Joomla Login LightBox powered by WowJoomla.com

Day 8 - Itching to set off

Total milage: Something like 2300 miles...

Following on from yesterday's blog

So, we awoke in very pleasant surroundings indeed. Our lovely hotel, but yet again only two rooms. As I have a tendency to sleep walk, sleep talk, sleep attempted murder and many other questionable things, the cousins shared again and I had the luxury of my own bed.
Not that any of us appreciated it - we were still very very drunk by 10am when we awoke. God knows why we were up so early… well, they weren't, but I was. And if I got up, then I need my wingmen. I drunkenly coasted up the two floors, much to the amusement of the night guard and receptionist, and arrived at their door step. Only the lord himself would have put them on the top floor, much to the dismay of my balance.

I banged on the door, in my best manager's impression. Surely enough, a very hungover Mackey emerged, wearing nothing but some boxer shorts. Why he'd answer the door in just those to the potential manager is beyond me - but he was up! 

As with any epic night, the first thing we did was recollect and trade memories where our own failed us. Shortly after my arrival, we got a phone call from reception, reminding us that check out was noon. I bet the other guests didn't get this sort of attentive behaviour! 
We all sorted our stuff out, which involves repacking rucksacks after every night. It's the same with Pete the Saxo - every single day, whether we roughed it in some foreign field, or stayed in a luxury hotel ( Definition of luxury: Walls. Bed. Water) Pete the Saxo needs repacking - everything gets taken out, and then repacked tidily and efficiently. Throughout the day, whether it be a leisurely 12 hour driving day, or a nasty 24 hour driving day, things will most definitely be required from all corners of the car - camera batteries, duck tape to fix something etc.

Turfed out at 12, we were now at a loose end - we were at the hotel on the other side of the city, Rusi wasn't answering his phone, and Pete the Saxo was getting tinkered with at Mike & the Mechanics. We had our backpacks, as well as a smaller one we keep the passports and documents in, and really didn't feel like hiking them around town. We asked the receptionist if we could leave the three big bags somewhere, promising to return within the hour to collect them.

With that lie laid out nicely, we set off in the only direction we knew - the sea (aka location of last night's club). From there, we could probably make our way to the crazy supermarket, and from there to a roadside bar we'd had a drink in, and from there to the crazy kebab place, and from there to Rusi's tower block.

I think we surprised even ourselves when we managed this - taking no wrong turns at all. The tower block however, was determined to step in the way in our quest for a perfect Rusi visit. The door was card locked - you had to swipe a card to open the main door.  We thought we'd act all Jason Bourne, and casually read a newspaper just outside, waiting for an unsuspected resident to leave, while we furtively snuck inside.

I'm not sure what gave it away - we probably read that newspaper upside down (Cyrillic sucks) or just looked very, very out of place (Mackey was wearing a "wife beater"), but an elderly Ukrainian chap clocked on to us, and made sure that there was no way we'd gain unauthorised entry, blocking our approach with stern Ukrainian words and lots of pointing.

We eventually did get in, buzzed through by Rusi's rather attractive sister, but found he wasn't home. In fact, he hadn't been home since last night. Apparently he'd gone to the beach for a swim and a beer, and would be back later.

The guy hadn't slept for three days. He makes us all look pathetic - the man goes crazy at a club surrounded by a cluster of willing women, drinking until 8am - but then just goes to the beach for a few hours before starting it all again. We are yet even more in awe of the man. 

Once in though, we found ourselves in the same situation Mackey & Will had the day before - absolutely nothing but Ukrainian television to watch and a 34 degree heat to endure. We did what we're good at when we steal an opportunity, and we slept. Rusi returned about 3pm, happy to see us, and still looking and sounding like someone who's had their regulation 8 hours sleep every night. When he returned, he got straight on the case with the torsion bar, making phone call after phone call  - to the seller, his manager, the transport company etc.

Long story short, it turns out that the seller had not posted it as promised, despite promising a next day delivery. Rusi was angry - not just at the seller, but at the whole country, and continually apologised for this outrageous behaviour on it's part. The outcome was either Tuesday delivery to the Ukraine, or send to Volgograd to await our hopefully arrival.

By 6pm-ish, we had a team meeting (not as exciting as it sounds - someone puts an idea forward and the other two agreeable grunt), and decided that we should be able to lighten the car enough, or at least redistribute the weight, to stop the rubbing at very low speeds and hopefully get moving again. After 3 days in the same place, all of it's amazing attributes aside, we were dying to get moving, even if it did mean driving at 20mph for hundreds of miles.

Rusi took the plan well, considering he was about to lose his new 3 best friends, and made arrangements for a taxi to come and get us, take us to the hotel to collect our bags (the bags that we're being left for a few minutes, many hours ago) and then to Mike & the Mechanics just outside of the city. We didn't say a proper goodbye, as we assumed we see him after the car was returned back into our loving hands - as it turns out, we didn't get the chance to drop in once again, which we're quite gutted about. But we have his email address and phone number, so we'll do our best to keep in touch.

The crazy yellow taxi, skilfully yet scarily weaving in and out of traffic at 120kph, delivered us safely to our first destination where we ran inside the hotel and kept our heads low. Swiping the bags, we made hasty thanks as we left, and surprisingly got a big chorus of "good lucks" from the security and receptionist. Which was nice. Bags in the taxi, another hair raising rally across the city to Mike's. When we arrived, I think Rusi had phoned and explained, because he seemed to understand what we needed - the car, back in one piece, and to make a move.

Mike then set about refitting the back axle, connecting the brakes and generally re-making Pete the Saxo almost fit for the road. This took about an hour or so - time which we just sat outside on the front half of a victimised Lada in the 35 degree sun. A few locals, the type that would sit in a chair outside and drink the Ukraine's version of Special Brew, did try and chat to us. Not a clue what they were saying, but we think it was more mocking of the fact we were driving 10,000 miles to Mongolia in a french car.

After a seeming age, Pete the Saxo was back in one piece, and work started immediately in rebalancing the load. We removed absolutely everything from the car and started the essential task of creating load equilibrium to take some of the pressure off the wheels. Heavy things, like the spare fuel tanks and tools, were moved forward to the back seats and roof box, while the light but bulky sleeping bags, roll mats and tents were aft wards.

We were happy with what we'd done - the car seemed efficiently packed for once. We timidly climbed in, and Mackey set about driving down the road. We managed 20 ft down a nice tarmac road, before we heard that ruinous sound - more rubbing from the arches. By this time, we were desperate. It was such a good feeling to be back in the car we haven't used in days, our home on wheels, a place to be rather than just drift between stranger's flats and strange hotels. Spirits were low - very low. Mike's mechanics had left for the day, leaving Mike to close up shop. As he was shutting his big barn doors of the workshop, he'd noticed we'd stopped, and we reversed the car up to him.

Desperation set in - we needed to go, and our desolate faces as we approached Mike said it all. Mackey got out, and started to suggest a quick fix that may help - getting rather physical with the car, with the help of a lump hammer and angle grinder. Trying to explain this to Mike didn't really work - absolutely no English on his part, and most definitely no Ukrainian on ours, even the banging and sawing motions of Mackey's frantic hands yielded no understanding. Mackey then strolled into his work shop, found the butchers tools of choice, and handed them to Mike.

I think he understood then - but wasn't really willing to go all out on Pete the Saxo. What if he misunderstood, and started beating the hell out of our pride and joy? Once again, Mackey took the initiative and started hitting the arches with the hammer. Then, Mike realised he had been given free reign on the car and could cause as much destruction (within reason) as he liked.

Pete the Saxo was jacked up, wheel removed, and Mike started laying into it like a repressed killer - smashing the hell out of the arches, cutting away some of the rear bumper and trim, removing the junk pieces of plastic from inside the curvature of the wheel housings.
it wasn't a pretty sight. Although we needed it done, to see Pete the Saxo go through such anguish was heartbreaking for us all. 10 minutes later, once we'd done the bad side and the good side for luck, we once again set off for a test drive down the abandoned industrial road.

Eureka! With the three of us inside, fully laden, we heard no sound from the wheel arches. Was it really a torsion bar, and an extra inch of clearance meant it now works perfectly? Either way, we were happy. We paid Mike for his time - for looking at the car, dismantling, checking, leaving on ramp for a few days, reassembling, banging and sawing, he charged 500 Griva - about £40. After the success of the banging, we tipped him 200 Griva. After all, he just gave us the golden ticket to continue on our voyage of discovery.

Those few minutes picked up our spirits enormously - although we still thought we had serious problems, we could now move, albeit at a mutually agreed top speed of 40mph (and keeping an extra vigilant look out for pot holes). We left Illishev, and headed east, towards the Russian border. We were several days behind on our target itinery, and so decided to drive all night, sleeping when we weren't driving or navigating our now working vehicle. We set off at 9pm.

We had hundreds of miles to go, and continually swapped driving. By 2am though, we were all tired, affording little sleep as we had to carousel around our tasks. I felt tired driving - Mackey & Will were fast asleep, and I noticed myself struggling to concentrate on the empty roads; never a good thing when driving. We're all sensible, and would never risk anything for something so trivial as gaining a few hours headway, so I pulled into a service station so I could join my comrades in some sleep for an hour or two.

As soon as I pulled up, and tried my best to sleep in the drivers seat (which involves resting your head on the top of the steering wheel, precariously balanced for one move rotates it, sending you downwards and waking up rather sharply). Mackey had a better idea though. Despite having the back seat, usually the preferred sleeping area of choice due to having 2 sides to lean on, he simply got out and lay on the ground. We all remained in this awkward, but asleep, positions for a couple of hours before we realised it was time yet again to go.

And onwards towards the Russian border we went.....