ALONG THE NILE ON THE URAL
Who said the time of great discoveries has passed? There are no more places on Earth where man did not step, but there are a few places left where wheels of motorcycle did not touch! The crew of four – brothers Sergey and Alexandr Sinelnik, mechanic Vladimir Saigakov and photographer Vladimir Novikov – crossed the black continent on two Ural motorcycles and discovered Africa this way. Who did not dream of distant countries in their childhood? Some of us make this dream true when we grow up, but we may sterilize seeing the world, by looking through the window of a tourist bus or a comfortable hotel. Twin brothers Sergey and Alexandr Sinelnik from the little Kazakh town Uralsk had traveled, both sea and land for several years already, when they decided to travel around the world on motorcycles. And they did it! They saw Europe, driving from Moscow to Vladivostok, went right up to Brazil, and now Africa was left behind. You may first have read the story of this fascinating trip, as stated by the bikers themselves in our journal, starting in the middle of March to the end of April.

TURKISH SNOWDRIFTS
The adventures started in Novorossiisk – we got into a cyclone. Volodya was on a motorcycle with sidecar, and had nearly turned over on the winding road. There was good a border that saved him or he would have fallen down the abyss. He got off with his leg hurt and a crushed tank. Between Novorossiisk and Sochi (it is just 350 km) the State Inspection of Traffic Safety stopped us several times to check our documents, and once they even fined us with no reason! In Turkey, the Near East and in Africa nobody ever looked at our driving licenses. It would be nice to send our traffic inspectors there to learn polite respect of the drivers. In Turkey, we were given advice not to visit central districts, because the Kurds behave outrageously on the remote roads. And we ourselves were glad not to go because of the weather. It was winter! For the first time in twenty years it was snowing in Turkey. We made our way through the snowdrifts for four days and froze over like puppies. We put on all of our clothes and bought sweaters and coats, and it was chilly in spite of it all. Our hands froze, and we had to put woolen socks on and cellophane packets on top. All in all, Turkey turned to be a serious test and it was maybe even the most difficult stage of the expedition.

THE SECOND BIRTH
While preparing for the expedition, we got a one-month visa for transit through Syria and Jordan. But the war in Iraq started, and they unwillingly let us go to Syria: checked our documents several times, sent an inquiry to Damascus. They suspected we were spies – as if we were going under the pretence of being travelers and perhaps wanted to find out something for Russia! In Jordan we had the same problems, they gave us just a day for transit. Therefore we managed to glimpse at the Holy Land as Russian travelers dream. And here we are in the Egypt! And they have such a terrible bureaucracy at the border, stronger than ours. It took all night to register us; we visited fifteen rooms, and they all wanted to get baksheesh. Every motorcycle cost us one hundred dollars! Between the Red Sea and Suez, we got into a sand storm. Once, at the speed of 130 km per hour, and I fell down on the asphalt and was dragged by the motorcycle for 150 meters. I held on to my Solo Classic, as I understood that if I am flung out I would crippled. I could hardly stand up. My clothes were torn, but I myself felt somewhat like being alive. Well, I celebrated the day of my second birth. Within a day my friend from Moscow sent me a cylinder for the motorcycle. We quickly repaired the bike and continued our way. Several years ago terrorists shot a tourist bus in Egypt and since then, foreign citizens must only travel if accompanied by the police cars. And so, with the escort we reached the ancient ferry, which transported us to Sudan. Roads always serve as indicator of welfare of the country for a driver. In accordance with the observance of Russian bikers Sudan is the poorest country!

YOU CAN GET TO ANGOLA IF YOU KNOW HOW TO USE YOUR TONGUE
Usual ruts in sands are called roads there. Two or three trucks per day – is the usual traffic density in the Nubian Desert. The heat reaches 50 degrees Celsius. Our motorcycles boil… We decided to move at night. They say it is cold in Sahara at night. We did not feel it. The ruts in the sand constantly branches and runs in different directions. We had a satellite indicator to define the location but it is powerless, if the road runs in many directions. It is easier to move in the daytime: an Arab walks and you may ask him, where to go to reach Angola. There. That is the best map and the best GPS is still people. The motorcycles got stuck constantly in the sand, and I, on my Solo, fell down twenty times a day. But the Ural with the sidecar made her way like a Landrover! We were off-road for almost seven hundred kilometers and dreamed only of asphalt. And of fresh wind, without saying. After the Turkish cold, we got into African hell – there were 40°C in the shade! We bought Arabian shawls, put on long-sleeve shirts, gloves and sunglasses to hide from the sun. We begged photographer Volodya Novikov to wrap himself up in the bed sheet, especially taken form home but he would not.

1 LITER OF PETROLEUM = 1 LITER OF WATER. AT THE PRICE
And soon, poor Volodya had completely burned his face. His nose flashing, his face glowing, his ears were red and scalded… He is a thickset fellow and suffered from the heat more than the rest of us. When we arrive somewhere, he immediately runs to look for water to wash himself. Arabs looked at him and at the water with a regret. One may buy clean water there in large settlements but it is very expensive – one dollar or sometimes one dollar and a half for the bottle. That is why we took canisters and filled them with the Nile sludge, which is settled in huge jugs under shelters in villages. When we later told about it at the Embassy they clutched their heads – boys, you will be taken ill with malaria! Fortunately, everything is fine. It is difficult to find food, too. There are no shops there. There is a small barn, we enter and find soap, toothpaste there, and the only edible product is galettes. We had groats, cans, tea and this was our food. Local residents eat somewhat like our pancakes (inzhero), but they are very sour and they dip it in a solution with too much pepper in it, for our taste. One day, our supplies came to an end, and here is a caf? right at that moment – it happens rarely in that area! We saw the scones, rejoiced and every one bought a dozen, then we snapped off a big piece. it was impossible to eat, everything was burned inside! So we remained hungry. But nevertheless, we spent more on gas than on food or water in Africa. After all, it just evaporates in the heat! And one should make efforts to find gas in Sudan. If you see a car in the village, you may ask for fuel there. True, sometimes there were local refueling places: a barn with barrel and hoses. Dollar for the liter. Refuel and go ahead.