A retired engineer in Bishkek sold me his red Lada like introducing a difficult relative, and he was right. Since then: a flat tire in open steppe with an audience of nothing, a footwell of redistributed photocopies after one hard brake, passes taken in low gear, borrowed cousins in Armenia and Baku returned washed. It starts on the mornings it agrees with your plans.
10 entries, newest first.
· Two weeks later: the borrowed Niva handed back washed, the same form printed in the other direction, and a night that belongs to the airline.
· Last day in the Caucasus: shepherds' picnic, a saddled horse, dogs off duty, and one red roof used as a sun deck.
· Loose photocopies, one hard brake, and several hundred pages redistributed across a Niva footwell. Curb-side re-sorting with a tire iron for a paperweight.
· Day one of the Kazakh loop: a flat tire in Almaty, a courtyard workshop, and the fastest sixty minutes of applied hospitality.
· First flat of the trip: the Niva on the jack in open steppe, a wrench, an audience of nothing, and honest work.
· The ritual of the last day: a wash bay, a pressure lance, and returning a borrowed Niva cleaner than it came.
· The Niva as a one-room apartment: front seat flat, boots off, twenty minutes that fixed the whole day.
· Wheel ruts, snow patches, one borrowed green Niva at altitude, and the flattering physics of old machines.