DAY 106 | Russia | How To Move The Stars | A bicycle ride around the world

How To Move The Stars is the day by day retelling of a bicycle ride around the world. Start from the beginning to get the whole story. 

My adventure was a modern day epic, a solo, self-supported bicycle ride spanning 38,000 miles across six continents. There were moments I barely survived, and times I cried tears of joy, but mostly, this is a story about the thousands of people I met along the way.  I moved through their cultures, and dramatic landscapes. I ate their food and slept on their land. I was constantly arriving to the open arms of strangers who were excited to help me achieve a feat that few could imagine. I did this for years, immersing myself in the world and meeting the people who live here. The story I returned with is a snapshot of humanity, captured in a lived experience. Thank you for joining me on my journey.

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Episode Transcript

(00:00):
May 30th, 2013 Moscow pool. Yesterday I was so slow that I
couldn't tell if my bike needed maintenance or if I was simply
tired. I got everything lubricated
before getting started this morning, but it wasn't any
faster. The problem was definitely me.
At a gas station. I told the attendant that I

(00:21):
sleep in the forest and fields in a caring way.
He mind a gun with his fingers to ask if I'm worried about
being found. A lot of people ask about this
and I share their concern. At night is when I'm most
vulnerable. My gear is unpacked, no one else
is around. I have no means to get away
quickly. Only by luck am I avoiding

(00:41):
dangerous chance encounters. To answer the man, I put my hand
over my heart and said I'm learning to trust, but he didn't
understand. In the late afternoon, I sat in
the shaded spot by the side of the road.
I'd gone 40 miles across bland farm fields and wasn't motivated
to go any farther. I was actually feeling rather

(01:03):
dispirited. My legs were tired, I was
frustrated by my dragon pace, and the tedious farm fields are
wearing me down mentally. That's when a group of five
cyclists about my age stopped tosay hello.
I was offered a drink from a bottle labeled Cavas, but they
called it Russian Coca-Cola. They said the nickname comes
from the dark brown color and the fizz.

(01:25):
The taste was slightly sweet, lightly carbonated with more
than a hint of fermentation. I asked about the ingredients
and surprisingly they said the drink is made from bread.
The group was light hearted and friendly and I was cheered up to
be around them by myself. I was too tired to continue, but
with them I was motivated to ride another 20 miles to the

(01:47):
city of Kresnidor. Along the way, we stopped at a
small convenience store and bonded over ice cream bars.
The sun had nearly set when we arrived in town.
Everyone split to get home before dark, and the woman in
the group, Marina, invited me tocamp in her yard.
She led me down a dirt path, across the farm field and

(02:08):
through a graveyard before arriving at her home, where she
lived with her parents, sister and two young nieces.
She went inside while I hung my hammock in the backyard between
trees full of sweet, ripe cherries.
I was eating them when Marina came back outside to invite me
in for dinner. We have potatoes and pork,
strawberries, two types of pastries, cucumbers, bread and

(02:31):
cherry juice. I was served a drink that they
made by smashing strawberries into the base of a wide mug,
adding an extra strong shot of cold black tea, a spoonful of
sugar and topping the cup off with hot water.
We also had a glass of homemade wine and when I told the father
I was impressed with the flavor,he proudly presented me with a

(02:51):
plastic 1 1/2 liter bottle of wine to take along with me.
Collectively, the family spoke just enough English for us to
have a conversation. The father worked as an engineer
and built the house we were sitting in.
He smiled easily and had gleaming gold teeth.
Marina was a committed cyclist, and rides and events that go for

(03:12):
hundreds of miles. She and her mother both exuded a
quiet kindness. As the evening was winding down,
the father invited me into the basement for a game of pool on a
table he built himself. The pool table was the largest
I'd ever seen. The pool balls were also bigger,
but the pockets were narrower. He called the game Russian Pool

(03:33):
and taught me the rules. There are 15 white balls and one
red cue ball. The first one to use the cue
ball to pocket eight of the others wins.
The game was fun but short. He beat me 8 to 1.