The Pan-Eurasian Bike Trip

Each night the Trans-Siberian railroad roars past my dormitory in Vladivostok. I listen to it clanking along the last stretch of track, hugging the coast as it rounds the city’s horseshoe bay. The famous train traverses nearly 6,000 miles from Moscow; its journey concludes breaking into view of the Pacific Ocean. In the still hours of evening, the rumbling of its passenger cars is the only distraction threatening my peaceful solitude. 

The trip from Moscow to Vladivostok lasts 10 grueling days by train. A cakewalk considering that it will take my friend Ellery and I roughly four months to cross the same distance on bicycles.

We arrived six weeks before our journey began to take Russian language classes at the Far Eastern National University in Vladivostok. With months of fundraising efforts and stressful pre-departure planning behind me, I relished the idea of spending some time alone studying Russian and poring through Dostoevsky novels.

As a U.S. citizen, traveling to Vladivostok was once an impossible feat. In 1948, the Soviet government closed the city to all foreigners, the restriction holding until 1992, after the fall of the Soviet Union. Perhaps this explains why outsiders, particularly those who speak English, are a novelty here.

The Sea of Japan, The End Of The Trans-Siberian Railroad and The Begining Of The Bike Ride

Within several days, my hermetic fantasy in Vladivostok was interrupted by two amiable Russian girls knocking on my door. “Would you like to go on a tour of the city?” they inquired. These welcoming Russian ambassadors were English students at the university. Months ago, they asked the Study Abroad department to introduce them to any native speakers studying at the school.

Because Vladivostok rounds the bottom of the list long after the Florence's and Barcelona's of world for American students studying abroad, we became easy prey for English students starving for conversation practice.

The knocks on my door became a daily event. Word about two Americans cycling from Vladivostok to Portugal had spread. Soon young adults began seeking us out, graciously offering us countless invitations to dinner and social outings. The seemingly endless supply of jovial young Russians presented us with some of the greatest hospitality I have ever received while traveling.

Many of these welcoming locals had spent summers in America before. Working in the States, normally washing dishes in a sweaty kitchen all summer, and traveling to the most tasteless U.S. attractions for 10 days before returning home, seemed to be a cultural rite of passage for Russian university students.

“I dream of returning to Las Vegas, or Venice Beach!” one Russian girl said with the same nostalgic reverence some have for Paris or Rome.

I did not expect to find this infatuation with America in Vladivostok. Even after the global financial crisis beginning in the U.S., the American Dream seemed alive and well in Russia. After considering this fact, it made more sense: In a country fraught with chilling winters and the dollar currently worth almost 35 rubles, I could faintly understand how a warm state like Florida, which I associate with dismal visions of retirement communities and pink flamingos, might be paradise on earth.

Over time, our outings with Russian students led to valuable connections. Attending a classical music concert with a student named Dmitri one night, we met the U.S. Consul General in Vladivostok.

“Call me if you get into trouble out there,” Tom, the Consul General told us. “I love bicycling too. Would you mind if I rode with you for the first leg of your ride out of the city.”

“Sure,” we replied in disbelief.

“Do you want some press?” he asked.

The rest of the week, we found ourselves doing interviews and photo shoots for major magazines and newspapers published in Vladivostok.

In Russia, before pedaling one mile, my life has already been touched by the kindness of countless new acquaintances. Traveling slowly and meeting people was what drew me to long distance bicycle touring in the first place.

The reluctant socialite I have become, the moments are now rare when I can escape to my room savoring the last place I can call home before hopping on my bike and embracing nomadhood. These days, as the Trans-Siberian rumbles by, it reminds me not of my isolation in Russia, but of how many amazing people I have yet to meet within this country’s vastness.

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