One Hell of a Ride

Ever now and then I’m having to drive a car instead of my motorcycle, particularly when a lot of baggage and/or a lot of passengers are involved.

So one of these days I had to drive my girl over to the airport with the SUV where she could depart to Amsterdam for her Eurotrip. On the way back, somewhere on the Paraqar road, a traffic police car was standing right in the middle of the road, very obviously hunting for prey. I spotted the car very early, checked my lights, my safety belt, my driving position and of course my speed and nailed it at 60 km/h (no person in a sane state of mind ever drives less than 80 km/h on the Paraqar road).

Right after passing them, the cops turned on the siren and pulled me over. “God damn it,” I thought, “everything was perfect, what the fuck did I do wrong?”

So I pull at the nearest convenient section of the road, put the window down, my hands on the wheel. The officer approaches. He’s a tan and fit dude in his early thirties:

“Your documents please”

“What was the offense?”

“You’re driving 65 km/h in a residential area”

“Dude, I was doing specifically 60 and paying close attention to that, too!”

He looks at me for a moment, takes a look at my documents (they are perfectly fine), then goes on in a really interesting way:

“Speeding is a very serious offense. I’m gonna have to fine you for 20,000 drams and take away your driving license.”

“Seriously though, I did not exceed 60 km/h!”

“If you disagree, you can go to a court with this case. There is a standard procedure for that. If you win, all your fine will be refunded by the State.”

He knows exactly what he’s saying. I will never go through the court hassle in Armenia and even if I do I will never think (perhaps mistakenly) that it can possibly be won. So I sigh.

“Dude, I am no going to go through any lawsuit. I don’t have the time for that and I’m sure neither do you. But I am sure as hell not paying 20,000 for going 60 km/h, and giving up my driving license isn’t going to happen either.”

“How so?”

“I have no idea!”

“You look like a fine mate. How about I fine you just for 5,000?”

“Deal.”

“Step out of your car, come pay it over at ours.”

I get out of the car and approach theirs. Give the other cop the 5,000 and walk back to my car. They certainly give me no official piece of paper confirming the payment. Something crosses my angry mind and I think of a quick plan.

Before opening the door of my car, I make it obvious that I am checking their license plate number, then I sit in the car, take my cellphone and dial a friend. The cops look suspicious. They drive away. After a 2-minute chat with my pal about random shit, the cops take two U-turns and stop by my car again. Then the one cop that is not driving asks me to put my window down. I am still on the phone, so I ask my friend to wait. The cop looks very obviously terrified.

“Why aren’t you driving away?”

“I am making an important call. As far as I know, driving when talking on the mobile phone is against the law!” I am then making a move to go back to the phone. The cop immediately interrupts:

“Say,” he says, “I saw your driving license had an A-class permit stamped. Do you ride a motorcycle?”

I nod.

“So considering the road we’re on, you just had to take a car this time to drive a family or a friend over to the airport, right?” he looks excited.

“That’s right, I had to drive my girlfriend for a flight to Amsterdam.”

“So then you mainly ride a motorcycle, not a car!” he looks like he just made a discovery.

“That’s precise!”

“Should have mentioned that earlier, mate… Good luck!!”

The cop hands me back my 5,000 dram bill and they quickly drive away. I smile and take back my phone where my friend is waiting.

“What was going on?” he asks.

“All is well! I’ll call you back tomorrow, bro!”

Great news for all of you* on two wheels in (or soon-to-be-in) Armenia!

Here is an email I have received from one of our rider fellows a couple of minutes ago (in Armenian):

bike-festi start@ sksvum e Akhtalaic septemberi 15-in , cankali e bolor@ havakvats linen min4ev jam@ 15:00 (cerek@ ekexecu taratskum kazmakerpvelu e xorovatsi paraton taraznerov derasannerov ev ayln,isk jam@ 6-in stadionum sksvelu e rock paraton). Septemberi 16-in gnalu en Sevan, entex el pokrik mijocarum e linelu,ev 17-in gnalu en Jermuk` mianalu mec rock-festin. Bike festi shrjanaknerum kazmakerpvelu en khaxarkutyunner,mrcuytner,xaxer(Jermukum). Septemberi 21-in bolorov galis enk Yerevan nshelu ankakhutyan ton@. Menk mer vra enk vercnum Hayastanum mnalu voxj @ntackum vareliki tsaxser@. Artasahmanic bikerner@ petk e mtnen Bagratasheni koxmic, ancaketum klini mer koxmic nerkayacuci4,vor@ jamanac bikerin kpoxanci kartez,vareliki ktronner ev ayln. Amboxj @ntackum bikerner@ klinen GAI-i hskoxutyan tak t4anaparhnerin xndirneric azatelu npatakov.

Translation to English:

Bike-fest will kick off from Akhtala on September 15th. It’s desirable that everyone is there before 3:00PM (there’s gonna be a BBQ party in the church during the afternoon with national dresses, actors and shit. Then there’s gonna be a rock festival at 6PM in the stadium). On September 16th there’s gonna be another small event in Sevan, and on September 17th they [the bikers] are going to ride to Jermuk to join the rock fest. During the motorcycle fest lotteries, games and competitions are going to be organized in Jermuk. On September 21 we’re all gonna ride back to Yerevan to celebrate the Independence Day.

We [I assume the organizers?] will cover all expenses of motorcyclists’ fuel during the entire stay in Armenia. Foreign bikers/motorcyclists should enter Armenia from Bagratashen [a border town near Georgia]. We are going to have a representative at the border who will give the bikers a map, fuel purchase checks and other stuff. At all times the traffic police will be escorting the motorcyclists to avoid any issues on the road.

Then I randomly found out that PanARMENIAN.Net has more information available on the subject:

PanARMENIAN.Net - Travel without Borders project initiated by National Geographic Traveler Armenia through the assistance of RA government kicked off on August 24 with sailing of an international regatta.

The project consisting of 5 stages will finish nearby Tatev monastery on October 16, the day of opening of the longest ropeway in the world.

After Nairi and Ani boats complete their voyage, an equestrian tour will launch towards the Selim pass.

Between September 10 and 20, Armenia will host a bike fest, which is expected to bring together 150 bikers from different countries. The bikers will ride Bagratashen-Akhtala-Dilijan-Sevan-Selim pass-Jermuk route.

Besides, Music without Borders festival will take place in Jermuk.

The final stage will feature an international rally to follow Russia-Kazakhstan-Iran-Turkey-Georgia-Armenia route.

Conclusion: if you’re a motorcyclist and you want to visit Armenia (which happens to be a paradise for motorcycling), now is the perfect time!! Whether you’re riding a sportbike, a grand tourer, a cruiser, a streetfighter, a chopper or an enduro (especially an enduro!), hit the road and head over here! Even if you are a sociopath who does not care about the fantastic people he’s going to meet in Armenia, there’s still guaranteed free rides, free fuel and free police escort, where or when else would you ever have all of that together? I’d also add free drinks and free girls (maybe even guys and camels), but that wouldn’t be guaranteed. Take your shot!

For your extra information, Google Maps works great in Armenia (as long as you navigate your way through Georgia).

Have a safe trip!

* I’m gonna be on the other side of the planet from September 10, and that’s a bummer.

Even if you buy a brand new motorcycle and drive it off the stand from the official dealer store, sooner or later it will require a good wash. Even if you are that one lucky rider who has never been caught riding under the rain during the last 25 seasons, even if your garage is more sterile than the 8th Hospital in Zeytun (hey it’s totally feasible!), and even if you take a shower every time before saddling it, if you’re riding it you’ll get it dirty (no pun intended).

Tsakhkadzor, about 500km after the purchase

Moreover, if you just love doing it in dirt and gravel, the need to wash it will rise a lot more often than if you’re one of those cafe racer dudes with a Fireblade.

And by often I mean pretty damn often.

Urtsadzor, dirts of Khosrov Forest

So what do you do when the time comes? You know, when the rear suspension doesn’t work anymore because of all the dirt, the leather saddle and the handlebar grips conveniently stick to your pants and gloves like a candy, the turn signal button no longer works because of all the sand around, the mirrors show a blurred vision of a drunk person distantly resembling the reality behind you and she suddenly comes up with all these different reasons why she does not want to ride today? From that point (as well as from any ride that is more than 300km in Armenia) you have two options.

Option number one

Wash your motorcycle. Get some water running (better warm than cold), some dishwashing liquid detergent, a sponge and a bucket.

• Make sure the engine is not very hot
• Start with splashing buckets of water to essentially get the motorcycle very wet
• Spray the running water and try to get off as much dust and dirt by spraying as possible
• Get more water in the bucket and soap it using the detergent
• Starting with the top (the mirrors), go down sponging and soaping all the parts, taking care of the dead bugs and paying attention to every detail. Avoid rubbing the sponge against big pieces of dirt or sand, as this will scratch the paint.
• Clean the motorcycle chain using a commercial chain cleaner available in many stores including Honda’s Yerevan Dealership
• Rinse the bike using running water
• Let the motorcycle rest for a couple of minutes
• Dry it using a damp cloth
• Lubricate the chain!
• Go on a ride to dry off the remaining parts (enjoy)!

One thing to keep in mind is, do not direct high-pressure water on the carburetor, the front fork suspension rings or the engine radiator. These parts can easily be damaged by that.

Option number two

Have someone else wash your motorcycle. Many riders are feeling very strongly against someone else washing the motorcycle. Moreover, there is a shared belief that washing the motorcycle at a commercial no-contact car wash (aka “Karcher”) will damage some parts because of the extremely high-pressure water and air. However, in reality things are not so grim, if you take necessary precautions and warn the washer about some specifics.

Commercial no-contact car washes have two big advantages:

1. They do not accumulate any scratches to the paint, simply because pressurized air is used instead of a sponge
2. They are quick

Warn the fellow to not direct the stream of water at the radiator, the carburetor and the front fork UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES and always stay to supervise what’s he doing. Then pay your 2000 drams and get done with it.

I am personally going to this typical Yerevan car wash in a yard at Grigor Lusavorich street where a guy named Galoust (he’s in the photo above) has become my own personal bike washing expert. Here is where the place is located:

View Bike Wash in a larger map

Tell Galoust I said hi!

Armenians are proud people. We are proud with a reason and without. We are proud of our budding democracy, of our chess team, and, above all, of our history. We like to mention that once upon a time our country spanned from sea to shining sea and that we were the first nation to adopt Christianity as its official religion.

This little episode occurred in 301 AD: 12 years before Christianity was even legal in Rome. This change of religion was catalyzed by St. Gregory the Illuminator, now the patron saint of Armenia, curing then-pagan king Tiridates III of insanity, into which he had lapsed after torturing and killing a group of virgin Christian nuns. However, prior to this St. Gregory was imprisoned for 13 years in a deep pit (khor virap) by the same Tiridates III for being the son of his father’s enemy.

So every child educated in Armenia gets this history lesson, but not all of them get to see the actual pit. I had not until very recently. The virap has had a small chapel built over it since the days of St. Gregory, which is now a part of a monastery complex, situated in the Ararat plain, amid vineyards and orchards.

It was a rather short ride from the city, 30 minutes or so, on a boring straight road that didn’t give you much to look at, other than an occasional shanty roughly put together out of metal scraps in the middle of a fruit garden, where a family was laboring together hunched over the earth. The more boring and straighter the road, the more likely you are to speed though, so the highlight of the ride was the roar of the engine, the warm wind in my face, and the meditative state into which I lapse at high speeds. On the other hand, the last short section of the drive up to the Khor Virap monastery was extraordinarily picturesque, one so familiar and dear to the hearts of all Armenians: a church perched on the top of a steep hill with the snow-white Ararat hovering majestically in the back.

The first thing that struck me about the church was I guess the usual sight at most churches in Armenia on a weekend: the wedding conveyer.  One somber couple followed the other into the church where the no less somber priest performed the rites and pronounced them united in the eyes of God, after which the couple was free to go and pose for pictures in the yard. And so there was always one couple getting nervous, stepping from one foot to the other in the church doorway, another couple at the altar, and the third looking at the cameras soberly, gravely, as if trying to understand the philosophical repercussions of “in sickness and in health”.

Marital Bliss in the Making

Winged Wishes

The Wishes Don't Make It Far

The brides’ mothers looked fussy as they arranged their daughters’ veils clumsily and gave them advices as to how to look their best in these pictures that immortalized the most important day of their lives. Maids of honor tried to present themselves to their best advantage in front of the grooms’ friends. Little girls in white dresses spun around and twirled their taffeta skirts in the church yard, looking dreamily at the brides, hoping that one day they will be marrying their own solemn-looking prince charming. But for now, at least they got the dress all ready…

Looking into the Future

The Boundless Joy of a Princess Dress

The main church, St. Astvatsatsin, built in the 17th century, was rather typical, as far as Armenian churches are concerned, built out of smooth orange tufa stone. It sat in the middle of the courtyard contrasted by the rough-hewn stone walls around the whole complex. The back wall of the church was covered in inscriptions: mostly names and dates, some going as far back as 1920′s, making the sense of permanence and continuity real, touchable.

St. Astvatsatsin

The St. Gregory chapel was smaller, simpler, rougher, the inside walls covered with soot, housing the pit that served as St. Gregory’s home and prison for 13 years. We parked the motorcycle helmets by the altar, hoping that no one would steal from a church, and descended into the pit. The vertical ladder just kept going and going and I started to wonder just where I would find myself when my feet hit solid ground again, somewhat like Alice. The pit was dark, full of tourists, and claustrophobic. I guess those pagan kings back in the day were not to be messed with. Couldn’t imagine someone being trapped there for years and years, without the sad-looking but efficient light bulb hanging lonely from the ceiling.

Descent into the Unknown

Local Fauna - Pit Dwellers

Inside St. Astvatsatsin numerous candles flickered in the breeze, as people whispered their secret wishes and most coveted dreams to the quivering flames, hoping that God will grant an answer to their prayers.

Outside the church there was a tribute to the Armenian pagan past: a cock was trotting around proudly, as a true Armenian cock would, still ignorant of the the highest purpose he was going to serve.

Animal Sacrifice is Still En Vogue

On the way back to the city we were bombing down the highway, going over 150 km/hr, probably the fastest that I have ridden on a bike (although I used to squeeze more out of my old Corolla), and the boyfriend’s medium-sized helmet was sliding back off my small-sized head, while trying to crack my neck in the process. The chin strap was digging in painfully, totally ruining this amazing experience of the world rushing past me at a (quite literally) breakneck speed. With all this sliding around that the helmet was doing , I realized that it was on my head just for placebo effect: I may have felt better about having my head protected, but it would probably not do much good during the meeting between my head and the pavement.

So the few lessons to be learned from this ride:

• Armenia was the first country to adopt Christianity in 301 AD;
• Armenians have a lot to be proud of (in addition to the point above);
• When you are very low, there is nowhere else to go but up (from the depths of Khor Virap to a patron saint);
• And lastly, children, not only is it important to wear a helmet when riding a bike, it is also crucial to wear one your size.

“Java-ով գրողը C#-ով էլ կգրի”

—ՀԿՀ Ավագ Տեսուչ Ս. Խ. Բաբայան

First part can be found here, or you can read both together.

After meeting the Azeris at Yeraskh things got even more chilly and so did the weather. We enjoyed our candy bars and started climbing the mountains to finally get to Noravank.

At the final intersection we turned right across the small bridge to the narrow road that is perhaps my most favorite road section to ride in the south. It is a worn tarmac secondary road through a narrow gorge the color of the sun, and while the colors of the scenery resemble those of the Barrens in World of Warcraft (especially around summertime), the blooming trees, the wide expanse of the sky and the light tarmac all add fantastic bright shades, making the road a lot more like fantasy than any zone in World of Warcraft can be.

In Noravank it was already unpleasantly cold and windy. We parked in the small parking lot, locked the handlebar and headed to the churches.

Parking lot at Noravank

Architect Momik’s masterpieces were magnificent and beautiful as ever!

I insist that the crosses on the following photo signify the number of people who have died falling down the narrow stairs with no handrail. The crosses on each level signify the number of people who fell down the particular stair on that level for the given day. After the day is over, the priest registers the deaths in his statistics journal and carefully wipes the crosses using his Holy Armenian Apostolic Sandpaper. As we can see, higher stairs cause more deaths. I understand that this was Momik’s Evil Plan of Taking Over the World by slow and systematic kills over the centuries. Resistance is Futile!!

Sometimes the sandpaper does not wipe the crosses very well, and the priest has to swap the stones with cleaner ones from the other side of the church!

This is a very awesome illustration of Mary, Jesus Christ and two Angels (I think the one at the left is St. Gabriel) posing together.

After observing the churches and taking photos, we took a rest at the nearby cafe and warmed ourselves up with some tea. There was a heated discussion at the next table where two priests were explaining to some fellows that there is no such a thing as an Azerbaijani nation. Despite the scientific arguments, it sounded pretty odd after our recent encounter.

After a few minutes of walking, we realized that every minute spent at Noravank meant the way back was going to be colder. We headed back to Yerevan. The section from Noravank to Yeraskh was immensely cold, but after Yeraskh the air got warmer. Riding over 140km/h along the Most Boring Highway of Armenia (MBHA, aka M2), I was thinking about launching an awareness campaign for saving the innocent lives taken away by the absent railing of the narrow stairs.

First part can be found here, or you can read both together.

Second part can be found here, or you can read both together.

Sunday was the first ride of the Season and it was decided that we were going to Noravank. Comprised of two XIII century churches St. Astvatsatsin and St. Karapet, I consider the whole monument on top of the gorge one of the most beautiful and St. Astvatsatsin perhaps the most beautiful church on the territory of the present Armenia.

Weather.com predicted a high of 16°C for the day and we figured it would be tolerable for a ride of ~260km wearing sweatshirts. There were some morning showers reported, so we decided to head out of Yerevan past noon. The air itself was so chilly in the wind that at some point we contemplated turning right to Khor Virap, which would slash our trip, leaving less than a quarter of the planned mileage. However, at the crossroads to Khor Virap we decided to stick to the plan.

Something that I just discovered near Khor Virap is that along the M2 road there are many stork nests built on top of the lightposts. The nests are huge and they look like hats for the wooden posts, and there is a stork standing in almost every one of them—looks awesome! The storks gave me a pleasant flashback to my childhood when they were somehow directly associated with Armenia in my perception, albeit being a child in Yerevan I had never even experienced a real encounter with a stork!

So we rode all the way to Yeraskh, which is of course the standard rest point where we took a Snickers & Bounty candybar break. I was eager to find an ‘extra large’ Snickers instead of the regular size, so we started traversing through all the local stores (which are really just old cargo containers turned into shops by cutting windows and doors into them).

And here we witnessed something extraordinary! There were other tourists taking a break in the area besides us, who I presumed were from Iran and were returning back after celebrating Novruz in Yerevan. Among these were two tan guys in mid twenties in one of the stores where we were looking for the large Snickers, and as all Iranians do in Armenia they were shopping for alcohol. These two in particular were going for some scotch and a bottle of Armenian brandy. While choosing and checking their goods out, they were chatting to the store owner, an old woman in her 70ies. A foreign speech catches anyone’s ear, especially if you are standing within half a meter of the speech source in a long–lost rural area in Armenia, and so I was trying to figure out how could that old woman speak Farsi so fluently, when it suddenly struck me—the speech sounded a lot more like Turkish than Persian! The guys paid for the goods and left, leaving an atmosphere of excitement in the dirty cabin and a sincere melancholic smile on the old woman’s face who obviously didn’t smile that often. I was already pretty shocked, and so I followed:

“Would you give me a large bar of Snickers?” I asked suspiciously.

After a short pause, the old woman replied with a mildly nostalgic voice, “I don’t have the large ones… You can have these, which are smaller…” At this point I realized the woman had a thick Baku accent. She seemed super nice, too.

“So, what’s up with those guys?” I tried to sound casual and careless.

“Ah, young Azerbaijanis… Came to visit from Iran. I used to live in Baku, before coming here… [pause] Still remember the language… not so well.” The woman too sounded suspicious but casual. “Had to check the amount by writing it down on a paper to avoid a mistake…” At this point she kept smiling like a kid who knows he’s done something wrong and yet enjoyed the experience.

“Thanks!” I replied.

I was feeling pretty confused. We walked out of the container and I told Nariné, although she was standing by me all the way:

“Those guys were Azeris…”

Second part can be found here, or you can read both together.

I took the motorcycle out of the winter storage today. I am delighted to have the first actual riding post a full crosspost from Nariné:

In the pitch black of the night we are flying together occasionally passing half drunk young men driving their SUV’s home unsteadily, from whatever questionable deeds filled their Saturday night.  They look like they want to race, but there is no catching us.  We are flying.

The sound of the engine fills the sleepy streets of the city.  I wonder what goes on behind the very few brightly lit windows that watch over the slumbering city like sentinels. I want a glimpse into the secrets that are hiding behind the curtains.  But we are flying so fast that the windows are way behind us now.

The rain is lashing us sideways, as if punishing us for missing our bedtime yet again.  The city feels so close and so familiar, the way it can only feel late at night.  And while we are flying It belongs to us.  I wonder if freedom tastes like dust in your mouth.

I feel like I’m meditating, concentrating on all and nothing: on the road that I can barely make out, on the twinkling lights far away in the distance, on the wind in my ears, on how comforting it is to hold on to you tight as the beast is revving and charging into battle under me.  I am reaching a Zen, Buddhist monks spend decades trying to achieve.  The only feeling I have is this sensation of flight and immeasurable freedom.

I now proclaim the 2010 motorcycle season open.

This winter was ridiculously warm and thanks to the forecasts, I am taking my motorcycle out of storage this weekend! That means, I personally am going to start my Season 2010 in less than a week! Yes, my sidebar counter turned out to be too pessimistic for 2010.

I have fabulous plans for the 2010 riding season, enough to say that among the plans is a journey of unprecedented mileage for any motorcyclist from Armenia!

On the subject of positivity, hat tip to Kornelij for the dinner ad!

Happy 2010 everyone, again!