Dr. Frazier Rides Russia Photo Gallery

Happy guys at Red Square, Moscow. They were friends, and I was on a new adventure: no map for the next seven time zones.

The largest Ural chopper motorcycle in the world was parked outside a biker club in Moscow.

I was invited to try piloting one of the Ural choppers, and told if I crashed it my security deposit would be my Kawasaki KLR 650.

This Ural sidecar, with the Club name, Werewolf, was well appointed and geared low enough to pull out tree stumps. I was offered a trade for my Kawasaki KLR 650 but we could not agree of the amount of cash to change hands and direction it would flow.

This Russian biker would have easily fit in at the Boot Hill Saloon in Daytona Beach, Florida during Bike Week. The difference would be his preference for vodka over beer. He was one of the more interesting motorcycle people I met on my Russian adventure, definitely a hardcore motorcyclist, but very friendly and helpful.

This Russian boy was serving as the spare tire holder. In my Aerostich Darien riding suit and Nolan helmet I was likely as odd looking to him as he was to me wearing his father's tire.

Headed east I realized I could not read a thing on the signs, my Russian being limited to less than six spoken words. I was going to experience an adventure in communication, a serious risk of being misunderstood, which I was several times, but each time resulting in fun.

Here the Kawasaki KLR was nearly spotless, having come across Europe on good quality paved roads. From this point onward, east of Moscow, it would get dirty.

Most of the dirt here had come from a few small sections of the road across Russia that was under construction.

This town was the last place I bothered wasting time trying to find a road map. I knew I wanted to go east, so would follow the most cars using the biggest road in that direction.

This was a typical truck stop motel or roadhouse where I shared a room with a trucker, used a common shower and drank proffered vodka in a small dining area. The price for a meal, bed and swill was less than $25.00 a night. The sound of drunken truckers snoring was free.

I found this upscale hotel by luck. It would be called basic in the United States, but in Siberia it was triple A. After camping and truck stops I decided to spend two nights here, at $35.00 per night, do laundry, and be a tourist around the small town.

Camping was one way I could save money. I saw no public or private campgrounds along my route. Each night when I camped I would try to find a spot well off the main road and out of sight.

This was the main road across Siberia. Other than frost heaves, some pot holes, and minor construction it was in fair condition.

With only one main road it was pretty hard to get lost crossing Siberia. Small towns like this had gas, but often no hotel or truck stop for sleeping.

The only long gravel or dirt sections I had to cross were like this, and generally sections that were under construction.

The world's largest fresh water lake, Lake Baikal, was clean looking, but too cold for swimming.

Stores in Siberia were often converted cargo containers. Sometimes I would find 30-50 bunched together, a Russian style Wal-Mart.

A mobile auto parts store parked during the day on the side of the road. It had the oil and some small parts I wanted. I found almost no motorcycle parts stores, and when I did what they carried was basic, nothing for my Kawasaki, not even a tire.

The Pepsi signage told me this was a café where I could get a Pepsi and also a meal. Converted railroad cars were commonly used for roadside cafes like this.

This was a typical Siberian gas station. My Kawasaki KLR 650 ran well on whatever they were pumping. I met one BMW rider on an F650 who was carrying five liters of octane boost additive to add to the low octane gas that was sold at these stations. The octane boost containers took up most of his top case.

A motorcycle club befriended me in Harbarovsk, invited me to spend the afternoon at a riverside party on the Amur River. It was great fun from a friendly group of motorcycle enthusiasts.

The clubhouse for the Lynx of Amur motorcycle club included a traveler's cabin for guests. A map of the wall in the club house was for the travelers to mark on where they were from. I was the first American to mark a spot in the USA.

Do you think you need a $20,000.00, big displacement motorcycle to cross Russia? Arthur Zawodney, a 71-year young adventurer, did it easily on his 250 cc Yamaha.

The end of the road for me was Vladivostok. It was here I unknowingly meet the mafia air cargo shipping guys.

The Kawasaki KLR 650 had to be made small enough to fit in a crate that would fit through the side loading door of a Russian air cargo plane, which meant taking off the wheels, windscreen, then fully compressing the springs. The price of the box, delivered to the air cargo area at the airport, was about $150.00.