Stefan - Ladoga (RUSSIA)

[deyan_h]

До: Ладога 2008

Corrected link:

http://www.bezdorog.ru/album/%D0%9E%...0%BE%D1%80-732

[п-к A.Moralez]

До: Ладога 2008

Here's Stefan at Helicopter's base
In order: a little bit of coffee, a real rare collection piece, and tent drying.

[Стефан]

До: Ладога 2008

Ok, we're back in Moscow. People here are pretty wild and uncivilized, or are we misunderstanding them ?
They stare in astonishment at our beaten up Kukushka (Note: Cuckoo, one of the vehicles) bumping the back of the "Dahliatsu" at the gas station. Have they never seen bump starting, or are they still using cranks to start their engines, or what ? Also, they seem not to seem familiar with the concept of brakes. I believe it's perfectly normal for the Daihatsu to slow down by bumping the K-5's rear - from the two, it's the one with almost inexistant brakes, and it's lighter too, so what's the big deal...
In short - desperately barbaric and ununderstanding people. They have asfalt everywhere, their wheels are the size of aspirin pills, they use some weird plumbing which brings them hot water straight from the tiled wall...We'll have to think how to live from now on...
We made it, we lapped Ladoga...

[Митко/fulda/]

До: Ладога 2008

Here he is:


Image taken from here : http://www.4x4foto.com/main.php?g2_itemId=43611

[п-к A.Moralez]

До: Ладога 2008

Stefan's little cultural adaptation :

[rumbata]

До: Ладога 2008

They walked you to the main mall as well ?



Come back with a nice story


*БП /бележка на преводача/ ГУМ=Mall

[п-к A.Moralez]

До: Ладога 2008

Today was a sightseeing day as well

[п-к A.Moralez]

До: Ладога 2008

Kirasir, Kirasir's beer, small talk

[Стефан]

До: Ладога 2008

My Internet connection is back at last. Someone managed to cut the cable during my absence...

Sofia's airport is impressive only with the crazy prices at the local snack. The cleaning ladies are noisy and dumb looking - at least everything is clean (and empty), I guess it will be while it's new. The needless "no smoking" restriction beats me - there's so much space for several smoking sections, and still...

The Boeing is stuffed and beaten up like a village bus from the mid seventies. There are no Russian passengers. Everybody's showing up as much as they can, and the mood is the same as in a vacation train from the same era. At some point, the crew gives us sandwiches and muffins, which are large enough to be seen and recognized as such. On a good day, with a good sight, the right lighting and an excellent magnifying glass. Or maybe not.

One can see clouds, then a land which never knew what a plough is. Then the Danube, and Romania - nicely arranged and obviously worked on farm fields.
Forty minutes before we reach Moscow the clouds give place to clean sky again. Endless forests, endless straight roads, then endless villages. A lot of them. The Moscovite's Dachas. An endless ring, hundreds of kilometers around Moscow. A bit spooky. Their satellite villages are larger than our main cities.

The plane's windows are scratched and dirty, and there's nothing to take a picture of. Last fast reading of the pounds and pounds of instruction manuals which came with the tons of electronic equipment people gave me these last days. Then comes the time to watch the endless maneuvering of the plane on the ground between the hundred of others. Endless. I didn't know Humanity has built that many planes anyway. Most of them are Aeroflot machines. Their new color is a steel gray, ugly and scary looking like a big paratrooper's bird.

Endless halls. Chinese tourists are everywhere, running around and bumping into each other and into everybody else. Endless waiting lines. A tough looking auntie with an unidentified uniform and а ranking of a senior ensign, holds a funny looking small cubic bag, shouts loudly at the RF (Russian Federation) citizens, and sends them somewhere to the left where there are no waiting lines. She then picks me up from the whole foreign crowd, and sends me there as well with a peremptory nod. I try to mumble that I'm a foreigner, which gets me an answer "Yes, I can see that". I'm still sent to the shiny line free area. She then turns around proudly and disappears behind an "authorized personnel only" door.

Without as much as a look at me, the guy at booth stamps my card with a bash that can crush an elephant's scull , then I step trough the Arrivals door. I recognize Helicopter and Alien in the huge crowd right away - I've never seen them before, but still. I can see they've recognized me too. This is when the feeling that I'm abroad disappears. It will come back only when I step in the plane back to my own country.

[Стефан]

До: Ладога 2008

The Exit door is strangely narrow for such a crowd. We make it out, and I immediately drop my ugly bag and start exchanging shy inquiring smiles while smoking my long awaited cigarette. I guess this is how people look at each other when they meet in the "real" world after the mandatory time on a on a dating site. Ours has lasted more than ten years before we make it to the real world. My accent is all messed up, my Russian is still rusty, and I guess I sound from stupid to arrogant depending on the slang I use. Writing is one thing, talking is another. Moscovites are obviously used to this, they make me understand they don't expect me to speak as they do straight from the beginning. They only listen to the words.
Then I hear Moralez' laugh behind me. I thought it was impossible for him to find us in all this crowd. He thought it's impossible not to find us.

We make it out of the airport and stop in the first empty emergency parking. Small emergency parking according to them, endless area by my standards.
Full sized three rows two story car haulers look like cigarette butts. From time to time a few cars pass, only in our direction.
On the other side of the divider, there's a seemingly endless parking. I ask them where the road is. The all laugh hysterically. This is not a parking, it's actually the road. Bumper to bumper stuck traffic.

We stay there for an hour and some, exchanging jokes. Moralez gives me a SIM card with a Moscow number. We exchange numbers, then more jokes, then some important stuff. Then I have a peak at the other side, and I realize this is indeed not a parking. The white bus which was in front of us has indeed moved a few yards forward. I start to realize what it cost thes people to come and pick me up. Makes me feel funny.

Blinkers are used the way a raised hand is used on our roads - as a request to let you turn. And here, people seem to let you turn. I try to make the satellite phone work. It looks hopeless. Helicopter, on his side, in all seriousness asks me where he can buy the same magic box with an antenna on the top, the one which makes the rain and congested traffic go away. Up to yesterday, it was raining like peing cows. Up to an hour and half ago, the road on our side was completely congested. No more.

The phone won't work for the next two weeks. Still, it will be a well known fact from everyone that it chases away rain and traffic jams. And it will be used as such all the time, with a sardonic laugh. Indeed, all the way till we reach Piter, we will see no rain and no traffic jams. In Moscow, this is considered unusual. But we know we do have our satellite magic wands which clears the skies and the roads for us.

[Стефан]

До: Ладога 2008

There are two ways of driving in Moscow. You speed like a madman at 0.5 - 3km/h, or you crawl slowly some empty street at a snail's pace - anywhere between 80 and 140km/h. As far as we're concerned, we crawl.




Everybody drives the same way, and constantly changes lanes. No problem. But speeds are rarely under 100.
We visit a auto parts store. This is a ballpark - nothing with a smaller stock is considered a "store" over there. You can find practically every model, from practically every brand. It's just that they are stored as spare parts, not as complete vehicles. Up to the last detail. It's considered normal. The sales people are walking encyclopedias. They simply know everything.


























I still don't know it, but the secret base of the Emergency Service at the Russian Red Cross has a shared fence with the Bulgarian Embassy. The back one Trendy place...
What else I don't know is that the team is the main sponsor. There are no hotels under 100 Euros per night in Moscow. They are way more expensive. In the meantime, I was they let me in with a smile, apparently because I come recommended as a friend by the people who matter. In the buildings around us, a square meter of naked concrete must be what, 30 to 50000 Euros? Buildings are huge as per our measurements. But it seems I haven't seen the real large ones yet.

In the meantime, there's everything in the base. Offices, warehouses, WC's, a real kitchen, laundry rooms. There's no open and closed hours - there are people day and night. Whoever wants to work - works. Whoever wants to eat and drink - well, you can drown in drink if you want. But I don't see anybody interested in it yet. They live a modest live. Right under my window, there's a patio and a loggerhead.





In the front yard somebody tests a tent. They inflate it with a vacuum cleaner, while we try the new generators. A noiseless 2.5kw Chinese Honda for lamps and teapots, a regular 5kw one for the arc welder.






The Night of the Last Nut starts at noon. For us, it continues till after the start
The Night of the Last Nut is the last night before the race, when people finish the small nuts and bolts stuff, which wasn't finished during the year since the last race. That means total engine rebuilds with honing and porting, cardan welding, axle replacements... And it's the same for everyone. Everyone is busy with unavoidable stuff, and all this endless fun is Andryuha Jivov's mission. The Mechanic. The man with the plan. The man with a stone face, unhuman strength, and the best mechanic ever. In his other live he imports large US built pickup trucks, and saussages. You know, Saussages... The gazillion+ meters US limos, without which live in Moscow seems impossible. No wedding is a wedding without them. Usually they are made from expensive trucks, but right now all the crew is happy because Andryuha managed to bring a really rare perl from the States, put together from a dozen of 7 series Beemers.

I help with what I can. Days and nights become one and the same but, oh miracle, the auto parts stores seem to be all 24/7. I don't know if I'm more tired than surprised and bedazzled.

[Венцислав Петров]

До: Ладога 2008

Stefan's participation to Ladoga 2008 and this article wouldn't have been possible without:



OFFRoad-Bulgaria.com
OFFROAD BG Magazine

General sponsor: T.T + Т.Т. Младши


Тони Илиев
Spas55
rumbata
Иван Алексиев
Станко Вълчанов
Pursie
Александър Василев Димитров
Евгении Кукурешков
vladi333
iiiopo
Павлена Николова
Tramp
Веско
sabin
МИШО/ELEKTRIK
zzlatev
Yaro
peppy
Ivich
BatGeorgeone
Явор(dorzi)

The pictures were made with dust and water proof gear from Olympus, some of it provided by the official importer of Olympus Cameras for Bulgaria

Thanks to all the others which we might have missed here

[Стефан]

До: Ладога 2008

The Night of the Last Nut is almost over. By noon, the Daihatsu is waiting on its own pile of rubble.




Even Kukushka (The Cuckoo) has a rear cardan now, and is ready to be loaded.



Why Kukushka ? Because the official designation is CUCV M1009, the military version of Chevy's K-5. Supposedly, the passionate love between the Military and the K-5 never really caught on, and it has been slowly replaced with the (also) "we-don't-like-you-that-much" Humvee. The idea for an inexpensive military vehicle based on widely available civilian production is dead and buried for the next 20 years.

The owner's name is Alexander Kukushkin, nicknamed The Skipper. In the civil live he prints books. No way will his car have a name other than Kukushka

The blue ghizmo next to it is the aerodynamic cowl from a whatchamacallit secret antenna, which is held by "special" rubber straps bought at the gas station. To add to the secrecy, we commonly use it as a bowl.



Phil and Galka, along with Misha's overstuffed Mitsubishi Pajero set sails for Piter, while me and Andrey are dead tired. We stay for a bit longer, officially to take a short nap before the trip, officiously - to put together the tools and parts. Then we put Rocky on the Dodge's trailer and off we go.

[Стефан]

До: Ладога 2008

There are 800km to Sanct Peterburg. Two lanes in each direction, pretty decent pavement...On the CB's 15th channel, the truck drivers share all the important stuff. All you have to do is sit and listen, and important existential questions will be answered: Where are there potholes and roadworks, where is there a jam, where are the police patrols setting traps, where are the prostitutes, which ones are worth the stop...
It's a matter of common sense to fill diesel only at known good gas stations, to eat only where truck drivers eat. These guys know what is decently good and what not.
The sky is going darker and darker, but the night struggles to fall. The horizon stays red the whole night. The villages are spread along the whole road. They are not round, like our villages - simply a row of houses left and right from the road. One village merging into another is a usual thing, with often the "goodbye" sign from the one and the "welcome" sign from the other being on the same pillar. Some of the villages are dark and empty.

Traffic the whole night is similar to traffic on our own highways when they are busy. With one difference - there are almost only trailer trucks here. You can see a car like once every hour. Usual speed is around 90 to 120km/h. When you stay on the side of the road, the earth under your feet shakes. There are a lot of "long nose" tractor trailers imported from the USA, as opposed to our Cab over Engine european models. Russians like these US trailers - they are inexpensive, around 60000$ for a half a million miles unit. They lack a bit on power, as none of them goes over 380hp. Still, on the flat they run great. Because of their length, they are not allowed to run in Europe, they can go as far as Finland's city of Kotka where they can deserve the harbor.

I can't replace Andrey on the wheel - Russian's car insurance goes with the driver, not with the car. By solidarity, I also can't fall asleep. At some point, both of us stop and almost pass out for a couple of hours. By the morning, we enter in Piter at the same time as Phil's Pajero and Kukushka. Or, "attempt to enter" would maybe be a better word:



We have no map. The GPS isn't showing anything relevant. Phil is a few km on the side, and professionally guides us to the city's center on the talkie walkie. The center, which is absolutely off limits for trucks. And where we have to go
In the middle of the traffic jam, a road cop pulls us over with a glowing smile - not every day does he get a bunch of idiots like us served on a plate...

Too bad - Andrey slowly pulls The Documentation. The one with e capital D. A sleeve full of documents and authorizations, no more than three inches thick. He waves them towards the cop, and with the look of a hungry python, calmly states that he has all the documents and authorizations. For everything. And that he'll start pulling them out of the sleeve. One by one. Then he nods in a disturbingly calm way and looks around. If you don't know him, you'd wonder if he's asking, begging or threatening. The cop shortly looks at the pile of paper the way a hungry kid would look at an earthworm crawling on his candy, and walks away.

Traffic towards the center of the city is fluid. For some unknown reason, all the cars seem to stay away from us and let us pass. Go figure.



Now, this is not Moscow anymore. There are actually pedestrians on the sidewalk. The strange kind - those who take their time, don't rush and take pictures of everything. My old military reflex starts on a quarter turn - what are all these Chinese people with cameras doing there ? As per the old Russian jokes - one Chinese with a camera in Piter would be spy. A whole bunch of them would be, errr, their whole Intelligence ? This time we got them - they thought they made a picture of me, some shady Russian. But all they got was a picture of me, a shady Bulgarian. We won. They lost. Now we can wake up, have some coffee, and find our way to the Olympic Stadium.

And Olympic it is. Huge. A separate hall. A guarded parking. That's where the Technical Commission is. Registrations of all the participants are made. Everybody's busy, there's a lot of radio chatter, every once in a while people will be dropping everything to hug some long lost (well, since last race at least) friend. People they have not seen in years, but have been rescuing each other somewhere on the track. Large crowd.




We too, try to act like the big boys.



From left to right: Phil, Misha, Galia, Andrey. It will be three or four more days till I learn that Galia is Phil's wife - they address her like any other team member. And she addresses them the same. All the important questions are debated, all the opinions are taken into account, decisions made are not reconsidered, no matter what, unless new situations arise. This helps - if one yells for any reason at all, it would be either because whoever's listening is too far away, or because everybody is screaming in laughter.

Then comes Misha Natey-Golenko, aka Mango, from Piter. An eminent UAZ-maniac, the god of the circular saw and the acetylene torch. And supposedly a peaceful programmer. In three hours time, shopping included, he manages to assemble a snorkel from the reinforced piping of the UAZ' external heater. It fits right on, with no testing at all, and will save Rocky's butt several dozens of times. All we'll have to do will be nothing, exactly as instructed. Tighten the bolts once, that's it. Don't touch anything else. He manages to find me the knife I was dreaming of. Expensive one

Start is on the next day.

Then it starts raining. During the night, in front of a no name hotel at the edge of the town, Kukushka's left front wheel hub falls in pieces. On the next morning, Sasha Kukushkin brings the replacement parts at an unmentionable speed from Moscow, with Timur's car. Timur is one of the rescuers from the Red Cross base, and supposed to be simply a tourist. Then Andrey Beresnev - aka The Helicopter, and Volodya Moiseev arrive by train. The whole team is now together. We go through a few more liters of coffee and no more than a few dozens of cigarettes. Nobody remembers when he or she slept for the last time. It was definitely one of these last days, but which one...

[Венцислав Петров]

До: Ладога 2008

Stefan's participation to Ladoga 2008 and this article wouldn't have been possible without:



OFFRoad-Bulgaria.com
OFFROAD BG Magazine

General sponsor: T.T + Т.Т. Младши


Тони Илиев
Spas55
rumbata
Иван Алексиев
Станко Вълчанов
Pursie
Александър Василев Димитров
Евгении Кукурешков
vladi333
iiiopo
Павлена Николова
Tramp
Веско
sabin
МИШО/ELEKTRIK
zzlatev
Yaro
peppy
Ivich
BatGeorgeone
Явор(dorzi)

The pictures were made with dust and water proof gear from Olympus, some of it provided by the official importer of Olympus Cameras for Bulgaria

Thanks to all the others which we might have missed here