Struggling to keep my balance even when on my knees on the pallet, I moved my head around to see if there was a position or angle that I could hold my head and be able to walk. When I was in high school, I was upside down on a homemade gymnastics high bar at home that rolled out of the brackets falling to the concrete on my head from about seven feet in the air. I was feeling very similar symptoms unable to stand and putting my head down between my legs would bring back some amount of balance. At minimum, I would stop vomiting. That incident was on my mind as I tried to remember what I did during those crisis moments as my Father was trying to stand me up and get me in a car to the hospital emergency room.
At some point I made it up and off the wooden pallet and began walking the road we had taken in to the debris site. I saw absolutely no one as I zig-zagged down that black sludge-like muddy road, falling I don't know how many times as I slipped in the water filled ruts that were at times eight to ten inches deep. As I would look up to see what was in front of me, I'd feel a wave of nausea and would start dry heaving as I walked along.
I remembered that I would soon come out into a large clearing and be in distant sight of the headquarters to my right, and our camp to the left, I hugged the scrub trees and bushes that were around ten to twelve feet high to my left. I followed those woods on the perimeter but just a few steps inside the trees. The ground was drier here and I could use the skinny tree trunks to balance myself. The camp came into view suddenly and I was literally walking into our kitchen tent before I realized it. Not being able to look up very well, I stumbled into the camp frantically trying to think what I should bring with me. Everyone at the Embassy had been urging me to take as much money as possible in the event of a crisis where I was separated from my protection, and that moment had arrived...in a most disturbing way. Our cache of cash was in a box that was in a box wrapped in a bag and stuffed under a seat in the cage on the "66". My $5000 seemed like enough to make it to Bali and back but I had no idea what was going to happen with us. I wanted to take the whole $100,000 but something told me to hold off. I decided that my own cash reserve should be enough...if I could get to Dubrovnoye to catch the tourist shuttle to Dalmatovo near where Katarina and Zhenia were refurbishing their family estate...a distance of about 120 km from the camp. I had no fucking idea how to get from the camp past the guards and to Dubrovnoje without being seen and decided to pull my own maps out that seemed to be extremely detailed. I had focused on the main roads when I had perused the map before but now began to look more closely for trails and undeveloped roads...which were in the Legend but I wasn't too sure of the vocabulary in Russian. It also didn't help that I was still unable to see clearly. There is a faint recollection of the moment that I decided to pull the bicycle down off the cab of the "66" and grab Toshek's smelly brown coat and hat...very Russian industrial style. The coat and hat reminded me of Heroes of the Revolution from old posters extolling the virtues of Socialism. My hope was that any guards or other mafia assholes would not yet have heard what had happened and just think that it was one of their comrades bicycling out of camp.
There was a faint road (not labelled a trail) that cut through the woods and around a pond that seemed to be a straight shot to Dubrovnoje. A 20 km ride in the mud would be terrible but I was hoping that it hadn't been used too much and the ruts weren't too deep. The bike's tires were pretty fat and that would probably work best in the conditions that the roads around here were in. I climbed the ladder to where the bike was attached to a long railing on the roof with Russian-style bungie cords (rubber straps from an inner-tube without hooks). I remember swearing under my breath for what seemed several minutes as I couldn't get the straps undone and I didn't have my handy-dandy spy knife with me, having left my toolkit in the cage. Eventually they came loose and I let the bike down with a bit of a drop. The chain came off but since it was kind of loose anyway, it went back on without a problem. The tires were aired up and I suddenly realized I was in the middle of my "mission abort plan". If I had ever been scared on mountain climbs or other missions to date, this was 10X worse than anything I had ever experienced.
My cowardly ass was shaking as I put both straps of my toolkit on my shoulders. It was filled with a few of the spy toys I had come with and a lot of money. I also had one clean white Lacoste polo shirt in the bag. Don't ask me what I was thinking when I added that. Joe's folks had given me documents related to procedures if I got to a place to make a phone call and wanted to code the discussion. I folded them up and put them in the bag, as well. I'd thought about just going to Dubrovnoje and trying to make the call but I assumed that everyone there would either be scared stiff to help me or were simply working for these mafia bosses. In fact, I imagined that I might see Michael or someone else from our earlier meeting in the town. There were only a few streets that paralleled the lake front and the same number that were perpendicular to the lake shore. I just wanted to make it to the resort and buy a ticket or bribe whomever I had to for a ride to safety.
By the time I actually saddled up on the bike, I had nothing left in my stomach to vomit. The continuing dry heaves scared me a little and I was also alternately shaking and then burning up with a fever. The "lights" were still on, as well. I now understand what "Seeing stars" means after getting hit very hard. Since I had been kicked on one side and collided with a titanium ridged wall on the other, I had constant tunnel vision where my peripheral view was shimmering and I could only see objects directly in front of me. But, being able to sit on the bike and ride it seemed a big improvement. I then ventured off with my Socialist Hero Hat and Toshek's coat to get me to the trail head or dirt road to Dubrovnoje that I believed was not far away.
The Hungarian Version of My Socialist Hero Hat and Jacket
The bouncing bike on the uneven surface nearly did me in as I was trying to find a rut that I could stay in without nearly shaking off the bike. My head ached terribly and that shaking was making it worse. I was going very slowly and stopping occasionally looking for the entrance to the road to Dubrovnoje. About 50 meters from the headquarters, and way too close for comfort with people milling about not more than 30 meters away, I finally saw a dry road heading to the left and into the woods. I got some waves from a couple as they were standing looking directly at me and I could hear some laughter. What they were saying, I had no idea. It may have been my imagination, but I thought I heard some yelling behind me as I turned down the road. I did not turn around, though, and began to pick up speed as the road wound through the woods and high bushes. My heart was racing as I began to think that perhaps I was really going to get away so easily. It bothered me that if this was a public road from the village at the lake, why wouldn't there be guards posted here?
The ruts were not very deep and my tires moved smoothly between them. After about two miles, I came upon a Niva that was parked on the far right side of the road that allowed me to pass without a problem. The Niva was empty but I could see three men at the edge of the nearest forest. They had a chainsaw and were sitting around an old fire that was only smoldering. I could see several vodka bottles and something cooking or staying warm on the dying fire. While these are images that have come back after time, the one image I remember vividly was one of the men standing and telling me to stop. As I rode past as fast as I could, I yelled obscenities at them in Polish and told them to fuck off. They sat down and laughed. My escape seemed more and more likely at this point.
My final test on this road from the camp to Dubrovnoje (that I remember) came in the form of a pond. The road disappeared exactly in the middle of the pond and I could see that it reappeared about 150 meters on the other side. Any attempt to go around the pond would be stopped by what was bulldozed boulders, logs, and scrap pieces of old concrete highway. I would never be able to ride through the pond but had to dismount and walk it through the black opaque water that came up to my chest. The road became very slippery and like quicksand at my feet. I was worried that I was going to walk off the road since I could not see my feet nor tell if there were turns in that 150 meters I was attempting to cross. Coming out on the other side, I saw that the bike was covered in some kind of algae or moss and I had to clean it up. The mud, the moss, the blood on my head and face, and the smell of vomit that had gotten all over me probably made for a delightful scene. As I dreaded having to appear in the open at the resort, I suddenly understood why I had packed my white Lacoste polo shirt in my toolkit. It would certainly soften the blow of seeing me.
I still had to pedal about 5 miles to Dubrovnoje. I began to pass farms and some small houses after wading through the pond. The road became smoother but I had to steer my way around potholes. And, my vision had not come back yet. Feeling safer for the moment and wanting to walk a bit (My butt was hurting from the metal seat that had lost whatever upholstery it had originally had.) I took the bike by the handlebars and walked alongside it for several hundred yards. Some cars passed and I just lowered my head without acknowledging anyone. One of the cars that passed turned around and came back. An older man with a hat similar to mine started accusing me of stealing his bike from his farm. Using a mix of my bad Russian and good Polish, I told him that of course it wasn't his bike and I had grown up riding this bike. He looked at it closely and saw that the mud and moss were hiding the real colors -- a kind of light blue. He then shook his head and said, "A woman's bike! It's not mine for sure!" He then left me alone.
Dubrovnoje, visible in the distance, was a lovely sight when I first got a glimpse of it. Not that it was particularly pretty or anything but it represented the next step in my escape and I thought it was the most lovely village I had ever seen. The trees and scrub hid the view most of the time but now the farms and open country allowed a view from this slightly elevated roadway. I was back on the bike and pedaling quickly. The road went straight to the waterfront. I had no idea what direction to go. Go left? Go right? The road sign for Dubrovnoje Center pointed left so I went left and then saw a grandmotherly woman with a scarf carrying groceries and a lot of vegetables. I yelled to her in Polish, "Where is the sanatorium on the lake?"
She stood and stared at me completely motionless with a look like she had seen Stalin himself.
"Hotel? Resort? Noclegi? Wczasy na jezioro?!" I was trying any Slavic words I could think of.
She broke her motionlessness with her arm pointing further left. Not a word from her mouth, though. I saddled up again and pedaled in that direction. After two or three minutes riding quickly, shops and official looking buildings started to appear on the waterfront and I realized I must be getting close. Rounding a corner that led to a hidden cove, I saw signs for Dubrovnoje Hotel on the Lake * Sauna-Restaurant-Cafe-Massage-Salt Baths-Sport-Fishing-Hunting*
I had found my lake resort.
Outdoor toilets and a place to change into swim suits (no showers) were not far from the main entrance to the hotel. I could see some activity near the entrance and decided to put my Lacoste shirt on and try to lessen the effect of mud, moss, blood, and vomit. Getting my other saturated shirt off and trying to keep the white Lacoste shirt clean was a fruitless task but I hoped I looked a little more presentable. While I remember feeling very little fear in approaching one official looking man to ask where the bus stop for Dalmatovo was, I was not prepared for his reaction to seeing me as I walked up to him and spoke in my Russian-Polish mixed dialect. He had been standing by the roadway talking to someone in a new Volga luxury sedan. He waved goodbye to them and I walked up behind him and said, "Excuse me, I want to go to Dalmatovo today. Can you help me?" He turned and made a sickening yelp of fear and ran the full 10 meters to the front porch of the hotel. I stood there a little shocked and just said a little louder since he was now much further away and hiding behind a fence post, "Sorry, I've had a bad fall and hurt my head. I need to go to Dalmatovo. Can you help?"
Regaining his composure, he cleared his throat and said, "The bus is coming soon but all the seats have been reserved. If the driver allows you to sit with him in the front seat, you might offer him something extra."
"Where will it stop?" I asked
"Right here." he said and pointed to the benches that were off to the right.
"Thank you!" I told him and decided to go sit on the benches and wait. Others from the hotel had gathered to look at my multi-colored face and head as well as the muddy mossy dripping pants and snow white shirt I was wearing. I was holding my disguise under my arm as I waited. The hat and jacket had done well to get me out of the pickle I was in and I wasn't sure what my best outfit to successfully finish my journey should be. I have faint recollection of asking someone for an aspirin on the street and getting an answer that I might have given someone that looked like I did, "Buddy, you need more than aspirin, I would say."
By the time the shuttle bus arrived, a cool breeze had come up and I was back in my socialist hero garb with the jacket buttoned up most of the way to my neck. Even before the arriving hotel guests had stepped down from the bus, I was in the driver's window asking if I could offer him money for the passenger seat in the front. He didn't even look at me as I spoke. He nodded but was silent. I'm sure he recognized that I was a foreigner but he was doing his passenger list and didn't want to be bothered too much I assumed.
"Here is $50. Is that enough to reserve the seat?" I said as I stuck the $50 bill through the window on his side of the bus from the street. His blood-shot eyes opened widely, stared at me for just a few seconds, and then he took the money. He then opened the door for me...moving his lunch, light-porno magazines, and thermos from the seat. We were separated by an engine cover that was quite hot. He put these things on a foam rubber pillow that I guessed was there to insulate his food from the heat coming up from the engine. I looked at the tariff sheet for trips between Dalmatovo and Dubrovnoje that was pasted to the glove box in front of me. The normal price for an adult was about $1.25 at the current exchange rate. His $48.75 tip represented a pretty decent week of wages in this poor part of Siberia.
(I had no smaller bills with me and the way I was feeling, I just wanted a first class ticket out of Dubrovnoje.)
I guess I fell asleep as passengers were boarding the bus. We were halfway out of town when I woke up with a start and reached out putting my hands on the dashboard to stop the black Volga that was coming at me at high speed. I had been dreaming. My head was still hurting and I was terribly thirsty. The driver seemed at ease with me very quickly but we didn't talk for quite a while. It was a 90 minute ride to Dalmatovo with a lot of bumps and potholes along the way. About halfway there, I ventured to ask if he had something to drink. He pulled out a bottle of vodka from behind the seat and I smiled but said I needed "gasnica" first. (Fire extinguisher). He laughed and gave me a small bottle of Oranzada (orange soda pop). I drank half the bottle and he acted happy to have helped. I refused his offer for the vodka that came a few minutes later but I pulled out my piece of paper from Katerina with the address of her estate and photo and asked him, "Would it be possible to find someone to take me to this place after we arrive in Dalmatovo?"
"I can take you to where the women live and the men are working all the time. I know this place. I drive a truck during the weekend and bring building materials here very often. Some rich women own it." he told me excitedly with a smile and shaking his head.
I couldn't believe my good fortune and told him I would pay him extra for this. He replied, "You already paid me for a 1st Class Ticket and drinks for it." A little overwhelmed by the events of the day, I started to cry in his bus and tried to hide my tears from him.
***
Dubrovnoje Road ended at the Oblast highway #354 and we turned left for the last 30 kilometers to Dalmatovo. I found out that the driver's name was Nicholai and he wanted me to call him Nick. Nick had actually been to Brooklyn not that long ago and was amazed at New York City.
"I didn't have to speak a word of English the whole month I was there!" he exclaimed. "Brooklyn is filled with Russians and Poles and Ukrainians and Jews from everywhere! I loved that place! I gained twenty pounds in four short weeks eating and drinking everything since it all was good!"
I was getting tired and hurting again as I kept my head turned to the left to listen to him as he talked. Sleep overcame me at some point along the way and I woke up in Dalmatovo. Nick picked up his instructions for tomorrow at his dispatch office and then jumped into the van to run me out to Katerina's estate. He handed me a liverwurst and cheese sandwich with a small bottle of mineral water. This time I also accepted as he pulled his bottle of vodka out before we hit the road.
It had gotten dark but I could see that the terrain was changing here as we approached Katerina's farm estate. In about twenty minutes, we turned left onto a well maintained dirt road where a large house was visible at the end of a long row of trees. Pallets of lumber and other building materials were neatly lined up along the road as we got closer to the old limestone rock and wooden house with antique looking windows and shutters. I was glad to see that there were lights on but I was prepared to be turned away if Katerina and Zhenia were not there. Knowing that the two were very busy with the complicated task of restoring such a house and farm, it did not surprise me that the woman that answered the door told us that Katerina and Zhenia were in Kamensk-Uralsky trying to arrange something important with Oblast (county) officials. Nick translated for me what she had said and the woman at the door suddenly blurted out, "Are you Bill? Bill from the train ride from Kiev to Chelyabinsk?! I am Nadezhda! I have been helping Katerina and Zhenia for several years while they were gone to Moscow and Kiev."
"Yes. You know about me?" I said.
"Katerina has been saying every day that she hopes you have time to come after your work in Chelyabinsk! You are early. She will be so happy! Please come in and I will make a room for you! Have you eaten? Is this your driver? Will he be staying, too! Oh, I've got to call Katerina right now! Excuse me for a minute. Please have a seat and take your shoes off and relax!"
Nick sat down beside me on a couch and quietly explained very slowly in Russian that he thought that Nadezhda should call a doctor for me. He said, "You probably just need some sleep but I am a little worried about your head injury. The blood on your shirt and coat may have come from your ear. It is possible that there is something more serious with your head. Can I tell Nadezhda this? Also, you have been twitching very strangely during your sleep in the van. I was worried it was a seizure."
I thought about what Nick was saying and couldn't tell him not to say anything to Nadezhda but I suggested he not say anything about his diagnosis about seizures. I told him with a serious face, "I always have seizures and anxiety attacks when I am in Russia. Isn't that normal?!"
Nadezhda was back with us in a few minutes and happily reported that Katerina would be here tomorrow afternoon after her meetings. Nick immediately told her about his fears about my head and she, of course, asked how it happened. He very diplomatically said, "You know these American spies will never give you a straight answer. It was just a bad fall."
"Thank you Nick! It is all true what you said." I said in Russian.
"I will call Dr. Sokolov before it gets too late. Maybe he will come before Katerina arrives tomorrow." Nadeshda announced. "Will you be staying with us Nicholai?" she asked.
"No. I am leaving now. Please let me know how things are going in a few days. This is my card for my hauling business. I live less than ten minutes away and I have delivered bricks to this house several times. I hope I see you again." Nick told us and then shook my hand with a kiss on both cheeks. "Good bye, Mr Bill!"
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