Journey from the past

[GoldOxide_imp]

Cool Nach. Too bad you did not save an iceberg sample in a sealed jar or sumthin'.

[Nachodaddy]

Cool Nach. Too bad you did not save an iceberg sample in a sealed jar or sumthin'.

[Cormanus]

Great story Nachodaddy.

[peterbaron]

Sorry for a long delay, my bad.
..................
In chapter 3, I will show my "home" 250cc single cylinder motorcycle. I just found the photos in my basement after a few years of searching!!

Now just the journey...
Two people on one bike + minimal luggage, nothing was planned in advance, no hotel reservations, no detailed road map, or where to stop and rest, no weather forecast… nothing, even the trip itself.

CHAPTER 1

Poland - Bulgaria, July/August, 1977

In my head, I only had over 4,000 km of a round-trip ride from Poznań/PL to Varna/BG and I could only rely on road signs.

Our problem started a night before departure when we already packed the bike and I tried to take off... an unwanted wheelie in 1st and 2nd gear under gentle acceleration. This was not because the bike had plenty of power, but because the side racks were located too far behind the rear wheel axle, causing the front wheel to come off the ground.
There was also a problem with welding the racks because the electrodes were too thick and required more current to properly weld the racks, and rack's rods and flat bars were too thin, and everything melted during welding.
None of us had sufficient welding experience.
Time was running out and instead of re-engineering the side racks, we decided to limit our luggage to the minimum (i.e. a pair of shorts and jeans, a few T-shirts, underwear, socks and shoes, one towel, toiletries for each traveler and, most important, spare parts which included a rear tire, one inner tube for each tire, a piston with rings and wrist pin, a puller, and some wrenches, and of course about 8L of oil for a 2-stroke motor).
We were equipped with so many wrenches, sockets and screwdrivers that we could take a part almost the entire bike.

The tents, air mattresses, pumps and many other things simply had to stay at home, as they were too heavy.
However, we had 320 Russian rubles. The average salary in the USSR at that time was about 95 rubles per month.
We did not want to travel through the Soviet Union, but due to the lack of foreign currency like Hungarian forints, which were sold out, there was no other option.


*Day 1
Poznan - Przemysl, PL - 640 kms

https://www.google.ca/maps/dir/Pozna%C5%...FQAw%3D%3D

My friend Jack overslept and we were a few hours late leaving.
Unfortunately, after 180 km, the motorcycle ran out of fuel, because I had tested it a day before and forgot to refuel it.
No big deal, there were plenty of cars around and we had our own oil to mix with gasoline. We got all 16 letters for free from a taxi driver, a nice guy who didn't want a penny.
After 640 kms we stopped at a hotel near the border with Russia.
Some snacks and a quick shower, and we immediately fall asleep, tired.


*Day 2
Przemysl, PL - Lviv, USSR - 100 kms

https://www.google.ca/maps/dir/Przemy%C5...FQAw%3D%3D

After breakfast, we were ready to continue riding.
There were only 20-30 kms left to the border with Russia, our new unknown....
The border crossing was in Medyka.
After a short ride, we noticed that there was a three-hour queue at the border crossing.
After crossing we learnt that we, the motorcyclists, didn't have to stand in such long lines of cars...

After about 45 minutes, three Russian soldiers began collecting drivers’ IDs. They simply collected about 50-70 identity documents and disappeared in a building near the border. One of them noticed us at the end of the line and came over, stopped for a moment next to our bike and looked at us as if he had never seen a motorcycle and riders like that. My sporty-looking white bike with a fairing, white one-piece suit, black knee-high boots and full face helmet made a huge impression on him.
He took our documents and told us to follow him with the bike, so we did.
There we stood and waited in front of the building for about two hours.
On the other side, there was a ramp on which a Renault 12 Wagon was parked, three family members were sitting on the grass, and the driver was standing next to his car and waiting for the car to be thoroughly inspected.
The car was really packed and also had some luggage on its roof.
The Russians removed everything from the car and, using long thin rods, started digging into small holes in the doors, rocker panels, etc., as if they were looking for something hidden in there..????

After a long wait, our documents were returned to us and we were asked only a few questions about where we were going, for how long, whether we had relatives in Russia and how many rubles we were carrying with us, and we were already on the territory of the USSR. 90 km from us was the city of Lviv, where my mother's father finished university, when Lviv was still Polish.

When we were leaving, the Ranault 12 family started packing their car back. I guess, this family spent about five to six hours on the Russian border.

On the outskirts of Lviv, we were stopped by the Russian police, who had small buildings on both sides of the roads to control people entering and leaving the city. Not everyone got stopped, but we did.
They asked us a few standard questions and we resumed riding to a nearby gas station.

I stopped at the gas pump, opened my side pannier and took out the oil to pour into the tank before refuelling. I had never seen such cheap petrol in my life, a few kopeck per litre.
Meanwhile, Jacek opened his pannier to take out a sandwich and suddenly a guy our age came from behind and yanked out Jack's Wrangler jeans, throwing everything on the ground.
I quickly jumped between Jack and that guy because I knew that Jack was about to hit him.
After a while, the situation calmed down and we could talk.
The guy just wanted to buy jeans which were almost unavailable in Russia in late 1970s.
We only had some basic things for ourselves and jeans were not for sale for any money.
The guy was stubborn and wanted to buy it.
We immediately realized that he was a local speculator when he offered to pay us in USD, and after our refusal, he offered to pay in gold or diamonds.
None of us needed such a transaction with a stranger and in the USSR.
We packed everything back and set out to find a hotel.
After a short ride, we found the former Polish Hotel George quite by accident.
Jack stayed by the motorcycle, keeping an eye on it, and I went inside. There was pure silence, no one was there, and only after a while, an employee showed up and informed me that check-in was at 4 pm.
When I went outside, I didn't see Jack or my motorcycle which was parked on the sidewalk, both were lost in the crowd of curious passers-by.
I don't know how is today, but in those days ordinary Russians were very friendly, especially towards Poles and foreigners.
The first words I heard after leaving the hotel were: what planet do you come from?
Motorcycle, ordinary moto gear, and especially full face helmets, turned us into real aliens.
The conversation lasted over half an hour and ended quickly when a policeman arrived on a Ural motorcycle with a sidecar.
The assembly disappeared and only the bravest Russians remained.
The policeman said that our presence was causing an unnecessary gathering and we have to leave.
I requested his assistance to guide me to the nearest guarded parking lot and bringing me back, to which he agreed.
The parking attendant was very nice, but also surprised that I arrived with a policeman.
While the policeman was waiting, I asked the parking attendant to cover my motorcycle so that it would not be visible to the public, for fear of theft.
The guy quickly found a good cover.
I said to him that tomorrow morning I would come to pick up my bike and if everything was OK, he would get a few rubles extra, besides the parking fee.
These extra few rubles were his daily wage.
Everything was sorted out, the policeman was a "witness"... me sitting in the sidecar as we rode back.
It was the only time in my life when I was in a sidecar.
We pulled up to the hotel, where Jack was standing with several people, and some surprise among the Russians who said: when the police come for someone, they don't bring one back, we heard.
The policeman ordered them to disperse, which they did reluctantly.

Check in was done and we were already in our room.
The bathrooms were located in the corridor, I went first to take a shower, and Jack stayed in our room as a guard, so that our helmets and other things wouldn't disappear... just in case.
After returning to the room, I saw tea and some cookies, so I said to Jack: what is this, and Jacek answered: there were two maids and they wanted to trade, jeans and clogs are a must. Jack said they will be back in the morning to finalize the transaction.

In the late afternoon, we went to the currency exchange office located at the train station to exchange rubles for Romanian leu and Bulgarian leva to continue our journey without any problems. There was no problem with the transactions.
In the huge railway hall station, there was a massive, several-meter high monument of Lenin, so we said hi Volodya, joking in Polish about the leader of the October Revolution.

While looking for some tavern or restaurant, we were stopped again by young Russians who wanted to buy something.
In the tavern, the waiter, an older man who understood Polish quite well, approached us.
It turned out that he was a descendant of people deported to Siberia during the times of the tsar and Stalin.
He served us tasty food. We talked with him for a long time, but not about politics.
It was obvious that he was afraid because he looked around nervously.
We left him a good tip, everyone was happy.


* Day 3
Lviv, USSR - Cluj/Napoca - 490 kms

https://www.google.ca/maps/dir/Lviv,+Lvi...FQAw%3D%3D

We returned to our hotel around 1 am but the doors were locked. We checked two other entrances, which were also locked, so we banged on the front door to get in, and after a while the night watchman appeared
He asked us for a pass, what kind of pass, we asked him and then Jacek gave him two rubles to let us in.
The next morning we went to eat breakfast.
Feeding rooms were located on each floor, at the end of the corridors.
While eating, we noticed a guy standing in the corner of the room watching everyone.
I said to Jacek: there's something wrong here, he's probably watching us, who cares, Jack replied.
After checking out, we continued our journey.

So far the bike ran flawlessly.
After a longer ride we stopped at a nowhere gas station for refueling. The attendant asked us for gas stickers, to our surprise.
At small gas stations, one cannot buy gasoline for cash at all. We had to ride back a couple of kilometers to find a bigger grocery store that sells these petrol stickers, 5L, 10L, 15L etc.
Then we returned to the gas station, filled up and paid for the fuel with gas stickers.
We kept riding until we stopped at a small tavern to eat something, but they didn't really offer anything to eat, so we bought some dry sausages, half a loaf of bread and two lemonades.
After a short chat and a meal, we had to move on.
The asphalt road was very bumpy due to the scorching sun.
We rode on, looking for a gas station and we ran out of fuel again.
After a while, a dump truck arrived.
The truck driver got out with a smiling face and looked at us and the bike.
We need some gas, no problem, replied the driver.
There was a dirty bucket hanging behind the back wheel of the truck
The driver then unscrewed the drain plug on one of the side tanks and rinsed the dirty bucket with gasoline several times while the gasoline slowly flowed out of the tank onto the asphalt and then into the ditch.
How much do we pay you?, I asked.
Nothing, the truck and gasoline belong to the state, he said.
He screwed in the drain plug and drove away.
We got about 15 liters of gasoline, but probably three times as much leaked from the truck's fuel tank.
As we continued riding, I noticed gas dripping from the tank onto my left boot.
Before the trip, I bought a larger, used gas tank from a motorcycle after an accident. This tank already had a large dent next to the tank's seam.
Most likely, this large dent "cracked" the seam due to vibration.
At this point, soap was the best and temporary fix to the leak.
Approximately every 100 km, I had to rub soap into the tank seam to keep the leakage to a minimum.

We pulled up to the next gas station.
We bought gas stickers at one cash register and exchanged them for gas at the other. There were no stickers for 5L or 10L, only 15L and larger, and we needed about 10L of gas.
At small gas stations, the refueling procedure was as follows:
1) You give the sticker to the staff and he/she sets the number of litres according to your sticker.
2) Then you put the dispenser into the tank and fill it. You couldn't stop refuelling until a set number of litres had been filled. Only the attendent can stop the pump once it has been set.
I poured about 12 liters and the rest went to the ground because the attendent did not stop the pump.
Gas was cheap, so we didn't care.
The tank was still dripping gas.

Finaly, we were approaching the USSR - Romania border.
There was a small queue in which we waited for several minutes.
Two soldiers came, each with a rifle, and took us inside the Border Guard building.
The bike was parked in front of the building.
We barely entered the building when we heard: the white man arrived, bring him here right away
We were in a large room, with a long table inside. The guard placed us on opposite sides of the table and the sergeant began the interrogation.
Our helmets were on the table.
Where are you coming from, what are you carrying with you, why did you want to sell your jeans for dollars and gold., he asked.
Jack and I told him how it was...
By the long side of the table there was a chair covered with a white sheet and the sergeant told me to sit there.
As soon as I sat down, I heard a short beep.
After a moment, Jack followed sergeant's order, and again we heard a short beep.
I think it was a sensor to detect metals or objects in the man's rectum?
Then the sergeant took my helmet, put his clenched fist inside, and after a while he pulled it out and said: I found it, while looking at our faces and reactions. Jack and I looked at each other in surprise, waiting to see what would happen next.
Then the sergant asked how many Russian rubles we had with us, and we answered that a little over 200.
This is too much money to take out of the USSR and he told us to buy vodka from the canteen.
None of one was a drinker and did not need any drop of alcohol. Already then I decided that I would not go back through the USSR, but through Hungary and then Czechoslovakia instead.
Before leaving Poland for Bulgaria, I had an informative conversation with my father (he spent the whole year at the Military Academy in Leningrad, now St. Petersburg), and told me what to do in a drastic situation.
I followed father's instruction and requested conversation with the officer on duty.
A young lieutenant came, he must have heard everything from the next room because he didn't ask any questions. He just let us go.
This whole circus with Soviet comrades took us a few hours, and we entered Romania at about 11 p.m.


*Day 4
Cluj/Napoca, RO - Varna, BG - 700 kms

https://www.google.ca/maps/dir/Cluj-Napo...FQAw%3D%3D


After riding several kilometres, we came across a camping site where we spent the night.
The next morning I checked the fuel tank and it didn't look good and was still leaking
After 20 kilometres down the road, we found a large agricultural equipment repair workshop where we asked for help.
A nice guy came, he bearly spoke Russian, but he knew what our problem was.
While the tank was being repaired by the shop, he took us to his appartment for dinner.
The tank was brass welded, a little sooty, full of gas, and no longer leaking.
Absolutely no payment, he said, it's for friends from Poland


In Romania, shortly after repairig leaky gas tank



The ride through Romania was quite calm, except for the ride through the serpentines of the Carpathians... the rear swing arm was weak and flaccid, our motorcycle was loaded to the max, but there was no time before the trip to improve it, although I had a tubular and stronger rear swing arm sitting in my garage.
On a sharp bend, Jack was taking a photo of a cliff with a stream at the bottom, but to get a good photo he had to make a "twist" in his seat.
Everything would be ok if he did it smoothly and slowly, but suddenly he jumped and turned himself by 90 degrees.
This caused the motorcycle to go off the curve and onto the opposite shoulder. I just don't know how I managed to get back on the road and avoid falling into the abyss....
My heart was in my throat and I had to stop to catch my breath, and when I looked at Jack's face it was pale like a corps...
He didn't say anything, but it was obvious he felt guilty.

After crossing the Carpathians, we took the Pitesti - Bucharest highway, it was smooth as a glass table.

The border with Bulgaria was already close and late afternoon approaching when we suddenly entered a small valley with a swarm of mosquitoes.
The entire windshield was covered with mosquitoes, and when I lifted it open, I had mosquitoes in my mouth and eyes.
We had to stop and clean ourselves of this filth.

At the Romanian-Bulgarian border, we met a motorcyclist with a passenger on a CB750 who was returning to Germany.
He indicated a willingness to race by revving up the RPM …lol…what a dreamer.
I looked at his bike's 4 carburetors which were completely dry and then at my carb that was wet, dirty and mosquitoes-covered...
One day I will have a motorcycle like this, I said to myself.....

On the Bulgarian side border there was quite a large bathroom where we could wash ourselves thoroughly.
Now it was a straight road to Varna, I thought prematurely....
After some kilometres of riding, the bike stalled again and would not restart.
The carburetor had become detached from the cylinder and was hanging on its throttle cable.
The cause was gas/oil softened rubber flange adapter.
Before our trip, I couldn't buy oil resistant rubber flange adapter anywhere.
Before Varna, the carburetor fell off a few more times and I had to hold it with my hand to keep riding.
We were just few hundred meters away from Hotel Musala where we spent our next 10 nights.
But to get to this hotel, we had to ride around a huge square or cross the square while pushing our motorcycle.
Pushing the bike across the square and taking a shorter route seemed like a better option.
Finally, we are already at the hotel's reception and there was a double room at an affordable price for us, thank God!!


Me in front of the Musala Hotel in Varna, BG


*Next several days
Varna/vicinity - Burgas, BG - 350 kms

https://www.google.ca/maps/dir/Burgas,+B...FQAw%3D%3D

Varna's beaches were beautiful and wide, the weather was great, and the water in the Black Sea was very warm.

While returning from a local trip to Burgas, the chain fell off the front sprocket and got jammed so badly that I had to remove the left cover first, then the sprocket to fix this problem.
After removing the front sprocket, a 3-4 inch crack in the crankcase was revealed.
Fortunately, the crack was about an inch above the gear oil level, so we were able to ride back home without major issues, just some bad wetness below the crack.
One morning something tempted me to check out the bike that was parked under a sparse cover. Some local boys had peeled off all the stickers.
Good thing they didn't steal the whole bike!


Jack and I in Varna

Time passed quickly and we had to think about returning back to Poland, not through the USSR but through Romania, Hungary and then Chechoslovakia.
We had a lot of Russian rubles that could be easily exchanged for Hungarian forints and Czechoslovakia korunas.

From a local automotive store, I bought two radiator cooling hoses and cut them into 5 pieces. I replaced the softened rubber flange adapter to carburetor and the remaining 4 I kept as spare.
The bike was repaired, checked and ready for the return journey of over 2,000 kms.

We're going home tomorrow and there was no indication that there would be an electrical problem shortly after departure, next in Chapter 2

[Cormanus]

Fabulous, Peter. Thank you!

[peterbaron]

Ferret's battery electrical problem and you are the ones who inspired me !!

[the Ferret]

wow incredible adventure pb. How old were you at the time?

BTW I've gotten stuck by a dying battery TWICE now. The latest one last fall. I hate these batteries that don't give you any warning. So much so that I bought a Noco portable jump starter I carry with me now (mostly for the NC and my wife's Xmax, neither of which can be bump started.)

[Django]

Hi Peter, fabulous report from the past! I guess nowadays people cannot really imagine how this border crossing to/in eastern countries was during cold war.
And what a ride in those conditions.

Being anxious for the next chapter...

[peterbaron]

@Ferret: How old were you at the time? >> I was 22-23
@Django: Being anxious for the next chapter... >> coming soon

[peterbaron]

CHAPTER 2, Romania - Poland, 1820 kms

https://www.google.ca/maps/dir/Varna,+Bu...FQAw%3D%3D

Day 1
Varna, BG - Oradea, RO near Hungarian border, 840 kms

https://www.google.ca/maps/dir/Varna,+Bu...FQAw%3D%3D

We were supposed to leave Varna/BG at 3:30 - 4:00 a.m., but again Jack, who disappeared during the night until I found him sleeping with a girl in the room upstairs.
I just couldn't let him stay and I waited in their room for another 15 minutes until he finally said goodbye to his one-night stand.

All packed, we took off as soon as the sun started rising.
I remember, it was around 10 am, when suddenly the bike died. I checked a few electrics and I noticed that the battery had no acid due to a "melted" hole in it (overcharging).
We got stuck about 1500 kms away from home in a foreign country with very limited cash (no credit cards or cells at that time).
I got the bike bump started but every time I turned on any loads like the stop light or horn, the bike died again. Not thinking much and with no clue from where this idea came, I joined 2 or 3 battery cells by a wire that we had with us as one of "spare parts".

When mastering a bike's electrical circuit, I took the voltage regulator to an auto electrical shop for a pre-adjustment and the old and experienced electrician told me to bring my bike back for a final-live set up to prevent the battery from overcharging.
At that time, I did not think much about his wise advice as we were already late for our 4K kms long distance round trip through few European countries.

After this makeshift but effective repair, the motorcycle performed flawlessly.
I had to remove the fuse from the stop light circuit, no horns, no lights, no any electrical loads, because all the voltage had to go to power the ignition.

We were aproaching the Hungarian border.
I don't remember how many times, once or twice, we slept in a field in haystacks, and whether it was in Romania or Hungary or in both countries?
We had to stop riding early in the afternoon due to no lights and get up as early as possible to cover as many kilometers as possible.
Hungry, thirsty, dirty and stinky as we left our haystacks home.

Day 2
Oradea, RO - Hungary - Giraltovce, Czechislovakia, 350 kms

https://www.google.ca/maps/dir/Oradea,+R...FQAw%3D%3D

We already left Hungary and we were now riding through then-named Czechoslovakia, and through the mountains again, this time the Tatra Mountains and steeper than the Carpathians. Full of more or less safe turns with poor roadside protection and cliffs.
I just told Jack not to take any picturs, otherwise we would come home in pieces or in coffins...
After a long run, the battery became a bit stronger, and I was able to use parking lights only. It was geting darker and darker and I couldn't see the road.
In a small mountain valley, we passed through Giraltovce, a small Czechoslovak village.
We stopped at the first household we saw and asked for accommodation, even in a barn on a haystack.
A young couple with two children welcomed us very warmly and provided us with their best room.
They treated us to sapper and breakfast. They gave us a packed lunch for our journey.
They didn't want to take any money, absolutely nothing.
We asked if there was something for the children, and then an older girl asked for postcards from Poland because she collects them.

When we came back home, Jack and I send each girl several postcards independently.

Day 3
Giraltovce, Czechoslovakia - Katowice, PL, 280 kms

https://www.google.ca/maps/dir/Giraltovc...FQAw%3D%3D

As soon as we crossed the Czechoslovak-Polish border, we got a flat rear tire.
No central stand.
There were some kids around and playing soccer, so we asked them to bring some bricks and piece of board to put the motorcycle on.
As we were talking to these kids, we noticed that they were jabbering among themselves a mixture of Polish and German, which was their Silesian language.
I replaced the rear punctured tube to fix the flat.
The kids brought soap and water and we could wash our dirty hands.
As a reward, we put some kids on a motorcycle.

From this point it was close to my aunt and uncle who lived in Katowice.
Without any notice, we suddenly showed up at their home, hungry and tired.
After the meal, we talked about our travel adventures until midnight.
Then sleep, breakfast and departure - the last jamp of 400 kms with only one mechanical incident!!

Day 4
Katowice - Poznan - home, sweet home, 390 kms

https://www.google.ca/maps/dir/Katowice,...FQAw%3D%3D

We were almost home, only 400 km left, so we set off around 8:00 in the morning
A straight path forward.
About 120 kms from home the carb separated again due to the soft rubber adapter, but I had plenty of it in spare. The repair only took half an hour, so we continued riding until we got home.
Jack and I used to live in adjacent apartment buildings.

I parked the bike in my garage and did not want to ride or see it for about two weeks.
After that time I fixed the rubber adapter issue permanently plus some other small imperfections. Never bothered fixing the crankcase crack near the front sprocket. The side racks were dismanteled and ended up in scrap.
It clocked many, many more kiloimeters without any problems at all.

In the upcoming winter, I repainted the entire bike, made some other small impovements and mods, but the motorcycle never had a racing engine because I already had other plans.... with a car...

In chapter 3: how the bike was built and its last generation2 look before selling...


and departure to Vienna, Austria, then to Canada......