Three months around Europe

The signs were there. The sharp intake of breath by the Polish mechanic servicing the bike in Lublin, “ You are going where?” Then there was the three hour wait at the Polish border while they “fixed” the computor.

After that it was the Ukrainians pushing us forward in the line. Like lambs to the slaughter perhaps? At the border I met a Norwegian on a Harley. His name was something like Mogturd Mogturdson so I called him... Mog. He told me he was a Philosophy Lecturer and was heading for the Ukraine to meet, in person for the first time, his internet girlfriend.

“ She seems very nice. She is an accountant you know, very sensible and practical. I only have pictures – she does not have a cam.” Yeah right Mog mate- a Ukrainian girl on the net without a cam is like a woman with one pair of shoes. He asked me to accompany him to the meeting. “ Norwegian men are not good at meeting girls for the first time. You will help , how you say, break the ice.” Well, I had a new job :Gooseberry to an internet dating couple.

Mog gave out a few different messages. He was quiet, considered in his answers and probably spent much of his riding time thinking about the speck of dust. But his bike was a Harley with straight pipes and he had a vivid red riding jacket – the total extrovert contrast.

Eva, my German GPS took us up the old Operation Barbarossa Invasion route to Lviv station and there waiting for us outside was Galina , Mog's internet squeeze. I was torn between hanging back
or trying to capture the initial meeting like a paparazzi waiting for a celebrity. In the end my curiosity and job description got the better of me and I stuck close .
She was, well, quite a substantial lass and had obviously spent considerable time choosing her outfit which was, from the skimpy section of the Ukrainian Chain store, Really Big Girl's Blouses. The smile on Mog's face said it all. He was smitten at the first meeting. He could not stop talking

I spent the next two days in Lviv as my card was swallowed by a former communist running dog ATM. It was wonderful to see the relationship between Mog and Galina develop. I felt like a gooseberry but they seemed to want me there to fill in the quiet moments. Besides, I was taken with Galina's range of outfits. She seemed to change about every two hours.

I met the family, mother, father, brothers, sisters, sisters in law, granny. It was a nice break and Mog was happy – he was even considering quietening his exhaust system. So he must have been serious. I could spend hours writing about Mog and Galina and I hope it does not end in tears, especially as Mog has invested so much in a new exhaust system.

I got my card back and hit the road for Kiev. I was farewelled by all the family, the hotel proprietor, receptionist, Mog's exhaust mechanic. Beware of the police , everyone told me.

My plan was to go up the motorway to Kiev, then swing south to the Black Sea port of Odessa. It was 300 km longer than the direct route but would take about 24 hours less , such was the state of the roads.

I rigidly stuck to the speed limit, tucked in behind trucks and cars and tried to ride in a convoy. I was tempted to go look at the failed nuclear reactor at Chernobyl, but in the end decided I did not need any glow to add to my warm personality. And after all this was the country that in the last election the preferred candidate was poisoned – the orange revolution they called it. I suspect that was Agent Orange, that lovely defoliant proudly manufactured in Taranaki

I was vehicle five in an eight vehicle convoy, when I heard the siren. I glanced in the mirror and saw a finger waving me to the side.

I pulled over, switched off and waited. I could see in my mirror two cops with sunglasses, big funny Russian hats and sloppy blue uniforms approach me from behind. One went to the front of my bike and began to walk around it. The other ,motioned for me to get off the bike and take off my helmet.

“ You were speeding. You pay fine. Give me documents, ” said the older of the duo.

Well I knew this was a shakedown, but I handed over my licence and rego papers. I got a closer look at my new friend. He was pug ugly , pockmarked and unshaven. I imagined him thinking: With the money I get from this Western biker I will double the value of my Lada by filling it with petrol. The other officer was going to invest his share in boiled cabbage after shave and a new shell suit and wow them at the police ball.

“OK how fast was I going and how come I was the only one in the line stopped.” I reminded myself of the John Wayne maxim: Talk low and talk slow. And say very little

“ You speed, you pay fine “ repeated Officer Starski. Yes you speed, pay fine, repeated his younger partner, Officer Rabbithutchanova.

“ Ok how much fine. In euro please.

They wrote out a figure 225: About $450. Boiled cabbage after shave must be pricey.

“You pay now. “

No I would not. Could I please see proper form and receipt.
They then made a sign of crossed wrists which I took to mean handcuffs and said “ you no pay, you go prison.”

“Ok have no money need ATM.”

So now I was in another convoy. The police car with my documents
and me following. About 10km down the road, we pulled into a roadside station and I was ushered inside.

“ You pay or go to jail.” On the bike ride, I had hidden my money in my tank bag and just had about $10 of the local currency on me.

“ Pay fine or go to jail.” they repeated. At this stage I was completely confident that I had done nothing wrong.

“ I am happy to pay fine. You show me charge sheet, amount of fine. I will check it with lawyer , then if he says OK I will pay your Captain from ATM.” I don't know whether they got all this , but they told me to sit and wait and went into a huddle in the corner.
I reviewed my options: worst outcome was a night in the slammer, hopefully not with a Ukrainian lady boy. I would hate to see the headline in the Herald : KIWI PENSIONER SHARES PRISON LOVENEST WITH UKRANIAN LADYBOY.

Starski and Rabbithutchanova came out of their huddle.
“ You make gift to us you go.:

“No if I guilty I pay fine as I said before.”

They looked at me with pure malice. I had been with them for about 90 minutes and they had nothing, I was in no hurry. They were wasting valuable shakedown time in the high tourist season.

“ How much money you got?” I pulled out the local note.

“ That all I have and I need some petrol to get me to next town.”

Starski throw up his hands and slammed my documents down onto the desk. I looked at him and his partner. “ So can I go then .”

They nodded and I grabbed my documents and shot through before they changed their mind.

We are just not used to police corruption in NZ and I could see if you were travelling with your family you might take a different approach – but I just wasn't prepared to fund these two cop's lifestyles. If we keep paying out they will keep doing it , I guess.

I drove slowly about another 100km up the road, found a hotel and slept the sleep of the just and innocent.

Like John Wayne.

Till next time

Safe riding