless I parted with my final kidney, all of my money, my parents money, and the crown jewels (like I had a say over these), such an act of altruism was as likely as George W. being invited to headline at this years Mecca Television Awards (MTV). Our only other alternative was for Kris to tow me. There was one obvious problem with this plan – from where do you tow a bike? There’s nowhere to attach a tow rope too, so we figured the only way was for me (with my still gamy wrists) to hold the rope, while Kris deftly guided us through Moscow rush-hour traffic. Mercifully, they have unbelievably long periods between green and red lights here, so that meant we could dive across roads when necessary. Eventually, and much to the relief of my right arm and general well-bring, we made it back to the hostel and were greeted with cheers from the few sitting outside.
Inspecting the bikes after they arrived
a cylinder head
leaving the railway station
fun...like heart failure
on the pull
so when do we get there?
slipstreaming
a new cocktail - the moscow tow-rope - ingredients on a postcard please
the bikes' new home for a few days
Go back into the archives and you can read Moscow in real time. For now though, let it be said that I went to the ballet and thoroughly enjoyed it. Godzilla’s is very central and everything pretty much a short walk away. In addition, the police station is outside the front door, so it’s very safe. So safe in fact, you can, as you see above, leave your bikes outside the front door of the hostel as the hostel also has got a 24hr security camera looking down on them.
at the ballet
he thinks i'm not enjoying it!
Waiting for the clutch was getting to be a pain. I was constantly checking parcelforce to see if it had moved on their tracking page, but it was very definitely stuck like a kipper bone in the oesophagus of Russian customs. Different people were telling us different things, and it ranged from ‘ah, y’all have it tomorrow’, to ‘make yourselves comfortable, you might be collecting the pension here’, which, according to Moscow standards, would be quite the windfall I suspect. Kris and Gesa were brilliant and sucked up the expense of staying longer so that we could all ride back and end this adventure together.
Eventually though, I got tired of the uncertainty. Partly out of boredom and partly to be ready for when the clutch did arrive, I got stuck into stripping it down. In the absence of a workshop, I got out my tools and camping stool, and just turned the pavement into an impromptu workshop. Scott, who was the American manager of the hostel and a brilliant lad, had no complaints with me doing this. That he was a rider too and was, later that week, about to go and take delivery of his new GS helped my cause I think. In fact, his presence was invaluable, because before he moved to Russia, he was a transmissions mechanic in the US, so when I got the clutch taken apart, he was able to look at it and tell me what had actually happened to it.
Scott, on his favourite perch
dismantling
a broken clutch
lining the plates up
inspecting
housing
refitting
pretty much done. time for a test-ride
It turns out that the main nut on the thrust pin in the clutch had completely come off. All of the friction plates were in surprisingly good order given that the bike was nearing 40k miles and had seen a lot of 1st and 2nd gear work. We put the whole thing back together and were sure to douse the main nut with thread lock. I struggled to get the gear change groove into the right place inside the clutch as it seemed to be a case of trial and error. I summoned Scott down, who sat staring at it on his lap for 3 mins, silently, and got it first time. It’s always a pleasure to watch a professional work! My one concern was not having a new gasket for the housing, but Kris meticulously cleaned the whole thing with WD40.
I took the bike for a quick ride around the block and concluded that I didn’t need to wait for the new clutch. It would get me home as was.
We packed up the room the next morning, said some final farewells, and pointed to the road out of Moscow. I still needed chain lube as I still hadn’t managed to get some.
leaving russia
farewells