Leaving Lviv.

What a great town Lviv is, made better by the festival of Batyrs Day and Labour Day. We had to go though so east it was. We hadn’t travelled far when we came across the city of Tsvetsomethingorother where apparently there is a law that prohibits foriegn travellers from riding through the city. It must be just foriegners cos every other fooker was going through it. This was our first brush with the famous Ukrainian police force. After much bolloxing about including the “Come on then, let’s go the station and do it right”. It ended up us both being parted from 30 euros. I was at a low ebb i can tell you. We girded our loins and travelled east to a great rough camp. We were hidden in some farmers fields around 100 yds from the road. I cooked and we got our heads down- cushty.

Shhh….. Gorillas in the mist

Flobba lobba lob, we…….ed.

5th Heading East (Get used to that, lol)
Breakfasted we rode on, and at the first opportunity juiced up. Upon exiting the garage, the sound of police sirens saturated the air- hearts low we puled over. To pull into the gas station we had crossed the unbroken white line, crossing it again upon the resumption of our journey. 2 bikes in, 2 bikes out, 4 offences- 300 euros please. I was devastated. We thought we had been so careful. Zebb went into the police car to sort it out and this time we were relieved of a mere 75 euros each. Happening upon an intrepid group of Aussie optamists on their way to Isreal on Urals (go for it boys), we gave them the benefit of our experience and wished them “Bon Voyage”.

Aussies on the way to Isreal on Urals

With our spirits well and truely in the pan we decided to have a cuppa and discuss our options. Asking the girls if they spoke english was greeted with a round of giggles and the chef appeared to investigate. Korovskyi Rustlan was trained on the Carribean and Princess Line cruise ships so helped us out with the menu. Spirts restored we forged on.

Korovskyi Rustlans’ gaff. Recommended too lift your spirits (apfelstrudel is nice too).

We made camp on the shores of the Black Sea just after passing through a village- amazed at how lucky we were to find such a flat piece of ground. Zebb went to the village to see if he could buy some eggs, but was largly blanked. Our amazement at our lucky campground find, faded slightly when the village kids came out to play football, to find two strangers camped across one of the goals- oop’s lol. Curiosity finally got the better of them and they came over en-masse to see who we were. World map out, sweets, out, piccies on the bikes, it was great. The traffic that came to the site in the night was quite impressive i and was wondering if we hadn’t found the local dogging site, lol.

Ah that will be the goals then, pmsl.

Next morning saw us packing when one of the kids from the evening before ran over and presented us with a dozen eggs and straightout of the cow warm milk- running off before payment could be offered. A couple of the sunniest eggs youve ever seen later we were off.

At the end of the road i told Zebb i ws going to take a picture of the road sign to remember the location, so pulled off the rod parking alongside a black sedan type car- low and big. I troll off to get my piccie and come back to get a right going over by Zebb. Appaarently i had inadvertently interupted a dubious roadside deal involving windows opening, money going in, package coming out- oops.

Where it could (apparently) of ended for Henry “The Innocent One”

Another great dys riding saw us rough camped alongside a lake, infortunately not far enough from the main road for Zebbs liking. Anyway we kept our heads down to avoid detection, all to no avail as we were visited by someone who i suspect was the farmeri suppose asking us what we were about. Our complete lack of anything other than scouseze made communication impossible so the guy drove off, with Zebb issueing dire warnings about being kicked to death in our sleep by unknown assailants. Be ready to act at a moments notice.

Later in the night i’m sat there sweating in my kit with weapons to hand, listening to that twat snoring. I think ‘the fookers can kick me to death in my sleep for all i care i’m knackered’ – kit off in me bag. In a flash it hits me, like a bolt of lightening! I’d come on holiday with Jasons long lost cousin- Zebb Bourne. I was in ‘The Zebb Identity’ with no way out for months, lol.