A LETTER

28 July 2016 The Ice Run Lake Baikal, Siberia Russia

Dear Ice Run,

It’s been a while since we spent time together, and I miss you.

I miss the amazing machines that took us to some of the most beautiful places on the planet. The Ural motorcycle, a kick-started taste of heaven that runs on any old fuel will be forever dear to my heart. They are the toughest machines, made mightier by the fact that they would carry 200+ kilos of man and beast across the frozen tundra, without complaint. To do an event such as yours we needed the Ural, whose only foible was a mild spark plug habit from time to time, and a penchant for eating alternators, usually for breakfast.

I miss the lake. Baikal is as old as the hills that surround her, and as deep as the campfire conversations we had on her frozen crust. The lake is a spiritual place, an impressive behemoth when viewed from the pit of one of the many fields of jagged, bike and back breaking ice fields. A gentle giant, when considered from the back of a 40-year-old motorbike, sailing along on yet another billiard table smooth highway of water-based perfection.

Most of all, Ice Run, I miss your people. The Siberian crew, who return year after year to keep the silly foreigners alive. The very same people whose warmth and friendship could thaw out the vast sheets of ice, if it were indeed a heat source. Dima, the unstoppable, who is said to be able to wheelie anything, even if it has no wheels. Lida, the patient, whose unfaltering smile would always make me feel like it was going to be ok, even when we were all too hungover to move and there were bikes to fix. Max and Emil, the sweepers, who gathered up stragglers whose mighty steeds had had enough for the minute, bundling exhausted riders in the back and deafening them with AC/DC. Katy the Great, whose hard work and dedication to her punters, her Russians, and her bikes, was only outshone by her commitment to her friends.

Put simply Ice Run, I cannot wait until we meet again. Your lake, your bikes, and your people will always hold a special place for me, and I’m sure I speak for anyone who is lucky enough to call themselves an “Ice Runner.”

Sincerely yours, Dave.

The ice run is a yearly marathon across Siberia’s Lake Baikal on vintage Russian motorbikes with sidecars.

Dave is a rare breed, a mix of pure arse and the willingness to have a crack. A keen home brewer, he enjoys being surrounded by the best people possible, random situations, and his sidekick Ridgeback-cross Odie who is the real talent. Interests/ailments include a penchant for furry hats, unsuitable motorbikes, and tattoos that make his mum use his entire name, in full.

Photo credit: Dmitry Yaskin