I was in bed before dark, sweating and getting up every half hour, walking like a pregnant duck the quarter mile to the lavs desperately trying not to muddy the old undercrackers. All around was mayhem with the obligatory rock music on stage, much shouting, merriment and jap fours bouncing off the rev limiters and the token Harley that seemed to spend the whole weekend riding round in circles around the campsite. I suppose, in short I was not getting into the spirit of things. In fact if there was one place in the world that I would rather not have been at this time it was here, purely due to the precarious state of my insides. The next day finally loomed after a fitful night.
The day started slowly due to the bulk of the campers being somewhat worse for wear. They do like a little tipple in Russia. We started getting loads of people coming up to us when they saw our foreign bikes. People wanted to know all about our trip and we tried to converse as best as possible. At times we had people come to chat, with others waiting further away until they could come over. Really nice people. Often the question was "why are you here?" "
we wanted to see your country" "but did you travel all that way to come to this rally" "
well, yes" They then looked at us like we were completely bonkers! After a couple of hours of this I had to get back in the tent as I was not feeling great and frankly tiring of the conversations (meant in the nicest possible way you understand). Whilst lying there it occurred to me that this must be what being famous would be like. It also occurred to me that I would turn into one of those famous types that has a reputation of being an arrogant bugger – most likely after a couple of days of fame. "Hey Melchy, love your work, could I have your autograph?" "
No piss off and leave me alone!" Guy held the fort remarkably well whilst I lay and felt sorry for myself. He also did his damnedest to try and made sure I was as comfy as could be. Splendid chap.
It was also at this time that we met Vlad (anyone fancy being impaled?). Dear old Vlad was built like a brick building with a real toilet in (that I would have killed for). He was a skinhead with a leather cutoff that looked like it was made from Rhino skin. He was also festooned in Nazi insignia badges/ss badges and related tattoos. And for the piece de resistance he was openly carrying a shooter (a 9mm handgun). He was also not a little unhinged. Turns out he used to be Russian plod but got thrown out for being too extreme (no shit) and had been shot 7 times and was very keen to show the wounds "oh, um nice".
However, as far as Russian mafia neo-nazi skinhead bikers go he was a very affable chap. I'm not sure that if we were black, gay and Jewish, he would have been quite so hospitable though. He offered us some vodka at about nine in the morning but I politely declined and explained I had gut rot and wasn't up to it. He then went away and came back with some locally made honey beer which was very nice. His wife/partner was an English teacher and was interpreting for us. As long as we could steer the conversation away from immigrants and gays etc his trigger finger seemed to stop twitching. He also cordially invited us to spend a few days at his gaff after the rally for, in his words, "Drink, women". Whilst very flattered and grateful, the thought of being Vlad's and his band of psycho friend's dungeon bitch for the next 3 years wasn't all that appealing. We declined, explaining we had to get back for work etc. (not actually untrue).
Here's some fun and games that were going on in the afternoon. Nope, no idea apart from attempting to ride metal wheeled scooters with blacked out goggles on.
Now then this chap...this chap brightened my day no end:
I had seen him wandering about a number of times and took a number of photos, getting closer each time. Problem was I was shaking so much through giggling that I was A. causing camera shake and B. liable to squirt molten slurry down my leg whilst guffawing so hard. The bottom rocker obviously said 'Ekaterinburg' (the closest city to Irbit). The top rocker, I had convinced myself said 'Blakes Seven'. Superb.
I had a little nap and after a while heard Vlad come over to talk to Guy. After a few minutes I heard Guy exclaim "Ooh no, no, not for me". Shortly after I heard BANG BANG BANG BANG! I thought to myself 'my biker bro is in trouble out there'. I bravely did what any biker bro would do in that situation...I pretended I was asleep. Next thing the zip to my tent was being pulled and the grinning baldy head of Vlad pops through. I casually enquired "whats this, fucking world war 3?" "Yes yes, world war 3" he exclaims back excitedly. 'Yeah, you understood that didn't you, ya nut job. I bet you can't wait for that day'.
Turns out he had given Guy his gun to shoot a can from the fence we were camping near. Guy thought it was an air pistol till it went off in his hand. He gave it promptly back to the pissed up Vlad who then starting showing off with it. We could hear him from all over the site discharging the thing at random for hours. There were police wandering about the site but they looked like twenty something kids that had been given a cheap nylon uniform, a big hat and a gun, then told you're plod you are, off you pop. They seemed to be intimidated by Vlad and left him to it. Can't imagine that happening back home in the Surrey 'burbs.
Sunday loomed and it was time to leave site. I was really glad to be getting away and looking forward to getting a hotel for the night with a real life, bona fide, flushing lav. Guy had managed to get out and about a bit on Saturday night thankfully and had a meal of Goulash cooked on a big pot over a fire by a couple that had extensively travelled worldwide on a 1200GS. I was feeling a bit guilty that my illness probably didn't help his enjoyment of the weekend. We also didn't manage to see the Ural factory which was a shame as I knew Guy would have liked to.
Before we left we were interviewed and photographed by the local newspaper which felt strange but re-enforced our newfound celebrity status and then Vlad presented these stickers to us:
Not sure what it says but I'm pretty sure it isn't 'Peace, love and unity'. "Oh, how lovely" I enthused, "thank you so much!"
Me and Guy decided we would in fact take them home with us (hoping that we didn't get searched at the German border – bit sensitive about that type of thing by all accounts). The plan was to stick them on a mates panniers when we got home without his knowing just for shits and giggles. We never actually did, which is probably for the best, on reflection.