Grinning Like a Shot Fox

Before I begin, those with animals may know of the tendency to anthropomorphise their pet into part of their family. As far as I know there is no word to describe a further step, that is making an inanimate object such as a bicycle into an animal. Therefore I have invented a new word: 'mammaliamorphise' which describes how my Trek 7.7 got to be the Silver Fox. Which brings me to the title of this post.

Day 1 - we are riding through Russia on the way to our bush/rough camp in the lee of a centuries old crumbling stone fort. It is hot, humid and heavily trafficked. I hear a loud noise - like no other I have heard before on a bike - but put it down to a car exhaust as I have just been overtaken by a dusty beaten up old Lada. Some time up the road I wait for the remainder of the 9 strong peloton I am riding with to catch up, and am amazed when Stewart rides up and says, 'I've been shot!'. There is a bandage around his left arm. Yes, folks, shot!

He seeks medical attention from Nini, a cycling psychiatrist, when we get to camp and the next day after we cross the border to Estonia he goes to hospital and is operated on to remove a ball bearing from his arm where it has lodged deep between bones.

Round about the same time I discover a bullet wound in the Fox, which, if the lunatics bearing arms had better aim, would have got me in the leg, knee or possibly lower abdomen. I consider myself very lucky. I am not sure how lucky the Silver Fox feels, now bearing a Russian dent for life.

As you can imagine we were all pretty pleased to leave Russia for one reason or another.

Estonian arcadian bliss

Estonia is more peaceful, agricultural and friendly. There is all the usual abandoned farm collectives we have come to expect from former USSR countries, but in this country the peasant farmers are not so poor or peasanty as their Russian cousins just across the border. Farm houses are neat and tidy surrounded by well-ordered wood stacks, pretty flower gardens and vegie plots. Chooks, ducks, Guinea fowl - you know the sort of thing - roam free clucking and grubbing on the verges. Broad acre farming is evident in abundance with canola, barley, oats and some wheat. No animals much although we have smelt penned pigs, not surprising as pork is meant to be the national dish.

Our camp grounds have been pleasant enough, all being beside water, so I can now say that I have swum in the Gulf of Finland, the Baltic and a lake somewhere in Estonia. My fellow riders are good fun in the main - lots of Canadians, a few Amercans and four Australians.The March flies, or horse flies, are vicious and most of us are covered in red welts from where they have feasted on us. Not attractive and very itchy.

Tallin sports a beautiful old city, colourful, cobbled and full of opportunities to spend up big on Baltic amber and the like. I am about to go on a bike tour of the city to find out more, apart from knowing that it is a Hansa city - refer to history for this one.

A boy indulges in pond fishing

Another rest day, another laundry. This time we are right on the money doing bulk delivery and pick up and next rest stop someone else will do it for me. My room mate complains that I snore, but what can I do? Beers are good, especially the local beer the colour of a red squirrel, one of which ran in front of me yesterday.

So here's the technicals:

11 July: 110km, 16.5 average, hot, shot and slow
12 July at Laagna: 100 km, 18.7 average, hot - not shot, and a lovely lake to swim in
13 July at Saka: 57 km, 18 average and the Gulf of Finland to swim in
14 July at Kasmu Bay: 110 km, 19 average, hot, rolling and fun

15 July at Tallin: 99 km, 18.7 average, hot with an almighty thunderstorm in sight of our hotel but not near enough to avoid a drenching which was pleasant relief against the heat.