Start of winter
N 51°41'43.3'' E 046°44'07.5''This morning we are greeted by deep and dense fog. A sudden drop in temperature has caused the mercury to fall to two degrees above zero. Not a good day to get in the saddle. Nevertheless, we have to keep going. We still have around 400 kilometers to go before we reach the city of Samara. A sudden onset of winter can still stop our journey. As usual, we carry the bikes, trailers and equipment from the second floor to the first floor and then outside via the Gastiniza staircase. In the shelter of the houses, we load everything onto the riese und müller and set off. An unfriendly traffic policeman sends us in the wrong direction. After three kilometers we are back at our Gastiniza and find the right road. Because of the poor visibility, we wear our signal jackets and switch on the lights on our bikes. Outside the city, the fog literally sucks us in. A light wind blows towards us from the north. Traffic has increased sharply again. Trucks and cars whizz past. After just a few kilometers, we miss the solitude of the remote Volga plain.
My gaze meets the eyes of a spindly, very hungry dog. He limps through the ditch and looks at me with poignant sadness. “Tanja stop!” I shout and stop my little Roadtrain. “What is it?” “There’s a dog. I’ll give him our stale bread,” I reply and run back. When the frightened creature sees me arrive, it takes flight. “Come back here. You’ve got something to eat!” I shout and throw him a crust of bread. He comes back and devours it ravenously. Because he has difficulty chewing due to his obviously bad teeth, I cut up the rest of the old body and throw the morsels on the ground. “Denis! Come on! I’m freezing terribly!” Tanja calls out, which is why I leave the unfortunate creature, who is unlikely to survive the coming winter, behind.
Tanja shivers from the cold. Before we continue, she puts her overshoes over her hiking boots. So at least your feet are protected from freezing. We wear a long and a short undershirt, a sweater, a cycling shirt and a windbreaker. Nevertheless, we are freezing. My toes fall asleep over the next few kilometers. Although I move them constantly, I can hardly feel them. The fingers also become numb in the gloves. We stop again to put on another fleece jacket, a kind of motorcycle cap that covers everything except the eyes and nose, and a fleece hat. Now we’ve pulled out almost all the stops to protect ourselves from the frost.
Who would have thought that temperatures around zero degrees could be so cold? It must be the fog. Although it is not raining directly, we are soaked. The wind creates additional evaporative cooling which eats into the clothing from the outside in. However, the exertion causes us to sweat, which is why our clothes get wet from the inside out. A strange cycle, caused by strange weather.
Hoarfrost hangs on the trees. The fields are also covered with a thin layer of gray-white ice. We stop at a semi-derelict bus stop. I devour a bar of chocolate while Tanja walks back and forth to get feeling back in her feet despite the overshoes. It is bleak. Real November weather and although it’s 12:00 noon, you could be forgiven for thinking that evening is approaching. Now all that counts is arriving. There can be no more talk of pleasure. We are taciturn. There’s not much to talk about either. There are a few old Ladas at the side of the road. A temporary wooden frame is erected in front of each vehicle. Dried fish, protected from the cold, damp air by a plastic sheet, dangles from it. Dressed in thick clothes, the salespeople sit in their cars waiting for customers. In fact, every now and then a passer-by stops and buys a fish. We cycle on. Raise your hand in greeting. Behind the steamed-up windows, our wave is returned.
We reach the small town of Marx, named after the German philosopher, economist, journalist and publicist Karl Heinrich Marx (1818-1883). Marx was the founder of scientific socialism and the theoretical head of a socialist movement. He and his friend Friedrich Engels wrote philosophical, political and economic works that had an enormous influence on political events worldwide, especially in the 20th century. I would love to visit the city, but as we are tired, hungry and frozen out, we look for a Muslim-run gastiniza on the outskirts of the city. As soon as our bikes are stowed on the stem, we head for the simple pub and devour a ravenous Bortsch.
