On the 6th of April 2005, cousins Jamie Mackenzie and Ben Wylson set off on their bikes on a journey which will take them to over 50 countries and to every one of the worlds great continents, all without the use of an aeroplane.
Friday, June 24, 2005: Mr Nice from Europe to Asia
Today the team are in Irkutsk, watches set to Hong Kong time. They are farther east than Bangkok and on the same latitude as Lowsetoft. They have travelled 6,000km to be here, journeying for 4 days. This morning they applied for visas for Mongolia, booked tickets aboard a train to Ulan Baatar and this evening will head to Lake Baikal, the oldest and deepest lake in the world.
Before leaving Moscow on Monday 19th June, FWE had the strange and surreal pleasure of the company of Howard Marks for the evening; the biggest drug baron in history, no less. FWE were invited as 'special guests' to attend a black-tie affair in a 5 star hotel, organised by an ex-pat football league that plays in the city on Sundays. It was their annual dinner and Mr. Marks was the guest speaker.
After Howard's talk, Ben, Jamie and Jack all went back stage in search of the infamous man. We followed a sweet and pungent scent through a maze of passageways and sure enough found the long-haired Welshman sitting in a darkened room with his scouse friend,Harvey.
'Bob Marley was Welsh,' Howard told us, soon after introductions were complete. It was a slice of insight from his new book which he is working on and due for release soon. 'So was Elvis,' he continued.
He smiled and chatted freely, pleased for us to keep the camera rolling through- out. He'd apparently been tipped off that FWE were, like himself, guests of honour and would possibly be filming for their documentary and mentioned that he had been hoping to meet us. His chum from the north, was a great talker and related many a yarn about Howie and his past antics, the kind of story that doesn't usually reach the light of day if you know what I mean. The five of us laughed and guffawed, enjoying fruity wines, fine whiskeys and sumptuous tales of past experiences.
Howie and Harvs were disappointed when we had to bid our farewells but promised to check the site out and mail whenever they could.
The following day, under baking sunshine, we said so-long to our hosts and friends, the Mityas. They have been a godsend and we are truly thankful for and appreciative of all that they have done. Muma cooked one last breakfast, then with Sasha and Sergei we left for Leningradski Train Station to catch our 2:40pm train to Irkutsk.
In carriage 4 of the third class variety, we set up home for our journey across the final reaches of Europe to Asia. It was a gammon rasher of a crossing. The scenery slowly transformed from city to scrub to Taiga to steppe and on the second day we passed the Ural mountains, so completing the first of our seven continental crossings.
The conditions were cramped, sweaty, stuffy and often unbearably smelly. Fart lingered in the air, stale and rancid. We read books, wrote diaries, and played games of magnetic chess against local men; but best of all we stuck our heads out the window from the top bunks and watched the majestic views flash before us.
Jack didn't defecate for the full duration; a feat of epic proportions and worthy of a special mention we feel. Well done Jack!
We are staying in 'Downtown Hostel' (www.hostel.irkutsk.ru)and for any of you fellow world-beaters out there visiting the city, it is a fantastic place with a warm and friendly atmosphere and gets two thumbs up from FWE. Thanks must go to them for the especially welcoming kindness they showered on the team!
Baikal-bound we are, fishing rods primed with our last two lures, wallets worryingly light but hearts and minds soaring in the clouds.
Saturday, June 18, 2005: all aboard!!
Our stay in Moscow is sadly nearing its end. Today we shuffled past the corpse of a pickled politician, the man who gave the communists revolution: little Lenin. He was small and looked suspiciously like a wax work. FWE are yet to be convinced. We have seen more convincing effigies in a family game of Rapido. In true capitalist form we slipped a few quid each to the guards to skip the vast queue and view the tiny cadaver of communism.
Mitya and his family have taken Jack into their home as willingly as they took us. We were given a gift, a bottle of fine Russian cognac "to keep you company on the railway". Tomorrow our train will pull out of the station at 2:00 to chug us to Irkutsk. Mitya himself will not be there to say goodbye, for he is working at the Aurora. However, to compensate, his brothers and a small party of well-wishers will wave us away from the platform. The journey will take us four and a half days. We will be in very close quarters and are slightly concerned for our comfort.
Upon the evening of Jack's arrival we played a "Concert". Mitya is a geography teacher on Saturdays at the local school. The staff room was our stage. We could remember few songs, but it went down well, particularly 'Back in the U.S.S.R' the timeless Beatles number. They all knew the words and the beer spewed as foam from freshly opened bottles. The Russians had a few songs up their sleeves too, serenading us with haunting melodies, evoking nostalgic glassy-eyed stares, then claps and appreciative toasts.
Jack has brought an extra spark of life with him; he has fully renewed our enthusiasm and we babble stories, filling in the gaps between Dunkirk and Moscow.
You may not hear from the three of us for a little while, maybe until we arrive in Ulan Baator (Mongolia) in a week or two. Until then, imagine us cramped together playing Poker in pools of sweat, then sleeping, reading and staring out of the window at Siberia!
Friday, June 17, 2005: two become three
Yesterday at 9:20am, two became three. FWE have swelled their ranks with the addition of Jack Wyslon. Jack will be joining the team and sharing the adventures for some 2 months before continuing through SE Asia.
Moscow has revealed itself in ways we couldn't have foreseen upon our arrival nearly a week ago. Our good friend Mitya has continued to excel as our guide, translator and host and with his help we are now in possession of our tickets to the Orient aboard the Trans-Sib.
Several days ago on a bright Mockba afternoon, Ben and Jamie were strolling down Old Arabat Street in the west of the city when they happened upon some familiar faces, that over the years had provided much entertainment for the pair. A stout, long- haired man was standing hunched over a bin scraping olives from a pizza. He was clad in combat shorts and a white t-shirt. He looked up from what he was doing, satisfied that all the olives had been jettisoned; but what was this? It was Party Boy from Jackass. He grinned at us: 'I hate these damn things,' he said. Ben approached Party Boy who was now listening to some traditional Russian music while piling the slice of olive-less pizza into his mouth. While engrossed in conversation about the interesting sounds being spewed out of two gigantic speakers, another man appeared: aviator glasses, blue smock and gold-trimmed flight cap; the man himself, it was Jonny Knoxville. Team FWE chatted with crew Jackass, trading stories, compliments and throw-away comments. 'We're planning on throwing Jack out the window of our train,' Ben says. 'I don't think your mum will like that,' came the reply from Jonny. Traded details were passed from team to team, respect swung both ways. Jonny wanted a pic of us with him; we posed, signed some FWE cards and disappeared into the crowd.
Several days ago, upon waking early in their motel room, Jamie turned the television on and selected MTV on the remote control. Watching the screen he quickly realised he was looking at himself! Footage taken from a music video that the FWE pair had appeared in along with their friends Monty Burns and The Flange, was now being beamed to the black & white television set before them in a remote, seedy motel in Russia. Surreal really is the word.
The team now prepare for the next stage of the adventure. Soon they will be on the other side of the planet. On the 19th June at 2:30 in the afternoon they will board their train and be transported to Irkutsk. From here they will trek overland by bus and horse to Ulan Ude before entering Mongolia.
Exciting times are afoot. Adventure beckons, new challenges arise...courage and strength are needed... FWE thunders on.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005: safe in Moscow (2030 miles cycled)
Where do we start? How do you begin to explain all that has happened since we left Minsk some 2 weeks ago? The expense, as you remember, was far greater than we ever could have imagined it would be. We departed the city on the 30th and headed north- east, our destination the countryside, forests, woods and lakes. It was a detour along the P40 that would last an arduous 10 days, a more interesting looking route than the more direct M1 -the main road to Moscow. Our visas would only allow us into Russia on June 8th. We had time to kill. Minsk was baking hot for the duration of our stay, but as soon as we were on the bikes the weather became overcast, a storm looked like it was brewing. We slipped out of the city after lunch onto perfect, direct Belarussian roads.
We were to become men of the woods, hermits, living from our tents, foraging for food, roasting luncheon meat sausages on open fires with sharpened sticks. We did not cycle very far between camp sites which we usually found just away from the road, only ever to be disturbed by farmers with horse-drawn ploughs. The tractor is yet to be imported to Belarus. The weather became gradually worse: sometimes we were forced to retire to our tents for days on end, an audible drone of inch-long mosquitos waiting in their thousands outside, vast squadrons with a blood lust. To pay a visit to a wild lavatory is fatal if you forget to deet your behind. Ben was to discover this, turning his usually soft skin into a rough, incredibly itchy mountainous terrain, every bit of white flesh distorted. The bites can wake you up scratching, eyes closed in ecstasy, trying to block out the inevitable post-itch traumas.
We invented a game when a light breeze blew enough to disperse our attackers. It was called Rock Boule. Select 5 rocks each, then take turns to try and hit a smaller jack rock. Ferral hollers of enjoyment shook the marshes of the north east.
After cycling past a black and yellow snake sunning itself on the tarmac by the side of the road, we thought it was time we had a break and pulled off to lie in a meadow of tall wild flowers. We fell off the bikes and sprawled onto the bed of green. There was a sudden screech of tires and into our haven flew a careering beige Lada, a manic man behind its wheel. The Lada sped a hundred metres into the field along a track, its driver slammed on the brakes and jumped from the car. Jamie and I looked at each other with eyebrows raised. The driver was bald and thickset. What was he up to? There were some men at the side of the track we had not noticed before. There was a shouting match bouncing between the driver of the Lada and the men. The driver was crazy with anger and with a battle cry went for the other men with his fists. One guy took a punch from the driver, it knocked him clean off his feet, sending him flying backwards into the grass. More punches followed. Then as quickly as he had arrived, yelled and administered punches, he left in a cloud of dust and screeching wheels. We got out of the field as fast as we could and back onto the road.
But a day's ride from the Russian Federations border, we pulled into a motel. With seconds to spare the heavens opened and all the rain we had expected since Minsk fell in thick sheets from a deep purple sky.
We arrived at the motel tired and disheveled. We departed exhausted and on death's door; it was not the relaxing break before the push though Russia that we'd intended on having. We were introduced to the Eastern European culture of drinking in a way we'd dreaded since arriving. Vodka and Belarussian Whiskey are an evil that in this part of the world is consumed as freely as water and it was a night-long session of a combination of the two that we were subjected to. The folk at the Motel were some of the kindest we've come across, plying us with food, beer and the wicked spirits for as long as we were standing. Memories fade as events that evening unravelled. Football with plastic bottles; England V Belarus (England got a drumming), 25 Belarusians standing on chairs singing God Save the Queen, 2 Englishmen lying on their backs singing Inky is a Cat, whittled sticks placed in a fence and a fireman's lift up the stairs.
The fireman's lift of the previous evening was administered by a real fireman, no less than a Major in charge of the nearby city's fire station. At 7:00 in the morning the fireman requested our presence at the fire station. We were bundled into a green Lada by the owner of the Motel bar and driven through the rain into the city. The fire station turned out for us. They put on a special display of ladder climbing skills, made us watch a video of horrific road accidents, dead bodies which really shook us up especially with a little of the 93% Whisky still in our blood. Then their pride and joy was produced: a carbon dioxide gun with "a bigger kick than any weapon". We were dubious, particularly when it was forced into our hands and the words "you try" were uttered. Sheepishly, we were each nearly blown off our feet as the trigger was pulled and a ball of gas sailed into the air. "This is Belarussian invention," we were told by proud fire officers. The kick was enough to break an arm if you didn't brace in the right way. The rest of our stay was spent adamantly refusing Vodka.
We were eager to get to the border, get into Russia, get to Moscow and complete the first leg of FWE. We left the Motel on the 7th June and struck out towards Russia. It was still 60 miles away and we couldn't cover the ground fast enough. We arrived at the crossing under heavy, ominous skies that threatened a deluge at any moment. A grey arch -the border- spanned the road; it was as dull as the sky. The trucks and miserable looks on the drivers' faces completed the scene of despondency. But we were riding high; we had, after all, just cycled to Russia. Our visas permitted entry for the next day but no one looked interested in checking our passports so we slipped quietly by, through the vast arch and onto - at last - Russian soil.
For days after we cycled along the E40 or M1 as they call it here. It was a hazardous road, fraught with danger at every turn of the wheel. Trucks like houses whizzing past us, drunk drivers snaking paths towards Moscow. At times the hard shoulder ran thin, perhaps no more than a foot wide, at others and more often than not, it disappeared altogether. It was a nightmare and we hope never to encounter such roads ever again. Many times "Bail" was yelled by a hawkeye Ben looking backwards in his wing mirror more than ahead; many times a late swerve spared us. Luck and higher powers were defiantly on our side. We would cycle nearly 100 miles on our opening day and similar distances thereafter.
We stayed in more motels, saw wild moose and even had a bear in the garden at one stop. I pulled the curtains back after having a long shower to see a huge brown bear metres high staring back at me from no more than 5 metres away. You can imagine my surprise I hope. Sadly for the bear and indeed us, it was in a cage. It pained us every time we looked on the majestic beast to see it pacing its small enclosure.
On the 11th June we were 140 miles from Moscow. There was an air of impending horror in our souls and we drew designs on eating the distance in one sitting. By sun down that day though we were a painful 19 miles short of our destination. We camped that night at the foot of a hill, surrounded by trees, safe in our canvas cocoons for the last time for some time.
We woke at day break, the sun beamed through thin cloud for the first time for what seemed an eternity. It was to be the day we achieved the greatest accomplishment of our lives to date. I can barely describe the emotions that ran through us as we packed the bikes for one last time and took to the road. For so long now we had striven to be in this position, for so long it had been our lives' and all-consuming thought. It was a dream being realized and there is surely no feeling better than that.
The spires of Moscow sat on the skyline, silhouetted on a canvas of surreal yellow light, and we headed towards them.
We arrived in Berlin at the time of the May Riots; we arrived in Warsaw at the time of vast anti-capitalist demonstrations; and we arrived in Moscow on Russian independence day. Cheychen rebel attacks were imminent. Sure enough, a train going between Moscow and Grozny was bombed. Red Square was closed for the state occasion, a massive concert was to be held, the poplar trees had sent fluffy seeds on floating journeys around the city and the air was thick with them like confetti raining down from above.
Exhausted, we went to the best Hotel in Moscow to ask for help finding accommodation, the Hyatt. The manager could not give us a room, but he advised we visit the Aurora. Ben walked in and told the tale; he walked out with a grin. The manager Chris Sommers had offered the FWE pair a night in the Luxury Suite, a $1000/ night room plus full use of all the facilities - a swimming pool, sauna, spa, steam room. To Chris we owe our sincere thanks. It was heaven to plunge into the water, to soak off the grime of the last two months. The Hotel won the prestigious Russian Hotel of the year award and recently hosted such guests as Michael Gorbachov, the French foreign minister, Geri Haliwell and most famously, the most hated man in the world himself, George Bush who once snuggled in one of the very beds we tucked into for the best night's sleep in our lives.
One of the footmen took a particular interest in our travels. His name was Mitya. He told us we must stay at his house and that his "Mamma is a very good cook". How could we refuse? Mitya has wonderful English, knows the city like the back of his hand and his Mamma really is a very good cook. His flat is where we are staying now in the factory district of the north east, on the oldest Metro line in Moscow. Mitya showed us the city the locals' way; he is organising our tickets to Mongolia on the railway; he helped us to conquer the complications of Russian telephones, to talk emotionally with our family for the first time since leaving England. What a super chap he is. He assures us that if any one of our friends would like to stay in Moscow, they can stay with him and sample Mamma's cooking!
Jack who has heroically shaved his head of golden locks for our charity Practical Action to raise money for the cause- will arrive on the 16th to join the expedition for its downhill run through China to the beaches of Thailand, the jungles of Sumatra, and ultimately, the land of Oz. Neither of us can wait to see him.
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