Riding a motorcycle in Russia is a metaphysical moment. With the vastness a certain relaxation sets in with me. After traveling for about a week one thing becomes clear to me: at best I only have my serenity to hold up against the mere dimensions of the country. A forest can stretch out for 200km, before I get to see anything different than trees alongside a straight road. A steppe landscape can measure up to 300km which generates the emotion of “infinity” in me. And sometimes we ride over a bumpy earth road for an hour through coniferous woodlands, suddenly the road changes direction shortly before the final destination – sometimes ending on a clearing in the middle of the woods. Riding becomes some kind of meditation. And it’s addictive. We circumnavigate big cities and spend two nights near the river Wolga, which is so wide on one location, that I cannot see the other shoreline. We set up our tents near a bay with a small port and I feel like standing next to an ocean. It is sweltering hot. All day long the sun is hidden behind a veil of haze, which I can’t explain to myself. The sun simply does not want to go down. All mosquitos are suddenly gone.